Volume Two: The Iron-Blooded Baron Chapter 140: The Defense of Norlandburg (Part Fourteen)

But now, regret was useless. In the midst of war, there was no time for remorse; every man must bear responsibility for his own recklessness and the consequences his impulsiveness brought upon the conflict.

Though Orr pondered many things, the moment itself was brief. Charging to Barrett’s side was merely a matter of a few breaths. As he neared Barrett, he swung his axe with tremendous force. Had the blow landed, it might have cleaved his opponent in two, much like a butcher splitting a hog into halves.

Yet, Barrett merely sidestepped, his war hammer coming down horizontally toward Orr’s waist. Barrett delivered the strike with all his might; if it connected, even Orr’s iron-like frame would be left with a deep dent.

Orr, however, was no stranger to battle. He nimbly dodged the blow and countered by swinging his axe again at Barrett. Once more, Barrett dodged to the side, seeking to avoid the attack.

Watching closely, Orr’s heart brightened. Barrett’s movements were exactly as he had anticipated. The previous strike was a feint—powerful but false. The real threat lay in Barrett’s left hand, where a shield was gripped.

Without hesitation, Orr spun swiftly and slammed his own shield into Barrett’s body. If Barrett was struck by this iron-clad shield, even with his padded armor, his internal organs would surely be shaken, and he would likely cough up blood.

In Orr’s mind, he already saw Barrett collapsing, sprawled on the ground, bleeding profusely. Pride swelled within him. He knew that if he could fell Barrett, the commander, the rest of the unseasoned defending soldiers would be far easier to overcome.

But in his moment of triumph, Orr failed to notice the strange contortion of Barrett’s body. Before Orr could react, Barrett completed a midair spin, smashing his hammer hard against the arm holding the shield.

“Aaah!” Orr’s scream pierced the air, heard even by the pirates climbing the ladders. They exchanged glances but pressed on, holding their shields tightly as they ascended, only briefly hesitating.

At that moment, on the battlement, Orr’s left arm was shattered by Barrett’s blow. His shield dropped to the ground, and the powerful figure he had been moments before now seemed broken and vulnerable.

The agony of fractured bones drenched Orr in sweat. The sea breeze that had flushed his face with color now left it pale. The heavy strike had dealt a severe injury.

Yet Orr, a fierce representative of the younger generation of the Troba pirates, possessed a ferocity beyond that of ordinary marauders. Though gravely wounded, he quickly assessed the situation and retreated toward the ladder resting against the wall, aiming to defend this crucial point where more pirates would climb.

Barrett saw this clearly. With a cold snort, he advanced swiftly, swinging his hammer again. Orr fought to parry and evade, but with only one arm functional, he was at a severe disadvantage.

Realizing his worsening position, the tenacious Orr made a desperate decision: to take Barrett down with him. He threw his axe at Barrett, reasoning that with one arm he could no longer wield it effectively. Discarding the weapon might lighten his burden and increase the chance of a fatal strike.

Barrett dodged the flying axe and saw Orr charging bare-handed, yelling fiercely. At first Barrett was puzzled—why such recklessness? But as Orr reached out to grapple, Barrett understood.

Orr intended to embrace him and fall from the battlement together. Such a fall from this height would surely crush their skulls, a deadly final act. This pirate, though brave, was thoroughly ruthless—a villain through and through.

With this realization, Barrett wasted no time. He batted Orr’s head aside with his shield, leaving the young pirate leader dazed and seeing stars.

Then Barrett raised his hammer and smashed it into Orr’s chest. The blow dented his breastplate and knocked Orr limp to the ground, blood foaming at his lips.

Barrett tossed his hammer to a nearby soldier and seized Orr’s axe. Raising it high, he let out a roar and severed Orr’s head from his body. Grabbing the hair, Barrett lifted the severed head.

“Throw this pirate’s corpse down!” Orr’s voice was a command to two soldiers.

Soon, Orr’s headless body was hurled from the battlement, tumbling from a ladder and knocking down two Troba pirates climbing below—an unintended but welcome consequence.

From below, Pino, watching the wall keenly, saw the falling corpse and sensed disaster. His heart sank.

Then he saw Orr’s head impaled on a pike atop the battlement, blood dripping from it, the defeated pirate’s eyes locked in a look of despair and defiance. Pino could see it clearly.

“Ahhh!” he cried out. The other attacking pirates saw this too—their idol, Orr, the fiercest warrior under the Ashadan Wolf Lord, was slain by the Brick defenders.

The blow to morale was devastating. Orr’s own men, seeing their leader killed and his head displayed as a trophy, felt their hearts bleed.

Two of Orr’s former subordinates cursed fiercely, casting aside their shields and scrambling up the ladder to avenge him. But no sooner had they discarded their shields than arrows from the Brick’s elite archers rained down—one struck in the throat, choking him; the other hit an eye, felling him both unwillingly and in rage.

At that moment, Pino was overwhelmed by grief and confusion. Grief for his elder brother and role model, Orr, who had been killed. Though he often compared himself to Orr, sometimes envying him, Orr was still his close friend. Seeing his head drip blood atop the enemy’s walls, eyes unable to find rest, stabbed Pino’s heart like a blade.

Confused, too, because this assault had cost them over twenty men and lost a key leader. With morale shattered and reinforcements faltering, their attack was faltering. More lives would surely be lost if they pressed on, yet to retreat now would invite the wrath of Ashadan himself—who would surely execute any who dared a cowardly withdrawal.