Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World-Chapter 119 Olaro is mad

Gedhe and Henry plunged into the wilderness, searching for Urff and his teammates, the king hurrying his steps. He had no time to waste on the search, but it was necessary for the barbarians' morale to remain stable. They got the information of the team's hunting ground and dashed towards that direction. They searched the silent forest for a while, until its serenity was broken by desperate human screams, followed by the dreadful roars of a wild beast.

"I will go first!" - Henry declared. He sent Mana to his legs and propelled himself forwards like a streak of lightning, seamlessly maneuvering through the trees. Henry's movements were akin to a meandering wind, gentle yet swift. He seemed to be dancing around the trees as he charged forward, unperturbed.

Gedhe trailed behind the king, but his weight and frame hindered him from even approaching the king's shadow. He ran as fast as possible, but he could only watch as Henry disappeared through the labyrinth of trees. Gedhe could only follow the light trail left behind by his king on the snowy canvas before him. Henry's eyes glowed in a soft purple light with each heartbeat, like a second heart pulsating in a determined and harmonic rhythm. After a few breaths, Henry could see the figure of a Winter Orc holding a helpless human by the head, who was yelling death threats while swinging his legs, trying to resist and attack the creature.

Seeing the Orc that dared to trespass into his territory, the king acted without an ounce of hesitation. In a seamless dance, Henry drew his sword, its blade bathed in a royal purple fire, as if carrying the celestial edicts. In an instant, he leaped forward, his speed and strength propelling him nearly a hundred feet ahead, akin to an arrow launched by an experienced hunter.

The speed gave no room for the Winter Orc to react. It could only watch in disbelief as Henry's purple blade sliced through its neck like a hot knife through butter. For a fleeting moment, the creature stood upright, lifeless and still clueless about its death, before succumbing to the inevitable descent.

"We arrived too late!" - Henry's voice echoed, the residual purple flame fading as he sheathed the sword. He still couldn't take out the First Sword, so he had to utilize a simple one because of that.

The king's eyes surveyed the battlefield, noticing that one of the barbarians was already dead, a gaping hole in its chest. Another hunter's trace lingered a few steps away, but there was no third body, meaning that the other one must have run away.

Three breaths after, Gedhe's figure finally appeared, his eyes calmly analyzing the destroyed scenario before his eyes. He paused briefly on the headless figure of the Winter Orc and gave a relieved breath, seeing that there was a figure clasped in its hands. Gedhe then looked at his king in admiration, seeing that his long black coat didn't hold a tinge bit of blood from the slain Orc. He had become stronger.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

"That one is already dead, unfortunately"- Henry calmly pointed to the fallen barbarian, whose chest was ripped open by the creature. Then, he shifted to Urff, held by the dead Winter Orc - "He's probably out cold, but bones are showing. Let's get him treatment, and fast."

When he slashed at the creature, Henry saw the young barbarian's chest expanding with a desperate and angry breath. Luckily, he arrived before the beast could eat him alive and end the young sapling.

Henry's gaze traced Sulla's arrow's trajectory, following her footprints that seemed to disappear into the forest - "The other one likely fled, possibly taking an alternative route, since we didn't bump into her on our way here."

Then, the king paused for a brief moment, his attention turning back to the lifeless body of the Winter Orc, cursing the beast in his mind. There was a new problem at hand, maybe worse than the war against the two kingdoms. At least, fighting against humans, he had a rough estimation on their numbers, he could send scouts to gather intelligence. However, this tactic wouldn't work with these beasts.

"One step at a time" - Henry muttered with a sigh, redirecting his focus to Gedhe, who had just severed the dead orc's fingers to free Urff's head from its grasp - "Grab them; time is essential. We must return as fast as possible."

With his orders, Gedhe picked up the unconscious Urff and the dead body of Ingvar. It was an honor for the ancestors to die in a battle and a warrior's body should be returned to the community, in order for it to find his way towards the ancestors' bonfire. They had to be burned in the bonfire of the village.

