Translator: CinderTL
The residents of Windbreath Fortress were jolted awake by the sudden cannon fire. First, isolated candlelight flickered in the stone houses lining the streets, quickly spreading into a continuous glow.
Several daring men, still in their nightclothes, cautiously opened their doors to peek outside, only to be sternly rebuked by House Bradley knights galloping past on horseback.
"Get back inside!" the Knight Captain slammed his lance handle heavily onto the bluestone pavement. "Anyone caught peeking out again will be arrested as a spy!"
After the sound of hooves faded, Old Tom, the baker on the corner, saw his neighbor's son still hiding behind a crack in the door, peeking out. He quickly made a throat-slitting gesture to scare the boy back inside.
In the master bedroom of the castle's central tower, Lamost jolted upright from his feather mattress.
He had been awakened by the distant cannonade!
The Duke, barefoot on the cold stone floor, paced back and forth, his footsteps forming an eerie rhythm with the distant explosions.
"My Lord, please hurry and dress!" a servant stood anxiously at the door, holding up his armor.
Lamost remained oblivious, his fingers nervously tracing the window frame. Through the stained-glass window, he could see torches flickering erratically throughout the city, like startled fireflies scattering in panic.
He turned to the city defense map hanging on the wall. The fortifications he had once been so proud of now seemed almost laughable under the barrage of cannon fire.
Yulga stood before the crack in the North Gate, his cloudy pupils suddenly contracting.
On the distant plain, illuminated by the flashes of cannon fire, he saw dozens of cannons lined up in a row, spewing forth lethal flames.
"Quick! Break through! This is our last chance!"
He roared with all his might, his voice swallowed by the thunder of another barrage. The dull thuds of solid shot striking the city walls mingled with the sharp whistles of bursting shells. A cannonball slammed heavily into the tower to the left of the gate, sending a shower of stone fragments raining down on the Orc warriors' leather armor.
Brock had just driven a cart loaded with gold coins through the gate when a bursting shell detonated ten paces ahead of the horses.
Amidst the piercing shriek of shrapnel tearing through the air, the two packhorses pulling the cart were instantly reduced to bloody chunks of flesh. The wooden shafts of the cart splintered in the explosion, and the chests overflowing with gold coins tumbled onto the ground, their contents glinting enticingly in the cannon fire's glow.
"Faster! Faster! Faster!"
Yulga commanded his clansmen to charge through the human artillery fire.
The commotion at the gate caught the attention of the Imperial army in the distance.
"Chieftain! They're aiming at us!" Goruk's trembling finger pointed into the distance. In the brief flashes between barrages, it was clear that the Imperial artillery was adjusting its firing angles, with more and more gun barrels turning toward the North Gate.
The concentrated fire suddenly shifted toward them. Previously scattered shells now rained down directly on the Orcs, causing devastating casualties among the Black Bone Tribe warriors. Howls of agony filled the air, limbs flew through the air, and the narrow drawbridge became a death trap!
For the first time in his life, Yulga experienced true fear.
He watched a solid shot slice through three of his tribesmen at the waist. Flesh and blood proved as fragile as grass stems against steel. The burst of a bursting shell illuminated the streets near the gate, and the smoke carried the pained cries of Orc warriors.
"Retreat! Close the gate!" Yulga's voice was filled with unprecedented panic.
The Blackbone Tribe warriors frantically pulled on the iron chains. With a grating screech, the heavy gate slowly began to close. A belated shell whistled through the gate opening, bouncing down the street inside the city and leaving a bloody trail.
When the gate finally slammed shut, Yulga slumped against the wall. His face, covered in soot, wore a look of bewildered helplessness he had never shown before. His rough fingers unconsciously traced the edge of his battle axe.
Brock was kneeling nearby, frantically bandaging the abdominal wound of a young Orc Warrior. The boy was gasping in pain, but he bit down hard on his leather armor strap to stifle his cries.
Outside the city walls, the enemy's artillery bombardment continued unabated.
Yulga stared at a gold coin in his palm, stained with black ash. He had grabbed it casually from the scattered loot. His fingertips traced the faint scratches along the coin's edge, mirroring the vague, un-nameable sense of frustration that gnawed at his heart.
The city walls trembled slightly under the barrage, and fine stone dust trickled down from the brick seams. Yulga recalled the boast he had made in camp three days earlier: "Those human iron tubes look scary, but their aim is terrible!"
At the time, Brock and the other warriors had joined in the laughter. Now, Yulga realized they had been like lambs who had never seen a wolf pack, pointing and jeering at the shepherd dog's barks.
Since the Black Bone Tribe had arrived in Aldor, they had yet to participate in a major battle. They had underestimated the power of the enemy's weapons. Tonight, they were finally witnessing the devastating transformation that occurred when the enemy's firepower reached a critical mass and was focused directly on them.
"Chieftain, House Bradley has sent someone!" A warrior, his face streaked with blood from shrapnel wounds, stumbled forward to report. Yulga instinctively rose to his feet, but ducked instinctively as the next round of artillery shells whistled overhead.
This wasn't the honorable duel of the Grassland, where courage earned ballads, not shrouds.
Yulga suddenly realized that even if they miraculously broke through tonight, how would the tribesmen who had lost loved ones look at him? Their families could have escaped, but their lives were buried in foreign soil because of their Chieftain's greed and arrogance.
"Hold the gate! Don't let those Northwesterners break through!" Yulga's voice regained its calm authority.
He rose and patted Brock on the shoulder. The young warrior turned, his face still smeared with another's blood. "Count the casualties and move the seriously wounded to the cellar."
Brock opened his mouth as if to speak, but only nodded firmly in response.
The urgent clatter of hooves grew louder as a knight from House Bradley, accompanied by five squires, thundered down the narrow tunnel. The sound of iron-shod hooves striking the stone slabs echoed sharply in the confined space.
"Orcs!" The Knight Captain reined in his warhorse, steam billowing from beneath his visor. "Who gave you permission to open the city gates without authorization?" His sword was already half-drawn, its cold gleam particularly striking in the dim tunnel.
Yulga rose slowly, deliberately dragging his battleaxe across the stone floor with a grating screech. He bared his fangs in a grin, but his face wore a forced casual expression. "We noticed the enemy lines were in disarray and thought we'd launch a surprise attack—"
"Bullshit!" The Knight Captain slammed his visor open, revealing a sweat-streaked face contorted with fury. "You nearly got the entire northern city wall wiped out!" He gestured toward the ongoing artillery fire outside the city. "See those flashes? Each one is a cannon waiting to reap human lives!"
While Abal's main Orc force was still present, the knights of House Bradley had endured months of humiliation. Now that the main force was gone, they could finally unleash their fury on these isolated Orc stragglers.
Yulga caught Goruk discreetly kicking a few scattered gold coins into the shadows. "My mistake," he muttered. "I'll be more careful in the future."
Normally, Yulga would have already swung his axe. But he hadn't yet decided on his next move, so he decided to placate the human for now.
(End of the Chapter)
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