Chapter 52 - An Awl in the Pocket Is Bound to Poke Out (1)

Their fingers had split open from drawing bowstrings again and again.

Their bodies were covered in wounds from grappling for hours with the tough Orcs.

Their stamina had long since hit rock bottom.

Even so, the Rangers atop the wall fought without rest.

They sang an unfamiliar military cadence with their mouths and kept swinging their swords.

It was a strange thing.

The Orcs of the Blade Mountains were not so weak that they would fall easily to swords whose strength had run dry.

And yet those strong, ferocious Orcs dropped one after another.

Orcs without spirit, as if cowed by something.

It was a sight even the seasoned Rangers had never seen before.

They fought in a frenzy.

When they suddenly came to their senses, not a single Orc remained on top of the wall.

The Rangers did not cheer.

Because the battle was not over yet.

Far below the wall, Orcs still swarmed.

A Ranger staring at the dark green sea let out an exclamation.

All winter long, they had done nothing but huddle inside the fortress and struggle to hold back the monsters that came pouring in.

Opening the gates and rushing out had been something they could not even imagine.

Yet right before their eyes, that unimaginable thing was happening.

The knights were advancing, cleaving through the dark green tide.

Watching the knights crush enemies dozens of times their number made their blood boil.

"The battle is not over yet!"

At that moment, someone shouted.

"We are going outside the wall too!"

"Leave only the minimum number on the wall!"

The commanders, who never forgot their cool heads in any situation, shouted in heated voices.

The veteran old hands who would normally have voiced concern leapt down from the wall as if they had been waiting for this.

The Rangers ran over the broken gate and the corpses of Orcs sprawled dead across the ground.

Following the blue flame that drove away the darkness in the distance.

Singing the military cadence without pause.

The Rangers joined the rear of the knights.

Once they joined them, the knights changed formation as if they had been waiting.

The sharp wedge spread wide and became another wave, one that pushed back the tide.

And at its center was the prince, wreathed in blue flame.

The famed Commander, the leaders of the experienced Rangers, and even the fierce-tempered knights of the North all stared at the prince's back as one.

If the prince turned left, they went left.

If he turned right, they went right.

If he slowed, they slowed with him.

If he began to run, they ran after him.

It was a strange thing.

A boy who had not even held his coming-of-age ceremony yet.

A greenhorn whose battle experience amounted to this being only his third fight.

What in the world was that prince?

Why were such outstanding powerhouses following him so blindly?

No, none of that mattered to them.

THUMP, THUMP.

This heartbeat pounding as if it were not their own.

They could not possibly endure unless they surrendered themselves to that strange rhythm.

They ran, breathing out hot breaths as if gripped by a fever.

『Green corpses piled high into a mountain, and beneath it a red pool came into being.』

『And I stand before it, honoring your souls.』

The heat that seemed ready to burn them up was breathed out together with the military cadence.

"GRUAAARGH!"

An Orc screamed as it was engulfed in blue flame.

The blue flame greedily devoured even that death cry.

The dark green body soon collapsed into ash.

That was the last Orc.

There were no longer any living Orcs left on the snowfield.

FWOOSH.

The blue flames that had burned without end died down as if they had been a lie.

The military cadence they had sung until their throats nearly burst could no longer be heard.

In the middle of the snowfield, where even the cutting wind had fallen silent, the blood-soaked prince stood tall.

CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

The prince walked across the snowfield and lowered his head.

When the prince straightened again, he held a military banner scorched by flame and torn by blades.

"We!"

The prince raised the Orcs' military banner high.

"Won!"

And he shouted.

That they had won.

That the Orcs had been annihilated.

That the battle was over.

"L-Long live His Highness the Prince!"

"Long live His Highness the Prince!"

A beat late, the Rangers roared.

Their voices, hoarse from singing the military cadence in unison, made an ugly sound, but none of them cared.

They simply cheered for the fact that they had fought and won, that they had finally protected what they had to protect and survived.

THUD.

Vincent, who had been watching the sight blankly, fell back onto his rear.

"A-Annihilated?"

His face as he looked at the Orc corpses scattered everywhere was dazed, as if he had just woken from a dream.

That was the beginning.

The knights who had been gripping their swords collapsed one after another.

The startled Rangers ran over and examined the knights.

"What the hell? This man is smiling."

"This one fell asleep."

The Rangers spoke as if dumbfounded.

"I knew they looked like they were pushing themselves too hard."

The Rangers who said that looked ready to collapse at any moment themselves.

But instead of sitting down, they hoisted the knights onto their backs.

The ones who had fought most fiercely in today's battle were the knights.

The sight of the knights rushing everywhere in an attempt to reduce the damage was still vivid before their eyes.

They had earned the right to rest.

The Rangers, exhausted, began cleaning up the battlefield.

They found and retrieved the corpses of allies who had fallen from the wall during the fierce battle, and found the knights and heavy infantry who had fallen behind during the charge and carried them back to the fortress.

The Commander watched the sight, then turned his head.

He saw the prince leaning against the damaged military banner he had planted in the ground.

