How the Romance Fantasy Male Lead Avoids Flags (7)
Around the time Estiang Berg had left for the Imperial Capital to attend the Founding Festival, the Berg Grand Duchy's frontline at the Great Wall was locked in its usual fierce battle with monsters.
"These damn pests. I thought they'd gone quiet with the cold snap, but the moment the weather eases up a bit, they come swarming like a pack of dogs."
"Indeed, Captain."
The captain and vice-captain of the Iron Fang Knights stood atop the wall, staring out over the vast snowfield. Scattered across it were sluggish green blobs.
"Orcs this time? Looks like at least a thousand of them."
"Probably. When His Grace was here, we buried at least three thousand in that snowfield. Their breeding rate is downright creepy."
"I'd give anything to visit those mountains before I die. What the hell makes them spew out monsters like a bottomless pit?"
The captain clicked his tongue. Their brief exchange ended there.
A thousand orcs were charging in disorganized waves, without formation or discipline.
With Estiang away, defending the wall fell to them. Just a thousand orcs. Considering their defensive advantage, any casualties against that number would be too embarrassing to report to Estiang.
"Hm."
"..."
The two men exchanged glances, nodded, and moved to their positions.
A fitting tension hung over the wall. It was a defense without Estiang. But the enemy was just the same old orcs they'd fought endlessly.
The North was no ordinary place. Thousands of monsters periodically swarmed for siege battles. Even fresh conscripts became elite soldiers after a year or two—veterans who could hold their own anywhere on the continent.
Not a single soldier atop the wall hadn't killed an orc or two.
"Nock arrows! Supply troops, prepare arrows and boiling water!"
Knights' orders rang out, sending soldiers scrambling. Below the wall, fires roared to life as supply troops boiled water and heated sand.
Movies often showed boiling oil poured from walls, but oil was expensive. Especially in the North, where cash crops barely grew. Hot sand or water was less effective but far more cost-efficient. Textbook siege defense.
While supply troops—designated for support roles—scurried about, the frontline soldiers nocked arrows.
"Hup!"
Longbowmen pressed the bow stave with their left arms, inhaling deeply and drawing the string with all their might. Arms and backs strained to the limit, pulling strings on monstrous bows with tensions of dozens of kilos.
Below, orcs bellowed as they charged. Dull, vacant eyes that barely qualified as intelligent. Relying solely on brute strength superior to humans, they clambered up the wall bare-handed, eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
Monsters threatening their home. Killing intent flickered in the soldiers' eyes.
"I ask you all!"
Still too far for effective shots. The knight captain—gifted a sword by Estiang—drew it and bellowed.
"Without His Grace here, are we fools who can't even hold off those blue-skinned pigs?"
"No, sir!"
"We hold the wall and outnumber them! If any of us gets hurt or dies to those monsters, it's a disgrace even in victory! Engrave that in your hearts and remember it!"
The ground shook from over a thousand orc footsteps. Raising his voice to cut through it, Wolfgang, captain of the Iron Fang Knights, roared.
"First volley on my command, then longbowmen switch to rapid fire! Crossbowmen, snipe close-range orcs! Fire!"
At Wolfgang's order, hundreds of fully drawn longbows released in unison.
Phewwwng!
Arrows sliced through the fierce northern wind. Longbows lacked the raw power of mechanical crossbows but allowed rapid fire without cranks or foot stirrups. And their power was no joke— they had evolved to pierce knights' plate armor after all.
Kraaaagh!Kweeek!
Orc hides, tough as they were, stood no chance. Pig-like squeals echoed everywhere.
"Eat this!"
"Thought this was your chance without His Grace? Ha! Dream on!"
Soldiers jeered as they yanked arrows from quivers and nocked again. The crossbowmen held breath, piercing heads and hearts of approaching orcs.
"Arrows! More arrows here!"
"Damn, finger's cut."
