Chapter 77
Chapter 77
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: Golden Dawn
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‘Too short. Is it a javelin?’
‘By Eastern standards, it qualifies as a long spear.’
The weapons we looted from the slave caravan all seemed short and small by our standards.
That was because they were primarily made for Eastern humans, to fit their build.
But in terms of quality and durability, every single one exceeded the basics—they were fine goods through and through. As expected from the Eastern Mountains, famed for their iron mines and smelting.
Productivity ties directly to national power.
If the Eastern Kingdom ever mustered the will to fight and a proper army, humans wouldn't be pushed back even in all-out war against the Orc Empire.
Shring, clack.
What thoughts drove the blacksmith, shackled by tradition and oppression, to forge this blade?
I soothed its mournfully resonant edge before carefully stashing it back behind the wagon.
“S-Sir...”
“Hm?”
Richard, who had been quietly driving the wagon beside me, spoke up.
The boy looked deflated since yesterday's events, lost in thought.
“I'm truly sorry for pushing too hard.”
“Your words weren't wrong.”
We'd ambushed the slave caravan yesterday, got what we wanted, and made those vile merchants pay the price they deserved.
But not every act of justice ends with punishing evil. We had one responsibility left.
The fate of the slaves whose lives were upended by our knightly raid.
‘You can go home if you like.’
No matter their original purpose, what we did was simple kindness.
Freedom is a human right, and emancipation isn't that hard.
But in my eagerness to do good, I'd forgotten this was the East, not the North.
I'd overlooked how the surrounding environment heavily influences every outcome.
‘Where should we go home to...?’
These slaves had lost their homelands, livelihoods, families, identities—everything.
No amount of goods and freedom could make them self-sufficient.
‘We'll all die if we go back.’
‘Best case, we'll end up slaves again.’
Should we curse the seed that fell on desert sands?
Ronald's quiet whisper made me admit my own carelessness.
Of course, some might say:
You saved strangers—job done. Why take responsibility for their whole lives?
But we called that chivalry, and the world called us knights.
A knightly order watched over by Mother North could never forsake its code.
‘I'll take responsibility, sir!’
Right on cue, the perfect man for the job stepped up.
It was Richard, the Eastern prince, now moping as he drove the wagon.
“I keep causing trouble...”
He'd made a promise.
On the day the pass was retaken, he'd head north with every Eastern human he could save.
And someday, he'd return to reclaim their homes.
An idealistic goal, impossibly lofty.
But not for lowly schemers mired in harsh reality to mock.
“It's fine.”
He'd chosen the long road over the easy one.
I sincerely cheered the boy who was starting to resemble someone.
Clatter, clatter, clatter.
The wagons had doubled in number.
The cargo caravan had evolved into a slave caravan, with the Easterners volunteering as slaves again.
Two days of driving later,
the tedious canyon gradually eased, and lines of wagons appeared at the road's end.
We'd finally reached the border between the Eastern Kingdom and the Orc Empire.
I naturally stepped down from the driver's seat, acting the part of a well-trained Northern slave soldier.
“Halt!”
The border post was guarded by orc warriors in heavy armor, armed with axes.
They inspected passing caravans too—and far more thoroughly than the lax guards at Sodom.
“Denied. Turn back.”
“Wh-Why?”
“Orders from above. Caravans with non-approved goods can't pass till next month.”
“Not so suddenly...!”
Something felt off.
Unlike usual, when pass-bound caravans sailed through, some wagons were now being turned away.
What was going on?
Ronald swallowed dryly as he watched merchants dragged off by force.
Gulp.
“Next!”
Our turn.
The orc, scanning us with murderous eyes, approached Ronald, our disguised caravan master.
“Decent size. Slave traders?”
“...Y-Yes.”
Ronald bowed subserviently and handed over forged papers.
They listed trade goods and eager buyers in detail.
Fakes, sure—but the goods and clients were all real.
The orc skimmed them indifferently, tossing them back like trash.
Pass or fail?
The knights, heads bowed, tensed, recalling where they'd hidden their weapons.
“Lucky. Slaves were the only approved item. Unload the rest and go.”
Tension drained away.
Who'd have thought slaves were the one permitted cargo?
“Th-Thank you.”
Ronald nodded dazedly, and we shuffled cargo in chains.
The seized goods probably wouldn't come back on the return trip.
But no one regretted or resented it.
We didn't want to spoil this moment when a small good deed brought luck.
“Next!”
Having dumped our cargo, we passed the post and headed west.
We'd crossed mountains and canyons—now treading the path to the White Gate.
Time was short.
Over the final hill, I looked up to see a vast plain stretching endlessly.
“What a feeling.”
It was strangely surreal.
I never imagined I'd see the central continent bordering the North again while still alive.
And I wasn't alone—other knights admired the massive White Gate linking the plain.
Where our dreams had galloped to their end.
Leading the Northern Army with the Knight King—those memories still burned vivid.
But the corpses turned to soil and rusted weapons below whispered that glory was long gone.
Mother North, thank you for letting me return here.
I reaffirmed my resolve, then headed back to the ruined village where we'd parked the wagons.
Murmur, murmur.
At the entrance stood the freed Easterners with Richard and Ronald.
They'd come to reassure the group staying behind before heading to the White Gate.
“R-Really...?”
