Chapter 11

As the gentle breeze blew over the grassland, the smell of blood gradually dissipated.

The midday sun was scorching, and the green expanse was dotted with the red blood of the corpses, silently declaring the violent seeds hidden in this peaceful prairie.

After the recent battle, the weary warhorses needed a moment to rest. The map in Rody's mind told him that their current position was far from the previous camp, and they would not encounter any other threats for the time being. So, after collecting the arrows that could be recovered, he began to sort through the spoils of war.

It took the soldiers a long time to calm down from their tension and excitement. Carter led them in cutting off the heads of all the orcs, as well as the tails and skins of the worgs—these were the tokens to prove their identity. After all, a reconnaissance squad that emerged unscathed and eliminated an eight-man worg rider patrol was something few would believe at first.

Rody took two orcish curved swords from the confiscated weapons as spoils of war. Normally, the selection of spoils should be done by Carter, the captain, but no one objected to Rody's actions, and Carter openly expressed his admiration and recognition to his team members.

Having survived two encounters with orcs, Carter was well aware that it was due to the young man before him. Although he could have accepted Rody's offer of military credit as he did yesterday, facing the orcs again made him realize that living in the false glory of undeserved credit was not as fulfilling as truly fighting alongside his comrades, charging fearlessly into battle...

Only after experiencing the real act of killing orcs did he understand how laughable his previous concept of "honor" had been.

Rody, who had been considering whether to give up the credit, ultimately did not voice his thoughts due to Carter's attitude. His plans were too grand, and even one night was not enough to sort them out. However, he was clear about his goal of dealing with the orcs. With this in mind, Rody had a rough idea of his next steps.

He looked at the still excited Carter and the other scouts, knowing their inner joy. But for his own goals, Rody decided to pour cold water on them—

"There are many ways to make the orcs suffer, but I want to ask... how many orcs can our team stop? We killed eight worg riders today, but tomorrow they might send eight or even eighteen more. You can all see what they are planning. The camp we saw today is a clear sign that they are preparing to extend their claws toward the Carren Kingdom. We were lucky today, but what about the future?"

His tone was calm and composed, yet it carried a hint of cruelty. The originally high-spirited scouts were stunned, and the flames of excitement in their hearts seemed to be extinguished with a "hiss."

They stared at Rody, looking at a loss.

"I know this might be untimely, but... Lieutenant Sordin will not bring the so-called reinforcements, and the kingdom will not pay much attention to the 'friction' happening here. To the nobles, everything we do—fighting to the death for the kingdom's honor—is just a play in their eyes..."

Thinking of the scenes from his previous life's game, Rody felt a bit disheartened. The border was frequently attacked, but the city of Holier never made an effective counterattack. In the end, when the surrounding villages were all massacred by the orcs, the city gates of Holier did not even dare to open to let the refugees in for shelter...

And then, the city fell, and the land was filled with sorrow and despair.

"You... are joking... How can it be like this? The evidence of these orcs and worg riders will surely make people realize something is wrong..." Although Carter said this, recalling his limited experience with the "upper echelons," he had no confidence... The nobles, who spent their days in revelry, seemed to truly not care about the lives of people like them.

"Of course, these are just my speculations, Captain Carter. Today's mission should be considered complete, right? Why don't we return and hear Lieutenant Sordin's news? Seeing so many orc heads, he should reward us with some money for drinks."

Rody knew he couldn't let the team's morale become too negative, so he hung the two thick curved swords on the side of his saddle and changed the subject. Carter understood and did not say more, silently mounting his horse and leading the team back to Noland Village.

Although they had won the battle, the scouts, who should have been happy and excited, were all silent. Rody's expression on horseback was somewhat indifferent. He followed the team silently, not distancing himself from others, but giving off a sense of loneliness.

Perhaps this was the unique aura of every ranger.

"Can I save this country?"

The reborn Rody was pondering this complex and grand question. He listed his advantages: his terrifying archery skills, his deep understanding of historical events, his near-encyclopedic knowledge of the game, and his memory of all the events that would happen in the kingdom over the next few decades... These could all make Rody a powerful "weapon" to wield.

But recalling how he had to use all his skills to kill just eight low-level worg riders today, Rody began to waver—let alone hundreds of thousands of orcs, even the internal issues of the Carren Kingdom's lords were a massive headache... Could a vast country change its historical course because of him, a variable?

Could he really be the butterfly that flaps its wings?

...

For Noland Village, this was just another ordinary day.

Old Finch's sheepdog barked excitedly at the sound of the returning scouts' hooves. The sun slowly set on the horizon, and smoke rose from the chimneys. Someone was making cheese, and the slightly sour and pungent smell wafted far, making the village children drool. Blacksmith Stan continued to hammer away, and Dick from the military supply office, after sneaking two sips of Aunt Susan's barley wine, puffed out his belly, held a straw in his mouth, and lay in a daze on a pile of hay by the warehouse.

Compared to usual, the only unusual thing today was that the scout team returned to the village two hours later than usual.

When the scouts on horseback entered the village, many people instinctively looked up, their eyes drawn to these soldiers who seemed different from usual.

When Carter returned with a sack of orc heads, the villagers had already sensed a shadow of darkness over the border. Now, seeing the seven scouts dismount with solemn faces and in silence, everyone's hearts tightened—had something happened again?

The orc heads were no longer in a sack but strung together with ropes, and the soldiers, who had participated in the charge and close combat, exuded a sense of killing intent. Their faces, no longer lax and playful, were now serious and grim.

Among them, one person stood out. The seven scouts dismounted, but none immediately removed their equipment. Instead, they all looked at the least outstanding member of the team—Captain Carter himself instinctively looked at Rody, as if waiting for orders.

"What are you looking at?" Rody blinked, losing the seriousness he had on the battlefield. He looked at his comrades innocently and shrugged. "We're home. Everyone, rest well and see what Lieutenant Sordin says."

This statement, like a dismissal, relieved everyone, including Captain Carter, who had no objections to Rody's command-like behavior. He watched the scattered scouts, picked up the orc heads and worg tails, stood for a moment, seemingly making a decision, and then followed Rody to find Lieutenant Sordin.

"Hey! Carter! You guys ran into orcs again?!"

Several soldiers from the first scout team passed by, saw the eight orc heads strung together, and immediately widened their eyes in surprise, gathering around to watch. Not far away, Ruge sat in a corner, squinting at the scene.

In the past, Carter would have loudly recounted the dangers of the day's battle, as he was the best speaker in the scout team. But now, Carter showed no signs of boasting—after this battle, he had unconsciously become more reserved. The life-and-death struggle had left an indelible impression on him, and he no longer valued vanity as much as before.

Waving to indicate that everything was fine, Carter did not even bother to respond and walked with Rody into the courtyard where Lieutenant Sordin was.

His unconscious behavior beside Rody made Ruge, who still had bruises on his face, squint his eyes. The old veteran spat and wanted to curse "no backbone," but then he saw the black worg tails next to the orc heads—

"Worg... worg riders..."

The pain in his body had not yet subsided, but at that moment, Ruge forgot his resentment toward Rody. He stared rigidly at the worg tails swaying in Carter's hand, his words stuck in his throat.

Memories of terrifying scenes surfaced in his mind, making the always cursing old veteran clench his lips and fall silent.