Translator: Cinder Translations
...
The baby in the woman's arms suddenly let out a loud cry, and the fleeing group moving through the forest instantly froze.
"Don't let your little brat make a sound! What if those hairy beasts hear us?" A low reprimand came from the crowd.
The woman's body trembled, and she hurriedly rocked the child in her arms, gently trying to calm it.
"Ah—look!"
A shocked exclamation startled everyone, and they thought that pursuers had come to capture them.
As they followed the direction of the exclamation, their fear was quickly replaced by anger when they saw what was in the forest.
More than ten bodies were hanging from the branches, swaying in the wind. It was clear they were the corpses of the people who had previously fled.
"Beasts!" The refugees cursed softly, yet dared not speak loudly. Each one could only suppress their anger inside.
Since the orcs from the grasslands occupied the northeastern region of the Aldor's Yellow Earth Land, people had gradually started leaving their homes and fleeing westward or southward to human lands that hadn't yet fallen.
At first, there were only a handful of refugees, and most of the locals didn't realize what the arrival of the foreign tribes meant. After all, the lord was Duke Bradley, and the barbarian tribes from the grasslands were invited by him to help resist the kingdom's tyranny.
For a long time, there had been a saying in the Yellow Earth Land—taxes collected by the Duke went to the kingdom's military stationed at the Watcher's Fortress. It was the kingdom's insatiable greed that had impoverished the local population.
Although the orcs appeared fierce, they still had to give some respect to the local lord. Once the kingdom's army was driven out, the orcs would return to the grasslands with the rewards given to them by Duke Bradley.
However, the reality shattered their illusions. The orc army not only didn't return to the grasslands but also settled in the area.
Large, fertile lands were seized by these foreign tribes—usually, a few orcs riding horses would circle a field, and then declare that the land within was now theirs.
"This is the reward your lord gave us!" The orcs sneered, mocking the villagers who tried to protest.
What made the villagers even more furious was that after seizing the land, the orcs had no idea how to manage it. They simply brought in large herds of cattle and sheep to graze on the crops planted by the farmers.
Naturally, the villagers, having lost their livelihood, resisted. But refusing to yield resulted in sharp blades and deadly arrows. Many were killed, and those lucky enough to survive were captured and enslaved.
Without any organized resistance, the human farmers, who were busy working the land, were no match for the orc cavalry. Tragic and horrifying scenes unfolded repeatedly in the Yellow Earth Land.
As conflicts with the natives increased, the orcs gradually discarded their masks and no longer pretended. Whenever they lacked something, they would simply raid for it; whenever they needed labor, they would capture people.
And Duke Bradley, along with his vassals, did nothing in response to the complaints of his people. Perhaps they had tried to act, but it had clearly been ineffective. In any case, more and more people in the region realized that their original human lord had become a puppet of the orcs and could no longer offer protection. They had become lambs awaiting slaughter under the foreign blades.
As a result, it became inevitable that more and more people tried to escape the Yellow Earth Land.
The orcs, however, gave a brutal response—sending troops to patrol the borders, killing any escapees on sight, and leaving their bodies by the roadside to warn others.
As the refugees prepared to continue their journey, six large wolf-dogs suddenly leapt out of the forest, baring their teeth at the human refugees.
Soon, the sound of galloping hooves rang out, and an unknown number of orc cavalry surrounded the fleeing humans from all directions.
"Split up!" someone shouted, and the refugees scattered in all directions, running toward what they believed were safe paths.
"Catch them! Don't let a single one escape!" The leading orc swung his hand, sentencing the refugees to death.
The cavalry urged their horses forward, chasing the human refugees like hunters pursuing their prey, and screams echoed through the forest.
It wasn't until a loud bang rang out, stopping the orc cavalry in their tracks.
It was the sound of a firearm.
The sunlight from above shone down, and the metal armor gleamed brightly. Thirty orc cavalrymen formed a battle formation against the arriving border patrol team of Alden.
The leading orc lifted the head of a human refugee with his battle axe, and thick blood dripped continuously from the axe blade to the ground.
The commander of the Alden patrol was a lieutenant, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt of his sword.
These savage beasts were openly slaughtering their fellow countrymen on the border!
"Load the ammunition!" The lieutenant's deep growl echoed through his clenched teeth.
Fifty musketeers formed up in three rows, and the sounds of the copper flintlocks unlocking were heard in unison.
As the first row of soldiers poured black powder into their gun barrels, the orc wolf riders began to strike their shields with axe backs, and war cries reverberated through the trees, turning into suffocating soundwaves.
As lead bullets were forced into the gun barrels, the cavalry suddenly charged.
The lieutenant saw the orcs at the front of the charge showing their fangs, and their reins twisted in the wind like snakes.
Three hundred yards, two hundred and fifty yards... The pounding of hooves stirred up a cloud of dust, forming a moving sandstorm in front of the human soldiers.
"Prepare—" The lieutenant raised his sword high, its tip suspended in the midday sunlight.
The orc leader's crimson pupils contracted as he finally noticed that these human soldiers were very different from the ones he had encountered before—unlike previous human armies, they were unmoved by the cavalry charge.
Not all of the orc army had participated in the war against the Northwestern Bay.
"Fire!" As the lieutenant's sword slashed down, the sharp sound of flintlocks was heard in unison, and the first row of muskets shot out orange tongues of flame, followed by a cloud of white smoke. The lead orc cavalryman's back was torn open with a massive blood hole, and he was flung into the air, like a tin foil toy shredded by a child. His comrades around him were also knocked from their horses.
When the second row of muskets fired, the orcs attempted to block with their iron-reinforced oak shields, but the lead bullets shattered the shields, and the splinters embedded into their faces, looking like horrifying totems.
The surviving orc cavalry began to scatter to the sides. This was the moment the lieutenant had been waiting for—his third row of soldiers was prepared to deal with the cunning ones trying to flank. One by one, lead bullets claimed the lives of those trying to circle around.
In just a few minutes, half of the original thirty orc cavalrymen were lost.
"Retreat!" The orc commander who had been leading the charge was dead, and his surviving subordinate issued the humiliating order.
Fewer than ten orc survivors finally retreated beyond the reach of the firearms, leaving several more of their own dead behind.
(End of the Chapter)
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