A woman, blood-soaked with her hair in wild disarray, had somehow made her way to him and was sitting at his feet with her cheek resting against him, eyes closed.

"The Poem of Martial Deeds truly is incredible."

As if recalling the moment when the circuits of countless knights had resonated as though they had become one, the Commander's face was filled with awe.

"It wasn't the Poem of Martial Deeds."

The prince answered in a deeply hoarse voice.

"It was a War Poem."

"Whatever it was, it was incredible, and..."

The Commander, mid-sentence, widened his eyes.

The prince's body, which had been leaning against the banner pole, was tilting.

Before anyone could react, the prince toppled backward, and the woman whose cheek had been resting on his thigh fell with him.

The man and woman lay flat on their backs.

The Commander stared at them for a moment, then gestured to the Rangers.

The Rangers cleaning up the battlefield melted snow and wiped their hands, then carefully hoisted the prince and the woman up.

Their movements were exceedingly careful, as if they feared the two might break.

"Light the fires!"

Once the survivors and the bodies of the dead had been gathered, the Commander gave the order.

Oil was poured, and flames caught over it.

The Orc corpses began to burn, giving off an acrid smell.

The flames that swallowed thousands of bodies continued to grow.

It was an enormous blaze, visible even from very far away.

FWOOSH.

A woman perched on the dried old tree atop a mountain peak watched the flames as if entranced.

Pointed ears, silver hair, silver eyes, and a face that seemed to embody celestial beauty.

It was Sigrun, the Elder High Elf.

She looked at the towering flames and smiled.

It was the smile of a cat that had eaten just enough to be satisfied.

"A War Poem..."

Sigrun brushed off her backside and stood.

She hopped down from the old tree and turned.

Her silver eyes, sparkling like stars, looked not toward Winter Castle where the flames rose high, but toward the depths of the mountain range on the opposite side.

Her gaze, profound enough to seem as though it would swallow everything, sank even deeper.

FWOOSH!

A tremendous aura rose from her body.

GRUAAAAH!

A savage roar burst from within the mountain range.

But rather than merely savage, it was a roar that sounded somehow weighed down, like that of a wounded beast.

"Come slowly, just a little."

Sigrun whispered.

"So that he can grow a little more."

Something deep inside the mountain range roared even louder.

She smiled softly.

It was an exceedingly satisfied smile.

In any case, her goal had been to reveal her own presence.

That alone would be enough for the king of the mountain range to become wary.

The king would probably not move for the time being.

Sigrun turned her head again.

Her eyes curved gently.

Her sweet gaze, as if looking at a beloved, turned toward Winter Castle.

"May it be the same next time as well."

Her tone was tender enough to melt, but what it held was not affectionate love.

It was twisted desire.

* * *

The noble houses of the central region bordering the North were thrown into an uproar.

"To think the great House Ballorhard would send a request for support!"

It was because of a single letter that had flown in from the northernmost end of the kingdom.

Winter had only just begun.

The monsters had only just begun their southward migration.

And yet a long and desperate appeal for support had arrived.

The nobles were suddenly seized by fear, wondering if a crack had appeared in the shield that had stood firm for the past hundred years.

"Could that scoundrel have...!"

The timing was terrible, coming right after the Scoundrel First Prince had gone north, and the nobles made a great fuss, insisting that something must have happened in the North.

"Send messengers to the other families at once!"

This was by no means a problem that concerned only the central nobles.

If something had truly happened to House Ballorhard, the entire kingdom would be unable to avoid a cold wave.

The southward march of the monsters was too terrible to be described with the single word disaster.

The nobles who received House Ballorhard's call to arms sent messengers in every direction.

Messengers ran from north to south.

Some nobles were frightened by the sudden news, while others snorted.

"What petty trickery."

"If we send troops, they mean to gobble them up at once. What daylight robbery."

"There is no need to fall for such an obvious lie."

The problem was that the First Prince happened to be there.

"Are they planning to overturn things by force?"

They classified and interpreted the call to arms as a political issue.

So they made no response at all.

The number of messengers running south decreased as time went on.

And by the time they passed the middle of the central region, not a single one remained.

Unlike the nobles of the far north, who still remembered the horror of monsters, the nobles of the central region had long since become steeped in the warmth of peaceful seasons.

Their attention was fixed entirely on who would become the next king.

With no news returning no matter how long they waited, only the families bordering the North grew anxious.

At that moment, another messenger arrived.

"Again!"

The lord's heart sank, and he summoned the messenger in with trembling hands.

"An elite Orc force the size of two Legions has appeared at Winter Castle! The 3rd Legion and the Rangers of House Ballorhard engaged them and slaughtered them all!"

Fortunately, this time, it was not the tragic news they had feared, but news of victory.

"Ooh! As expected of His Excellency Count Ballorhard! The title of the kingdom's shield is no empty name!"

The lord was delighted and made a great fuss.

Relief was plain on the lord's face.

But it was far too hasty a judgment.

"At present, all of Ballorhard's scattered forces are being called in to prepare for the next battle! However, the scale of the enemy is excessively large, and support troops are urgently needed!"

