Chapter 204 - Light Taps, Sometimes Sharp Raps (1)

“That little shit!”

While the Naurilian army cheered, fury welled up in several of Martai's commanders. “He's asking for a beating! Kill that bastard!”

Fine, he could fight. But acting so fucking carefree while running away?

It looked like deliberate provocation. As though he were imitating a heroic epic just to mock them. How could they not be furious? “After him!”

“Don't let him get inside!”

“Fuck him up!”

“Stop! Stop, you son of a bitch!”

Martai's enraged infantry charged. Encrid and his companions sprinted hard. The moment they passed through the gates—

THRUM-THRUM-THRUM!

The Naurilian missile troops atop the watchtowers became very busy. “Aaagh!”

“Arrows! Shields! Raise your shields!”

The charging Martai infantry fell back, sporting arrows like ornaments. “Shoot! Shoot! Hit them all!”

Vengeance's shouts rang out. He had been given command of a portion of the missile troops. Martai's infantry withdrew.

“Woooo!”

Border Guard's regulars cheered atop the walls. In this first battle, an unexpected exchange of blows had yielded something like a victory. “Come at us!”

“Run if you want to live!”

“My name is Rian!”

Outright mockery of the enemy followed. One fellow even announced his own name. It was hardly a momentous victory, but it felt as though they were starting a battle already ahead, before the real fighting had even begun. The enemy still outnumbered them, and the gap was plain, yet somehow defeat no longer seemed likely. Most of the soldiers felt it. Encrid, of course, had created that mood. It was only natural that every eye should fix on him as he walked in, seemingly unconcerned.

* * *

The destruction of the mangonels. The exploits of a handful of enemy soldiers.

Word reached the commander of the troops without insignia, too. Since it had all happened before his eyes, it would be more accurate to say he was only now receiving a detailed report. His helmet sat carelessly on his head. As he twisted and plucked at his mustache through the visor, his eyes gleamed coldly.

“There's an interesting bastard.”

Chilling killing intent suffused his tone. His nickname was the Elite-Slaying Blade. He had expected a fight devoid of interest or amusement. Now he saw men who set his heart racing. 'At least three.'

Men worth killing with his own hands. Ways and means of killing them rose in his mind.

'A melee would be ideal.'

And if they hid behind their walls? Then surrounding them and applying pressure would be even more advantageous, wouldn't it?

This could not have been more interesting. Mangonels? A raid? Losses from an ambush? None of that concerned him.

That was how the mustached Elite-Slaying Blade felt. The commander actually leading the unmarked troops had a somewhat different opinion. “That damned bastard.”

The commander of Viscount Vantra's army was not stupid. Narrow-minded, perhaps, but he had a brain.

'He stops in the middle of running away to announce his name?'

That took more than ordinary nerve. The man had destroyed eight mangonels, making them feel at a disadvantage from the start, then announced his name as he withdrew.

The commander focused only on the facts. Why? Why had he done that?

He soon reached a conclusion, the most reasonable judgment his experience and theoretical knowledge could offer. 'That little shit.'

A paltry trick. A strategy. What options did people on the defensive have? This was one of them.

Making themselves look bigger. A filthy stunt. Exaggerating their own abilities to give the enemy more to worry about. It was a tactic used because a small elite force could sometimes turn the tide of a battlefield. A warning: they had a few powerful fighters, so anyone who attacked had better be prepared.

But were they really that capable?

Destroying the mangonels had been impressive, but...

'That's all.' They had probably overextended themselves. No, they definitely had. It must have been an operation in which they staked their lives. They would have lain in ambush for days before his army arrived and spent considerable resources on this one strike. Probably a plan laid in place from the moment Martai began its advance. “I believe they're puffing up their feathers.”

Having gathered his thoughts, Viscount Vantra's commander spoke. Martai's supreme commander considered this, then nodded. He had reached the same conclusion. “Tell them to bring more siege engines.”

The General spoke. The city should already be building a few more. Even hastily built engines would be better than none. “And repair what can be repaired.”

They could salvage one or two through repairs. There was nothing to be done about those with broken or misaligned central axles, though. 'That monstrous bastard.'

The fellow who had smashed siege engines with his fists did linger in his mind and trouble him.

'He must have taken some damned drug.'

The concoctions those elixir-makers devised for fighting Giants and Frogs could make such a feat possible: drugs that briefly pushed muscular strength beyond its limits.

