The Great Rotation (3)
There was indeed a clear difference between orcs and goblins. Where orcs boasted powerfully developed upper bodies like seasoned warriors, goblins had long, spindly limbs. If their bodies were covered in black fur, they would have been nearly impossible to tell apart from chimpanzees at a glance. The goblins crossed the stone bridge by swinging along its side, grabbing the protruding joints and irregularities exactly as chimpanzees would swing through trees. The movements looked like something straight out of a parkour video.
“Loose arrows!”
The archers fired to keep them from crossing, but there were too few of them. Once the goblins hid behind the bridge’s pillars and dodged the shots, the suppression became ineffective.
“Everyone, grab the railings to steady yourselves! Slide!”
It had been a smart decision to learn basic magic from Cezanne. While it wasn’t possible to enchant the entire bridge with the Slide spell, Jinwoo could manage it on several of the stone pillars.
“Kruagh!”
“Kkikikik!”
The goblins had been moving confidently by gripping the rough surfaces, but the moment those surfaces turned slick and the pillars became impossible to cling to, they plummeted into the river below. Most of the goblins who fell into the water couldn’t swim and never resurfaced.
“What about the ones who ran away? Couldn’t they bring back reinforcements?”
The Pierce brothers, who had barely seen any real combat and had only been defending, looked disappointed as they watched the fleeing enemies.
“Leave them. They’ll probably chase after the main force and won’t have time to worry about us.”
Once things were sorted, it became clear that Baron Cortner was missing. All that remained were eight supply wagons and roughly one hundred and thirty logistics soldiers. They had successfully eliminated the pursuers, but the kingdom troops who had fled toward the main army were likely to suffer devastating losses.
“We’ll rest for a day, then circle around to the rear and rejoin the central army. Everyone except the troops guarding the bridge, stand down and rest.”
Just as Jinwoo had feared, the Shuzel Kingdom army was pursued by the orcs for a full day and a half. Of the force that had numbered over five thousand, those who reached the central army after dying or scattering in the chase numbered fewer than a thousand.
“What? Count McKane has fallen in battle?”
Marquis Marcel let out a hollow laugh. The commander of the Shuzel Kingdom forces, meant to serve as one pillar of the decisive battle, was dead and five thousand troops had vanished. It was absurd. Though roughly a thousand men had fled back alive, their morale was shattered; they were no longer usable as a fighting force.
“The knight order fought valiantly, but the orcs numbered over twenty thousand. The entire command staff was wiped out.”
“Twenty thousand? Hmph. Are you inflating the numbers out of shame after being defeated?”
Marquis Marcel could not believe the words of Baron Cortner, the portly supply officer.
“No, my lord. As a merchant, I am confident in my ability to count. Even when they are clustered together like a flock of sheep, I can roughly gauge their numbers.”
Even with Baron Cortner’s confident assertion, Marquis Marcel remained skeptical.
“My lord. I have heard the orcs in the Akran Mountains numbered roughly thirty thousand. It is not impossible that twenty thousand are here. Moreover, if there were ten thousand goblins and kobolds as well, the Akran Mountains should now be completely empty.”
At Patrick’s words, Marquis Marcel slapped his knee.
“That means Marquis Holvolt can sweep through the Akran Mountains without resistance.”
“Precisely. Therefore, if we simply hold them here, the orcs—who will have lost their base—will collapse on their own.”
Orcs only mobilized their males during war or raids. If they had brought their entire fighting population, Marquis Holvolt would be able to burn their now-empty stronghold to the ground. It was regrettable that all the honor and achievements would go to Marquis Holvolt, but this was the time to think only of victory.
“We will fight the decisive battle here. Send a messenger to summon the Orman Kingdom forces currently positioned on our right wing.”
Patrick, acting as chief of staff, dispatched the messenger and began preparations for battle. However, at dawn the next day, the messenger sent to the Orman Kingdom army returned in great haste.
“The Orman Kingdom forces are also in retreat! We must send reinforcements immediately!”
“Damn it all!”
When the orcs who had routed the Shuzel Kingdom army withdrew from the central force, they should have observed where the enemy was headed. They had assumed the orcs would naturally return the way they came, but the beasts had instead launched a surprise attack on the right wing—the Orman Kingdom army. Not only Marquis Marcel, who had hurriedly dispatched reinforcements, but the other nobles and demi-humans were stunned. These were no longer the simple, brutish orcs they had faced before.
“The night raid was the decisive factor. Fewer than five hundred survivors remain from the Orman Kingdom army.”
“At this point, our forces no longer hold a significant numerical advantage over the orcs. Even if we fight a pitched battle, the numbers are too even. Achieving a decisive victory will be difficult.”
Defeating thirty thousand orcs with forty thousand human soldiers felt entirely different from facing thirty thousand orcs with only thirty thousand humans. Once the comfortable troop management became a one-to-one stalemate, humans could not prevail over orcs. The physical disparity was simply too great.
Of course, properly armed and armored humans could contend with orcs who lacked decent weapons, but the routed soldiers claimed the orcs’ equipment was comparable to their own.
“This is a battle without hope of victory. We should withdraw, buy time, and wait for Marquis Holvolt’s success.”
At the nobles’ suggestion to avoid a short-term decisive engagement, Marquis Marcel had no choice but to hesitate.
“In a normal fight between humans and orcs, such a retreat would be correct. However, we have the magic race of elves and the rock-solid dwarf army.”
Patrick stepped forward to support the marquis.
“When fighting orcs, we have always used the anvil-and-hammer tactic.”
