Chapter 205 - Light Taps, Sometimes Sharp Raps (2)

“Bake bread!”

General Olf of Martai had no intention of feeding his troops lousy black bread, water mixed with sour wine, musty jerky, and fruit simply because these were military rations. He had several talented battalion commanders under him, and one now mobilized a unit he had personally trained: the so-called Oven Unit.

“Stack the stones and pack the gaps with mud.”

The Oven Unit was exactly what its name suggested. They set up supply bases, built ovens, and baked bread. In a way, it was half mad, but General Olf knew very well that food was more important than anything else.

And this battlefield was ideal for deploying them. The conditions in which the Oven Unit could be used were limited. They were no use whatsoever in a short campaign, nor did they serve any purpose during an advance. But in a siege, especially a prolonged one, they truly came into their own.

Above all, wasn't it an established fact that well-fed soldiers fought well? Every renowned military strategist agreed on that point, and Olf followed their advice faithfully.

And so smoke began rising from Martai's Oven Unit. They burned firewood and began mixing the flour they had brought with water to make dough. Before a full day had passed, a fragrant aroma filled the air.

“Come on, eat your fill! A few mangonels? We don't need those damned things!”

Olf personally walked among the soldiers, encouraging them.

“Who are we?”

“The lions of the east!”

The soldiers roared their answer. Martai's morale remained unbroken. Their commander's personal efforts had helped, but the bread was what mattered.

Some of the soldiers baking it were famous even in Martai for their skill. Several would return to running their bakeries once they went home.

Martai had vast wheat fields east of the city, and its wheat was considered among the finest. Rainfall was adequate, and more importantly, those fields had been known decades ago as the Fields of Blood: a site of repeated battles. So many dead people and animals lay beneath them that the soil had become fertile.

Granted, someone once deeply devoted to agriculture had worked to transform the fields, but that did not change the land's long history. Having grown wheat in that fertile soil for many years, Martai had long been known for its delicious bread and had developed a wide variety of flour-based dishes.

People said that what one ate determined one's standing. In the central continent, white bread was a symbol of wealth. But Martai was different. Its abundant wheat harvests had made white bread an everyday food.

That tradition stretched back over thirty years, so naturally some of its bakers had earned the title of master. Some had even gone to the capital to open bakeries. That was the sort of bread this was—one of Martai's proudest foods.

Olf had returned to the main army and was reviewing his plans when an urgent message arrived. It was bad news.

“The supply base has been attacked.”

“Attacked?”

For Martai, supplies were unquestionably the highest priority. What good was laying siege to the enemy if they themselves went hungry? Naturally, Martai's supreme commander, known as the General, had assigned his most trusted man to the supply unit.

Three battalion commanders and the commander of his guards: these four were the men General Olf trusted most, each fully deserving of being called a brilliant strategist or a fierce warrior. Of them, he had entrusted the supply unit to the Second Battalion Commander, the quickest thinker and most perceptive. He was not a man who did anything carelessly.

The messenger was sweating profusely.

“Explain in detail!”

At Olf's harsh demand, the messenger swallowed and continued.

“A black panther and two enemy soldiers came, stole bread from the ovens, and set fire to several tents.”

“Those fucking imbeciles!”

Olf's anger flared as fiercely as the fires in those tents. Why wouldn't it? He knew how important the supply lines were, and he had diverted some of his forces to protect them.

Besides, the enemy was trapped. How formidable could anyone who slipped out to attack them possibly be? The men who had destroyed the mangonels? He would have welcomed their coming out.

Flames blazed in the commander's eyes at the news of the previous night's raid, and the messenger could say no more.

'Zimmer, you bastard. Don't tell me you were caught daydreaming?'

Zimmer was the Second Battalion Commander's name. He was a clever, perceptive, meticulous subordinate who rarely made mistakes. So why hadn't he come to report in person?

“Where's Zimmer?”

The messenger answered immediately upon hearing the commander's name.

“He said he was pursuing the raider.”

Olf let out several long breaths before speaking.

“Tighten security! I won't forgive a second failure.”

A commander who lost a battle could be forgiven. One who neglected his watch could not.

* * *

Encrid had raided the supply base with ease. Quite literally, with ease.

