Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Black-Haired Knight King
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Only with the single-minded determination to halt the charging enemy did they launch a desperate infantry assault.
The cavalry forgot their fear in an instant, and the white-horned deer thrust out their antlers to protect their riders.
Kwaaang!
In the end, line shattered line.
The formation, its waist snapped, twisted completely, and the orc cavalry tumbled to the ground amid a violent explosion of noise.
Hihihng!
The barding was meaningless.
The kinetic energy transferred fully pulverized the warhorses' organs and bones.
As the horses let out their final cries, the silent space returned to normal.
"Aaaah!" "Wheel around! Wheel, wheel...!"
Sreuk!
Puk!
The orc cavalry, whose line had been broken at the waist once, tried to wheel left and maintain their ranks.
But the deer cavalry had no intention of just watching; they gladly sacrificed speed to thrust their spears toward the orc cavalry.
Chaeng! Chaeng!
Sreuk! Hihihng!
The massive cavalry clash devolved into chaotic melee in moments.
One orc sergeant, barely regaining his senses, hurriedly scanned his surroundings.
There, in the center of the battlefield, he saw Chieftain Tiguma fighting desperately after falling from his horse.
His beloved steed had long since become a red pulp and died.
"Kraaah---!!"
How could a wounded old lion simply yield?
Having suffered the humiliation of being unhorsed, Tiguma had discarded his prized helmet and was swinging his aura-infused axe relentlessly.
Indeed, the honorable title of great chieftain wasn't given just for being old.
No matter how much the deer-mounted cavalry thrust their spears, they couldn't overcome Tiguma.
"Chieftain! Mount up!"
Tiguma's fierce stand created an opening.
The sergeant, who had quickly caught a riderless horse, galloped to the chieftain and extended his hand.
They had to retreat.
This wasn't about the army winning or losing—it was that the chieftain's life was in danger.
Thud!
Fortunately, Tiguma regained his senses and grabbed the sergeant's hand, mounting the horse.
His eyes were bloodshot red, unable to contain the surging humiliation and pain.
"Damn it all! Rally the surviving cavalry! We're breaking out fast from here!"
"Yes, Chieftain!"
Though they'd yielded their flank, the orc cavalry still outnumbered the enemy horsemen.
If they could just regroup the chaos and scattered ranks, they could link up with the infantry for a counterattack.
Quickly assessing the situation, Tiguma gripped the reins while enduring the mounting pain.
He tried to spur the horse toward the orc warriors still locked in combat.
Purruk!
Chaeng!
Kung!
"Guhk!"
In that instant, a blade came flying at tremendous speed.
Startled, Tiguma deftly blocked the sword with his axe, but he couldn't evade the massive deer antler thrusting in right after.
Hihihihng---!!
The warhorse bucked violently, the saddle tilting so much he couldn't keep his balance.
Struck by the antler, Tiguma fell from the horse once more.
Thud.
He couldn't believe it.
His body, protected by aura, unseated again by a mere deer antler?
Feeling pain twisting through his entire body, Tiguma finally coughed up blood-laced phlegm.
His aging body was holding him back here.
Instinctively calling for help, Tiguma turned to the sergeant who had come with him on horseback.
No, he tried to.
Sreuk!
Tuk.
But instead of a reply came the sergeant's head, spurting blood as it hit the ground.
Tiguma looked up in horror toward the direction from which the head had flown.
There stood a massive deer gazing down at him, beside the figure who had swung the sword.
Tiguma let out a roar dyed in fury.
"You...!"
Purruk!
A solemn air unfit for her youthful face.
Black hair fluttering on the northern winds.
Snow-Covered gazed down upon the battlefield from atop White Wind.
Tiguma started in shock and cried out.
"K-Knight King?"
Orcs despised humans.
Orcs hated humans.
Both were true.
There was no reason for orcs to despise, hate, and kill humans.
But orcs knew.
Deep within that endless hatred toward humans lurked a subtle fear.
Those who, though the most degenerate of races, slew the great orc emperor and built a kingdom.
Tiguma, who had fought as a general back then, still remembered the Knight King's appearance.
Indeed, was all this a foretold omen?
The human king has returned.
Amid the fear he had forgotten, Tiguma summoned his warped and fading aura once more.
Yes, this was his one chance.
The sole opportunity to behead the unripe heir to the king here and prevent the kingdom's restoration!
Tiguma raised his aura-infused axe with all his might to cleave Snow-Covered and White Wind.
Chaeng!
"Too late, old orc."
But the axe cleaved only empty air.
A man who approached like the wind from behind had precisely targeted the spot where Tiguma's aura hadn't yet formed and deflected the axe.
He hadn't even seen the incoming blade...
Recalling that ghostly skill from memory, Tiguma laughed hollowly.
"......Sword Saint."
He thought the traitor who slew the heir and vanished was his final act, but he'd risen again without giving up, to find the king's successor.
An enemy, but truly remarkable tenacity.
Tiguma closed his wrinkled eyes and sighed.
Worried for the orc race's future, squabbling among kin without even knowing this.
Clank.
Tiguma raised his axe again.