Henry and the silent Gedhe, who hadn't said a single word when he saw the corpses, left the area, leaving the corpse of the dead Winter Orc to the other beasts to take care off, even though the barbarian leader wanted to tear it piece by piece and burn it.

The echoes of their footsteps faded into the distance as they navigated the tangled woods, bound by the countless matters at hand.

-x-

Olaro stood amidst the chaos, the battlefield a symphony of clashing weapons and desperate shouts. His eyes focused on the figure of Duke Latrel, who managed to evade the deadly swing of Olaro's axe, escaping on foot through the thick forest. It was infuriating to the point of Olaro tightening his grip over the remaining battleaxe.

"I missed it" - Olaro grumbled, his bald head gleaming with sweat as he ran a hand over it. A surge of anger made him clench his fist, and he tugged at his long red beard in frustration -"I will not miss it twice." With determination etched on his face, Olaro prepared to throw his other axe at the fleeing figure as the battlefield roared around him, his army finally clashing with the remaining nobles of Aritreia. However, the Duke used the cover of the trees to shield himself, rendering Olaro unable to aim at him. He could only watch the fleeing man's back, unable to attack him.

"Coward!" Olaro's shout echoed through the forest, his voice filled with rage as he watched the man leaving his subjects behind. Olaro wanted to pursue, avenge the missed opportunity, but the reality of the battlefield held him back.

The chaos of war surrounded him, soldiers clashing, screams filling the air, and the ground trembling beneath the feet of both friend and foe. Olaro couldn't simply abandon his position, his duty to lead the army. His eyes scanned the battlefield, assessing the situation. The battle was far from won, and his absence could lead to chaos among the troops. Reluctantly, Olaro lowered his axe, the resolve still burning in his eyes - "I can't leave now" - he muttered to himself. He turned to survey the ongoing skirmishes, his mind torn between chasing after such an important enemy and the responsibility of leading the soldiers.

The sight of Aritreia's nobles desperately trying to fend off the Stahlian forces and avoid being trampled by their own forces, fueled his determination of ending things and bringing victory to the king.

"Retreat!" - Olaro's commanding voice cut through the chaotic scene - "Fall back, regroup!" - He rallied his troops, not wishing to destroy the harmony and precision between them. The Duke might have slipped away for now, but the war was far from over. The nobles were all powerful warriors in their own way and even though they were being overwhelmed, there was a need for caution.

Olaro's command halted the mad assault of Stahl's soldiers against the helpless soldiers of Aritreia and the nobles. Those under his orders immediately formed a solid wall, preventing and dissuading the soldiers of Aritreia from charging at them. However, even though they had stopped, the nobles were still being swarmed by their own forces, who were rushing in without minding the pointed blades. The nobles were fighting desperately.

Olaro's eyes lingered on the distant trees where Duke Latrel had disappeared. His hand tightened around the hilt of his axe as he tried to keep down the simmering desire for revenge within him. But patience was key and the moment wasn't the right one. The hateful enemy would meet his end eventually.

"It's just a matter of time" - Olaro thought, observing the nobles struggling against the overwhelming tide of their own soldiers.

The nobles felt desperate and wishing to drop their weapons to accompany the flood running away. They were tired. No matter how many times they swung their swords, the enemies didn't seem to dwindle. Soon, exhaustion kicked in, causing them to falter and being swarmed by the crows. They couldn't maintain the expenditure of Mana and stamina. No

"Hold your position!"- Olaro commanded, his eyes analyzing the unfolding scene. As the number of soldiers charging towards the nobles dwindled, he raised his battleaxe and shouted - "Charge!" At that command, Olaro's soldiers raised their weapons and charged, ready to spill the blood of their enemies. The battlefield echoed with the clash of steel as Stahlian forces surged forward, determined to secure victory.