Translator: CinderTL
Inside Abal's tent, the air was suffocatingly tense.
Langfero was dragged in by two Orc warriors, his armor in tatters and his face still covered with the dust of his escape.
Just as he was about to explain, Abal kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to kneel heavily on the ground.
"Worthless!" Abal's roar sent sparks flying from the brazier inside the tent. "I gave you five thousand men, and you couldn't even hold out for two hours?"
Langfero's lips trembled. "Orc Chieftain, the enemy's weapons were too powerful. Grayman sent cavalry, and they were equipped with Fire Crossbows!"
"Silence!" Abal's eyes flashed with fury. "Arroya! Teach this noble knight a lesson in the way of our great plains!"
The Orc general Arroya grinned wickedly as he drew a whip, giving it a sharp flick that sent a loud crack through the air.
"No!" Langfero's eyes widened.
Ignoring his pleas, Arroya lashed out with the whip, tearing open the knight's shirt and leaving three bloody welts on his back in quick succession.
"Ah!" Langfero's scream was stifled in his throat. His pride forced him to clench his teeth, but the pain brought tears to his eyes uncontrollably.
Each lash seemed to strip away a piece of his pride. As a knight of the human world, he had never been subjected to such treatment.
By the time the thirty lashes were done, Langfero lay in a pool of blood. Arroya grabbed his hair, forcing him to look up so Abal could see the face twisted with humiliation.
"Remember this lesson," Abal leaned down, his tusks almost touching Langfero's nose. "If you dare to flee from battle again, I'll nail you to the Siege Hammer as a meat shield!"
The Orc soldiers outside the tent burst into laughter. Langfero's last thought before passing out was that the price of betrayal was even harder to bear than death.
On the walls of Stonebridge Town, the Orc army that had been fiercely attacking suddenly withdrew completely.
Just as the defenders were puzzled, a lookout on a watchtower suddenly shouted excitedly, "Hot Air Balloon! The Northwest Legion's Hot Air Balloon!"
Major Hodgson grabbed a telescope, and in the lens, he clearly saw a black dot in the distant sky. It was indeed the Hot Air Balloon used for reconnaissance by the Northwest Legion. In this era, no other force possessed such a creation.
It was slowly drifting in with the northwest wind, and the flag hanging below the balloon was clearly visible—the banner of the Grayman family.
"Signal all the towers!" Hodgson's voice trembled with excitement. "The Marquis has arrived with the main force!"
Through tunnels and signal flags, the news spread like wildfire throughout the town. Soldiers who had finally gotten a moment of rest from the Orcs jumped up and cheered. Some even threw their helmets into the air. A soot-covered gunner knelt beside his cannon, trembling as he drew a Holy Emblem on his chest.
"Get back to your post and stay alert!"
Hodgson suddenly barked at a militiaman who had appeared in his line of sight, having run out from one of the towers.
The militiaman heard the major's shout and immediately ran back.
Hodgson ordered a messenger, "Notify all positions that the Orcs haven't retreated far. Everyone must stay at their posts and not move!"
The officers and soldiers around him quieted down, but the joy in their eyes was unmistakable.
The recruits quietly wiped the tears from the corners of their eyes, while the veterans polished their gun barrels even brighter. Everyone knew that the most difficult moment had passed.
Abal rode his pitch-black warhorse, slowly inspecting the reorganized Orc army.
The armor reflected a cold, sharp light, and the war banners fluttered loudly in the wind. Although they had been thwarted in the street battles of Stonebridge Town, now on the open plains, his warriors had straightened their backs once more. "Look, those humans finally dare to fight us head-on!" an Orc Centurion roared, waving his battle axe, and the surrounding warriors let out a deafening war cry.
Abal looked on with satisfaction—this was the grassland warriors he was familiar with, not the constrained beasts trapped in narrow alleys.
"Orc Chieftain!" another scout came to report, "Grayman's army has regrouped five miles away. Their forces appear to number around forty thousand, with very few cavalry."
A hint of disdain flashed in Abal's eyes.
What could those cowards hiding behind walls in Stonebridge Town achieve in the open wilderness? He raised his battle axe, its blade drawing a dazzling arc in the sunlight.
"Warriors!" his voice rumbled like thunder across the plains, "Today, we will show the humans who the true masters of this land are! Without the protection of city walls, they are nothing but lambs to the slaughter!"
The Orc warriors banged their weapons against their shields, the sound like a tidal wave.
The cavalry led by Ajil had already begun to deploy on the flanks, their battle-hardened steeds snorting with excitement.
In the center of the formation, the seasoned Orc heavy infantry checked their weapons, their eyes burning with the desire for battle.
Abal turned his horse and looked toward the northern horizon, where Grayman's army should be forming up.
But the Orc Chieftain felt no fear—on the vast plains, the Orc cavalry would crush all obstacles like a storm.
Today, he would personally sever the head of that arrogant young man and wash away the shame of Stonebridge Town with blood.
"All forces, advance north!"
Just as Abal had confidently issued the command, his hand, which had been holding the battle axe high, suddenly froze mid-air.
The war cries of many Orc warriors also abruptly ceased as they stared upward in shock.
For against the azure sky, a massive hot air balloon was slowly drifting toward them, and beneath it, Grayman's banner fluttered proudly in the wind.
Even more horrifying was the fact that several figures could be clearly seen in the balloon's basket, looking down upon the earth.
"The... the realm of the gods..."
An elderly Orc Shaman fell to his knees with a thud, his bone staff dropping into the dust.
The surrounding warriors involuntarily stepped back, some even beginning to tremble—in their traditional beliefs, the heavens were the sacred domain of the gods and their messengers, the birds. How could mortals possibly reach it? Abal's eyes were fixed on the floating giant, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Even the bravest warriors felt a chill run down their spines as the humans in the balloon waved at them, their gestures like gods looking down upon ants.
"Sorcery!"
Arroya suddenly roared, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him, "This must be some dark magic cast by Grayman!"
The shadow cast by the balloon slowly drifted over the Orcish army formation. Wherever it passed, the warriors lowered their heads, afraid to let their gaze fall upon it.
Abal suddenly felt a bone-chilling coldness.
Even setting aside matters of gods and faith, he could think of one very real threat—if humans could ascend to the skies, wouldn't the deployment and arrangement of their own army be completely exposed to their view?
(End of the Chapter)
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