The side effects were extreme, of course. Misuse could kill a man the instant the effect wore off. Narrow-mindedness, prejudice, preconceptions. Once lodged in the mind, such things were like demons that refused to leave.

That was the case with these men. Even the Elite-Slaying Blade, who thought highly of his opponents' abilities, had judged them just strong enough to make suitable kills for himself.

Each had his own delusions. “We need only surround them and starve them out.”

Viscount Vantra's commander clenched his fist as he spoke. Now that they had puffed themselves up, they would focus on defending their walls.

And if they came out anyway? He was also the cavalry commander. If their harassment drove the enemy to open the gates and emerge, he could sweep them away with his cavalry.

A simple but efficient plan. It did not matter whether the enemy puffed themselves up or not. “Let's do that.”

Martai's General agreed.

* * *

From atop the walls, Krais watched the enemy's movements.

'They're angry.'

Muttering, shouting. Eight siege engines destroyed and a host of men dead, yet they showed anger rather than fear. Their fighting spirit and momentum had not faltered. Even after seeing Encrid and his companions, they seethed with rage.

How was that possible? 'The fighting was brief.'

The fierce clash had lasted very little time. Impressive as their combat prowess had been, few people had actually witnessed it.

'And the Captain's tone at the end...'

Stopping mid-flight to announce his name and tell them to get lost had been particularly effective. If that were enough to make them leave, would they have come all this way? If deliberate, it had been perfectly judged provocation. Just the sort to give the enemy the wrong idea. 'If it were me.'

For a moment, Krais put himself in the enemy commander's place. Murmuring “If it were me” again and again, he studied their movements. From the wall, he could see groups of enemy troops moving. Rattled, but with no intention of backing down. Rattled, but not afraid.

They were restoring their formations. He also remembered how they had withdrawn after the final pursuit: orderly. These were well-trained, seasoned troops. Their fighting spirit remained intact. 'They're underestimating us.'

Their confidence came from looking down on his side. Why were they confident? Plenty of reasons.

They had numbers, good training, and more reinforcements than they needed. Then there were the stories of Encrid's prowess that had spread despite Battalion Commander Marcus's deliberate efforts to conceal it. 'Would they take it as bluffing? Like a frightened bird puffing up its feathers?'

Perhaps. He could not be absolutely certain, but it seemed likely. If only the Gilfin Guild were a little bigger, so he knew the enemy commanders' names and temperaments. No, reaching that point would mean developing into a full-fledged information guild.

'That would double the work.'

Things were fine as they were. Bringing in a reasonable amount of Krona was best. Krais sorted through his thoughts. The enemy commanders had failed to grasp his side's strength, and his side possessed an exceedingly sharp blade.

'I hope they're idiots.'

Men prone to confirmation bias rather than doubt, unwilling to change anything they had once decided was right. If so, no elaborate strategy would be necessary. All of this was magic wrought by a single whim of Encrid's. He had casually stepped out, smashed the mangonels, and come straight back. Had he stayed to fight and revealed more of their strength, things would have been different. 'But did the Captain intend all of this?'

Well, he could simply ask. “What are you doing?”

Vengeance, who had been commanding the missile troops, asked. Watching that bastard Krais mutter incessantly to himself made him look possessed by an evil spirit.

Vengeance hated ghosts and evil spirits. They kept him awake at night for no good reason. “Just gathering my thoughts.”

“Are you?”

Vengeance wondered what difference gathering his thoughts would make. In Krais's mind, however, the battlefield's future was taking shape. A scenario for victory was unraveling thread by thread.

Even so, he had no particular intention of saying anything. He thought everyone would work it out for themselves.

* * *

“You all right?”

Rem asked as they entered Border Guard.

Encrid looked himself over. Was he hurt anywhere? No. There had been nothing to injure him. It had been a light warm-up. Why wouldn't it be? He had gone ahead because the operation seemed workable, hastily improvised though it was.

Of course, Martai believed this was an ambush prepared over days at considerable expense. The truth was nothing of the sort. It had simply looked doable, so he had gone out partly for a warm-up. “Seems like you hurt your head.”

Rem's expression was grave, without a trace of humor. Ragna, beside him, also looked at Encrid, as did Rem and Audin. “Do you have a fever?”

Pin asked last. Encrid mourned the lack of romance in their souls. He knew perfectly well why they were reacting this way: he had announced his name at the end. “I was feeling bold.”

He had nothing to hide, so he said it casually. Instead of teasing him, Rem uncharacteristically pursed his lips and let out an impressed “Oho.” “Woooo!”

