Chapter 65
Chapter 65
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 65
Chapter Title: Black-Haired Knight King
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Snap.
Confirming that the snow had stopped, the man quietly pushed aside the wood blocking the cave entrance.
The winter forest, blanketed deeply in fresh snow from the night, revealed itself through the narrow gap.
Gulp.
Unlike usual, the forest was silent.
Not even the occasional orc hunters had shown themselves for two days now, suggesting some real change had occurred.
Could the war possibly be over?
The man, barely surviving on cold moss and bugs for meals, blocked the gap again while clinging to any sliver of hopeful news.
Stepping back inside, he saw his wife tending to the sunken-eyed child asleep by the dim glow of a small oil lamp.
"How's the little one?"
"Mmm... still feverish."
For a couple who had endured a harsh life, such hardships were practically routine.
But the small, frail sunken-eyed child couldn't withstand this brutal environment and had fallen ill with a fever.
Thank goodness the couple cared for her with such devotion; if she'd been alone, she might have already become a lonely star under the northern sky.
The wife cradled the sleeping child, her face etched with worry.
Some might call her a burden, but to the couple, the child was a precious spark of vitality amid their grueling fugitive life.
The wife had wandered lost after losing her own flesh and blood, only finding renewed strength through this chance encounter.
Watching silently, the husband packed his leather bag with a resolute expression.
"Just wait a bit. I'll head out and hunt something."
He didn't know the situation outside, but if there was something to do, now was the time.
He planned to scout around and secure proper food and medicine.
"A-Are you insane? Absolutely not!"
Predictably, his wife panicked, grabbing his ankle and vehemently protesting as he tried to leave.
No matter how tough their life had been, orc hunters were still terrifying.
"It's fine, I tell you!"
"No! Absolutely not! If you're going, we go together! I can't live without you."
In the end, the husband couldn't leave with his ankle held fast, while his wife shed tears.
The once-quiet cave grew noisy with the couple's bickering.
Snap.
"?"
But in that moment, the soft crunch of footsteps in the snow echoed faintly from outside the cave.
Snap, snap.
"- - - - - - -!"
The husband's face hardened as he gripped his dagger.
His wife, pale as a ghost, clutched the sunken-eyed child tightly and grabbed a rock.
Someone was approaching the cave.
After the footsteps, the distant murmur of a group began to filter in.
Orc hunters?
If only they'd pass by without suspicion—but they'd made noise at the worst possible time.
At the heavy thud of something approaching, the couple squeezed their eyes shut.
"Anyone in there?"
Torchlight illuminated the cave.
The figure who appeared was no orc hunter, but a sturdy Northern soldier.
Seemingly surprised to find people here, the soldier approached with a joyful face.
The couple's legs gave out as they stared, dumbfounded, at the blinding torchlight and the people.
"Who would've thought folks were hiding here. Hey! Bring some warm water!"
"Wh-Who are you people?"
"Ah... right, you wouldn't have heard. The Northern Army won the war."
Having triumphed, the Northern Army had immediately dispatched soldiers to rescue isolated or hidden civilians in orc territory.
But the couple, unaware of this, struggled to process the sudden turn.
The Northern Army really won?
Against those fearsome orcs?
Dazed, they followed the soldier outside, where unfamiliar murmurs greeted them.
Murmur, murmur.
Clatter, clatter.
"Ah..."
It wasn't a lie.
The path that had been empty moments ago now bustled with sturdy Northern soldiers and throngs of refugees pulling wagons as they marched.
Bright smiles, vigorous steps—the procession crossing the forest brimmed with laughter.
Finally sensing the world had changed, the couple hurried to join the refugees.
"Hold on, that child."
But the Northern soldier who had found them blocked their path with a stern face.
In his thick hand was a finely detailed portrait.
"Your own daughter?"
"N-No... we found her abandoned..."
A child wandering alone in the woods.
Startled, the wife confessed honestly while hugging the sunken-eyed child tight.
But the soldier wasn't blaming them—he beamed brightly.
"Thanks to you two."
"Pardon?"
"We've found the daughter! Send a messenger to the Chancellor!"
Chancellor? The child was his daughter?
The woodcutter couple, who had stumbled into protecting her, received utmost respect as they were escorted away.
Sometimes, the conscience of the lowly shines brighter than the honor of the noble.
The long war had finally ended.
Ogmar, who had wrought such devastation, was beheaded and displayed on the streets, while the fleeing chieftains were captured and executed without exception.
Of course, we didn't forget to flex our influence.
We selected all remaining usable Northern Army soldiers and utterly demolished their camps.
We documented every border situation we could confirm, bringing the entire North under our sphere.
Stabilizing security, refugees and residents returning to their places.
The Chancellor, reunited with his daughter, hurriedly began drafting blueprints for Northern reconstruction.
