Translator: CinderTL
"This can't be happening..." A human guard muttered, his spear clattering to the ground.
He repeated the phrase mechanically, as if the words alone could magically rebuild the shattered city wall. Several archers huddled beneath the surviving battlements, trembling like startled quails.
"Hold the breach!" a knight of House Bradley shouted hoarsely, his voice laced with despair.
The hastily gathered defenders rushed to the breach, only to be mowed down by muskets that materialized from the smoke. The sickening thud of lead bullets tearing through flesh was the final straw that shattered the defenders' morale.
The guards dropped their weapons, tore off their armor, and surged toward the inner city like living corpses. Their eyes held no trace of fighting spirit, only the raw instinct for survival.
A sudden glint of metal flashed in the smoke-filled breach.
Yulga, hiding behind the crumbling ramparts, squinted his gunpowder-reddened eyes and saw the first figure charging through—a knight in full armor. His gleaming breastplate was engraved with an intricate family crest, and his knee and arm guards were adorned with lavish gilded floral patterns.
But the most striking feature was the short-barreled firearm gleaming coldly in his hand.
"For the King!" the knight roared the ancient battle cry, then pulled the trigger with modern efficiency.
A deafening blast erupted, and a Windbreath Fortress guard nearby crumpled to the ground, a bowl-sized, blood-soaked hole blasted through his chest.
More knights surged through the breach, creating a bizarre spectacle: ornate plumed helmets, cherished heirlooms from their grandfathers, perched atop their heads, and ancestral ceremonial swords hung at their waists, yet each gripped a standardized firearm. One young knight had even engraved his family motto on the barrel, the delicate filigree a stark contrast to the weapon's deadly purpose.
"Reload!" the lead knight barked, expertly biting open a greased paper cartridge with a practiced motion worthy of a Northwest Legion veteran—clear evidence of clandestine drills among these nobles.
Brock instinctively raised his battleaxe, ready to charge, but Shaman Goruk yanked him back fiercely.
"Don't be a fool!" Goruk hissed, his eyes fixed on the knights' dark gun muzzles. The elaborately decorated firearms were now aimed forward in perfect unison, like a nest of vipers baring their fangs.
The knights advanced in two staggered columns, providing covering fire for each other. Gone was the individual heroism they displayed in their usual tournaments; practicality had finally triumphed over tradition.
"We surrender!"
The knights immediately aimed their firearms at the source of the voice.
A towering figure slowly emerged from the shattered ruins. Yulga tossed his dust-caked battleaxe onto the rubble with a resounding clang and raised his calloused hands.
Turning to his tribesmen behind him, he roared, "Warriors of the Black Bone Tribe, lay down your weapons!"
Brock's eyes widened, his spear trembling slightly in his grip. Shaman Goruk reacted first, slowly raising his arm. The rune pendants on his Bone Staff jingled in the sunlight.
Soon, the metallic clatter of weapons hitting the ground echoed through the battlefield as more and more Orc Warriors discarded their arms and emerged from their hiding places.
This had all been prearranged—what to do in the worst-case scenario. The Orcs had never truly intended to serve as mercenaries for House Bradley.
Two Royal Knights pressed their firearms against Yulga's back, marching him toward Yuriko. The ropes bit deeply into the Orc Chieftain's thick wrists, but he remained silent.
Before the war tent, Yuriko excitedly polished his sword, which hadn't seen a drop of blood. When he spotted the Orc Chieftain being led in as a prisoner, his eyes lit up behind his gilded helmet.
"Your Highness!" the Knight Captain announced loudly. "We've captured an Orc Chieftain!"
Yulga straightened his back and declared in stiff human tongue, "I am Yulga of the Black Bone Tribe, one of the Grassland Lords recognized by the Chieftain's Tent." He deliberately displayed the wolf-tooth necklace around his neck—a symbol of authority personally bestowed upon him by Great Chieftain Abal.
Yuriko abruptly flipped up his helmet, his youthful face flushed with excitement. "Fantastic!" he shouted to his attendants. "Fetch the painter immediately! I want this scene immortalized and sent to my brother!"
His sword swayed at his hip, the gemstones embedded in its scabbard gleaming in the sunlight, mirroring his elation.
The knights exchanged weary glances. This prince clearly viewed war as nothing more than a grand hunting game.
Yulga secretly exhaled a sigh of relief. Capturing a chieftain would undoubtedly satisfy his vanity far more than killing an anonymous Orc Warrior.
"Keep him separate from the other prisoners!" Yuriko paced excitedly, his boots kicking up mud. "When we return to Crystal Glare, I want to display this trophy at the triumphal parade!"
Yulga, forced to kneel in the mud with his shoulders pinned down, raised his ashen face and feigned humility. "Respected sir, may I inquire as to your honorable name?"
Before Yuriko could answer, his attendant puffed out his chest and proclaimed in an exaggerated tone, "Before you stands His Highness Prince Yuriko Rodney of the Aldor Kingdom—Guardian of Crystal Glare, Commander of the Royal Guard, and Grand Commander of the Royal Knights!"
Yulga's eyelids twitched violently for a moment before he slammed his forehead against the ground, his voice rising to a fervent wail. "Great Prince Yuriko! The Black Bone Tribe has been utterly ruined by that swindler Abal!"
His voice suddenly broke with emotion. "He boasted of invincibility in the south, coercing our small tribes to serve as cannon fodder. But by the time we arrived, his grand army had already crumbled!"
Yuriko was momentarily taken aback by the Orc Chieftain's display. His gloved hand instinctively traced the magnificent heraldic crest on his breastplate.
"We simple folk from the grasslands have never seen such grandeur," Yulga continued his impassioned performance, saliva dripping from his tusks. "Had we known we'd be facing someone as noble as Your Highness, we wouldn't have dared to come!"
Brock and the other captured Orc Warriors stared dumbfounded at their chieftain, while Shaman Goruk quietly averted his gaze, finding the performance far too theatrical.
"Now I understand! Abal never trusted our outlying tribes, those of us who cherish freedom and chafe under the Chieftain's Tent's authority!" Yulga lamented, sighing dramatically. "He deliberately sent us to our deaths!" He lunged forward on his knees, only to be halted by a knight's spear. "But if Your Highness shows mercy, the Black Bone Tribe will pledge eternal loyalty!"
A soft cough echoed from beneath Yuriko's helmet. He straightened his posture regally. "You show good sense. However, this matter must await His Majesty's..."
"Your Highness is wise beyond measure!" Yulga interrupted immediately, slamming his forehead against the ground again. "Such a noble figure as yourself could crush us like ants. Yet you show such magnanimity—truly the epitome of royalty, the finest flower of the kingdom's royal bloodline!"
The Knight Captain behind Yuriko couldn't resist rolling his eyes.
(End of the Chapter)
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