A Lesson in Blood
Yet the elder knights and the soldiers on the battlefield were nothing like the knights who followed Karon. They understood Volkrik’s orders perfectly. The enemy numbered more than twenty thousand. There was no sense in wasting arrows, magic, or catapult stones on foes who had yet to enter the kill zone.
First, they have to come within range. The enemy had to step into the distance where every shot would count. Even a single arrow should only be loosed when it could kill.
From the start, they’re trying to solve this with minimal losses—or by using nothing but meat shields.
The enemy was clearly aiming for the same thing: to make the humans waste their arrows, stones, and mana. They were tossing out cannon fodder and lingering just beyond effective range.
The knights who followed Karon had no intention of understanding any of that. To them, a battlefield was merely a stage to show off their splendid figures. Anything complicated had always been dismissed as beneath them, something only the lowly bothered to learn.
That was when it happened.
Kwoooooooo—!!!
From the deepest rear of the distant orc main force came a roar that shook the earth. It was so powerful it reached all the way to the distant ramparts. A massive roar laced with aura that pierced the blizzard and hammered the eardrums—the roar of the Orc Great Warrior.
The moment the Orc Great Warrior roared, the orc warriors positioned in the main force raised their weapons and cheered as one. Uwooooooooo—! The collective war cry of more than ten thousand orcs made the distant walls tremble faintly.
Yet unlike that thunderous cheer, the faces of the elderly orcs and those from minor tribes at the very front were clouded with thick despair. That roar had clearly been an order to advance. And advancing meant a death sentence.
They’re making very active use of their disposable pawns. Kyle watched the scene with cold appraisal. It was a sight that would never have been described in the original romance-fantasy novel. This was the filthy, cruel face of the battlefield.
It’s been a while. The smell of a real battlefield filled his lungs. A smile rose to Kyle’s lips.
Beside him, Leina and Wulfran gripped their weapons tightly, preparing for combat. The two of them also held expectations for this battlefield—but theirs was the anticipation of a life-or-death fight, utterly different from the shallow hopes cherished by Karon’s subordinates.
However, the person who could not hide their excitement the most was someone else entirely.
“Waaah!”
It was Lumia, who had become Kyle’s subordinate only three days earlier.
“My lord.”
Lumia’s orange eyes, tinged with the color of blood, sparkled as she asked, “At this distance, my magic can reach them easily. Shall I strike first?”
Mana was already flickering ominously at her fingertips. She looked desperate to see blood. Even the spell she intended to use seemed to be of the slashing type rather than explosive—obviously so the blood would splatter nicely.
Kyle shook his head at the eager mage. “No. Stand by.”
“…Yes?”
“The commander still hasn’t given the order to shoot. Wait quietly. Don’t stand out.”
“Aww… Yes, understood.”
Lumia pouted, her expression turning glum. Her hands trembled slightly as she fought the impulse to begin the slaughter right then and there. But she did not move. Not until her lord gave the command. She would simply wait for the scent of blood.
Volkrik’s judgment was the same as Kyle’s. He kept his raised hand—the signal to hold—lowered.
“Ugh…”
“Why did we end up like this?”
The elderly orcs at the front hesitated, faces twisted in fear.
“Walk faster!”
“Walk if you don’t want to die!”
“Krrk! Don’t stop!”
But orc warriors behind them thrust weapons forward, shouting threats. The low growls of wargs hunting down those who tried to flee also echoed. In the end, the orcs at the front had no choice but to advance.
Clank. Scrape.
Carrying planks that pretended to be shields, they gradually walked into the effective range of the rampart.
The warg cavalry also spread out widely on both flanks.
That was when it happened.
Among the orcs surging forward like living meat shields, figures in strange attire appeared.
“Orc shamans!”
One sharp-eyed elder knight shouted urgently.
Those draped in beast bones and hides were none other than orc shamans. Their power—shamanism—was different from human magic. It followed its own unique system. In particular, the shamans who directly served the Orc Great Warrior possessed skills on an entirely different level from those of ordinary tribes.
The sight of them raising bone staves toward the sky was visible from atop the wall.
“Mages, deploy defensive barriers at once! Soldiers, raise your shields!”
Volkrik’s shout, anticipating this very moment, rang out immediately.
“Shields up!”
“Raise your shields! Crouch down!”
The mages on the wall instantly began chanting.
“Shield!”
Barriers unfolded. They did not cover the entire wall, however. At most, translucent shields overlapped like layers of protection. The magical barriers were deployed first around critical areas and where soldiers were most densely packed. Many spots remained unprotected. In those places, the soldiers had to rely solely on their physical shields.
“Hurry!”
Soldiers wielding long spears quickly set sturdy iron shields in front of them. Archers lowered their bodies behind the shield-bearers, pausing their preparations to fire. It was a perfectly coordinated defensive posture.
In contrast, the camp of the young knights belonging to Karon’s faction was completely different.
“Why are they making such a fuss?”
“Hiding behind shields, how pathetic.”
“So many cowards.”
They were still not wearing armor. They remained in the formal uniforms suitable for a banquet hall. They did not even carry shields.
