Chapter 208 - Wall, My Ass

“Cavalry, a detached force, and a group in drab cloaks.” Jaxon had carried out Encrid’s orders faithfully. After observing those stationed in the rear, he had pinpointed their positions on the military map. His markings were clear and neat, with an artist’s touch. In other words, they were easy on the eyes and easy to understand. Encrid had just summed up the information aloud. Some cavalry held back in reserve, a fierce-looking detached force numbering roughly a Company, and finally, five cloaked figures. The fact that a mere five people had caught Jaxon’s eye meant they were no ordinary people. Sixth Sense and intuition. It was pure instinct, but this was what Jaxon had seen and reported. Encrid did not dismiss it. “What do you think they are?”

Arms folded, Encrid questioned the newly returned Jaxon, who was brushing dust off his armor. The dust drifted through the air and settled on the ground. The weather was still hot. The cooler season was a long way off, yet Jaxon was not exactly streaming with sweat. Had the task been that easy, or was he merely making it look so? Encrid waited for an answer as these idle thoughts crossed his mind. “I believe they’re mages.” Five mages. Martai’s preparations were formidable indeed. What was the best move here? He did not know. Encrid put Krais to work. “All right. What do you think we should do next?” He was asking because he did not know, yet he looked entirely confident. If you did not know, you pressed your subordinates for an answer. He was doing as he had been taught. “Do you think we’d lose if we went out and fought?”

Big-eyes answered with a question. Encrid weighed the enemy soldiers’ abilities, what he had observed and learned, and his own side’s strength. He did not think they would lose. Besides, hadn’t they put on something of an act to keep the enemy from seeing their true abilities? Audin had not fought seriously, and Encrid had made no effort to turn his Light Taps into Sharp Raps. “We set this up for an all-out battle from the start. Fighting in the streets inside the walls would cause an absurd amount of damage.” Krais’s eyes gleamed. Encrid understood and set to work. The decision belonged to the Battalion Commander. That it was time for an all-out battle was merely their own judgment. To everyone else, they would be opening the gates and marching out with an inferior force. “I’m going to report.”

Encrid immediately strode off to command and told Marcus. “Sounds fun, my betrothed.”

Listening beside them, the Fairy Company Commander bestowed the title on him as she pleased. Funnily enough, no one corrected her. They all seemed used to it and let it pass. The First Company Commander, the other commanders, even the Battalion Commander’s adjutant barely seemed to hear it. The adjutant doubled as a scribe and was busily taking notes. Would “betrothed” find its way into those records too? An idle thought. It made sense for everyone to ignore it. They were discussing something far more important than an odd form of address. “We’ll contain the detached force they’ve held back.”

The border defense captain spoke first, volunteering with considerable enthusiasm. Marcus went without saying. A broad smile on his face, the Battalion Commander gave his order. “Open the gates.” Watching him, Encrid could not help wondering. From his perspective, it was a perfectly natural question. However much faith Marcus had in them, wasn’t this taking things a little far? “By ordinary standards, wouldn’t this be suicide?” The disparity in strength was clear. Picking a pitched melee with such an opponent was madness. Normally, at least. In terms of strategy and tactics, any commander who attempted this would be called a fucking idiot. Marcus stared at Encrid, then asked, “Is that what you think?” At the question that came in place of an answer, Encrid shook his head.

“No, sir.” And why wouldn’t he say no? There were Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxon. Even outnumbered, Encrid was not afraid. A battlefield with a clear distinction between friend and foe was more comfortable than letting the fight spill into the streets. Not that street fighting would pose much trouble either. Above all, his first thought was, ‘I don’t think we’d lose.’ Encrid knew how to compare forces and read the course of a battle. Of course he did. He would never have survived this long otherwise. “You gave them your name and told them to leave, but they stayed. I think it’s time we showed them.” Marcus spoke with a gentle smile. Considering how often he brought up Encrid’s announcement of his name, it must have made quite an impression. Encrid nodded. “I’ll take the lead.” The place he had always dreamed of: the front of the battlefield. Now he could stand there. No one would stop him. Sword in hand, Encrid stepped out at the very front of the open gates. The allied troops might have been expected to show some apprehension, but... “I hear the troublemakers are going out first?”

