Translator: CinderTL
Deep within the Grassland, a fierce wind whipped up swirling clouds of yellow sand.
Great Chieftain Abal stood atop a high ridge, his bronze upper body bare, a wolf-mane war cloak draped over his shoulders.
Before him stood three thousand elite cavalrymen, each armed with a drawn bow and an arrow nocked, their warhorses restless beneath them. This was the new generation of cavalry he had personally forged, another sharp blade for the Grassland's future.
"Look there!" Abal suddenly raised his arm, pointing to a solitary boulder in the distance. "Shoot!"
Whoosh!
Arrows flew like locusts, striking the boulder with a deafening clang.
"Left front, that withered tree!"
Another volley rained down, instantly peppering the tree's trunk with arrows.
"Southeast...!"
The cavalry charged forward, their arrows striking the targets Abal indicated with deadly precision even at full gallop.
Abal's lips curled into a slight smile. This was the army he had envisioned—reacting with lightning speed and executing orders with instinctive precision.
He slowly turned, his gaze falling upon his black warhorse with its raven mane. The horse was as dark as ink, save for a single white star on its forehead. It had served him loyally for ten years, participating in thirty-seven battles, a prized steed envied by all on the Grassland.
Raising his hand, Abal's voice boomed across the field:
"Shoot it."
The cavalrymen froze in shock.
"Shoot my horse."
A brief, deathly silence descended.
Some lowered their heads to examine their bows, others glanced at their comrades, but most stood frozen in place, their fingers trembling slightly.
"I said—shoot!" Great Chieftain Abal roared.
In an instant, another volley of ten thousand arrows soared through the air.
The massive black steed reared and neighed amidst the arrow storm, instantly pierced by dozens of sharp arrows. It crashed to the ground, its blood rapidly staining the yellow sand.
Abal's gaze, sharp as a blade, swept across the ranks. "Drag out those who hesitated!"
His personal guard immediately charged into the formation, dragging out seven soldiers who had failed to release their arrows in time.
Their faces were deathly pale, some still trying to plead their case. "Great Chieftain... that was your beloved horse... I thought..."
"No thinking!" Abal drew his curved blade and with a single stroke decapitated the nearest soldier. The severed head rolled across the sand, its eyes still wide open.
The remaining six were forced to kneel on the sand, their necks exposed.
"Execute them all!"
At the chieftain's command, the guards swung their blades in unison. Six heads fell to the ground, and six corpses erupted in geysers of blood.
Abal stepped onto one of the corpses, his blood-dripping blade pointed at the seven severed heads arranged on the sand. His voice boomed like thunder across the cavalry:
"My orders are not for you to ponder! Not for you to judge! Not for you to assume!"
"Your eyes shall only see where I point, and your hands shall only draw bows and fire arrows!"
"Your lives belong to me until you fall on the battlefield!"
The howling wind whipped up blood-soaked sand, scouring every terrified face.
Abal swung himself onto another horse brought by his Guard, his gaze sweeping over the three thousand cavalrymen. His voice, low and icy, warned them:
"Next time I point, I expect no one to disappoint me again!"
Just as the Great Chieftain was delivering his harsh reprimand to the cavalry, a sudden cloud of dust billowed on the horizon. A rider was galloping toward them like a madman.
The horse foamed at the mouth, its rider's armor disheveled—it was Yujin. Abal frowned. This usually composed and steady subordinate was now covered in dust, his eyes bloodshot.
Yujin charged straight to Abal's horse, tumbling off his mount in a desperate scramble. His knees slammed into the blood-soaked sand as he gasped for breath.
"Great Chieftain... disaster strikes!"
Abal's frown deepened. "Stand up and speak clearly," he said coldly. "What could possibly make you lose your composure like this?"
Yujin trembled as he looked up, his voice hoarse. "The Stonemason Clan... they... they've detained the human envoy... provoking Alden Town! Aldor has already sent a massive army to invade the Rocky Mountains! Full-scale war has begun!"
Abal sneered, kicking the still-warm corpse of his beloved horse on the ground. "Then let them fight. The tunnels in the Rocky Mountains are like a spiderweb. The dwarves can hide inside, and the humans won't even find their shadows. Once their supplies run out, they'll retreat."
"No!" Yujin suddenly looked up, genuine fear in his eyes. "You don't understand... the humans... they have a new power! Not muskets, not cannons, but a magic that can collapse entire mountains!"
His voice trembled as he continued, "They're blasting the Rocky Mountains' main tunnel section by section! The dwarves' proud fortresses and tunnels are being destroyed one after another! The solid rock walls crumble like mud under those explosions! The dwarves inside are trapped underground, like rats in a nest!"
The sneer froze on Abal's face, his brow furrowing. "Collapse an entire mountain? Impossible... there's no such power in the world."
Yujin grew frantic. "It's true! The scouts who returned reported seeing it with their own eyes! The humans' new magic has the destructive force of heaven and earth!"
The wind suddenly stilled.
Abal stood on the high slope, gazing toward the distant Rocky Mountains.
He remembered his defeat in the Northwest, when the Alden army had crushed the Grassland's elite cavalry using only muskets, cannons, and disciplined formations.
He had always believed that humanity had reached its limits.
But what Yujin was saying... What new, sinister contraption had humans devised now?
He slowly lowered his head, gazing at his beloved horse, which he had just ordered shot. It had once been a symbol of his power and glory.
Abal suddenly felt a pang of regret. Could it be that his power and glory would ultimately fade away like this horse, vanishing with the wind?
If the Stonemason Clan's territory fell, human forces could strike directly from Aldor's heartland into the Grassland, just as the orcs had once struck from the Grassland into Aldor's heartland.
He jerked his head up, a flicker of fear appearing in his eyes for the first time.
"Send my orders! Summon the armies!" the Great Chieftain commanded in a low, urgent voice, his tone carrying an unprecedented sense of urgency.
Over half a month later, thirty thousand cavalrymen from various clans converged and galloped toward the eastern foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
Abal personally led the charge, his heart churning with shock and fury. If humans truly controlled the mountain passes, the Grassland would lose its natural defenses.
He had to reclaim the passes before Aldor could fully secure them.
Seven days later, the main force reached the northern pass of the Rocky Mountains. This had once been a joint outpost between the orcs and the Stonemason Clan, and a garrison should have been stationed there.
When the vanguard cavalry charged into the Pass Camp, they found only devastation.
The tents had been burned to the ground, weapons lay scattered across the ground, and bloodstains from fierce fighting marked every surface. Beneath the distant cliff walls, several hastily buried orc corpses lay, their severed heads impaled on wooden stakes, their faces twisted in grotesque grimaces.
At that moment, a group of orc soldiers emerged trembling from behind the rocks, their armor tattered and their hands empty. Their faces were smeared with grime, some missing fingers, others with wrists chafed raw by iron chains.
Abal roared, "Where is your Centurion? Why is this camp destroyed?"
An elderly warrior threw himself to his knees, his voice choked with emotion. "Great Chieftain... we were betrayed! That old dog Imar... he lured the Centurion to a feast and ambushed him! Our entire army was attacked! Those who resisted were slaughtered, and the rest of us... were taken prisoner! He... he surrendered to the humans!"
"Surrendered?" Abal's eyes turned icy. "He dared surrender to the humans?!"
The warrior raised his head, his eyes burning with humiliation. "He beheaded the Centurion and several officers, salted their heads, and sent them to Mountain Throat Fortress as a gift to the humans!"
A wave of uproar swept through the Grassland army.
(End of the Chapter)
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