Translator: Cinder Translations
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After the signing of the peace treaty between the Kingdom of Aldor and the Grassland King's camp, the northeastern territories of the kingdom, including the Neron Corridor and the Yellow Earth region, fell into the hands of the orcs.
However, each region was treated differently. Military strategic locations like the Neron Corridor were declared directly under the jurisdiction of the Grassland King's land, while areas like the Yellow Earth region remained nominally under the control of the original Aldor lords, but their loyalty shifted from the Crystal Glare Aldor Royal Family to the Grassland Orc King's camp.
Among these lords, the highest-ranking was the Bradley family. It was the Bradley family that secretly colluded with the orcs during the war, dealing a heavy blow to the kingdom's army from behind.
However, after the war ended, the nomadic orcs did not withdraw from the Yellow Earth region.
The eldest son of Duke Bradley, Joan Bradley, sat in the main seat of the hall, and in front of him knelt a middle-aged man. A hat with a hole in it lay on the ground beside him, and from his attire, he appeared to be a commoner.
"I understand. Go back for now, I will deal with what you've mentioned," Joan Bradley said coldly to the kneeling middle-aged man.
The man carefully picked up the hat and placed it on his head, standing up and slowly walking up to Joan Bradley, kneeling again, and gently kissing the noble's boots.
"Thank you, my lord!" He then stood up and carefully exited the hall.
Once the footsteps faded completely, Joan Bradley could no longer maintain a calm façade, and the trembling of his facial muscles betrayed his inner anger.
Slap! He slammed his hand on the table beside him.
"My brother, what's got you so angry?" Joan's younger brother, Lamost Bradley, appeared in the hall.
"Did you not hear it from behind?" Joan snapped angrily. "This is the tenth incident this month! Those hairy bastards are getting bolder, repeatedly trampling our farmland. What do they think this is? Do they think it's the worthless wastelands of the grasslands?"
Lamost frowned. "We should protest, speak to the chiefs of those barbarians!"
"Completely useless!" Joan retorted. "I just told you, this is the tenth incident this month! Last month I spoke with Calem and Arroya, even sent a letter to Abal, earnestly asking them to restrain their subordinates from trampling our farmland and bullying our people. But look, this month, not only have they not put a stop to those actions, the number of peasants coming to me to complain has increased!"
Joan Bradley, the eldest son of the Bradley family, paced back and forth in the hall, continuously expressing his displeasure with the orcs.
Lamost frowned in thought for a moment before suggesting, "Perhaps we should ask Father to speak to Abal personally about this matter."
Joan shook his head. "No use! I've already realized, these seemingly simple-minded guys are actually carrying out a sinister plan!"
"What plan?"
"They're committing these outrageous acts on purpose, not because they're unfamiliar with our culture and customs. The orcs are using these actions to tell our subjects: 'Look, the weak Bradley family can't protect you!' They are undermining the authority our family has built over generations and forcing the subjects to make a choice: to live in peace, they must seek the protection of stronger powers—the orcs!"
"Too sinister!" Lamost exclaimed, his expression one of realization. "This can't continue. Otherwise, the Bradley family will become the object of everyone's scorn. Brother, we must demand an official explanation from the orcs!"
"Official explanation?" Joan asked, skeptical.
Lamost nodded. "Protesting won't help. We should start with this incident, capture the thug who trampled the farmland, and make sure he gets the punishment he deserves!"
"But… but… the orc army is still here!" When his younger brother suggested the most direct course of action, Joan, who had just been seething with anger, recoiled.
Lamost's eyes flashed with a certain emotion. "Then wait here, I'll go!"
For a moment, Joan was stung by his younger brother's apparent disappointment. "I am the eldest son of the Bradley family. It's not your place to risk yourself."
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"Battel! Lord Joan accuses you of destroying crops! What do you have to say?"
At the orc army's camp, Commander Calem summoned the culprit before him, with the Bradley brothers glaring at Battel.
"I request Lord Joan provide evidence!" To the brothers' surprise, the orc didn't immediately shout or argue, but calmly asked for evidence.
"Yes, where is the evidence? I can't just believe one side of the story!" Calem said, looking at Joan with a serious expression.
Joan was furious inside. He was the heir to the Bradley family, the future lord of these lands—how could his words carry so little weight?
A mere centurion dared to confront him so openly!
"Evidence? The hoofprints from your horses are all over the farmland. Isn't that evidence?"
Battel countered, "Are humans not allowed to have horses? How do you know it was us who trampled them?"
"You…!"
The two sides continued to argue, but what truly vexed Joan was that Battel demanded a duel with him, claiming that his honor had been harmed.
"I'll fight him!" Lamost stepped forward, bypassing Joan.
But Joan immediately grabbed him and pulled him back.
"Fine, let's have a fair duel then!"
With no way out, Joan reluctantly agreed.
The setting sun bathed the arena in a bloody hue, and sparks flew from the clash of blades like meteors falling on the sand.
Joan's swordsmanship was exceptional, his movements fluid, but the orc warrior, Battel, was also battle-hardened, with the advantage in strength.
As the battle grew more intense, Joan flipped backward to avoid a war axe that howled through the air. The hem of his silver armor was torn by the wind of the blade, exposing his sweat-soaked undershirt.
He spun around and struck three sword flourishes, the blade leaving winding blood trails across Battel's scarred right arm. Yet the orc warrior seemed oblivious to the pain, swinging his axe fiercely in return.
Joan's figure flashed as his long sword darted toward Battel's throat, but he failed to notice the orc's left foot quietly scooping up sand.
Just as the sword was about to pierce Battel's throat, the orc suddenly threw back his head and let out a painful howl. His axe flew from his hand, crashing into the ground.
"Did I win?"
Unfortunately, this was all part of Battel's realistic act, which made Joan hesitate for half a second.
In that instant, a sandstorm blasted into Joan's eyes, and Battel's powerful right leg struck his knee with the force of a battering ram.
The sound of shattered bones was drowned out by the orc's wild battle cry as Joan staggered to his knees. By the time he hit the ground, Battel had already reclaimed his axe.
The last image Joan saw was his distorted reflection in the blade, and the cold, sinister smile on the orc's face—one that was eerily at odds with his savage appearance.
(End of the Chapter)
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