“I will return.”
Our destination was enemy heartland, where heads rolled on spikes anytime.
We couldn't drag noncombatants into that danger.
But hiding spots abounded, and we'd stocked enough food to last till we took the gate.
Richard offered no "what ifs."
Just a sincere promise, prince's title be damned.
And it worked—the anxious Easterners bowed their heads.
I read the change dawning in their quiet tears.
Orange dusk hung over the hill.
I drew a deep breath and bellowed to my prepared knights.
“Knight Order!”
Click!
Time to move.
The knights rose, cloaking themselves in black-painted robe capes.
They followed me at speeds belying their bulk.
To the staying Easterners, we vanished into the dusk like ink spreading.
Snap, snap, snap, snap!
The White Gate wasn't far.
At this pace, an hour—practically next door by our standards.
But no need to rush. We paused on a hill overlooking the gate.
Three black-robed knights raced up from below.
“Sir.”
“Good work.”
Recon is basics.
Rough Oats, who'd scouted with two others, wiped brow sweat and reported.
“As we thought. They're only taking slaves and sending caravans back. Word is, gate repairs are underway.”
“They suspect?”
“Yes. Movements are suspicious. They must have spies in the kingdom.”
Now it all fit.
The orcs knew the Northern Army was coming and were blocking info while fortifying the gate.
Lucky we posed as slave traders—or we'd be trapped here.
I sighed in relief, checking Rough Oats' sketch of the outer layout.
Unlike the sturdy gate, the rear base was just a log palisade.
No enemies behind, so why bother?
A natural choice—but it opened a path for us.
I memorized the infiltration route Rough Oats marked and exhaled.
How far had the Northern Army's main force come?
The promised date neared, but no real-time contact meant utmost caution.
Infiltrate the rear base just before they tighten security, upon spotting the Northern Army.
Open the gate amid their panic.
No other way.
I rubbed my furrowed brow, splitting the group into two.
“C-Captain!”
A knight scanning quietly shouted, spotting something.
Enemy? We scattered, peering his way.
Clop, clop, clop, clop!
Right below the hill.
Spotting cavalry, I ordered concealment. Knights hit the dirt under black robes.
Sun down—hold breath, stay hidden.
Peeking out, we watched the passing riders.
Clop, clop, clop!
Neigh!
Elite heavy cavalry incomparable to those we'd met in the North.
Over a hundred, all suppressing fierce auras.
Definitely from the homeland.
I held my breath against such formidable foes.
Who led them?
My narrowed eyes fixed on the vanguard commander.
Clop, clop!
Snort!
“Ah...!”
My eyes widened.
The orc leader wasn't an orc—but a human, with a familiar face and build.
How could I forget that face?
The one I'd raised, taught, even named myself.
Prime successor candidate.
Traitor who'd betrayed the North.
I ground my teeth, whispering the name of the boy once pure hope.
“Golden Dawn.”
“Pardon?”
‘Why’s he hesitating?’
It all started by chance.
Starving on the road, I entered a ruined village—and met a youth digging his parents' grave.
‘Everyone's dead.’
He wept endlessly before it.
Like me, bereft of will to live, he'd lost village, neighbors, family—could only cry.
Yet even alone and starving, he offered to share his last precious bread with guest-me.
So pure.
Thus companionship began.
‘I want to be the Knight King.’
Happy days.
I poured everything into teaching him the sword, sharing rough meals and beds as we wandered the vast North.
Helping the pitiful, punishing the wicked.
We braved dangers, carrying hope across barren lands.
Thus, the name: Golden Dawn.
He'd bring golden dawn to this dark northern soil.
All smooth sailing.
His swordsmanship reached mastery; scattered heroes took interest in my disciple.
We could rise again.
Heart swelling, I believed Golden Dawn would be the new Knight King.
‘Why should I help them?’
But he grew cynical, demanding payment even from those he'd saved—worldly to the core.
Petty misdeeds escalated to quarrels, near-ruptures dozens of times.
Like raising my own son, I tried straightening the wayward boy.
Perhaps greed.
Bearing my burden, I pleaded sincerely.
‘You don't have to be king. Just be a good, noble knight. Use the sword I taught you for the needy.’
That day by the grave, he'd shared bread with the hungry.
I prayed desperately that kindness lingered in him.
But fate was cruel.
One lapse of my vigilance—he snuck to a village, got blackout drunk, committed an unforgivable sin.
‘Kyaaah!’
‘N-No!’
Unable to conquer base desire, he tried raping an innocent woman—and slaughtered her resisting family grabbing his leg.
With the sword I gave him, techniques I taught—for blameless poor folk.
‘It was a mistake, master.’
Seeing him brazenly bloodied, grinning "mistake," I drew my blade.
Hesitation none—I slashed an indelible scar across his smirking face.
‘Gaaah!’
I'd raised a monster.
Tears of blood flowing, I severed his right hand so he'd never wield a sword again.
‘Begone. Never show your face again.’
One regret: sentiment stayed my hand from his life.
Watching his bloodied flight, I vowed.
Kill the traitorous heir.
First impetus—and start—of slaying North-betrayers and sinners with my sword.
‘Golden Dawn.’
The one I'd buried in memory resurfaced across years—before me.
Not content with killing innocents, under the banner of my blood enemy: orcs.