Translator: Cinder Translations
...
As night fell, the sounds of battle temporarily faded from the lands near Silver Moon Fortress. The orcs set up camp three miles from the stronghold.
Staring at the faint lights in the distance, Amur let out a heavy sigh.
"Commander!"
A subordinate approached from behind, speaking in a worried tone.
"I fear Lord Bayar won't make it."
Amur immediately turned. "Take me to him."
Following the subordinate with quick strides, he stopped in front of a tent within the camp. Taking a deep breath, he ducked inside.
The pungent mix of herbal medicine and the stench of pus filled Amur's nostrils.
For a battle-hardened commander, such odors were nothing new.
Inside, a feeble figure lay on a fur-lined bedding.
Amur knelt beside him, his expression grim, and grasped the man's hand.
The heat radiating from Bayar's body was alarmingly high—this, Amur immediately sensed.
During the day, Bayar, Amur's deputy, had commanded the archers to advance on the human positions.
The archers had borne the brunt of humanity's first assault, suffering heavy casualties under the onslaught of deadly metal projectiles.
Bayar, leading them, had been wounded—a projectile had pierced his thigh. A nearby soldier had quickly carried him off the battlefield.
Bayar had lost significant blood and, by evening, developed a high fever, slipping in and out of consciousness.
Frowning, Amur studied his deputy's pallid face.
As reported, Bayar's condition was grim.
His face flushed unnaturally red, sweat beading on his forehead. His lips, however, were bloodless and pale.
"Oh, my brother…" Amur murmured sorrowfully.
Bayar struggled to open his eyes. "Please, Commander Amur, cremate my body and scatter my ashes on the homeland plains."
Amur shook his head. "A minor ailment like this won't defeat a strong orc warrior like Bayar. Rest and recover. Soon, we'll ride home across the plains with our spoils of war."
Bayar coughed weakly. "Amur... I have something to tell you, only you..."
Amur gestured for the others to leave.
Once the tent was empty except for the two of them, Bayar forced himself to speak.
"My fading mind tells me our army is powerful enough to conquer half of Aldor Kingdom, gaining fertile lands under the sun. But ever since my injury, I've been haunted by recurring nightmares."
"What nightmares?" Amur asked, his heart uneasy.
"The Spirit of the Plains revealed a terrifying vision to me."
Amur's expression tightened. "What did you see?"
"In my dreams, human armies invaded the plains, slaughtering and driving our people away with those dreadful weapons we witnessed today!"
"Impossible!"
Amur dismissed the notion.
In his view, the worst-case scenario was their forces facing strong resistance and retreating back to the plains.
The idea of human armies storming the plains and massacring orcs? That had never even crossed his mind.
Suppressing his unease, Amur reassured him: "Focus on recovering. Don't dwell on such nonsense. I'll check on the other wounded."
Lifting the tent flap, he left.
The day's battle had cost the vanguard of over a thousand warriors dearly: more than a hundred dead and two hundred injured. Many of the wounded were unlikely to survive, marking the engagement as devastating.
The other injured, unlike Bayar, were housed in shared tents. Amur made rounds, observing many in feverish delirium like Bayar.
Others, however, had to endure the cruel amputation of limbs to survive.
Feeling stifled, Amur left the infirmary tents. The night breeze carried fresh air, a welcome escape from the cloying stench of herbs and blood.
---
"Incredible, Sir Joyce! Your methods of warfare are truly impressive."
Knight Renteria held a bowl of hot soup, speaking with admiration to the man across from him.
The Aldan army had gathered scattered stragglers, and Renteria had been appointed their temporary commander.
He himself had been a deserter but, unlike Henkel, who fled entirely, Renteria had stayed to aid the Aldan forces despite his doubts.
During the day, he had thought his end near. Perhaps the Northmen were a divine correction to his wavering path as a knight.
Yet he had been saved instead.
The Northmen's strange weapons devastated the orcs, inflicting severe losses.
Smiling faintly, Joyce replied: "Believe me, Knight Renteria, united, we can make those invaders suffer even more."
"Earlier, I didn't have time to ask, but now I must: do you have news of the capital's army or Princess Catherine?"
Renteria frowned. "I withdrew with the capital's forces and my lord, but... we got separated during a skirmish. The enemy might've pinned them down."
Joyce's concern deepened.
Perhaps the Aldan army should search the Blackstone Pass for Princess Catherine. After all, she was not just a royal but his future mistress.
---
Dawn broke.
As the morning mist cleared, a scene infuriating the Aldan forces appeared before Silver Moon Fortress.
The orcs, advancing once more, had abducted large numbers of human civilians as living shields, forcing them toward the defenders' positions.
Outraged, Joyce ordered snipers armed with rifled muskets to shoot the orc overseers driving the captives forward.
The command was swiftly carried out. Rather than the roar of artillery, sporadic gunfire echoed from the human lines.
The orc taskmasters among the captives fell one after another, killed by precise, deadly shots.
Watching from a distance, Amur was stunned. Could human weapons truly strike so accurately from such a range?
A cold sweat broke out.
Had they identified him as the leader yesterday, wouldn't he have been in grave danger?
With the overseers dead, the human captives erupted in panic, scattering in all directions.
Though the orcs were fearsome, the kingdom's army wasn't necessarily safe either.
(End of the Chapter)
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