Chapter 132 - A Pilgrim Walking in Search of His Dream

Marcus felt dizzy. Cold sweat broke out, quickly dampening his forehead.

'These bastards!'

The enemy's maneuver left his mouth bone-dry. But he could hardly stand and watch. He commanded the infantry battalion, a force that had swelled to two battalions with the arrival of reinforcements.

"Turtle Company, stand by in the rear! Everyone else, hold off the Giant! Maintain formation! Put arrows in the backs of any heads that turn to retreat!"

His adjutant repeated the orders. Messengers took the condensed instructions and ran in every direction.

"Fuck, hold him off! Just hold him off! Retreat and you die anyway!"

This could become the worst possible situation. Forced to sacrifice themselves, the soldiers' morale would plummet. Once an army began losing ground, regaining the advantage would be a distant dream. Still, he had no choice. For now, he needed time to get his forces under control.

Horns blared incessantly.

BWOOOOOO!

Marcus stared into the damp fog obscuring his vision. What a fucking miserable place to fight. Hadn't this goddamn fog nearly gotten them all killed in the previous battle, too? Though that fog had been conjured by a spell.

How had they resolved that again? Through the previous battalion commander's ingenuity and tactics?

'Not even a dog would believe that bullshit.'

He knew what sort of man the previous battalion commander was. A noble-born soldier fond of bribes. An idiot whose greed outstripped his ability.

Someone else must have broken the spell. Everyone kept quiet about it, but there was that platoon commander whose nickname, Spellbreaker, had spread through the unit. The incredibly lucky soldier rumored to have bedded the goddess of luck. The soldier with something different about him, who had been sent to Cross Guard and resolved matters there as well.

For some reason, that soldier came to mind now. The name of the man he had summoned to get the Lunatic Platoon under control and make them do something remained clear in his head.

Encrid.

That ended his chain of thoughts. Beyond the slowly thinning fog, a figure several heads taller than a human came into view.

"Fucking hell."

A Giant. That bastard of an enemy commander was serious. Rather than fight halfheartedly, he had concentrated his strength and attacked the main force. If this were a gamble, he had staked everything.

'Ha. He pulls this now?'

In truth, the enemy had been breaking with convention from the start. Sending soldiers out to duel and erode morale. Striking at the rear. Now deploying a Giant to overturn the battle in a single blow.

Was this the work of a strategic genius? Or had a crude, reckless strategy happened to pay off? He didn't know. On the battlefield, results spoke for themselves. That went for achievements as well as victory and defeat. If he lost here, it would be because he, Marcus, had fallen short.

As anxiety struck his chest, he laughed despite himself. He wasn't called the Warmonger for nothing. In situations like this, he felt his wants, his desires, his primal instincts boil up. That chariot of desire sent his heart hammering, driving blood through his entire body.

'Momentum. If I can just catch a little momentum.'

Marcus wasn't the type to weigh every possibility and devise a strategy. He was a gambler. He left the thinking to his subordinates.

"We must retreat. That single Giant will cost us at least a platoon's worth of men."

"We must acknowledge how deadly the enemy's preparations are."

"We need to regroup and face him with missile troops, not the Turtle heavy infantry—"

Before the adjutants he had gathered to do his thinking could finish, another report came.

"Left flank! Fairies and assassins are slaughtering our officers!"

What the fuck?

"Right flank! At least a squad of war mercenaries are running rampant! They're special-grade or higher!"

Fucking hell. Everything had gone to shit. Yet Marcus's heart did not quail.

'I don't think this is how it ends.'

Ignoring his adjutant's eyes pleading for a retreat, Marcus said nothing. A change. Even a tiny one would do. If the wind would shift just a little.

He swallowed hard and waited. What if the winds of change never came?

'No. There's a chance.'

Wherever people gathered, a few exceptional individuals were bound to emerge. The infantry battalion would have its share. All he needed was one small gesture to break through the tide carrying everyone along. Marcus believed that moment would come.

"Commander!"

The adjutant shouted almost defiantly. That was how desperate things had become. Just then, a messenger came running. From far away, he was already bellowing news of the battle. The veins in his neck bulged; he looked ready to collapse from the sheer force of his shout.

"Urgent report! Urgent report! The Giant has been killed!"

Change. The change he had waited for on nothing but instinct. It didn't matter who had done it.

"All forces, counterattack!"

Marcus shouted. The moment had come for their counterattack. He demonstrated exceptional ability as a commander. He had the skill to match it.

At his shout, the Naurilian army immediately became a running turtle. They formed a circular assault formation around the Turtle heavy infantry. Large-scale, massed combat. This was where Marcus excelled.

* * *

The Giant's death was the beginning. The winds of change springing up across the battlefield blew fiercely, like a typhoon at the turning of summer into autumn.

"ALL TROOOOOPS!"

Beside each company commander rang the voice of a soldier made a messenger for his powerful lungs.

