The Black Dog arrived at the orc settlement east of Dragonbone Ridge two days after the dragon attack. He had made haste with his aquilup riders the moment he saw the signal.
It was impossible to station a defensive force capable of fending off the dragons at every village, but if he sent an army only after the dragon appeared, they would never make it in time. Reluctantly, he was forced to station troops at a select few villages and wait for the enemy to fall for the trap.
One of them finally fell for it. The one who came out to meet the Black Dog was an officer in training, still at the age where he was more boy than man. By his word, the commander died during the attack, and he, the only remaining officer, took command. Half of the troops were lost, while two valuable cannons went up in flames. The losses were great—there was no getting around that. Losing the cannons was especially painful. While they were from an older generation, the margrave’s army did not have many of them to spare.
Despite this, the officer trainee stuck out his chest and declared, “Even so, we managed to take out three dragons!”
That certainly was extraordinary enough to make up for their losses. Over the course of the last month, many villages had been burned to the ground by the dragon attacks. They had finally managed to turn the tables on them for once. Considering the situation in the margrave’s capital, it was an important accomplishment. An intense dissatisfaction was building against the army’s failure to do anything about the dragons—so said the report from the chief accountant. If they could report that they had managed to slay some of those vile dragons, they would be able to regain some of the people’s trust.
The Black Dog pressed for more details. One dragon was felled by a surprise shot from the cannons. A counterattack from the moss-green dragon then managed to take both cannons out. One swooped down to save its comrade and was shot dead.
Meanwhile, a counterattack from the remaining two dragons sent the formation into disarray and disrupted the line of command. One of the dragons tried to use the chance to save its comrade, only to run into soldiers who were there by coincidence. It was nothing but good news so far.
However, while chasing the dragon’s escaped rider, they collided with an armored cavalry that had appeared out of nowhere. Most of the casualties occurred then, including the death of their commander. The trainee had been in command ever since, setting up palisades and awaiting reinforcements.
There was nothing else they could do. The cavalry numbered around thirty. When the humans had their shamans with them, it would take a hundred guns to beat them. In fact, it was impressive that the youngster had managed to maintain his unit for so long. He had promise, there was no doubt about that. The Black Dog asked for his name again and carved it into his heart.
The escaped dragon rider had already left with the cavalry. The next day, multiple dragons were spotted on patrol, not launching any attacks. They were presumably there to pick up the rider.
There was no use staying around here. The Black Dog made his decision to withdraw the army and make straight for the capital without reuniting with the main force. The margrave’s army at the mouth of the valley had received a retreat order just the other day. The refugees flooding into the city were putting a strain on its food supply, meaning that the margrave had no reserves left for the army. It had become too difficult to maintain their deployment.
The trainee relayed the orders to the soldiers by his side, sending them off to convey them to the rest of the garrison. He turned to the Black Dog, his puffed nostrils indicating he had something more to say, but he instead turned back to return to his men.
The Black Dog stopped him and asked what he wanted to say.
After a moment’s hesitation, the youngster began, “You might not believe me, but…” He went on to explain that one of the dragon riders was a terrifying monster who raced as fast as a cat even while shouldering his wounded comrade. With his spear, he’d cut down more than twenty bear-dogs, and he had projected shield after shield, fending off volleys of fire from a hundred guns.
The story was ludicrous. No wonder he’d hesitated to report it. Normally, if anyone made such a nonsensical report, their sanity would be called into question. They would say the young trainee had gone mad, his mind broken by the stress.
The Black Dog didn’t think so. He had an idea of who the trainee was talking about. It was that man, there was no doubt about it. The monster who wounded him had shown up again. His wound throbbed. When he put a hand to his flank, it was still oozing blood.
He heard out the report in full, pondering over each detail.
The dragon attacks this time were barbaric. There was no plunder involved—their sole objective was pure destruction. That was unique in his experience of the humans. By first giving a warning, the enemy had essentially created refugees. Perhaps there was a method to the man’s madness, but more than anything, it suggested a bottomless malice. This was no doubt his work.
He would need to give a name to that unique entity. Now, what would he call him?
The young man concluded, “It was almost like he was the Great Demon King of legend.”
Demon King. He who commanded legions of demons. A cruel, peerless, vile king. The symbol of fear featured in so many legends. Indeed, it was a fitting name, the Black Dog thought with a ferocious smile. In the stories, the Demon King was slain without fail.