Translator: CinderTL
The gate of Windbreath Fortress was jammed with refugees fleeing the chaos. Wooden wheels of oxcarts screeched against the stone-paved road.
Peasant women clutched crying children, while elderly men hobbled forward with walking sticks, all their faces veiled in a pallid shadow of fear.
Chief Yulga of the Black Bone Tribe stood atop the fortress walls, squinting down at the pandemonium below.
He had volunteered to take charge of the North Gate, ostensibly to help Lamost, but in reality, he planned to loot the treasury and then break through to the north.
Lamost had still sent a detachment of his own soldiers to "supervise." Bah, a bunch of shrimps, Yulga thought dismissively.
"Get out of the way! Priority to siege supplies!"
Soldiers roughly shoved aside the refugees blocking the gate, directing carts and horses into the fortress. The tightly packed crowd of refugees erupted in wails of protest.
Windbreath Fortress was fully mobilized. Blacksmiths worked through the night, sparks flying as apprentices frantically sharpened spearheads. Long lines snaked outside the granary, where clerks frantically tallied numbers. Meanwhile, squads of knights went door to door, conscripting able-bodied men.
Yulga's nostrils flared slightly, greedily inhaling the scent of panic that filled the air—the very chaos he had been waiting for.
"Chieftain!" Brock panted as he climbed the steps. "The guards at the treasury have been redeployed! There can't be more than a few left inside!"
Yulga grinned, thick saliva clinging to his tusks. He gazed out at the city walls, where wisps of smoke danced in the distance—perhaps the vanguard of the Northwest Legion.
Even if they arrived, Yulga was confident he could break through with the gold coins. As the humans said, "The greatest wealth is gained from danger."
"Tell Goruk to prepare everything!" Yulga's rough fingers traced the edge of his battleaxe at his waist. "We strike when the moon is hidden by the clouds."
He kicked an empty wine bottle, sending the ceramic jug crashing against the battlements. No one looked up to investigate the noise; every guard was too preoccupied with their own tasks.
Now, the entire castle's attention was focused on the approaching army outside—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Nightfall
A light breeze carrying the scent of smoke swept over the city walls as Yulga led his handpicked elite Orc Warriors through the shadows, sprinting towards the vault.
They moved along the base of the wall, their leather armor studs dulled with mud and ash.
"Where are the guards?" Brock asked in a low voice, his rough fingers gripping his battleaxe tightly.
Yulga didn't answer, only pricking his ears.
Except for the distant shouts from the city walls, the area around the vault was eerily silent.
He signaled Goruk forward. The Shaman pulled out several bone fragments from his robes and tossed them lightly towards the iron door. The fragments clattered on the ground, but no guards emerged to investigate.
"Could they all have been sent to defend the city?" Brock grinned, a greedy glint in his eyes.
Yulga felt something was amiss, but the vault door beckoned him.
He gestured, and two Orc Warriors immediately charged forward, smashing the iron door open.
Next, the second door. Then the third. Still, not a single guard!
The moment torchlight illuminated the vault, everyone froze.
The empty stone chamber held only a few overturned wooden crates piled haphazardly in a corner.
Yulga strode into the vault, his boots kicking up a thick layer of dust. He grabbed a wooden crate and slammed it against the wall with all his might, the sound of the planks shattering echoing sharply in the confined space.
"This can't be!" Brock frantically searched every corner. "When I came here the other day, the floor was covered in coins!"
Goruk tapped the ground and walls with his Bone Staff. "No sign of secret passages."
He crouched down and ran his finger along the cracks between the stone bricks. "I'd say this place hasn't been visited in at least a week!"
Yulga's expression darkened.
He recalled Lamost's downcast eyes and the human noble's swift agreement to his deposit request.
Had Lamost transferred the money? Or more likely... had he distributed it as "deposits" to other mercenaries willing to fight for him?
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed through the vault. An Orc Warrior who had been keeping watch outside rushed in.
"Someone's coming this way!"
The noise they'd made breaking down the door had been too loud.
"Let's go! Head to the north gate and rendezvous with the others. We're leaving now!"
Yulga realized he couldn't waste time searching for more gold coins. He decided to flee Windbreath Fortress immediately with the 60,000 gold coins he had already secured. Any further delay would be too late.
He roared, and the Orcs immediately followed him out of the treasury.
Brock, still unwilling to give up, kicked over another wooden crate before leaving, but only a few startled mice scurried out.
As they retraced their steps, many Orcs were still grumbling about where the glittering gold coins had been hidden.
Yulga and his men hurried back to the North Gate. When he caught the familiar scent of his tribe, his tense heart eased slightly.
The warriors of the Black Bone Tribe were anxiously awaiting him.
"Chieftain! We're ready!" one Orc exclaimed, pointing excitedly to the carriages beside the gate. Six iron-bound oak chests were neatly stacked on the carriage beds, each corner emblazoned with the Bradley Family crest.
Yulga strode forward and lifted the lid of one of the chests.
In the flickering torchlight, the mountain of gold coins reflected a dizzying gleam. He scooped up a handful, listening to the satisfying clink of metal against metal.
Having returned empty-handed tonight, he needed to confirm that the gold coins he had secured were genuine.
"Where are those human soldiers?" Yulga asked in a low voice, his eyes scanning the watchtowers on the city walls.
The Orc Warrior chuckled. "Their drinking capacity is pathetic. They're all passed out like dead pigs, lying in their beds with their belts undone."
He held out his hand, and a crisp jingle of metal echoed—the keys to the city gates.
Yulga took the key ring. "Open the gates! Man the windlass!" he commanded in a low voice.
Four of the strongest warriors immediately rushed to the gate mechanism, their furry arms bulging with veins as they strained against the heavy iron chains.
Brock had already mounted the lead warhorse, whip in hand, ready to charge out.
Suddenly, a line of orange-red dots erupted in the dark night sky in the distance.
It was as if the fires of hell had bloomed across the distant plains! About two seconds later, a deep rumble rolled across the city walls like distant summer thunder.
The sharp whine of cannonballs slicing through the air grew louder, finally exploding in puffs of gray-white smoke above the walls.
The lead projectiles shattered midair, scattering hundreds of grapeshot pellets in a fan-shaped pattern.
Countless sparks erupted from the brick and stone of the walls, accompanied by the crashing sound of falling debris.
One cannonball detonated near the North Gate watchtower, tearing the wooden railing to splinters. Wood chips rained down on Yulga and the others.
The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the dust from the shattered stone to create a hazy mist in the moonlight.
An unexploded cannonball landed in the moat, sending up a spray of water that shimmered with an eerie silver glow in the darkness.
(End of the Chapter)
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