I Became the First Prince

ger ones had nearly succeeded in crossing the bridge and reaching the lines of infantry.
The nobles were shocked.

The renowned Iron Hawk archers had shot at these orcs from afar, and when the monsters had come into range, the other archers had fired at them as well.
The archers accounted for about ten percent of the total defending force, and these orcs had come so far despite constant volleys.

The nobles turned their attention to the opposite banks of the river.

Countless orcs were upon the plain, just outside of a longbow’s range.
The soldiers were agitated, seeing so many beasts that wanted to tear them apart and feast upon their flesh.

A wind blew in from the river, and the nobles trembled as the chill penetrated their thick furs.

“It will be a long night tonight,” a common soldier said.

The nobles unintentionally nodded their heads at the man’s words.

* * *

The soldier had been right, for the night was indeed long.

It stretched out for those that guarded the river banks.
It stretched out for the nobles who lay sleepless in their luxurious tents.

Even if all were awake, they were still suffering a nightmare.

“More of them came during the night.”

At dawn, more Orcs were to be seen across the river.

“They seem to be 10,000; having doubled from yesterday,” a soldier stated in an idiotic tone of voice.

“They are more than we expected, but not that much more.
Maybe the fact that their bodies are so big makes it seem that there are more of them that there are in truth.”

The nobles were silent after the commander’s words.
They could all see that there were more orcs and that they were very large in size.

When Maximilian looked at the orcs, he could not help but shudder.
The nobles on the command hill felt fear.
The soldiers on the front lines were even more afraid.
The nobles had boasted of their heavy armored infantry, but these men now seemed very nervous as they clutched their shields.
A few spearmen kept nervously glancing behind themselves.

“Calm your minds! There aren’t that many of them who can cross at one once!”

“Our Knights of the Red Iron Chain will stand before you, so take heart!”

It was only the knights, men whose minds were as sharp as their blades, veterans of war, who remained calm.
They only numbered four-hundred in total.

The nobles had thought that so many knights could easily deal with a few orcs.
The nobles now understood how small a force these were.

An old knight had come to the front lines, not saying a word.
He had been observing the sheeplike nobles and soldiers for some time.

He was Count Richter Lichstein, the greatest swordsman in the kingdom.
He had even been classed as a better swordsman than Bale Balahard.

Richter drew his sword.
It shone with a brilliant light, the aura so great that it banished the last vestiges of night, heralding in the brightest of dawns.
The overwhelming magical presence of this gifted lion of a knight spread in all directions.

The soldiers trembled, all of them feeling as if they had been woken from a nightmare.

Count Richter re-absorbed the magical light and sheathed his sword.
He then quietly stepped back, having given everyone his message.
He had calmed the restless hearts of soldiers.

However, this display of his prowess had not only excited humans.

The orcs began to breathe loudly in anticipation.
Among them, an unusually large orc suddenly bellowed out a roar.
The orcs were now all lining up in ranks, and a few of them took elongated shields from their backs that looked very cute in their hands.

The nobles gasped as they saw these shields, for familiar crests were engraved upon them.

“That is the heraldry of House Ghurun, a snow deer!”

“And there is the coat of arms of the Winterwolf family!”

The orcs now held many emblems and treasures of northern families.
More than ten noble houses had their symbols displayed in the crude hands of the monsters.
It was a visual expression of the utter destruction that the north had undergone.

Once more, the large orc roared, and the others rattled their looted shields.

“They are coming!” one of the officers screamed, and he was right.

The orcs surged forward, the earth quaking under the tread of their feet and the roars that came from their maws.
The archers fired as soon as they had range.

Orcs had the shields raised above their heads as they charged on like enraged bulls.
Only a scant number of them fell under the hail of arrows.
One more volley fell among them, and this time a few more died, yet the great majority still charged at the bridge.

Their vanguard reached it soon enough.

“The Iron Hawks should fire again, kill more of them!” The longbowmen fired once more at this command, targeting the vital spots of orcs under the shields.
The orcs that had gained the bridge fell in short order.
Still, there were too many orcs, and the only archers who could target and penetrate their tough muscles were the Iron Hawks.

Even so, just because one fired their arrow into a vital spot of the orc did not mean he would die.
Many of them had survived multiple such hits.
Their toughness was comparable to the orcs that had chased Bernardo.

“They are Orc Warriors!” the Second Prince shouted, identifying their nature.

The Orc Warriors that had survived and had crossed the bridge now charged at the ranks of men.

“Rose Thorn Infantry!”

Only

“Hah!”

The heavily armored infantrymen pressed their shoulders against their shields and braced their legs for an impact.

“Hold! Hold!”

“Hah!”

The soldiers with long spears waited for the moment when they would thrust forward and halt the Orc Warrior’s charge.

That moment never came.
The orcs sprinted the last few meters and banged into the shield wall, charging clean through the hedged formation of long spears.
Men were crushed by their shields, and their cries of pain ran against the river banks.

Orc Warriors slit the throats of the fallen or wrung their necks until their spines broke.

The long spearmen had been battered back, with many of those who survived thrown onto their asses.