NEC Chapter 39: Orc Wolf Cavalry

It must be said that Paven had made the most tactically sound decision possible. The Cloudmist Domain’s guard team consisted of only twenty-four members, and one scout had already been lost on the hilltop. The remaining three cavalry were useless against the enemy’s mounted forces. This battle was one of few against many, infantry against cavalry.

Using their range to take down a few opponents might buy a sliver of space for retreat.

Paven saw clearly that the enemy was clad in half-body armor, with even their wolves equipped with head and chest guards, medium-armored cavalry that only a full draw could hope to penetrate.

Chosen as Lady Frost’s guard, the team consisted of elite warriors handpicked from the domain. Before Paven even issued the order, they had already raised their weapons. The first volley of arrows yielded decent results, felling at least six wolf cavalry mid-charge.

The second volley, fired at closer range, was even more effective, downing another ten or so riders.

But that was as far as it went.

The wolf cavalry’s javelins came whistling in.

With a low, eerie whistle, a dense swarm of short-handled javelins descended like a hive of bees.

Orcs disdained bows but favored heavy ranged weapons like javelins. This time, they hurled specialized anti-infantry spears, half a meter long with wooden shafts and iron tips, carved with unique notched cavities that sucked in air during flight, emitting a piercing shriek like a whistle.

This was a full-spectrum assault on the enemy. The javelins, launched from the orcs’ brawny arms, carried brutal momentum as they slammed into the human formation.

Paven’s order to spread out proved its worth here. Had they clustered in a standard defensive formation, this wave of javelins would have wiped them out.

Even so, despite the spread formation and raised defenses, the barrage claimed a third of the guard team’s strength.

Both sides seized the final window for a fire exchange, javelins and arrows crisscrossing in a deadly web.

The Cloudmist warriors won the casualty exchange but lost the battlefield.

Paven’s heart sank into an icy abyss, the orcs’ attack deliberately avoided the ornate carriages at the center!

These black-skinned beasts never showed mercy. Like hyenas, they tore prey to shreds, grinding it to pulp. When raiding human territories, they never spared even a shred of respect for human nobles.

Now, their javelins intentionally spared the carriage convoy, which could only mean one thing.

“They know who we are!”

“They’re targeting Lady Frost!”

“They even have a high-ranking insider in the Crescent Moon Federation.”

Wolf cavalry were ideal for shock assaults, navigating mountains and jungle, easily outmatching human knights of the same tier in mobility and combat.

But there was a glaring flaw: wolves ate meat, almost exclusively fresh meat.

Unless starved to near death, they wouldn’t touch carrion, let alone vegetation.

Meat was costly and hard to preserve long-term, placing immense strain on logistics. Even the Sky Empire, with its reputed ten thousand cavalry, abandoned attempts to maintain wolf cavalry units after a brief trial.

For wolf cavalry to conduct long-range operations across borders was a logistical nightmare.

Yet here, a clearly well-conditioned orc wolf cavalry unit had crossed mountains and forests into Crescent Moon Federation territory to attack their convoy. If this was mere banditry, they wouldn’t have held back.

From the start, Paven had positioned Lady Frost behind him to shield her from concentrated carriage attacks.

Now, the enemy had made it clear they had a specific target. This wasn’t a chance encounter, it was a meticulously planned trap.

In this situation, Paven didn’t dare lead a rearguard to let Lady Frost retreat, unsure if more enemies lurked beyond or how many.

They could only fight to the death here!

Looking at the young Frost, her face pale as she gripped a shimmering knight’s sword, Paven pounded his chest and signaled Master Locke at her side.

A shimmering white light enveloped the guard captain. With a roar, the Goldscale Swordsman charged forward, his two-handed greatsword slashing through an orc wolf rider and its mount, cleaving both in half diagonally.

A spray of blood misted the air.

Close-quarters combat began.

The guard team were elite warriors, carefully selected, but the orc cavalry, capable of cross-border raids, were no novices. Within minutes, under the enemy’s numerical advantage, the defensive line collapsed.

A wolf’s fangs tore out another guard’s throat, its grayish fur stained crimson, looking especially ferocious. The battlefield split into two zones: one where the last two guards, a guide mercenary, four maids, Linda, Master Locke, and Lady Frost huddled back-to-back in a small defensive circle.

A dozen meters away, several wolf cavalry circled without attacking or closing in, confident of victory, awaiting their leader’s command.

On the other side, Captain Paven fought fiercely within the orc ranks.

Realizing the orcs weren’t aiming to kill Lady Frost outright, he launched a countercharge, pulling the fight away from her while cutting down enemies, seeking any chance to turn the tide.

His target was the orc leader, stationed on the hilltop astride a massive black wolf, clad in full armor, face hidden behind a helmet.

Orcs revered strength, much like humans, but for orcs, a leader’s role was paramount. Countless examples existed of a chieftain’s death triggering a clan’s collapse.

Perhaps their beastly genes hadn’t fully faded.

The fourth-tier swordsman’s eyes blazed with bloodshot fury, his weapon swinging wide, forsaking defense. Wolf howls, orc roars, and clashing blades blurred into background noise.

His greatsword spun like a whirlwind of death, each swing carrying a resolve to die together. Master Locke’s white healing glow clung to him, barely staunching his mounting wounds. Trading blows for blows, Paven felled six or seven wolf riders and their mounts, reaching the hill’s base.

As Paven was about to ascend, a black shadow, reeking of blood, lunged from an angle! An orc lieutenant!

Taller than the average wolf rider, with a more robust mount, the lieutenant wielded a heavy steel warhammer, timed perfectly. The hammer crashed down with mountain-crushing force onto Paven’s charging path.

Clang!

A deafening clash of steel rang out! Paven’s greatsword met the warhammer, sparks flying.

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