Estiang's troops bustled atop the wall. Supply troops hauled arrows up stairs, dumping hot water and sand on climbing orcs. Medics disinfected finger cuts from overstrung bows, bandaging with clean cloth.
Crossbowmen sniped climbers; longbowmen blistered their hands with endless draws. Crude division of labor.
Estiang had only recently created dedicated non-combat roles like supply and medics. Soldiers with a month or two of training couldn't execute perfectly in their first real battle.
Archers had standardized on longbows and crossbows, abandoning familiar bows. Their shots showed inexperience unbecoming elites.
But.
"What is it? Feels different from usual."
"Yeah. How to put it?"
Not that many orcs. Yet the battle felt too easy.
Changes were felt first by those on the scene. And the soldiers sensed it clearly.
Archers just shot. Medics patched wounds, however clumsily. Supply troops appeared with armfuls of arrows when quivers ran low.
"Weird, huh? Not just firing non-stop—we've got time to chat."
"Isn't it just fewer orcs than usual?"
"Nah. Doesn't feel like we're fighting for our lives like before."
"Whatever else, instant resupplies are great."
Like armies of this era, things ran haphazardly. Supply wagons doubled as logistics; barbers or monks treated wounded post-battle. Roles existed informally forever.
Estiang hadn't invented anything revolutionary. He'd just formalized vague customs into clear roles.
But that was enough. Standardized weapons, dedicated non-combat roles, strict division of labor. Like gears meshing perfectly, 1+1 became 5, then 10.
Not a medieval rabble, but the foundation of a modern army specialized in killing efficiently.
Estiang in the capital would have nodded approvingly. Finally getting there.
Wolfgang, commanding in his absence, smiled faintly. His lord would approve.
"No need for the knights after all."
"Indeed. Their low numbers helped."
"That's part of it, but His Grace's foresight proved right. You saw it too."
"I did. Terrifyingly efficient. Still some waste, though."
"Time will fix that. Once mastered, it'll be the strongest army in history."
"Honestly, a bit scary."
The vice-captain shuddered.
"Felt like the whole defense moved like one machine. A giant killing machine slaughtering enemies."
"That's probably what His Grace aims for. Our foes are monsters, not men. So we can butcher them efficiently, no matter the numbers."
Wolfgang gazed below. Huge olive-green corpses littered with arrows or burns sprawled about. Few reached the wall; most lay distant.
Some archers wounded pulling longbows—unavoidable. Still, overwhelming victory. No severe casualties beyond slipped supply troops.
Results to boast about to his returning lord. Satisfied, Wolfgang ordered.
"Take knights and medics outside. Some might play dead—finish them off. Have medics bury orc bodies far away."
"Understood, Captain."
Watching the vice-captain salute and depart, Wolfgang clenched his fist. Crushing victory.
While the Berg Grand Duchy secured another overwhelming victory without Estiang, the Founding Festival had arrived in the Imperial Capital.
Estiang had drawn the emperor's plea—even if recruiting, this isn't a market; don't hold interviews in public—while hiring knight aspirants and professionals. Trivial matter.
Who cared if nobles thought him odd? Skilled hires and fresh talent mattered more than reputation.
And so the Founding Festival began.
"Your Grace."
"What is it, Lady Roena?"
"Hasn't Your Grace visited the capital since the title succession ceremony?"
"Not since ascending to Grand Duke, I believe."
"..."
Roena's expression turned subtle.
"Pardon me, Your Grace."
She straightened his clothes, meticulously checking his white uniform for dust.
As she fussed carefully, Roena said,
"Then... this Founding Festival is Your Grace's debut into high society."
"Does that matter?"
"Yes, Your Grace. It matters. A great deal."
Roena rarely looked so serious. Estiang grimaced.
In romance fantasies, debuts mattered for heroines. But he wasn't one. Debutante was for noble ladies anyway.
First society appearance had some significance, but Roena was overly grave. No point arguing; Estiang just scratched his head awkwardly.