Yet despite fully reclaiming the territory, Snow-Covered refused to enter the capital or hold the coronation, remaining amid the war's ruins.
For those of us who had come this far, farewells to those who departed first remained.
'What did they die for?'
Donations and voluntary labor poured in endlessly.
Though the Northern Army had paid their due, the residents donated even that for the bereaved and did all they could.
'For my brothers, for my family.'
Vast cemeteries formed in an instant, oak coffins crafted with utmost care.
The funeral preparations, expected to take a fortnight, wrapped up in just a week.
All who wished to attend gathered.
Before them stretched hundreds of coffins wrapped in pure white wheat sheaves, as armed Northern soldiers waved final banners beside their comrades.
Today, not even the bone-chilling cold or eye-lashing winds blew.
Only the quiet morning and solemn silence for the noble dead enveloped the scene.
The attendees approached the coffins.
And as always, they bid final farewells to their spouses, children, siblings, and dear friends.
The third memorial already.
Watching the scene in a daze, Snow-Covered asked me in a voice thick with tears.
"Master."
"Yes."
"You must resent me."
Before Snow-Covered and me stood an oak coffin like the others.
But the name engraved and handwritten words were anything but ordinary.
[Brave Huskarl, Blue Hand.]
[Lived for honor, died for brothers.]
When all trembled in fear, only one Huskarl drew his sword and charged.
That brave Huskarl faced the great warrior Ogmar, ready for death, sacrificing himself for king and brothers.
Blue Hand, the brave Huskarl who upheld honor in life and protected brothers in death.
Stepping forward for Snow-Covered, I vowed in place of the honorable comrade.
"No. He would have done it willingly."
At those words, Snow-Covered burst into sobs.
The sorrow she thought forgotten amid countless losses returned in a rush.
The flustered Rough Barley shouted.
"Knight Order! Bow your heads!"
All knights guarding the king lowered their heads.
And for the great king who hadn't wept freely until now, they observed a long silence.
The departed said nothing.
They remained only in memory.
"Hmm..."
Arkmak, the First Prince of the great Orc Empire and leader of its largest faction, began scrutinizing a single letter.
Orc ministers bowed their heads, awaiting orders, while the messenger who brought it swallowed dryly and prostrated himself.
"Ogmar is dead?"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
"Heh, what a thing. Ogmar, dead."
It wasn't just Ogmar.
The governor-general himself, along with every chieftain ruling the Northern colonies, had their heads severed.
Yet Arkmak remained utterly calm, setting the letter down as if it were nothing.
Finally, one flustered orc minister stepped forward to urge him.
"Y-Your Majesty! This is the legacy of the late king! Shouldn't we respond promptly?"
This wasn't mere rebellion—it was a founding war involving the new Knight King and Sword Saint.
The Northern colonies were already subjugated, the governorship seized.
Acting now was already late.
Acting later would be worse.
The wise orc ministers bowed repeatedly, hoping Arkmak would issue a command.
"The late king again?"
But Arkmak rebuked the minister for comparing him to his father amid the crisis.
His inferiority complex, which had sparked the civil war, erupted once more.
Bam!
"Enemies threatening the throne live freely, yet you ministers boast—what have you done right? Pathetic."
The First Prince who had brutally slain innocent servants over bad wine.
Fearing his wrath, the ministers hastily bowed lower.
"Our thinking was shortsighted."
"All our failing."
Yes, that's right.
Satisfied watching them bow, Arkmak quelled his anger and sat again.
He reread the letter, his monkey-like brain turning.
Ah, what was I thinking.
After brief deliberation, Arkmak spoke.
"Not our territory."
"...Your Majesty?"
"That arrogant Second Prince's land, isn't it?"
The Orc Empire was deep in civil war.
The factions divided into three main ones: center held by the First Prince, west by the Third, east by the Second, with the rest split among siblings.
But look at the map.
The Northern borderlands belonged not to us, but to the Second Prince's eastern domain.
Clapping, Arkmak jiggled his thick jowls and laughed heartily.
"If the Northerners rampage, doesn't that benefit us? Let them fight it out."
Had he forgotten who killed his father?
Astounded, the orc ministers glanced up at the chuckling Arkmak.
But not one dared speak frankly.
Their amassed wealth and power were too precious to risk here.
An incompetent king and cowardly ministers.
Dark clouds of dishonor began gathering thickly over the Orc Empire.
Arkmak lightened the mood and shouted.
"Alright, this matter ends here. Let's discuss the eastern colonies. Unlike Northern vermin, those ones are diligent, no?"
"Y-Yes."
"I'm thinking sea routes around... With Northerners stirring, it should work!"
"...Most wise, Your Majesty."
"If it's a gold mine, even better, haha!"
While the empire rotted, the princes thought only of fattening their own bellies.
When a tiger births a dog, it's fated to be devoured by another tiger.