Silveryia's Return from Blood Peak
Silveryia, who had charged alone into the enemy camp atop the nameless peak, had returned! Had the hero of the northwest front finally proven her legendary fame? How many monsters had she slain? Could she have cut down every last one of those bastards up on the mountain? No more boulders came hurtling down to smash allied skulls from the peak. No way? For real? Even knowing it was absurd—even admitting to herself it made no sense—the soldiers clung to that sliver of hope. But as Silveryia entered the camp, they were left speechless.
What the hell had happened up there? Her plate armor was badly damaged around her lower abdomen and flank, the lower section shattered outright. If her armor was that wrecked, what about her body? She and her loyal steed were caked head to toe in dirt and some red fluid—monster blood, presumably.
"Lady Silveryia!" Kandor, the knight who had followed her from the northwest front, rushed to her as she dismounted and draped a red cloak over her shoulders. No matter her renown as a slayer of countless monsters, she was still a young woman in her prime. Shielded from dozens of prying eyes by the cloak, Silveryia wordlessly headed for her tent.
"Enough fussing—back to your posts!" Even smeared with grime and gore, she exuded unyielding dignity, her beauty undimmed, her gaze sharp as a blade. The soldiers crowding around her hesitated, then parted with murmurs, making way. Could this really be the woman who had just danced with death? Her commanding stride left the troops—who had been in a panic for hours—gaping helplessly until she vanished into her tent.
Shwaak— The tent flap closed, and Silveryia immediately shed the cloak. The armor was ruined beyond repair. No blacksmith, but she knew it for certain. With a heavy sigh, she began stripping off the cherished plate armor she'd worn through countless battles.
Clank— The iron barrier the orc hadn't been able to breach fell away piece by piece, and Silveryia's magnificent breasts—those the orc had craved so desperately—burst free from their confines.
"L-Lady Silveryia?!"
"Ah, forgive me, Sir Kandor."
Caught off guard by Silveryia's sudden striptease, the flustered knight spun around with a shriek. Only then did she cover her chest with her arms, turning away herself before flashing a mischievous grin like a playful child.
"Do you want to see them?"
"...Pardon? H-How could I..."
"You say that, but your eyes haven't left my breasts."
"F-Forgive me!"
The abrupt glimpse of a side of Silveryia he'd never seen—not to mention the seminude vision of an unparalleled beauty—was far too stimulating for a man who'd spent recent months on the battlefield. It was a novel scene for Silveryia too. The knight she'd trusted above all others through endless campaigns, blushing at the sight of her bare skin. Was it just exhaustion? Gazing at him, she toyed with the idea of teasing him more and opened her mouth.
"Come to think of it, you've been with me since the northwest front, haven't you, Sir Kandor?"
"Y-Yes... that's right."
As he kept his head rigidly turned—unable to bring himself to look at her changing—Silveryia stepped closer, one foot after another. Unlike her silver hair, melted like molten silver, she moved like a seductive black cat stalking prey. Kandor, wondering if something was wrong with his commander's body or what had transpired up there, cracked open his tightly shut eyes—only for Silveryia's finger to alight on his lips like a butterfly.
"If you desire it, I could show you... as a reward for all your service."
"Pardon?!"
At Kandor's even greater shock, Silveryia leaned forward with a sly smile.
"Just kidding. These things get in the way when I'm swinging my sword—I've half a mind to hack them off some days. But seeing you like this... maybe not."
"M-Me?!"
Truth be told, he wanted to look. But he was a knight! He couldn't yield to base urges! But he wanted to! Manly honesty warring with knightly duty—what to choose? At this crossroads of his life—
"Joking."
"Ah..."
As Silveryia turned away with a swish, Kandor felt the tension drain from his body. Of course. He inwardly flogged himself for the wretched fool he'd become in that moment of temptation, clawing at his hair.
"He was strong."
"Pardon?"
Kandor blinked at Silveryia's sudden words.
"Today, I met the Demon King's army commander entrenched on that nameless peak."
"Pardon?!"
What the hell had she been doing up there?! His hair might rip out from all the yanking, but Kandor paid it no mind.
"An orc. That was the enemy's leader."