The only reason they could endure the northern cold that seemed to freeze the lungs was because the mages assigned to them constantly renewed warming spells to maintain their body temperature. In effect, they were wasting the mages’ mana simply to keep themselves comfortable.
Because of that, the mages attached to Karon’s faction lacked the strength to deploy thick defensive magic where it was truly needed. These mages had never been particularly skilled even within the tower; they had been selected merely to attend to the knights connected to the central powers.
Even so, the young knights grumbled.
“Ugh, damn it. Why are they dragging this out?”
“Why haven’t they attacked yet?”
“Why are those barbaric orc bastards so slow?”
“They need to crawl over here so I can show them the taste of my aura-clad blade.”
“Instead of waving those bones around, they should at least reach the wall.”
The war they knew was the romantic spectacle found only in novels—charging out through splendidly opened gates toward exhausted, broken enemies and mowing them down like fallen leaves while radiating brilliant aura.
That was why they mistook even this massive battle for nothing more than a stage where the stupid orcs would approach and then fall to their own magnificent swordsmanship.
It did not take long for that foolish delusion to shatter.
Shwoooooosh—!
Strange black-green light flashed from the tips of the orc shamans’ bone staves. Hundreds of sharp black thorns shot forth like raindrops.
“Incoming! Duck!”
Thudthudthudthud!
The shamanic thorns slammed into the rampart. Clang! Clink! Kang!
The damage was not severe. The defensive magic the mages had prepared in advance blocked the thorns. The iron shields the soldiers had layered together also stopped those coming their way.
Some thorns did pierce the shields, but their power was greatly reduced. A few unlucky soldiers were stabbed or grazed by those that made it through.
“Argh! That hurts like hell!”
“I’m wearing armor and it still hurts! Damn, that really hurts.”
Thanks to their thick plate armor, they escaped with only light wounds. The result of thorough preparation.
“Huh…?”
Yet a stupid sound leaked from the mouth of one of the young knights who had been complaining only moments before. He looked down at his own chest. He wore neither proper knightly armor nor carried a shield. Nor was he protected by a mage’s barrier. All he had was a thin, gaudily embroidered uniform.
Thump.
A single black shamanic thorn had pierced cleanly through the fabric and straight through his heart.
“Guh, huk…!”
The young knight coughed up a mouthful of blood. His eyes shook with disbelief as he stared at his own chest. Then he collapsed backward. Not even a convulsion. Instant death.
The horrific reality of their comrade’s death in the blink of an eye drained the blood from the faces of the knights who followed Karon.
“H-he’s dead?”
“That can’t be… from a single thorn?”
“What about the defensive magic? What the hell were those mage bastards doing?!”
They did not think they had done anything wrong. They blamed only the mages for failing to do their jobs. These men who yearned for the refined culture of the capital believed themselves to be the true knights. Therefore, the ones at fault were the mages who could not properly support them.
Papapat! Clang!
The orc shamans’ second volley flew in. It was a wide-area suppression spell whose power was not particularly great. Yet to the young knights under Karon—who had been standing tall, waiting for a chance to show off—it was a lethal attack. Without armor, shields, or magical barriers, it was a threat that could easily kill them.
“Uwaaaaagh!”
“My arm! My arm!”
The knights panicked, drawing their swords and coating them with aura to knock the thorns away. But they could not block every single one of the dozens of trajectories. Thorns grazed and embedded themselves in arms, legs, shoulders, and sides. Men began spitting blood one after another. The scene became a living hell.
Clang! Clang! Kaang! Crack!
In the midst of that hchaos, only aron remained unshaken. With elegant swordplay, he sliced apart every thorn that flew toward him. His blue aura did not waver in the slightest. Not a single speck of a thorn managed to graze his uniform.
Yet the only one managing a perfect defense was Karon himself.
Tsk.
Karon clicked his tongue inwardly as he glanced at the knights collapsing and bleeding beside him.
What a shame these blind attacks… didn’t fly toward that bastard Kyle instead.
If he was honest, the sight of his subordinates falling while everyone else remained fine simply looked pathetic. Had they not been useful for his political connections to the capital, he would have wanted to throw them all away. That was Karon’s true inner thoughts.
Just ak the knights following Karon were helplessly bleeding and collapsing, the orc disposable force finally entered completely into the kill zone Volkrik had designated. Volkrik had originally wanted to lure them all the way to the main force before dealing with them, but he changed his mind.
If we let this continue, the damage will grow too large.
The casualties on the wall could become severe. First, we eliminate those shaman bastards for certain.
Volkrik, who had been watching the flow of battle with cold eyes from atop the wall, finally dropped his hand.
“All troops, commence attack!!!”
The supreme commander’s order fell like a thunderbolt.
“Fire—!!!”
Kwaaaaaang—! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The loaded ballistae fired all at once. Steel arrows as thick as a grown man’s forearm tore through the air toward the orc lines. Then the catapult ropes were released. Massive boulders and flaming jars drew parabolas across the sky.
“Fireball!”
“Fire Spear!”
“Deploy!”
The mages’ offensive spells dyed the heavens with light. Hundreds of archers released their bowstrings in unison, pouring down a black rain of arrows.
“Ahahaha! Wind Cutter!”
Lumia, too, sent blades of wind flying with a delighted cry.