Burning his last aura, he trudged step by step toward the Sword Saint and the king's heir.
At least it was fortunate he'd sent a messenger to Ogmar just before the battle.
Please, Ogmar.
This wind is too fierce for me to block.
'Corpses fill the plains, and the crows have no thought of leaving. The sun never pierced through all winter, and now victory endures eternally with the winter.'
'The King of the North has returned. Rise again and again, all humans reveling on this land. Born ordinary, die extraordinary.'
The rumors spread at rapid speed.
No matter how the orcs tried to suppress them, villagers buzzed whenever they gathered,
and innocent children sang the songs someone had spread, hidden from the adults.
Revolution was always like that.
The more it was blocked, the faster change mocked the obsolete past and advanced.
Ogmar, who felt that change more deeply than anyone, received a box.
Clunk.
Confirming the contents, Ogmar squeezed his eyes shut and closed the lid.
He tried to perform the rites for the honor of his kinsman Tiguma, whose head had been severed and returned.
But the more he closed his eyes, the more rage and hatred swirled inside him.
That fury was directed at the humans who did this to his kin, but also at the incompetence of the camp orcs.
There was no choice now.
Ogmar opened his mouth.
"Issue the muster order. I'll personally hunt down and behead any who refuse."
Even now, the camps were eyeing each other, deciding when to retreat.
But Ogmar issued the muster firmly, wielding the governor's immense authority.
Rebellion didn't matter.
His axe, raised after so long, had preparations ready for cowardly traitors too.
"......Y-Yes, Governor!"
He was the mild-mannered governor who had always accommodated the northern camps as much as possible.
But now he was emanating aura like he could smash the chieftains' heads any moment.
One mistake, and death was certain.
The pale-faced aides saluted hurriedly and scattered for wartime mobilization.
Kung! Clank.
Ogmar rose his aged body.
He walked to his private quarters in one corner of the office, donning the double-bladed axe and golden armor bestowed by the emperor.
Weapons he hadn't touched in ages.
Unlike his aging body, they still gleamed, remembering the glory days that dominated an era.
The old and the unchanging.
Ogmar smiled bitterly as he left the office and walked the cold, windy corridor.
The snow-covered Snow Garden was silent, as if heralding the end.
A muster order fell upon the camps.
Chieftains who planned to send only a token force were stunned by the sudden full mobilization, plunging the North into chaos.
But they couldn't refuse.
Rumors spread that a young chieftain who openly complained to the governor had his head cut off in one stroke.
Was there any warrior who could beat the North's greatest champion, Ogmar, in a 1-on-1?
The chieftains naturally tucked tail and began accepting reality one by one.
Of course, that acceptance was mere submission to the governor, not based on honor.
The chieftains naturally turned eyes and nerves toward the cause of this mess.
Vermin-like humans, content to cower in their holes, dared raise an army?
The already rampant human hatred exploded with this muster as the trigger.
A gaunt middle-aged man wailed.
"I-If you take even this, how are we supposed to survive! Please, have mercy!"
Villagers in the slave hamlets, having all their harvest seized, survived winter on bean husks and wild greens.
But this winter, for some reason, the orcs who should have gone south returned to the villages, trying to take even that scant food as horse fodder.
Already starving through winter, what were they supposed to do without it?
The middle-aged man couldn't let his precious wife and children starve to death.
But the orc warrior, face twisted like a demon, swung his handaxe at the man.
"Get lost!"
Kwajik!
"Kyaaak! Darling!"
The cruel orcs killed the begging human without hesitation.
The woman, his wife, rushed forward with an unbelieving face and wailed.
Had they asked for much?
Was it so hard to give food to sustain life?
The villagers watched the woman clutching her husband's corpse and screaming with empty eyes.
It was the void of exhaustion, unable to do anything more.
But one man, the village youth Handman, who had watched the whole scene from start to finish, could not accept this reality.
The youth was no exceptional human.
Nor a hero wielding aura.
But a single spark of courage nurtured since childhood made him special in this moment.
Grip.
Handman picked up a rusty pitchfork.
With eyes burning like torches, he looked to the sky and saw the reality given to him.
Misery, slavery, mere humanity.
What must he do to change it?
Handman quietly recalled the rumor proclamation he'd read all night.
'Born ordinary, die extraordinary.'
Courage surged.
Clutching the pitchfork, Handman opened the door and walked toward the village square.
Passing the woman's wails, passing the people's empty eyes one by one, toward the orcs.
Handman stabbed the back of the laughing orc.
Puk!
No matter that it was a unguarded back, a rusty pitchfork wouldn't pierce properly.
But like the courage he showed, it was enough to draw blood from the orc.
Fair death, fair blood.
The dormant courage and rage erupted from that act.
"Kruk?"
The stabbed orc was startled.
For the first time in his life, the vermin humans he despised rebelled.
The orc warrior covered his shock with anger and quickly drew his axe.
But he couldn't swing.
Not because Handman who stabbed him was strong, or because he was weak.
"------!!"
Behind the youth stood countless northerners, finally regaining their spirit, glaring at him.
Humans finally breaking the chains they themselves had accepted, proving they were no slaves.
Uprisings erupted across the North.