It was a strategy in which infantry held the enemy’s attack like an anvil while cavalry circled to the rear and struck like a hammer.
“But this time the orcs have many riders. Since the orcs also possess cavalry strength, the anvil-and-hammer may not be as effective.”
“That may be true. However, we have the elves, a magic race. What if elves rode behind the cavalry and cast spells? It would become a magical hammer striking from the rear.”
If the dwarves, armed with battle axes and iron shields, served as the anvil and held the line alongside the human soldiers, the elves combined with the cavalry would smash the orcs with magical hammers from behind.
“It is possible to cast magic while mounted,” said Relcius, speaking on behalf of the elves. Hope flickered in everyone’s eyes.
“But these orcs have gathered their shamans into a separate magic corps, or so I hear. If those shamans are in the rear, the magical hammer may be blocked.”
“Do not worry about that. If the dwarves and mages hold firm at the anvil, the orc shamans will be forced to focus their efforts there as well.”
When Relcius agreed with Patrick’s words, preparations for the decisive battle began in earnest.
“By the way, Mage Jinwoo, what is that liquid in the brown glass bottle? It has a scent I’ve never smelled before, and no matter how much I wash, the smell won’t go away.”
Pierce had been responsible for lighting the Molotov cocktails and handing them to Uba and Osoro. As a result, his hands were covered in gasoline, and he was suffering from the persistent odor.
“Think of it as a liquid refined through magic. Once it catches fire, pouring water on it won’t extinguish the flames.”
After the orcs had been set ablaze, they had tried to put out the fires with water, but the flames had spread across the water itself. The soldiers had watched in fascination. Moreover, because sugar had been added, the fire clung stickily and refused to go out.
“Since this smell is strong even to humans, monsters will probably avoid coming close because of it alone.”
“I suppose that makes sense. Ah, that gives me an idea.”
While talking with Pierce, a good plan occurred to him. Jinwoo feigned exhaustion, lay down again, and returned to Earth. After searching around, he headed for a mill.
The black smoke produced by burning gasoline in the Molotov cocktails was already effective, but what if tear gas were added to them? If the burning tear gas released smoke that stung the eyes, throat, and nose, it would become the ultimate flame weapon.
However, while civilians in Korea could buy tear gas spray, concentrated tear gas solution was not available for purchase. Instead, he bought formaldehyde—a chemical used in woodworking that produced an effect similar to tear gas and was harmful to the human body—from a chemical supply store. He also decided to mix in the hottest chili powder possible.
“Grandmother, please give me one hundred geun (sixty kilograms) of the finest-ground, spiciest chili powder you have.”
“One hundred geun? I don’t have that much here. Wait a moment.”
The mill owner borrowed from elsewhere to fulfill the order. Jinwoo then mixed the formaldehyde with the chili powder to create the new Molotov cocktails.
“Sugar, chili powder, and formaldehyde. It’s practically turned into a chemical bomb.”
One option was to travel to America, store proper weapons and ammunition in his inventory, and bring them back, but at the moment, these flame weapons seemed to be the best offensive option available in Korea.
After sending the cat-person Osoro to scout and confirming no orcs were nearby, they began moving in the direction where the central army had been. Two days later, at noon, Osoro suddenly dashed ahead, saying he could faintly hear something.
“There are sounds of fighting.”
Osoro and the others looked at him as if asking what they should do.
“We’ll get closer, observe, and decide.”
With so many non-combatants in the wagons, approaching was dangerous in itself, but they could not simply flee blindly to the rear. After advancing for about thirty minutes, the sounds grew clearer, and they began to see dead horses, soldiers, orcs, and wolves. It appeared a clash had occurred where the cavalry had tried to circle around. Soon the ongoing battle came into view, and the situation did not look good.
“The humans are being pushed back.”
As Osoro said, the left side of the central army was collapsing.
Should we retreat?
In a battle large enough to be called a decisive engagement, an individual’s power was negligible. There seemed to be nothing he could do.
“The orc forces are advancing!”
At the scout’s report, Patrick ordered the trumpets sounded. While the soldiers formed ranks, the cavalry and elves began moving to the rear. Once the anvil engaged the enemy head-on, the cavalry would circle around and deliver the hammer blow. They simply had to hold until then.
Yet when ogres and trolls in heavy armor began pushing forward like living boulders, Patrick started to worry whether they could truly endure until the cavalry completed their maneuver. The mages tried to halt the ogres and trolls with Slide and Slip spells, but the shamans immediately woke any who fell asleep, and the orcs scattered dirt to counter the Slide magic.
“It looks like they even have goblin shamans. At this rate, we are losing the magical exchange as well.”
At his officers’ words, Marquis Marcel’s mouth went dry. Even the dwarves—who were said to know no fear before an enemy—were trembling in their beards. The strategy of using ogres and trolls at the forefront was instilling terror in the humans.
The anvil might break.
“Fire arrows!”
Ballistae and bolts flew and struck the ogres, but very few inflicted fatal wounds. Still, they had laid multiple lines on the ground, covered with dirt to hide their color, so the ogres and trolls tripped and bought them precious time. Flame magic then poured down on the fallen beasts, and the shamans’ curses flew to cancel the spells. What should have been a clash of bone-shattering, blood-spilling melee had instead become a magical war of colorful spells flying in every direction.
“The orc riders are coming around first!”
“Where are our cavalry?”
“Th-they’re not visible.”
In the anvil-and-hammer tactic, the circling cavalry were supposed to fight other cavalry. The fact that only orc riders had appeared on the battlefield meant the cavalry who had left with the elves had been annihilated. Both Marquis Marcel and Patrick felt their minds go blank.