Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Unyielding Pride
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Once upon a time, there was an era when a single person, a single warrior, a single hero could sway the entire battlefield.
The extraordinary power known as Aura granted warriors the ability to surpass their limits.
But as metallurgy and warfare techniques advanced relentlessly, they demanded warriors who possessed not only Aura and swordsmanship, but also exceptional command skills.
Why else would great warriors become Sergeants, and promising fighters scramble to become generals?
It was a simple truth: a group led by an exceptional individual was far stronger than any lone prodigy.
The Orcs, who had forged their empire through endless wars, were adapting swiftly to this tide of military history.
And within the bounds of common sense, these changes had quietly become laws, standards, and inevitabilities.
'The walls have fallen.'
'The pass has been breached.'
But today, that common sense had crumbled.
A 'single individual,' whom they thought they could certainly repel, had ultimately tipped the scales.
'The Sword Saint.'
It was a feat that sent shivers down spines.
No army, no Sergeant could block his blade, and even the Orc general who rashly stepped forward had his head severed, becoming a guest who would never return.
What elite troops or warriors could they have sent to stop the Sword Saint?
Perhaps from the moment he resolved to open the gates, this outcome was already set in stone.
Waaaaah———!!
In the wake of the deer cavalry's charge, countless Northern soldiers poured in like a tidal wave.
The Orc forces, outnumbered from the start, had no choice but to fight at a disadvantage.
"Don't retreat! Retreat means the end!"
The two armies clashed in the open square inside the fortress, devolving into a chaotic melee where they tangled inextricably.
Moreover, the rain falling from the sky had turned the ground into a muddy quagmire, making it impossible for cavalry to maneuver easily.
Now it was truly a contest of raw strength against strength.
The Orc generals rallied their demoralized troops and began assessing the melee.
For now, the cavalry led by Golden Dawn had temporarily left the battlefield to pursue the enemy cavalry targeting their rear.
Thus, the square held only friendly and enemy infantry—and even there, the Orc lines were barely holding, showing signs of being pushed back.
Should they fall back to the inner keep?
No, that place had long lost its purpose as a stronghold, with no preparations whatsoever.
There were no other options.
They had no choice but to trust Golden Dawn and their cavalry, still engaged with the enemy horsemen, and fight desperately in the square.
Maintain formation! Form the shield wall!
The young Orc generals tried to rally their elite Orcs, who were slowly regaining their battle spirit.
Waaaaah———!
Clang! Ch clang!
But there was something they still overlooked.
The fact that amid this waning age of heroes, another remnant of romance still lived on.
Boom! Craaaack!
A Sergeant swinging his axe madly was cleaved in half along with his armor.
Behind the severed cross-section loomed a massive sword blazing like blue flame.
Szzzzz!
It wasn't mere slashing—this was destructive power that burned with Aura and crushed with sheer force.
The Gray Wolf, leaping into the fray, howled like a wounded beast.
"Huskarls! Annihilate the enemy!"
"Avenge our brothers!"
Word had spread that the Knight Order had been annihilated.
Learning of it too late, the Gray Wolf had shed tears of blood and personally charged into battle to uphold the honor they left behind.
"Block their entry!"
"Thrust together!"
The Orcs guarding the pass were elites on an entirely different level from the Northern colonies.
After a momentary panic, the steel-armored foes formed ranks with their sharp pikes.
Kwach! Boom!
But the Gray Wolf ignored the blades slicing his flesh and spears piercing his body, pressing forward—only forward, forever forward.
What was there to fear from one who embraced death?
Before this madness of grasping spear shafts barehanded and tearing throats with teeth, the Orcs grew ice-cold.
"Huh?"
And that explosive might created a momentary gap in their tight shield wall.
It was too late to react.
Northern soldiers, eyes wild, were already forcing their way into the breach.
'We must win.'
Every Northern soldier in the siege had watched the fierce struggle atop the walls.
The blood-soaked swords, the far from trivial deaths, the Knight Order's banner fluttering to the end.
Today, unless they staked even such ordinary fates, they had no right to lie upon fields of pure white wheat.
Dreaming big was no sin.
The grand ideals their king had repeated like a mantra had at last summoned one miracle.
Kwach!
'It's broken through.'
The Orc shield wall collapsed.
Outmatched in raw power and momentum, the Orc soldiers melted away like snow under the blazing sun.
Without reinforcements, their future was clear.
The Orc general slowly lowered his raised sword and charged into the hopeless fray.
'Fight for the weak.'
'Uphold chivalry.'
What tiresome words.
The chivalry upheld by these knights was predictable, feeble, and utterly useless.
Why shouldn't they plunder?
Why refrain from killing?
The strong devouring the weak was nature's primal law and order.
Humans, bred as livestock their whole lives, had proven it. The Knight King, who ultimately perished, had shown his beliefs were wrong.
Yet years later, these fools he thought gone were crawling out like vermin, defying fate.
So he had to teach them.
That the man once called his master was wrong, and he, who submitted to fate, was right.
Slash!
Golden Dawn swung his saw-toothed sword.
A human cavalryman thrusting his spear at him had his upper body torn apart and died.
But it didn't end there.
Golden Dawn, masterfully handling his warhorse, tore into every enemy like a shark prowling the sea, ripping with saw teeth and Aura.
The primal joy of slaughter.