“Shall we?”

“Let's.”

There was nothing difficult about it. Whatever they were doing, smoke curled up overhead, and tents stood everywhere. There were plenty of guards and no gaps in their watch, but that wasn't a problem.

GRRR.

Esther went first. The panther raced forward, with Encrid and Rem following. She seemed lighter on her feet than usual. One sweep of her forepaw sliced halfway through a soldier's shin, and her tail lashed another on the head. Her nimble movements sent the enemy's eyes darting wildly.

“We're under attack!”

There was no need to drag things out. Encrid ran in and slit the throats of a few men who charged him, only to catch a fragrant aroma amid the stench of blood. In truth, it had been teasing his nose for some time.

While the enemy reeled in confusion, Jaxon set fire to several tents. Encrid and Rem grabbed a few loaves and ran. They deliberately took a route through the forest on their way back.

They would have no answer to mounted pursuit. Men chasing them on foot, however, were easy to shake off. The difference in stamina alone was enormous. After several hours of running without a break, their pursuers were nowhere in sight.

“Should've just cut them all down before we left.”

Rem clicked his tongue regretfully. Encrid shook his head.

“This is enough.”

That was how they had returned with bread to share.

“He said you can wait until tomorrow to report.”

A sentry had told them that on their way in. Marcus, their battalion commander, had been considerate enough to arrange it in advance. Encrid, Rem, and Jaxon caught up on sleep and woke well rested.

It was a bright morning with fiercely hot sunshine, the third day of the battle. The summer sun rose very early. After completing his morning training in its light, Encrid washed and came inside.

“This bread is incredible!”

Krais was marveling at it all over again. Well, it was delicious.

“Don't eat too much.”

Encrid gave the back of Krais's head a light tap and went to find the battalion commander to report. He spotted something cooking in a pot directly beneath the wall. All the commanders were gathered around the bubbling stew.

Their armor was clean, since they hadn't fought a single battle yet. By contrast, Encrid's was stained with blood. He had wiped it down, but the stains remained.

“So, I hear you checked out their supply base?”

Marcus asked from a wooden stool.

“I set a few fires while I was there, too.”

“I see.”

Marcus merely nodded. Beside him, the Fairy Company Commander murmured, “A hobby, or a specialty?” She meant the arson.

Encrid had already been thinking that setting fires was becoming a habit. But what better way was there to damage a supply base?

“Care for a bowl?”

The First Company Commander offered, lifting the stew ladle. It smelled rather good.

“Who made it?”

As Encrid spoke, the border defense captain personally brought him a seat, a wooden stool like the battalion commander's. Sitting down and breathing in the stew's aroma, Encrid thought it would taste twice as good with bread dipped in it.

“One moment.”

He went straight back to fetch the stolen bread. The baguettes had hard crusts and soft interiors, fragrant and crisp from a proper baking.

“Here.”

The First Company Commander broke off some of the baguette Encrid handed him and dipped it in the stew.

“Mm. Excellent.”

His cheeks were flushed, an unusual sight. Hadn't Encrid heard this man loved his food? He seemed to remember Krais saying so. Encrid tried some himself. It was delicious.

CRUNCH.

The crust felt hard, but crumbled easily as he bit into it. The soft white bread inside mingled with his saliva and coated his tongue. Rich stew broth swirled through his mouth. It truly tasted wonderful.

“So, were they really settling in for the long haul?”

“They're fully intent on cutting us off and starving us out. They've even built ovens to bake bread.”

“That bastard Olf must think the Warmonger's fearsome reputation is a joke.”

Marcus's lips curled as he spoke. He looked utterly confident. The enemy still had the superior force: cavalry, and enough resources to spare on building ovens. Yet Marcus remained at ease. Encrid finally understood what he was placing his faith in.

He wouldn't quite call it repaying that faith, but he intended to do his part. If he didn't step up, how could he protect the seasoned jerky and orange marmalade? Food mattered. That was why everyone was now silently busy stuffing their faces.

Two nobles approached as they ate. Their clothes certainly were clean. As spotless as the commanders' armor, in fact.

One of them, a man with a noticeably broader forehead than most, spoke.

“Have you considered making peace?”

