The Blood Cult's Debut on the Warfront
The next morning, after the blizzard had finally begun to ease, the six figures gathered at the rear of the fortress gates that guarded the northern front. Kyle and his subordinates, Leina and Wolfran, along with the three guides personally selected by Commander Volcric.
These three guides were all in their early thirties, veterans who had served on the northern front for over a decade. Their ranks were middle-class knight level, yet their presence felt worlds apart from the flashy rookies in the imperial capital.
They wore no ostentatious uniforms or billowing cloaks. Like Kyle's group, they donned fitted black ice iron armor, layered beneath with thick white fur-lined coats to preserve body heat.
No superfluous decorations marked their gear. Instead, every belt and thigh sheath held practical survival tools: sheathed blades, daggers, short axes, ropes, and emergency hemostatic bandages.
"I am Haken."
"I am Morris."
"I am Delph."
The three men introduced themselves with quiet respect, bowing their heads in unison. All three had been born and raised on the northern front and had learned their trade directly from veteran knights.
Perhaps that was why none of them showed the slightest trace of resentment toward the grand duke, Kyle, or the faintest hint of flattery. Their eyes held only a dry, professional focus on carrying out the mission at hand.
'Commander Volcric has chosen the right guides.'
Kyle approved of their bearing. 'They will not fall in with Karon's madness.'
Haken spoke first, the most senior among them. "Commander, I am the lead guide for the young duke's path. Allow me to explain."
"Good. Proceed."
"Thank you, Your Highness. We will avoid direct engagement, prioritize guidance and vigilance, and secure the retreat at all costs."
"That is sufficient."
Kyle nodded. "Engagement is left to the three of you. Open the path and watch our rear only."
"Understood."
As Volcric had warned the night before, none of them rode horses. A horse would have moved swiftly across the snow, but its massive silhouette and sound would have betrayed them instantly.
In this silent pursuit through hostile terrain, stealth was everything. Instead, all six wore gear perfectly suited to the frozen wilderness.
The black ice iron armor carried a month-long color-shifting enchantment; the once-dull black had vanished, replaced by a hazy white that blended seamlessly with the snow.
The fur coats were equally white, making the group appear like faint shadows gliding through the blizzard.
"Move out."
With that command, the small detachment slipped past the fortress and vanished into the endless white.
Footsteps on the snow were soft. Normal soldiers would have taken a full day to cover this distance. The knights, with their superior physical abilities honed by aura, sliced through the snow in far less time. Yet they never rushed.
They used the terrain to erase their tracks, checked the wind direction with every step to ensure no scent betrayed them, and followed the valleys so that no silhouette would show against the ridgeline.
Kyle observed the guides' movements and felt a quiet satisfaction. 'They are nothing like the city brats. Every technique is practical, every movement grounded in hard experience.'
These men did not swing their swords with flashy flair or heroic posturing. They killed without flourish, only to survive. They moved only when necessary, and they placed survival above glory.
Kyle leaned close to Leina and Wolfran behind him. "Watch closely. This is what real life on the front looks like."
"Yes, my lord."
"I will remember this with every breath."
The silent march continued through the biting cold. After some time, a line of low hills covered in white snow appeared on the horizon, stretching like a serpent across the plain. A sharp gust of wind howled through the gaps, scattering snow in every direction.
Suddenly Haken raised a clenched fist and signaled a halt. All six dropped to the ground and pressed their faces into the snow.
"...I smell something," Haken whispered, voice barely audible.
"From beyond the hills ahead. A mix of rotten orc musk, leather, and animal dung carried on the wind."
"I feel their presence too," Wolfran added quietly. His unfocused eyes stared into empty air, but his heightened senses through the Blood Source Heart Image Sutra painted the hidden space in black and white lines.
"Heavy breathing from several thick chests. Footsteps crushing snow."
Wolfran's brow furrowed. "And... more hidden among the gaps in the hills. The number is still unclear."
His senses had identified the lurking orcs, yet a flicker of confusion crossed his face.
"But their auras are weak. They seem exhausted."
Kyle's green eyes sharpened. 'As expected. These are not mere stragglers.'
The scouting report of fifty orcs had been inaccurate. No, the orcs had deliberately presented themselves that way. It might have been bait to lure the fortress garrison, or a probe to measure the speed and size of any human response. Still, something felt off.
Kyle scanned deeper. His broader sensing ability revealed far more than fifty. Over a hundred in total. But most were elderly orcs who would barely be able to fight.
'They hid the old ones so we wouldn't suspect something was wrong.'
Kyle decided to observe carefully before acting. "Do not attack. But draw your weapons."
Slowly, without a sound, Kyle drew his sword from its sheath at his hip. Leina unsheathed her blade in silence and locked the small black ice iron shield to her left forearm. Wolfran slid his glaive free from his back and gripped it tightly with both hands. The black edge of the long blade waited for blood.
"Do not rush," Kyle murmured. "Confirm everything first."
A faint crimson glow reflected in his green eyes. "Remember the number, the location, and especially the retreat route. Commit it to memory."
A cold wind brushed across the six of them. Kyle stared toward the hills and a faint smile touched his lips.
'If they are within our reach, not one will remain alive when we finish.'
It was time to strike.
Following the guides, Kyle, Leina, and Wolfran advanced with muffled steps, climbing the first hill. Beyond it, the orcs came into view.
"Krrrooarr..."
A low growl echoed. Clumsy armor patched with rotten leather. Axes and clubs forged from bone and scrap. Dozens of orcs scattered across the lower slopes of the hills. Shabby tents stood here and there, and small fires smoked in the cold.
'Up close, it's clear. Both the young orcs and the old ones are terrified of something. And their desperation is palpable.'
Kyle felt the tension between them. Even the hidden elders trembled with fear.
Their words reached his ears. To his surprise, the common language of the continent was used even by the different races. Thanks to this, he understood every orc utterance perfectly.
"Krrk... We leave first. The warriors in the rear will hold."
"If humans appear, blow the warning horn."
"We old ones will die first."
"Shut up. If the barrier is crossed, there will be food."
Kyle learned several things from their conversation. These orcs were not simply fifty in number. 'There is a main force behind them.'
And these were true bait. A disposable force sent to test whether the northern fortress could be taken.
'In that case, I need to use this before any swords are drawn.'
Thanks to the slight strengthening of his body from his previous life, Kyle was able to wield a few Blood Cult techniques he had used before.
'Perfect. There are orcs carrying weapons right here.'
Kyle's eyes narrowed on an orc wielding a club.
And on the warfront of the romance novel world, the first appearance of the Blood Cult's technique had finally begun.