School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 185 --The Sword Stands, The City Stands
Guarding the staircase, groups of defenders, armed with a mix of long and short weapons as well as crossbows, slaughtered the demon army forces attempting to ascend the tower.
The attackers, primarily orcs, displayed fearless valor, piling their dead layer upon layer in their attempt to storm the tower.
Thus, Ironblade Tower was lost one floor at a time until, at last, several powerful orcs stood atop the spire, cheering in triumph.
The orc leader watched the battle with detachment, as if he were merely an observer.
When his lieutenants reported that all resistance within the city had been quelled, and all the defenders killed, just like in the outer city, he inquired, "Were there any who surrendered?"
"Not one," was the reply.
"Good," the orc leader said, then made his way to the drawing room.
The room appeared empty until the orc leader addressed the seemingly vacant air, "Come out, it’s all over now."
As his words fell, the sound of mechanisms turning filled the hall.
A hidden door in the stone wall directly in front of him slowly opened, revealing Lord Dawson stepping out from the secret chamber.
"So, you are Dawson, the Lord of Ironblade City?" the demon army leader and Dawson locked eyes.
"Yes, and you are?"
"I am the Army Marquis of the orcs, Hawkes," replied the orc leader.
"Hawkes," Dawson sighed.
"To think such a formidable inner city was breached in moments by you, your depth is truly unfathomable."
"You flatter me," Hawkes frowned slightly, a look of regret on his face.
"Had you not been poisoned, your strength might well have matched mine."
"Was it your demon army that poisoned me?" Dawson inquired.
"No, whoever resorts to such underhanded tactics, I shall kill them myself," Hawkes stated emphatically.
"At this point, such considerations are futile," Dawson said, activating a mechanism on the wall.
A sword of iron pierced through the bricks, standing erect in the center of the hall.
"This sword was forged by the first Lord of Ironblade City. As long as the sword stands, so does the city."
Dawson sighed, "Hawkes, if you can pull out this sword, I will kneel and surrender."
"Ha ha ha," Hawkes laughed.
"Not a single one of your guards surrendered, yet you’re willing to? Very well."
Approaching the iron sword, Hawkes exerted a fraction of his arcanergy, but the sword remained unmoved.
Increasing his effort to seven parts of his strength, the sword still did not budge.
Only then did Hawkes realize the sword was no ordinary object.
Grasping the sword with both hands and summoning all his strength, he shouted loudly, and the sword lifted, albeit leaving him drenched in sweat.
"This sword and the spirit stone beneath it possess a peculiar property of maintaining their original state."
Dawson explained, "Years ago, I pressed down on this sword with all my might. Anyone whose arcanergy is lower than mine cannot pull it out. It seems your arcanergy is at least equal to mine."
"Kneel and surrender."
"There are many secret passages beneath the inner city," Dawson continued, as if he hadn’t heard.
"I’ve placed certain things in these passages. You used all your strength to pull the sword, which is why you didn’t notice the slight sound that followed."
"You’re mad," Hawkes’s eyes shone with excitement.
"It’s about time. I think I’d rather die standing. The people of Ironblade City never surrender," Dawson said with a smile.
As his words faded, a massive explosion erupted from the Lord Manor, spreading continuously around, knocking the demon army near the inner city to the ground.
The inner city was reduced to rubble.
As the smoke cleared, most of the demon army within the inner city was obliterated, with only Hawkes left standing.
Hawkes withstood the blast, though he was not without serious injury.
Clutching the iron sword in his right hand, he burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Army Marquis Hawkes had been an orphan, his exceptional talent and obsession with arcanergy unmatched among the orcs.
Even as a child, he was a king among his peers, commanding great respect that was earned through combat.
In orc culture, valor and the ability to fight honorably were equated with justice.
As the leader of the children, Hawkes’s sustenance was provided by his followers.
In return, he offered them protection.
Should any orc child from another part of the city dare to bully his subordinates, Hawkes and his band would confront the offender.
Although not particularly eloquent, his fists were persuasive enough, usually securing both respect and agreement from the other party.
However, there was an occasion when his opponent was a bigger child.
Hawkes engaged in dozens of exchanges but could not land a significant blow.
The other’s strength was not superior, yet he was always a bit faster.
Observing closely, Hawkes realized his adversary had been trained, with systematic movements and techniques.
