Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Black-Haired Knight King
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“Ah...”
Remembrance came back to her senses.
With it came an excruciating thirst and a sharp pain from the arrow wound in her shoulder.
She grimaced, reaching out with her hand.
Around her was not cold snow, but soft moss and the warmth of a campfire.
Am I... alive?
How?
Remembrance forced her eyes open, and through her blurry vision, she spotted a familiar face.
“Are you all right?”
“...Oats?”
Rough Oats, the retired knight of the kingdom.
Why was the man she had met by chance a year ago here, tending to her?
A sudden disconnect hit her, and she tried to force herself upright to grasp the situation.
But in that instant, a more painful memory flashed through her mind.
“No...”
“Chancellor?”
Remembrance staggered to her feet.
Then, mumbling like someone out of her mind, she quickly scanned the darkening surroundings.
Tears streamed down her face, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
Soaked in her own tears, she bolted toward the forest where she had nearly died.
Rustle, rustle, rustle!
She would be waiting for me.
She had to be, trembling in that spot, waiting for her mommy who might never come.
Denying reality, Remembrance tore madly through the darkening woods.
And soon enough, she found a familiar tree alongside the trail of her own blood.
“Ho-Hollow-Eyes...”
She called out to her daughter in a quivering voice.
But there was no reply—only the hollow silence tore her heart to shreds.
Snow and vines pushed aside, footprints circling the area as if she'd wandered for a while.
With time passing and no sign of her mother, the girl had eventually ventured out alone.
Remembrance reached out desperately to Rough Oats, who had hurried after her, clinging to him.
She gripped his collar as if to tear it, sobbing in denial of the truth.
“My... my daughter...! My daughter...!”
She was with her daughter?
Rough Oats couldn't have known about Hollow-Eyes, the girl hidden in the attic every time a guest came.
And Remembrance, who knew that better than anyone, collapsed to the ground.
The surging pain and guilt shredded the mind of the woman who had lived wisely all her life.
My precious daughter, Hollow-Eyes.
The child who had given meaning to her worthless life was lost forever because of her own stupidity.
Remembrance let out a silent scream, burying her face and tears in the filthy dirt.
An indescribable agony chilled her body and soul to the core.
“- - - - - - -.”
But even amid the chaos, Rough Oats kept his wits about him.
In that brief moment, he grasped the situation and made a cool-headed judgment to manage it.
Rustle.
It had been half a day since then.
No child could have navigated this tangled forest without a trace.
Crouching low, Rough Oats left the dazed Remembrance behind and slowly followed the faint tracks.
[Mommy...]
She wandered around here.
The girl had clearly roamed the woods for an hour or two searching for her vanished mother.
But she couldn't have made much noise.
Even a child would know orcs might be nearby.
Reading the situation from the traces, Rough Oats kept tracking her path.
In his mind, the scene unfolded like a vivid painting.
Rustle, rustle, rustle.
“Ah...!”
The child's footsteps stopped.
After circling endlessly, she halted when someone approached.
Another orc hunter?
Ahead of the prints lay discarded cloth and larger, varied tracks.
Leather boots, small wandering footprints.
Rough Oats inferred they were a lucky refugee family who had survived and encountered the child.
What fortune.
The family, still human at heart, had led the lost girl out of there.
But they hadn't reached the Northern Army's safe zone.
Orc hunters had blocked the escape routes, swarming the area.
What choice had the family made?
Following the fading final tracks, Rough Oats emerged from the woods.
“...Damn it.”
The footprints headed south.
The refugees who took the chancellor's daughter had detoured to find another path.
Rough Oats spat a quiet curse.
For the chancellor's sake, he had to save her daughter—but this was beyond his abilities.
Without a force to assault ambushing orcs and conduct a wide search, they'd never find her.
In the end, that was the only way.
Rough Oats swept a hand over his weathered face to mask his conflicted thoughts.
Returning to the spot, he gripped Remembrance's slumped shoulder.
“Pull yourself together, Chancellor.”
“..............”
“I found your daughter's trail. She's left the forest with a group of refugees.”
Grip!
Her eyes were clouded.
But at those words—that her daughter lived—strength returned to her clenched fist.
Desperation welled in her murky gaze.
Lips trembling, Remembrance pleaded desperately with Rough Oats.
“P-Please...!”
“...Yes, I know. But the two of us can't find her.”
Orc territory was already hell.
They'd only end up as prime prey, never locating the girl.
So what now?
Rough Oats, who had saved the chancellor solely for the North's future, bowed his head and said,
“Go to the Sword Saint. Confess your sin of fleeing and beg for his aid.”