BWOOOOOOOO!

The shouts came between horn blasts signaling the advance.

"CHAAAARGE!"

"RAAAAH!"

"Wipe them out!"

"Die, you stupid bastards!"

Bel joined them. Watching Rem kill the Giant, watching an ally withstand its strength, had set his heart boiling. This felt like a battle they couldn't lose.

Feet pounded the ground as the spear-bearing infantry rushed in first, stabbing into the enemy like thorns.

THUNK!

The unit they struck held firm. Aspen's regulars were tough. With shields and armor braced, they thrust their long spears back at the attackers.

"Make way!"

The shout came from behind the allied spearmen.

So what? Tough, were they? Were they as tough as us?

The Turtle heavy infantry company. First Company, Fourth Battalion, Fourth Regiment of the Cyprus Division. An elite formation that was the pride even of a force named after a knight. Not a separate, independent roaming force, but the army's core fighting strength. They moved.

The tactics were simple. The overarching strategy was simpler still.

'Advance, smash, and break.'

The Turtle heavy infantry company took the field to attack, not defend. Their steps were slow but heavy. If the infantry at the front had been a spear, they were a mace. A mace that would crush and shatter shields and armor.

The heavy infantry's primary weapons were long spears, but what they needed now was a weighty forward assault. They advanced after switching to their secondary weapons: bludgeons for breaking enemy shields and armor.

They charged wearing underclothes beneath gambesons, with chain mail over those, and iron gauntlets and greaves on their arms and legs. Advancing in a tight mass, they could almost have been a solid lump of iron bearing down on the enemy.

The ten heavy infantrymen at the front moved in unison. They raised their weapons vertically overhead. Longer than ordinary maces, the weapons cast shadows over the bloodstained earth.

"Oh, fuck."

One of the enemy soldiers muttered. Then the ten heavy infantrymen at the front brought their weapons down together. The maces split the air and battered shields, armor, and awkwardly raised spear shafts.

BANG! CLANG! CRUNCH! CRACK!

A medley of noises erupted at once. That was the first strike of the charge. No enemy soldiers died. This was formation against formation. They hadn't collapsed under a single blow, but the trouble came next.

The two formations were pressed close. The boundary between them broke down and overlapped, like the sun and moon dissolving the line between their domains before sunrise. Soldiers on both sides fought to preserve their own ground. And in that standstill, with everyone's feet pinned in place, the heavy infantry showed their true power.

CRACK!

A second blow shattered a buckler, sending splinters flying. The Aspen soldier's eyes wavered as he held his broken shield. Another swing came over it and struck his helmet.

THWACK!

"Gurk!"

A leather helmet couldn't absorb the impact of that lump of iron. His skull caved in under the blow, and he fell. The heavy infantry's feet passed over him.

CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

Bones broke, cheekbones collapsed, and blood burst forth. Unable to bear the weight, his body lost its soul. Nothing but death remained for a soldier beneath the heavy infantry's feet.

"Advance one step!"

The heavy infantry company commander maintained the formation his unit took such pride in. Slowly, one step at a time, they advanced, tightening their grip on the enemy's throat. It was too slow and ponderous to call a rush or a charge, but the enemy had no room to retreat.

"Wipe them out."

The company commander brimmed with confidence. Naturally. The battle had turned in an instant.

Had there been a knight in this battle, had it opened with a duel between knights, things might have been different. But the enemy hadn't offered that sort of fight. They had concealed a secret blade and drawn it to strike. Only the allies' blade had proved harder. An unexpectedly hard blade, at that. However mad Rem might be, who could have imagined he would toy with a Giant before killing it?

"RAAAAAH!"

Someone's roar tore through the air and rose into the sky. Every soldier was fired up. Eyes bloodshot, they thrust their spears and swung their swords. Here and there, men even hurled axes.

At this point, Marcus's skill at deploying troops shone once more. After battering the front with heavy infantry and breaking down the enemy formation, he made his next move.

"Shoot! Shoot! Shoot them all!"

A force circled around: swift, lightly armored missile troops, a ranger unit carrying shortbows. An excellent ranger who had recently joined the army led them. A woman named Pin. On hearing Marcus's orders, she understood what he wanted.

Arrows flew. They didn't kill many people. The rangers simply shot, then shot again. They loosed arrows without sparing a single one.

"Surrender! Drop your weapons and put your heads to the ground! Surrender and you won't be killed!"

The call went up again and again. Several loud-voiced messengers repeated it, spreading it across the battlefield.

With the battle in disarray, the men running along its edges were already demoralized and retreating. The moment they met Pin, they had to throw down their weapons and raise both hands.

"Don't kill them! Don't kill them!"

Pin deliberately spared those who surrendered. The effect was unmistakable. One after another, men were pressing their heads to the ground. The battlefield's shifting mood swung entirely to their side.

After killing the Giant, Rem shook out his hands.

'My sweat's going to go cold.'