After being thoroughly defeated and humiliated, he had no choice but to accept defeat.
Like a defeated rooster, he wandered the streets, determined to reclaim his honor.
Distracted, he bumped into a large tree at the back door of the Army Marquis Manor.
Climbing the tree out of sheer boredom, he happened to witness a strong figure practicing boxing inside.
That day marked the beginning of his journey to becoming a marquis.
From then on, Hawkes made it his daily routine to watch the man practice martial arts.
Initially, he would start waiting from the early morning, but once he realized the man trained at the same time every day, he adjusted his schedule accordingly.
The man practiced not only boxing but also footwork and leg techniques, often muttering formulas and tips to himself.
Thus, Hawkes trained in secret for three to four years, his skills surpassing most of the city’s experts.
One day, as he went to his usual spot, two lieutenants stopped him, informing him that the Army Marquis wished to employ him as a personal guard.
That day, Hawkes finally met his master, the ruler of the city—Army Marquis.
Through military achievements, Hawkes gradually became the right hand of the Army Marquis, who held immense fondness for his sole disciple.
So much so, that upon appointing him as the deputy city lord, he also adopted him as his son.
Under normal circumstances, Hawkes might have succeeded the Army Marquis and inherited his title in over two decades.
However, everything was accelerated by the demon army’s grand tournament a year later.
Tragically, his adoptive father died in the arena, killed by an asura who delivered a deadly blow.
Hawkes shed not a single tear, saving all his grief for the showdown with that asura in the semifinals.
The battle lasted from noon till dusk, through countless exchanges, with Hawkes always at a disadvantage yet fueled by a frenzied determination never to fall.
By evening, drenched in blood, he finally seized his moment.
As the last rays of the setting sun blinded the asura, Hawkes, with his back to the sun, delivered a fatal strike that pierced his opponent’s chest.
Only then did his frenzy for dueling gradually fade.
He pummeled the asura’s corpse punch after punch, marring the handsome exterior beyond recognition.
From that day forward, he became the new Army Marquis.
Regrettably, his injuries were too severe to continue fighting, forcing him to forfeit the semifinal match against the champion king, who was the victor of that tournament.
It was probably the first time Hawkes became aware of the champion king, having inadvertently let her benefit then.
Now, it seemed she had handed him a "great advantage."
"Damn it."
Hawkes lay in the main tent of the orc central army, murmuring to himself with eyes closed.
Since meeting the champion king, they had collaborated numerous times, with him seemingly gaining the "upper hand" on many occasions.
Yet today’s "advantage" felt particularly significant.
Someone entered, but Hawkes didn’t open his eyes, asking, "Did you find it?"
Something was tossed over; catching it, he looked to see what appeared to be the jade token of the Lord of Ironblade City.
He glared at the champion king in silence, contemplating that if he hadn’t been injured today, he would have found some pretext to challenge her to a fight to see who was truly stronger.
Hawkes had always been dissatisfied with the champion king’s aloof and superior demeanor.
"With the inner city in ruins, how could your lieutenants find the Lord of Ironblade City’s insignia?" said the champion king.
"So, I should thank you, then?" Hawkes sat up.
"You, Rakshasa, knew the dangers of the inner city and intentionally left the task of attacking it to me, didn’t you?"
"From now on, you will take over as the commander of the First Legion," the champion king said, as if she hadn’t heard the term "Rakshasa."
"And you?"
"I have a secret mission," the champion king’s tone remained emotionless.
Hawkes paused, then asked, "Dangerous?"
"Unclear," was the noncommittal reply.
"Be careful, don’t die," Hawkes hesitated before adding, "We haven’t had the chance to see who is superior yet."
"Don’t worry, Rakshasa doesn’t die that easily," the champion king finally showed a hint of a smile before turning to leave the tent.
"I..." Hawkes stood up, suddenly feeling his face warm, "When you come back, after the war, you must..."
"I will," the champion king interrupted him, "I promise you."
With that, she left the tent.
Hawkes remained silent, muttering to himself, "Yes, we must settle who is superior, Melania, I must surpass you."
For the rest of the day, the new Army Marquis fulfilled his duties as commander.
He directed the soldiers to clear the inner city, established a temporary command post, repaired three walls, and redeployed defensive equipment.
Where the south wall had completely collapsed, he erected a wooden barrier as a precaution.
With the main force of the demon army in the south, a wooden wall would suffice.