Remembrance's eyes twitched.
Not only had she abandoned him alone, but now she had to beg shamelessly.
No one with any shame could—or should—do that.
But...
But.
She had to beg and beg again, offering even her life as payment for help.
Pressing her forehead to the cold ground, Remembrance sought atonement not as chancellor, but as a human.
The two struggled out of the encirclement, heading for Spring Road where the Northern Army had gathered strength.
“Governor! All preparations are complete.”
“...I'll head out soon.”
The stern official reported that the pre-dawn mobilization was fully ready.
Ogmar replied he'd depart shortly, then issued a cold eviction order.
The office where he'd worked with his aides for years.
While the North drowned in war and flames, this small room had always remained unchanged.
But now, even this scene was at its end.
Clad in golden armor, Ogmar let out a weary sigh and stepped away from the window.
Regret lingered, but attachment did not.
Ogmar left the chilly office, great axe at the ready.
Thud, thud, thud.
Snow Garden was silent.
Of course, the souls of thousands he'd buried screamed—but they would fade into oblivion soon enough.
With fighters staying to battle and cowards fled, only destruction, slaughter, and the final victor would remain over the North.
Ogmar strode forth proudly.
“This way, Governor.”
At the plaza, loyal subordinates awaited along with the speech platform.
Ogmar, bulked up massively, ascended the steps boldly to the podium.
Click!
The governor had arrived. The silent orc legions raised their encampment war banners in unison.
Flutter!
Each banner symbolized honor and glory, thirsting for enemy blood.
At last, every orc encampment from the Northern colonies had gathered in one place.
The largest scale since the Great Northern Invasion.
Ogmar drew a deep breath, recalling the grueling path thus far.
‘The armor's all frozen solid, Governor! No advantage to attacking!’
‘Count me out! I won't die like a dog!’
Most encampment chieftains opposed the advance.
With Snow Garden's sturdy stone walls, why suffer losses in an assault?
Wait for winter's end and spring's warmth—then strike.
The homeland, busy with civil war, could send aid by then.
But that was foolish thinking.
The North's spring coming didn't guarantee it was their spring.
‘Would the homeland leave me be?’
Ogmar had effectively defied homeland orders to maintain the colonies' status quo.
Having massacred production capabilities, his political life was over.
Unfortunately, the opposing chieftains were in the same boat.
‘You who answered the muster?’
‘You tricked us...!’
No excuses would fly with the homeland.
The chieftains were tied to Governor Ogmar against their will.
‘Win to live. Only the king's death can forgive this blunder.’
No choice.
To avoid the headsman's axe back home, they had to slay the rebel Northern Army and seize the king's heir.
‘...We'll follow.’
The reluctant chieftains bowed, forced to trail Ogmar.
Thus, an orc army born not of bonds but necessity assembled at Snow Garden.
Thud!
Ogmar stomped forcefully.
Locking eyes with the legions below, he opened his heavy mouth.
“How shameful, brothers.”
A heavy aura rippled out.
Ogmar's voice, carried on his aura, reached every orc warrior gathered.
“Plenty and peace have rusted you. Nowhere in my sight do I see warriors worthy of the name orc. No—just pigs clutching weapons.”
The arrogant Ogmar hurled blatant scorn at the masses.
Yet the orcs facing it head-on dared not lift their heads.
The surging blue aura ahead made even such arrogance tolerable.
“Where has our ancestors' valor gone? Where have the heroes who ruled the continent vanished? Lamentable! Heartbreaking! Brothers dying to mere humans!”
Ogmar remembered.
Orcs who pursued not safety or greed, but the noble goal of glory.
Had they no shame all this time?
Did they not crave to change it with their own hands?
Ogmar wanted to ask the young warriors here that.
Flutter!
In that moment, the menacing aura shifted tone.
The raised encampment banners turned northward, billowing that way.
“Will you ignore this disgrace?”
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!
War drums thundered at the signal.
Chieftains drew weapons, spurring toward their troops to ready the march.
Young warriors gnashing teeth.
Sergeants with glowing red eyes.
All orcs here gazed at the glory-shrouded golden governor.
“Or claim honor?”
Doong! Doong! Doong!
Roooaaarrrrr— — — — —!!
The orcs roared.
The earth quaked, the sky holding its breath beneath their cries.
Kill every human on this land.
Orcs, dulled by long peace, ignited once more with their innate battle lust and marched on Spring Road, where the Northern Army gathered.
It was like watching a flock of crows descending to devour corpses.