"S-Still?"

He had wondered whether they had perhaps suffered heavy casualties, since they needed more troops despite having won such a great victory, and so he asked.

The messenger shook his head.

It had been a large battle, but fortunately, there had not been many casualties among the troops, the messenger said with a proud face.

"Then why?"

"The enemy's scale is unprecedented. It is Your Excellency the Commander's judgment that defending the fortress is impossible with our current forces."

To think that stiff-necked silver knight would acknowledge defeat before even fighting.

Only then did the lord ask.

Just how large was the enemy force?

The messenger answered with a stiff expression.

"Eight Legions have currently been confirmed. At least sixteen thousand Orcs are moving south."

"What?"

The lord asked back with a blank face.

"Confirmed enemy strength is eight Legions, at least sixteen thousand or more. Numerous shamans, numerous Orc Warriors, and numerous chieftain-class Orcs."

THUD.

The lord collapsed where he stood.

But the bad news did not end there.

"The King of Orcs has appeared."

That vast army, he said, was following a single Orc.

"Your Excellency the Commander has asked that you provide the maximum possible number of troops as quickly as possible."

The lord did not answer.

Sixteen thousand Orcs was an army equal to half the kingdom's total military strength.

It was not a force that could be stopped just because a few families lent their strength.

This issue was far too great.

It was an issue beyond the capacity of a mere lord steeped in peace.

So he instead chose denial.

"The King of Orcs? I have never heard of such a thing. Furthermore, such a large number of Orcs gathering in one place without slaughtering one another goes against the natural order."

At those words, the messenger gestured as if he had expected that.

Another messenger standing behind him held out a large chest.

The lord wondered if perhaps it contained gold or valuables sent to request military support.

But it did not.

When the chest opened, what was revealed was a large skull, its flesh cleanly stripped away.

"H-Hrk!"

The horrified lord stumbled backward.

The messenger looked at the lord and spoke calmly.

"This is the head of the Legion Commander slain by His Highness the First Prince in the last battle. As you can see, it was more than five times larger than an ordinary Orc and more than twice the size of an Orc Warrior."

The words that the First Prince had killed it did not even enter his ears.

Only the huge skull, the tough jawbone, and the grotesquely protruding brow entered the lord's eyes.

"One at least three times larger than this one has been confirmed. We suspect that one may be the king."

The messenger closed the chest.

"I ask that you please understand the gravity of the situation."

Even though the messenger's attitude was far too stiff and arrogant for a messenger, the lord could not get angry.

Because he was afraid.

Because it felt as though that enormous skull might bite into his neck at any moment.

* * *

Messengers, each carrying a part of Knight Slayer's massive body in a chest, visited the lords of the central region.

The lords, who had been doubtful at first, saw the enormous bones they had never seen in their lives and were able to recognize, if only a little, the seriousness of the situation.

And at last, the news reached The Capital as well.

The high-ranking nobles argued back and forth over Ballorhard's situation.

Some said House Ballorhard had exaggerated the matter in its report to raise its own value now of all times, while others expressed concern, saying that if that steadfast family had gone so far as to request support, the matter could not possibly be ordinary.

"Look at this! They say His Highness the First Prince killed this!"

The bone fragments that had arrived separately had been assembled into one.

Enormous bones they had never seen before.

"This was killed by someone who has not even held a sword for a full year yet. It may have been large, but in truth, its ferocity must not have been all that different from other Orcs."

They subtly belittled the First Prince and insisted that House Ballorhard was doing something it had never done before in order to expand its political influence.

"Watch your words! Do not insult the devotion and service of those who have silently guarded the North for the kingdom!"

There were also those who refuted them.

They were a small number of nobles, including Marquis Bielefeld.

"Enough!"

The king raised his hand and sealed the nobles' mouths.

"The Count Ballorhard I know is by no means a man who makes false claims. If such a count said that the matter is grave, then it will not be a lie."

At those words, the nobles closed their mouths.

Because in truth, they knew it too.

They knew that Count Ballorhard was not that sort of man.

"The families bordering the North shall provide the maximum possible military support."

But the decision of the king who said that was terribly stingy.

"The Palace Count shall contract suitable mercenary companies and dispatch them to the North."

There was not even any mention of knight orders or the central army.

After saying that, the king no longer opened his mouth.

"Ah, the children of the noble houses found guilty in the last trial shall also be sent there to serve in the ranks and atone for their crimes."

The words he brought up as if remembering belatedly were merely about the treatment of criminals.

There was not the slightest trace of respect for the shield that had guarded the North.

The faces of the small number of nobles, including Marquis Bielefeld, darkened sharply.

This kingdom was done for.

That was what they thought.

But there was not no hope at all.

"The Royal Family must not turn its eyes away from the devotion and loyalty House Ballorhard has shown."

The Second Prince, the one considered the most likely candidate to succeed the throne, a prince praised as the reincarnation of the Founding King, stepped forward before the king.

"Your Majesty. I will go to the North with my knight order."