"This is impossible…" a human guard muttered to himself, his spear clattering to the ground.
He mechanically repeated the phrase, as if it would make the collapsed city wall stand up again. Several archers huddled under the surviving battlements, trembling like frightened quails.
"Hold the breach!" the Bradley knight shouted hoarsely, but even his own voice was filled with despair.
The few barely assembled defenders had just reached the breach when they were riddled with bullets by muskets that suddenly appeared from the smoke and dust. The muffled sound of lead bullets tearing through flesh became the last straw that broke the defenders' will.
The defenders dropped their weapons and took off their armor, surging into the inner city like zombies. No fighting spirit could be seen in their eyes, only the most primal instinct for survival.
A blinding metallic glint suddenly flashed through the gap in the smoke-filled city wall.
Hiding behind the ruins, Yulga squinted his gunpowder-reddened eyes and saw the first figure rushing in—a knight in armor, his gleaming breastplate engraved with intricate family crests, and his knee and arm guards decorated with ornate gilded patterns.
But what is most striking is the short-barreled musket in his hand, gleaming with a cold light.
"For the King!" the knight shouted the ancient slogan, yet pulled the trigger in the most modern way.
With a loud bang, a Windbreak Fortress garrison soldier not far in front of him fell to the ground, a bloody hole the size of a bowl exploding in his chest.
More knights poured in through the gap, creating a bizarre scene: their feathered helmets were treasures from their grandfathers, and they carried ancestral ceremonial swords at their waists, yet each of them carried a standardized musket. One young knight even had his family motto engraved on the barrel of his musket, the exquisite carvings contrasting sharply with the weapon's murderous nature.
"Load!" The leading knight skillfully bit open the oiled paper ammunition pouch, his movements as precise as those of a professional soldier in the Northwest Legion—clearly, these nobles had practiced extensively in private.
Brock instinctively raised his battle axe to charge, but was held back by the shaman Goruk.
"Don't be foolish!" Goruk hissed, his eyes fixed on the knights' dark gun barrels, which were now pointing forward at a uniform angle, like a group of vipers baring their fangs.
The knights advanced in two columns, providing cover for each other with alternating shots, showing none of the individual heroism they displayed in their usual tournaments—tradition ultimately had to give way to practicality.
"We surrender!"
The knights immediately pointed their muskets at the source of the sound.
Amidst the ruins, a tall figure slowly emerged. Yulga slammed his dust-covered battle axe onto the rubble and raised his rough hands.
He turned to his tribesmen behind him and roared, "Warriors of the Wugu tribe, lay down your weapons!"
Brock's eyes widened, his spear trembling slightly. Shaman Goruk was the first to react, slowly raising his arm, the rune pendant on his bone staff jingling in the sunlight.
Soon, the sound of metal hitting the ground rose and fell, and more and more orc warriors dropped their weapons and emerged from their hiding places.
This was all planned in advance, including what to do in case of the worst-case scenario. The orcs weren't really going to be mercenaries for the Bradley family.
Two knights held muskets to Yulga's back and dragged him toward Yuriko. The ropes dug deep into the orc chieftain's thick wrists, but he didn't utter a sound.
In front of the tent, Yuriko was excitedly wiping his sword, which was completely unstained by blood. When he saw the orcs being brought in, his eyes, hidden beneath his gilded mask, lit up.
"Your Highness!" the knight captain announced loudly, "We have captured an orc chieftain!"
Yurga straightened his back and said in broken human language, "I am Yurga of the Wugu tribe, one of the grassland lords recognized by the royal tent."
He deliberately showed off the wolf fang necklace around his neck—a token personally bestowed upon him by the Great Chief Abar.
Yuriko abruptly lifted his visor, his young face flushed with excitement.
"Fantastic!" he exclaimed, turning to his attendants. "Quickly, fetch the painter! I want to paint this scene and give it to my brother!"
His sword dangled at his waist, the jewels inlaid on its scabbard glittering in the sunlight, just like his mood.
The knights exchanged helpless glances—this prince clearly treated war as a large-scale hunting game.
Yulga secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Compared to being an unknown orc warrior, capturing the chieftain alive would obviously satisfy his vanity more.
"Separate him from the other prisoners!" Yuriko paced back and forth excitedly, his boots kicking up mud. "When we get back to Crystal Radiance, I'm going to show this trophy at the triumphant ceremony!"
Yurga was forced to kneel on the muddy ground by his shoulders. He raised his ashen face and asked in a feignedly humble manner, "This esteemed sir, may I ask how I should address you?"
Before Yuriko could speak, the attendant beside him puffed out his chest and announced in an exaggerated tone: "Before you stands Prince Yuriko Rodney, Prince of the Kingdom of Aldo, Guardian of the Crystal, Commander of the Royal Guard, and Grand Master of the Knights of the Nation!"
Yulga's eyelids twitched violently a few times, and he immediately pressed his forehead to the ground, howling excitedly, "Your Highness! The Ubone Tribe has been terribly harmed by that liar Abar!"
His voice suddenly trembled with tears, "He boasted that he was invincible in the south and used force to coerce us small tribes into being his cannon fodder, but by the time we arrived, his army had already been routed!"
Yuriko was somewhat stunned by the orc chieftain's actions, his gloves unconsciously brushing against the ornate emblems on his breastplate.
"We honest folks from the grasslands have never seen anything like this before," Yurga continued his dramatic performance, spittle still glistening on his fangs. "If we had known we were facing such a distinguished figure as you, we would never have dared to come!"
Brock and the other captured orc warriors stared in disbelief at their chieftain, while the shaman Goruk discreetly turned his face away—his acting was far too exaggerated.
"Now that I think about it, Abar just didn't trust us remote tribes who love freedom and don't really obey the royal tent!" Yulga sighed repeatedly. "So he deliberately sent us to our deaths!" He crawled forward two steps, but was stopped by a knight with a spear. "But if Your Highness is willing to show mercy, the Ubone tribe is willing to be loyal to you forever!"
A soft cough came from beneath Yuriko's visor, and he straightened his back with an air of authority: "You're quite sensible, but this matter must wait for His Majesty..."
"Your Highness is wise!" Yurga immediately interrupted him, his forehead slamming heavily onto the ground again. "A man of your stature, you could crush us like ants. Yet you are so magnanimous. You truly are the essence of a nation with royal blood flowing through your veins!"
The knight captain behind him couldn't help but roll his eyes.