That was the end of the fun. What came next? Pursuit and slaughter. He didn't feel particularly motivated. It wasn't some softhearted desire to avoid a massacre. The battle was already won. Chasing them was simply a nuisance.

He watched to see whether the enemy had another Giant or something similar hidden away. They didn't. All he sensed was a stir around their command. Those bastards would all be running soon.

'At least cast a spell or something.'

There was no sign of that, either. The tide had turned, and the battle was over. That was Rem's judgment.

He turned to look for his platoon commander.

"What the fuck?"

Where had the man gone? He'd told him to watch closely from behind. Had he disappeared without even properly watching him fight the Giant? And Wildcat and the rest were all gone, too? Which meant he'd gone with one of them?

'Huh?'

His mood was turning sour.

"Raaah! Long live the Lunatic Platoon!"

"Long live Rem!"

Some nearby soldiers were still shouting his name in celebration of the Giant's death. Everyone who passed praised him. Their own lunatic had killed the enemy Giant, a monster mad for slaughter. And that final move in particular...

After watching the enormous giant hammer swing, Rem had kicked the Giant in the thigh and punched the fingers gripping the weapon, breaking them. Then he had leaped into the air and spun. As his head swung toward the ground, his foot slammed into the Giant's jaw.

It had been a magnificent blow. Then he had picked up a fallen spear and driven it through the shattered jaw and out the back of the Giant's skull, creating a work of art. The fallen Giant looked like a sculpture. Rem, standing before it, had looked like a hero from a tale. Weren't Giants common villains in stories? Naturally, cheers had kept erupting.

"Shut up!"

Despite their praise, Rem bellowed at them. His voice was so loud that everyone nearby praising him snapped their mouths shut. Only then did his nickname rise in their minds, clear as bright moonlight.

'Just a lunatic.'

A lunatic who raised hell for no reason. A lunatic who got angry over nothing and threw fits.

"Where'd my platoon commander go?"

Someone raised a hand and pointed. There stood Encrid, carrying two axes. He had already been heading this way. Rem, Ragna, and Encrid met.

"Didn't I tell you to watch—"

"Picked these up on the way."

Encrid cut him off and tossed the weapons. Two axes sailed through the air into Rem's hands. He reached out with both hands and caught them with two sharp slaps.

"Hmm?"

The grip, the way they sat in his hands, felt rather good. Now that he was holding them himself, he could tell they were better than his old ones. Carefully maintained weapons that had tasted blood. From their balance to their edges, these were well-kept axes forged from quality iron.

"You went to find these because my axes broke?"

A roundabout route was fine, so long as it led to the right place. Encrid knew Rem.

"Yes."

He agreed with a nod. In truth, it had been a stroke of luck, but if this brought peace, so be it. Rem, who had been radiating killing intent for some unfathomable reason, grew considerably gentler. His killing intent faded.

"Did you at least watch what I told you to?"

"I did. The axe stopping the Giant. And you beating him with strength."

Rem looked into his platoon commander's eyes as Encrid spoke. The axes tossed to him so casually weren't what mattered. It was the fire burning in those eyes. A blaze that could rightly be called desire, even lust. To learn, to master, to move forward anew. There stood a pilgrim walking in search of his dream, shedding blood along the way.

That was enough. That was exactly why Rem liked the man called Encrid.

"Good."

Rem smiled. So did Encrid. Their smiles were different, yet alike.

Watching beside them, Ragna murmured, "First, make the sword part of your body."

Jaxon suddenly appeared behind him. He had approached without a sound or the slightest hint of his presence.

"Once your senses mature and your Sixth Sense opens, what comes next? Breaking them down. Training each one separately. Learning to react, too. There's plenty to do."

Encrid turned his gaze. Meeting Jaxon's eyes, he asked with his own, 'What does all that mean?'

No answer came.

"Next time."

When it came to cutting things short, he seemed even better at it than Ragna.

"You bastard. Butting in, are you?"

Rem glared. Before they could exchange any sharp words, Audin returned as well.

"Raaah! Our crazy giant is stronger!"

Now that was quite a cheer. Yes, this one had returned as a crazy giant. Drenched in blood from head to toe, he wore an unassuming smile. Was smiling so innocently with blood dripping from his sleeves a talent, or was he simply a lunatic?

"Do you know the essence of Balaf-style grappling?"

He was much the same, then. Encrid turned his gaze toward the lunatic giant. Audin's eyes crinkled in a smile.

"Fucking hell, now everyone's butting in?"

Rem grew angry. They all projected killing intent at one another. Encrid watched for a moment, then intervened.

In the middle of the battlefield, whatever became of the fighting, all they could think about was teaching Encrid. And these very men were the greatest contributors to this battle.

As he calmed that gathering of distinguished fighters, Encrid asked, "By the way, where are the others?"

Now that he looked, Andrew and the rest were nowhere to be seen.

"Got swept along to the front," Rem said.