Chapter 3: Slaying Orcs Successfully

The self-proclaimed orc chieftain, lacking the strategic acumen of a true warlord, found himself momentarily stupefied. While he hesitated, Houghton wasted no time.

All forty peasant archers unleashed a volley of arrows upon the ill-fated orc chieftain. His green and oily skin was instantly pierced, and blood gushed out.

In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, the enraged orc chieftain seemed to forget the sound tactical decision of retreating to his camp. Instead, he continued charging, determined to breach the ranks of the peasant archers and sow chaos among them.

However, the orc chieftain had woefully underestimated the situation. He had not accounted for the presence of the infantry.

Eighty spearmen, emerging stealthily from the dense undergrowth, now stood poised against the greenskin threat. Clad in humble attire, with round helmets, thick leather armor, and barefooted, these farmers concealed their combat readiness well. But the gleaming tips of their spears belied their determination.

Green-skinned orcs were formidable fighters, capable of taking on multiple foes simultaneously. However, when confronted with dozens of sharp spears, they could not help but falter. The situation had taken a turn.

"Kill! Press the attack! Charge with all your might!" shouted the chieftain, though his voice wavered due to blood loss.

Unbeknownst to the orcs, their predicament was not as dire as they believed. They had fallen into a trap, underestimating their opponents. The orc chieftain's reckless charge played right into the hands of his adversaries.

Amidst the chaos, one warrior cried out, "For the Green Banner!" as he lunged into the fray. It was none other than the courageous mendicant monk, whose timely actions had shifted the balance of the battle.

The chieftain, weakened by blood loss, staggered as he reached out to grab the monk. Just when victory seemed within his grasp, a swift and deadly arrow found its mark, piercing the orc chieftain's forehead and ending his reign of terror.

With their leader slain, the remaining green-skinned orcs scattered in fear, fleeing for their lives. The peasant militia, with the unexpected aid of the brave mendicant monk, had emerged victorious.

The knights watching from the hill, initially tense and uncertain, breathed sighs of relief. Their narrow escape from danger had united them, forging an unspoken alliance in the face of adversity.

Lady Constance, the Countess of Gottingen, and Joan, the Knight of Radiance, watched the battle's outcome with rapt attention. The monk's valor and resourcefulness had transformed him into an unlikely hero in their eyes.

"Countess, Lady Joan, are you both unharmed?" asked the mendicant monk, his concern evident as he approached them, his robes stained with dirt and blood.

Lady Constance, her eyes gleaming with gratitude, nodded appreciatively. "Thanks to your courage and cleverness, we are safe. You are our savior, even without formal knighthood."

Joan, the Knight of Radiance, concurred. "Indeed, you have shown great valor, dear monk. You're no ordinary clergyman; you're a warrior in the truest sense."

The monk humbly shook his head. "I simply did what I could. Now, we must quickly find a safer location."

Realizing that danger still loomed on the horizon, Lady Constance agreed, understanding that they needed a detailed plan to safeguard Gottingen County.

With that, the group set out once more, returning to Lady Constance's carriage, prepared to face further challenges on their journey. Though the monk lacked the title of a knight, he had become a vital ally in defending Gottingen County, fighting alongside them when they needed him most.

But it was unheard of for clerics to engage in combat.

The inner house knights also contemplated a strategy to decapitate the orc chieftain, but they couldn't bear the thought of risking the precious Countess as bait. Consequently, their plan failed.

Little did they know that Houghton had succeeded where they hadn't.

Upon hearing this, the Countess's eyes sparkled with newfound hope, her thoughts veiled in mystery.

"Kill! Pursue them swiftly, strike with all your might!" Houghton commanded, seeing the orc chieftain pierced with arrows, bleeding profusely, and falling to the ground. He seized the reins of his previously abandoned donkey and grabbed a spear, urging the militia to continue their charge.

However, when Houghton ventured closer to the downed orc, the creature, cunningly feigning death, suddenly sprang to life and counterattacked! Houghton was caught off guard, never having anticipated such a move.

Upon the hilltop, the knights watched with growing unease. Was their narrow escape from danger about to come to a premature end? Certainly not!

Houghton had spent eight years patiently waiting for an opportunity like this. He wouldn't let it slip through his fingers now.