The relatively younger man followed.

“The disparity in our forces is plain to see. If we could somehow resolve this through discussion...”

Most of the petty nobles in Border Guard had either bought their titles or lost their forebears' standing and been reduced to vice barons. What was there here to attract a high-ranking noble? But things had changed considerably.

Once the kingdom stabilized, some count or viscount might turn his attention here. Viscount Vantra and other nobles were already trying to stake their claims before that happened.

Encrid knew nothing about politics and had no desire to learn, but thanks to Big-eyes Krais, he had picked up the broad outlines. That man and his endless chatter. In truth, he wondered whether any of it mattered. All they had to do was beat back everyone who came at them.

Real combat and swords, fights, battles, battlefields. Such things gave Encrid a peculiar thrill.

'I suppose my tastes are pretty awful, too.'

Why did fighting and battle set his heart racing? No, wanting and admiring those things was why he had wished to become a knight in the first place. He hadn't dreamed of it for some grand purpose. That was how it had begun: simply imagining himself racing across a battlefield.

As that brief train of thought ended, Marcus looked at the two nobles and snickered.

“Why? Now that the city looks set to grow, do you think you'll amount to something, too? Instead of fighting Martai, you'd like us to make a convenient peace so you can claim you were at the heart of it?”

Was that it? Encrid only half listened. But if Krais had been there, he would have inwardly nodded in agreement. Whatever else might be said about Marcus, his political instincts were sharp. He had struck at the heart of the matter.

“Shut your fucking mouths and get back inside. If you don't want to die, offer your thanks to our name-announcing hero here.”

Encrid might be a company commander now, but he had started as an ordinary soldier. Worse, he came from some country village and had joined the army to earn his living by the sword. The nobles had no reason to bow to him. Being the soldiers' hero didn't make him the nobles' hero.

“Ahem. I've said my piece.”

“It was a suggestion. A suggestion, because their forces looked dangerous.”

The two nobles spouted nonsense, and Marcus waved them away. After they left, he lifted his wooden bowl, slurped some stew, and spoke.

“Makes you want to cut the bastards down, doesn't it?”

He was looking at Encrid.

“Killing a noble is a grave crime.”

Marcus responded to Encrid's answer with an indifferent air.

“I could challenge them to a duel and kill them by accident.”

“Who would accept a duel with you, sir? They'd just appoint a champion.”

That answer came from the First Company Commander.

“I was only saying.”

Listening, Encrid voiced a question that had just occurred to him.

“What do you mean, ‘name-announcing hero’?”

“You looked splendid, Independent Company Commander.”

Instead of answering, Marcus gave him a thumbs-up.

“I intend to try it myself sometime.”

The First Company Commander chimed in beside him. The border defense captain merely nodded.

Encrid felt no shame over something he had done in a surge of boldness. He merely thought these men were a little—just a very little—annoying.

“So, what do you intend to do next?”

They had nearly finished eating. Marcus asked just as Encrid was about to rise.

“I'm planning a few more visits.”

“A few more?”

The first attack might have caught them off guard, but the second wouldn't. They would be prepared. However capable Encrid was, however wildly Rem rampaged with his axe, they couldn't survive being surrounded.

“Something keeps nagging at me.”

Encrid wasn't saying it idly. When they raided the supply base, he had felt something odd on the way back after setting those tents alight. It lay in the realm of Sixth Sense and intuition.

'It felt like Big-eyes hiding Krona.'

The feeling of watching Krais pocket a few copper coins. In other words, he thought the enemy was hiding something more. He wanted to look into it.

He even came up with a name for the operation: “Light Taps, Sharp Raps.” Give them a light tap, then a sharp rap when an opportunity arose. That was the gist of it.

Encrid devised the basic framework, and Krais filled in the details. Back at the barracks, they discussed when to go and where to strike.

“Then let's go when the sun's up this time.”

Krais's tone was matter-of-fact, but anyone who knew even a little military strategy would have been dumbfounded by the suggestion. Encrid, however, thought it reasonable. They had attacked under cover of darkness before; this time, they would try broad daylight. It sounded fine.

“That sounds entertaining, brother.”

Audin said after hearing the plan. The key to this operation was the “big lug of a bear.”