Reincarnated with the Country System-Chapter 142: The Battle of Baraka River

The dawn broke over the Baraka River, its pale light reflecting off the water like shards of broken glass. On the far bank, the Orc legion of Latvia stirred, their massive forms casting long shadows across the scorched earth. The Orcs were a savage horde, their bodies adorned with crude armour and war paint, their eyes gleaming with a primal hunger for battle.

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At the forefront of the legion stood Grothar, the Orc warlord. A towering figure with muscles like boulders and a face scarred by countless battles. His voice boomed like thunder as he addressed his warriors, his words igniting their bloodlust.

"Today, we cross this river and tear down their forts! Their traps and tricks will not stop us! We are the storm that will sweep them away!"

The Orcs roared in response, their voices shaking the ground. Behind them, the war beasts stirred—massive turtle-like creatures, their shells covered in spiked armour, their eyes glowing with a dull, malevolent light. These were the Kragturtles, living siege engines bred for war. Each one was the size of a small house, capable of carrying dozens of Orcs on their backs and smashing through fortifications with ease.

Grothar raised his axe, and the legion surged forward, a tidal wave of flesh and steel. The Kragturtles lumbered ahead, their heavy footsteps shaking the earth. The Orcs followed, their war cries echoing across the barren landscape.

As the Orcs approached the river, the defenders of Britannia were ready. From the ramparts of the wooden forts, Duke Farl watched the advancing horde through a spyglass, his expression grim but resolute. He turned to his commanders and barked orders.

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"Prepare the hwachas! Archers, to your positions! Hold the line until they reach the water, then unleash hell!"

The Britannian soldiers moved with practised efficiency. Archers lined the walls, their bows drawn and arrows ready. Behind them, the hwachas were loaded, their racks filled with dozens of rockets. The air was thick with tension as the Orcs drew closer.

The first wave of Orcs reached the riverbank and plunged into the water without hesitation. The Baraka River was wide and deep, but the Orcs were strong swimmers, their powerful limbs propelling them forward. The Kragturtles followed, their massive bodies creating waves as they entered the water.

"Fire!" Duke Farl commanded.

The hwachas roared to life, their rockets streaking across the sky like fiery comets. The projectiles slammed into the water, exploding on impact and sending geysers of water and shrapnel into the air. Dozens of Orcs were torn apart, their bodies flung into the river. The Kragturtles, however, were largely unaffected, their armoured shells deflecting the explosions.

"Focus on the turtles!" Duke Farl shouted. "Bring them down!"

The archers unleashed a volley of arrows, their aim true. The arrows rained down on the Kragturtles, but most bounced harmlessly off their shells. A few found their mark, piercing the softer flesh around the creatures’ legs and necks, but it was not enough to stop them.

The Kragturtles reached the midpoint of the river, their progress slow but steady. On their backs, Orcs raised their shields, deflecting arrows and shouting taunts at the defenders.

"Bring out the fire barrels!" Duke Farl ordered.

Soldiers rolled large barrels to the edge of the riverbank, each one filled with oil and pitch. They lit the barrels and pushed them into the water, where they floated toward the advancing Orcs. The barrels exploded on contact, sending sheets of flame across the river’s surface. The water turned into a fiery inferno, engulfing the Orcs and Kragturtles.

The screams of the dying filled the air as the flames consumed the first wave. The Kragturtles bellowed in agony, their shells cracking under the intense heat. Several of the creatures sank beneath the surface, dragging their riders down with them.

Grothar watched the carnage from the far bank, his expression darkening. He had expected resistance, but the defenders’ tactics were more effective than he had anticipated. He turned to his lieutenants and growled, "Send in the second wave! And bring up the siege ladders!"

The second wave of Orcs charged into the river, this time carrying massive wooden ladders reinforced with iron. The Kragturtles that had survived the first assault pressed forward, their shells blackened but still functional. The Orcs used the turtles as cover, staying close to their sides to avoid the arrows and fire barrels.

As the second wave reached the midpoint of the river, the Britannian defenders unleashed another volley of Hwacha rockets. This time, the rockets were aimed at the Kragturtles’ legs, their weak points. The explosions tore through the creatures’ limbs, causing them to collapse into the water. Without their mounts, the Orcs were exposed, and the archers picked them off with deadly precision.

But the Orcs were relentless. Despite the heavy losses, they pressed on, their ladders raised high. The first of them reached the riverbank and slammed the ladders into the ground, their spikes digging into the earth. The Orcs began to climb, their axes and swords gleaming in the sunlight.

"Push them back!" Duke Farl shouted.

Britannian soldiers rushed to the edge of the riverbank, their spears and pikes ready. They thrust their weapons into the climbing Orcs, sending them tumbling back into the water. But for every Orc that fell, another took their place.

As the battle raged, the Silver Swords entered the fray. The adventurers moved with precision and skill, their weapons cutting through the Orcs like a scythe through wheat. The mage unleashed a barrage of fireballs, incinerating entire groups of Orcs. The healer tended to the wounded, her magic keeping the defenders in the fight. The archer picked off Orcs with deadly accuracy while the defender used his massive shield to hold the line.

A group of elite Orc warriors charged at the Silver Swords, their axes raised. The adventurers met them head-on, their skills turning the tide of the battle. The leader of the Silver Swords, a master swordsman, cut down the Orcs with ease, his blade a blur of motion.

As the sun set, the Orcs withdrew, and their forces decimated. The river was littered with bodies, both Orc and Britannian. The Kragturtles lay broken and burning, their massive forms sinking into the water. The defenders had held the line, but the cost had been high.

Duke Farl surveyed the battlefield, his expression was grim. The first day of battle was over, but he knew the war was far from winning. The Orcs would return, and the draugr were still on the march. But for now, they have bought themselves time.

"Tend to the wounded," he ordered. "And prepare for the next assault. This is only the beginning."

The Britannian soldiers nodded, their faces weary but determined. They had faced the savagery of the Orcs and emerged victorious. But the battle for the Baraka River was far from over.