Something like cheers sounded above the returning unit. Naturally, they would receive such a welcome after going out and wrecking the siege engines. Amid those cheers—

“Feeling bold.”

Ragna murmured the words, visibly sinking into thought.

Encrid had quite literally just done what he felt like doing. Up ahead was Krais, who had already come down from the wall gallery.

“Did you mean to provoke them and plant demons in their minds... No, you didn't. Ah, never mind. Then why did you announce your name?” So many questions just because he had announced his name once. Encrid repeated his answer.

“I was feeling bold. It seemed like I could.”

“That's a little... Mm, yes. I see. Very impressive.” Beyond Krais stood a group of allied commanders.

“You broke all their siege engines?”

Marcus spoke. Was that a sly grin on his face, or was Encrid imagining it?

Encrid calmly nodded.

“Good!”

That was all. “My name is Sinar. Come closer now, and you can have me.”

The Fairy Company Commander sidled up and recited the words. Fairy humor. Did she truly never tire of it? “Did you hurt your head?”

“No. Take away my good health and I'd be a corpse. Or do you prefer frail young beauties?”

Was there any point in continuing this conversation? Encrid shook his head and stepped away. “Stay alert!”

Marcus stood at the front, rallying their troops.

“We will win!”

His timing was perfect. Encrid, the man they had been cheering for, had just returned. Shouts rang out. The war had only begun, but morale could not have been higher. That was the first day on the battlefield.

Shortly after the next day began—

“You're going out again today, right?”

Krais approached and asked. Encrid had just finished his morning training. Training, even in these circumstances. Some onlookers could only marvel. Those who knew Encrid well simply took it in stride. “Where?”

“Outside.”

“Why?”

Krais blinked.

“We have to rile them up again today.” Encrid gave him a questioning look.

“Didn't the Battalion Commander say anything?”

Krais asked in turn. Encrid nodded. All Marcus had said was to rest well and fight well again. He had also told him to ask whenever he needed anything.

There had been no mention of his going out and staging an ambush entirely on his own initiative. The improvised operation had gone well, but Marcus had granted him that authority in the first place. There was rightly nothing for him to say. “Act contrary to what your opponent thinks and intends.”

Krais raised his voice, proclaiming the words clearly. Encrid gazed steadily at his loud, big-eyed subordinate.

“It's a fundamental principle of strategy and warfare.” So?

Encrid asked with his eyes, and Krais continued. Their siege engines were broken. They would be thinking of a protracted war. Repair the engines, bring in replacements, surround Border Guard and threaten it: that alone favored Martai. They had secured a solid supply route behind them before coming.

Then what should they do today?

To Krais, it was so obvious that he was baffled no one had mentioned it. “We should harass their supply lines.”

A fundamental principle of strategy and warfare: starve them.

They probably could not actually starve the enemy, but they could make filling their bellies a source of concern. Easier said than done. Unless the enemy were fools, they would naturally guard against it. But here they had Encrid and the Lunatic Company. “A force they haven't factored in operates outside their expectations.”

Fewer than ten people. They could strike out just as they were. “Meow.”

Esther, who had been nowhere to be seen all night, cried beside him and stared at Encrid. Having heard Krais out, Encrid nodded. It seemed like a decent idea. His instincts were good, so he judged it worth a try.

“Want to come along?”

He asked Esther on a whim. She promptly rose and came to his side. And so their next operation was decided. Siege engines on the first day, supply lines on the second. Naturally, they would go at night. “Krais, report to the higher-ups. Tell them we're going for a nighttime stroll.”

The sun had just set. Encrid gathered his equipment. Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Pin stepped forward to join him, but... “Audin, you...”

“Yes, brother. I'll stay.”

Audin's size made him far too conspicuous. He left Pin behind as well, and told Ragna to sit this one out. Pin might be in danger, and Ragna might lose his way. He could hardly let the man earn the nickname “Lost Child of the Battlefield.” “Rem. Jaxon.”

“Good. Sounds good. We don't need the alley cat, but whatever. He can carry the bags.”

“You would be better off leaving the stupid barbarian behind.” They still bickered, but there were no two people more reassuring to have beside him on a battlefield.

“I'll be back.”

Encrid set off as though he were going to the market to buy bread. And when he returned, he really did bring bread.

“This was good.”

At his words, everyone tried it and marveled at the taste. It really was delicious bread.

From the enemy's supply depot, of course.