From his one remaining hand flowed blood thicker than any pleasure.
Yes, this was what he craved.
This sensation that made dream-chasing fools realize their dreams were just that—he had missed it so.
Golden Dawn burst into mad laughter, driving his mount recklessly through allies and foes alike, massacring the Northern cavalry.
And ironically, this frenzy helped the Orc cavalry gain the upper hand, slowly pushing back the tide.
What would they do even if the gates opened?
If they lost the crucial cavalry battle, the infantry's entry meant nothing.
But the Northern cavalry held their ground for another reason.
For the final showdown—for the one man racing urgently toward this place.
"———!!"
A chill ran down his nape.
Sensing danger with animal instinct, Golden Dawn whipped his head around.
There, his old master—whom he'd hated for years—was slaughtering obstructing Orc cavalrymen and closing in rapidly.
Clop! Clop! Clop!
As expected, he came.
That black hair now streaked with white, those piercing eyes—still utterly loathsome.
Golden Dawn yanked the reins, spurring his horse toward his approaching former master.
Of course, his greeting was no handshake, but a special saw-toothed sword caked with nauseating flesh.
Whoosh!
Clang!
A perfect strike from the flank.
But Broken Sword lightly deflected the blade and corrected his stance.
A strange standoff settled into silence.
Reunited amid the fierce battlefield, master and disciple exchanged no words for a time.
Then Golden Dawn broke the quiet with mocking laughter.
The Knight Order's banner his master carried looked utterly ridiculous.
"What exactly are you honoring by bringing that? In death, we're all just meat lumps—so dramatic, then and now."
Insulting words.
Knowing the Knight Order was annihilated, Golden Dawn deliberately mocked the fallen Northern knights who died for their duty.
Thud!
But the Sword Saint impassively planted the fluttering Knight Order banner.
This act was clear proof that the once-defiled White Pass had been reclaimed.
"I brought it to show you."
Shouldn't he know?
Whose hand had claimed the White Pass he swore impenetrable.
Broken Sword aimed at Golden Dawn the sword drawn to end this war.
Any lingering hesitation at its tip had fallen away.
Grrrr.
Golden Dawn grimaced.
Exhausted, injured, not a sound spot left—yet he made this reckless choice.
He didn't want to hear about that vaunted chivalry or convictions again.
Golden Dawn likewise raised his sword, unleashing fierce Aura at his old master.
"Shut your mouth!"
Szzzzz!
Whoosh, clang! Ch clang!
There had been grueling effort.
Switching his severed right hand to the left, twisting the swordsmanship his master taught to its extreme—he had endured with bile in his throat.
And that effort hadn't betrayed him: his saw-toothed sword relentlessly pressed the bloodied Broken Sword.
Clang! Slash.
Ch clang! Clang!
The saw teeth inflicted severe wounds with mere grazes.
The Aura forming along the jagged edges dealt fatal internal damage to Broken Sword.
Clang! Kaang!
Attack and block, attack and block again.
A brutal duel unfolded at the battlefield's center, untouchable by others.
On par with—or surpassing—Ogmarch.
Facing such an Aura user with a weary, wounded body was a fatal handicap.
Drip drip.
The Sword Saint began to yield ground.
His swung sword was already chipped; blood streamed from mouth and nose.
"Uwaaaaa———!!"
But Golden Dawn roared in surging fury instead.
Despite pressing him, he couldn't seize victory.
Fluid, light deflections holding firm.
The realm of swordsmanship his old master had so emphasized unfolded before him.
Had Broken Sword been uninjured, could he have taken control?
His heart screamed yes, but reason shook its head.
His master's shoulders, once seeming no mountain, still hid no peak.
"———!!"
Golden Dawn finally revealed his hidden card.
Forgetting all past teachings, he unleashed the swordsmanship of the Orc Emperor learned under the Second Prince.
Boom!
Clang! Splatter!
The malice and rage he'd bottled up exploded now.
Golden Dawn screamed like a banshee.
"Always that look! Pretending to be the good one, the noble one alone! What makes you so superior to look at me like that?!"
Destructive power incarnate.
Golden Dawn's swordsmanship swiftly cornered Broken Sword, threatening his saddle perch and ragged breaths.
Yes, you were wrong.
Changing the world came not from feeble goodness, but its destructive opposite.
Sensing victory at last, Golden Dawn raised his sword with a sneering grin, exhaling his final Aura.
He had to say this.
To the obsolete failure who'd lived a lifetime of defeat.
"Fail and fail again, stubborn to the end. Chivalry? The North? All illusions. You wasted your life."
He'd deny it utterly.
Under a denied life, into endless abyss—feel despair and die.
"And what was the price of living that way?"
Shatter!
Yes, even the final sword broke.
Golden Dawn mocked his disarmed old master and raised his blade for the end.
"So what did you achieve?"
He wouldn't hear a reply.
Golden Dawn swung down.
Clang!
Clatter clatter———!!
But the blade flying for his neck halted before a white Aura.
Small yet vast, flexible yet firm—resilient Aura.
Ch clang!
Snow-Covered, riding a gale of white wind, boldly deflected the saw-toothed sword.
And with her pristine blade tip, she encapsulated the lifetime achievements of this outsider.
"Pride."
Snow-Covered swung her sword.
"The conviction of those who never gave up."