Aware of his limited combat skills, Houghton gritted his teeth and thrust his spear backward into the orc's chest. The sharp spearhead pierced flesh and lodged itself in bone. The orc, undeterred, reached out to grab Houghton, intending to drag him off his donkey.

In a daring move, Houghton kicked his donkey ruthlessly, urging it to bolt. The donkey, propelled into a wild sprint, dragged the wounded orc across the winding hills and valleys.

The orc chieftain, weakened by blood loss, was indeed being towed along by Houghton's desperate escape.

Houghton saw a massive boulder up ahead, so he quickly dismounted and let the donkey and the wounded orc chieftain crash into it.

The donkey died on impact, and the spear, driven deep into the rock, penetrated even further into the orc chieftain's chest, causing a torrent of blood to spray forth, staining the massive boulder crimson. The aspiring orc chieftain met his end right there!

[Level Up. Skill Points Available: 1]

[Killed the Orc Chieftain, Gained Trait: Orc Slayer - Plunder Income +15%, Morale against Orcs +1]

Although he lost his steed, Houghton couldn't contain his exuberance, letting out a triumphant roar that echoed through the hills. Eight long years of being trapped, evolving from naivety to maturity, from recklessness to restraint, had culminated in this moment of victory. How could he not revel in the joy?

Turning around, he found the militia members, who had initially been terrified of the mighty orcs, now inspired by their leader's courage. Even the most cowardly among them, who had initially considered fleeing upon encountering the orcs, now had the audacity to launch attacks against the formidable orc encampment. The soldiers summoned by the militia were also individuals with their own thoughts and feelings, not mindless automatons.

With the loss of their central figure, the orc chieftain, the once-unified orc tribe immediately descended into chaos.

The two tribes that had been exiled to the side fled in haste, and the larger tribe, bereft of its leader, descended into infighting and chaos. Several massive orcs, accompanied by a group of goblins, each staked out their territories, fearing absorption by other orc factions.

At this point, Houghton took charge once more, commanding 120 militia members to charge in. Like a hot knife through butter, they drove the disoriented orcs in every direction, dispatching many formidable foes.

As the evening approached and the overcast skies cleared, the scattered orcs fled into the forest, and the inner house knights of House Goettingen, displaying unusual discipline, welcomed their savior.

A seemingly ordinary monk.

The proud noble knights quickly recognized Houghton's true identity.

"Bravo, young lad from the Boden family!"

"In the future, come hunting in my domain, and I won't tax you."

"Come on, give Uncle a hug!"

A large crowd swarmed around, practically turning Houghton into a squashed meatball. Behind him, the militia members, witnessing their leader being treated with such reverence, straightened their postures, seemingly proud and honored.

Cough, cough.

Suddenly, a woman's voice interrupted the exchanges between the noble knights.

Houghton leaned out to see a sharp-looking female knight with short black hair. Her tanned, healthy face featured two bright, confident, ebony eyes, and her tall, graceful figure stood with a knight's bearing.

She was Goettingen's renowned "Radiant" Knight, Joan.

Joan gazed at Houghton with a complex expression, biting her closed crimson lips lightly. "The lady wishes to see you, young man of the Boden family," she said. It seemed that Joan was regretting her inability to protect Countess Conossa.

Thinking of his father, who could face defeat at any moment, Houghton followed discreetly, entering the partially damaged carriage on the high hill. As he stepped inside the tent, Houghton's expression froze.

Before him sat a woman, as enchanting as a goddess. She was draped in a luxurious silk gown that covered her long, alabaster legs. Delicate veils rested on her pearl-like, silky skin, and her plump buttocks rested against the chair. Her waist, barely a handful, seemed to beckon Houghton, tempting him to embrace her immediately.

It was none other than the Jewel of the Duchy of Losalangia, Countess Conossa von Norsenberg, who had captivated the hearts of countless men.

She turned her head, and Houghton found himself gazing into those emerald-like eyes on her delicate, snow-like face.

Undoubtedly, Conossa was taken aback. Not only was she surprised by Houghton's tall stature and striking appearance, but also by the unwavering confidence he exuded.

"Houghton, thank you for your timely assistance," Conossa began to say, but she was left utterly astonished by Houghton's words.

Stepping closer, Houghton said earnestly, "Milady, if you don't regain your composure soon, three or four days from now, both you and I will become fugitive slaves."