"Pardon? But intelligence said the Red Bear..."
"Yes, that's what the reports claimed. But this is what I confirmed with my own eyes and ears. The enemy commander, 'Red Bear', is unmistakably an orc. Probably named for the red bear pelt he wears."
At first, even Silveryia hadn't believed it. The odds of charging up alone and immediately encountering the enemy commander? But...
"His subordinates cheered him as their chief, for one thing..."
"But...?"
"A warrior on my level. Today, I had the edge because I was armed, but he's a cunning bastard who turned it against me."
"N-No way! That can't be! M-Maybe he's not really an orc or something?! How could a mere orc...!"
"..."
"Lady Silveryia?"
She too had first assumed he was just a bulkier orc. But crossing blades revealed the truth. This orc might be more formidable than any foe from the northwest front. Their initial clash? He couldn't match her strike. Her follow-up thrust was too fast for him to track—yet somehow, he adapted, slowly but surely keeping pace. He grew through combat! A true rival worthy of facing her!
'Insane regenerative power and strength that shattered my armor like ice.'
But what made even the unflappable Silveryia feel a flicker of fear toward this Red Bear orc was...
"He's smart."
"Pardon?"
"An orc with wits sharper than the rest. He knows exactly how to exploit humans."
Especially in battle against them.
"S-So you're saying...?"
"Yes."
Perhaps the orcs entrenching on the peak wasn't Demon King orders or some half-baked scheme.
"He might have anticipated this from the start."
She's joking, right? Kandor truly believed so. The woman before him was Silveryia Isis, hero of the northwest. No common knight like him, but nobility incarnate. For her to caution against an orc like this? Her earlier teasing aside, surely another jest? But as her playful gaze hardened to glacial ice, Kandor fell silent.
"But."
"?"
"That peak isn't impossible to take."
"You found a weakness?"
"Yes... they were pretending to starve."
"Pretending to starve...?"
The Demon King's troops scattered across the peak, groaning in agony—she'd nearly bought it. But having endured supply cutoffs and days without food on that hellish northwest front, Silveryia saw through it. They were acting. She hadn't climbed fully before meeting the orc, but she knew they feigned hunger.
"No bones."
"Bones... ma'am?"
"Ever thought humans look tasty, Sir Kandor?"
"Pardon?"
Before he could retort Of course not, Silveryia continued.
"Pushed to the brink, humans discard everything to survive—even motherhood or dignity. You've heard the records from that great famine: 'Streets so starved, no corpses left to eat.'"
Humans don't crave each other unless it's a historic catastrophe or weeks of battlefield famine—truly on death's door.
"Their mixed unit was their downfall, that orc bastard..."
Monsters living beast-like, holding off cannibalism—that was impressive. But it was his blind spot. They hadn't eaten each other.
"The enemy ranks are still intact. That's it."
"Exactly."
"So what will you do?"
"We'll decide at tomorrow morning's strategy meeting."
With that, she dismissed him—too tired, needed to change, out he went. Watching Kandor's flustered exit, Silveryia chuckled, wiping herself with a damp cloth. Then her face hardened, staring at the tent flap.
"Sorry, Sir Kandor..."
She hadn't told him everything. She'd called him a rival to rationalize it, but truthfully? She'd lost. To that orc.
Orcs she'd slain countless times. Not overwhelmingly numerous or superior in combat to humans—they just overwhelmed with numbers. She'd learned that the hard way on the northwest front. But she'd let her guard down. His insidious trick landed a critical blow, leaving her combat-ineffective, body unresponsive amid his relentless attacks on her vulnerabilities. She'd lost.
Was she doomed to be his plaything? Divine punishment for sullying the hero's name? If it was the gods' will, she'd accept it gladly. In that moment of total surrender, even her life seemed worthless—
Has the time finally come for the Silver Lily to fall?
A voice in her head—not hers, yet identical—rang out as darkness flooded her vision in a pink flash. When she came to, she was mounted, arriving at allied lines.
What was that voice? A hallucination? Or had she summoned unknown strength to escape? Too much to ponder. Too much today. For tomorrow's meeting, she needed rest. As Silveryia lay on her cot—
Was that really your power?