“Then we’re good.” No one showed any unease. The enemy was only coming at them like this because they had never truly seen what the group could do. Had they faced them on a battlefield before, the mere presence of the troublemaker Company should have made them change their strategy. Yet Martai’s army remained composed. They found their opponents’ response baffling, but their attitude was, Go on, show us a trick. How to put it? This was thanks to Marcus’s successful deception. At least, Krais saw it as a victory of politics. Or a victory of trickery. Spreading accounts of their military strength, especially the Lunatic Company’s exploits, that made some things sound outlandish and downplayed others had worked. In any case, victory was what mattered, whether it came through politics or trickery. “Why couldn’t we have gone all out from the start? I nearly fucking died of boredom waiting.” Rem asked as he moved ahead. Krais silently went over the answer he could give him. Destroying the siege engines had been unexpected, but why had they then harassed the supply lines, focusing more on getting on the enemy’s nerves than on fighting them? Why else? ‘Because we have to finish this in one go.’ The longer a fight dragged on, the worse it was for the smaller force. Their opponents also had the backing of a nearby noble’s troops, while their own side had burned a Black Blade branch to the ground. Who knew what bullshit Black Blade might pull? And hadn’t they recently beaten up members of the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm as well? They had given each of their enemies a proper slap in the face, one after another. There was nothing to gain from dragging this out. The longer a battle lasted, the more vulnerabilities emerged. Krais had envisioned this from the beginning too: ending everything in a single battle. For that to happen, they needed the enemy’s attention focused entirely on them. They needed them irritated, angry, and eager to fight. A strategy bordering on psychological warfare, perhaps. “Just because.” Krais did not bother explaining to Rem. Encrid understood with just a few words, but explaining it to Rem would take a while. A man could be sparing with words when necessary. ‘And I’m that man,’ Krais told himself. More importantly, Rem knowing would change nothing. “For fuck’s sake.” Rem gave a short laugh and stepped forward. He had figured out why Big-eyes was holding his tongue, but he was not annoyed. All that mattered was that it was time to swing his axe. Krais trusted his fellow soldiers. He believed their martial strength would prove overwhelming. ‘Right?’ Even so, a sliver of anxiety crept in. He could not help it. That was simply his nature. Marcus felt much the same. He too had armed himself and marched out among the infantry. As their commander, he had taken a position at the rear with his guards, but he was still there with the infantry. He surveyed the battlefield through a commander’s eyes. How Encrid responded at the front would determine a great deal in this battle. He understood that both intellectually and in his bones. ‘It does make the head spin.’ Still, what else could he do? This was their best option. “I’m nervous.” For a moment, Marcus was startled, thinking his adjutant had read his mind. He gave no outward sign of it, however. Instead, he replied with an easy question. “Are you?”

“Will we be all right?”

“Of course.” He answered with utter confidence. A commander was a creature who could afford to display nothing else. Marcus saw the enemy main army approaching in formation. “Forwaaaar­d!” At the shout from the man at their head, the leading unit marched in crisp unison. After a single step... “Hah!” Their collective shout rang through the air. It seemed to drive the dust toward the defenders. Their discipline united them. The dizzying force of it stabbed into the soldiers’ minds and tore through them. This was the power of well-drilled, seasoned troops. But Border Guard’s regulars were no fucking pushovers either. They were veterans who had survived battles in mountains and water, against monsters and against Aspen. Marcus did not even need to step in. “All troooops!” It was the Third Company Commander. Had they selected him for his loud voice? No, but that booming voice seemed to reach every allied soldier. “Forward!” At the crisp command, the allied main army also took a step forward. THUD. “Hah!” They answered in kind, rallying their own discipline. Meanwhile, Encrid and the Lunatic Company continued forward. Marcus could see them ambling into the space between the two facing armies. Now a charge and the melee to follow seemed certain. Then a commotion arose ahead of the enemy army. More precisely, something was charging into the space between the opposing forces. The timing was unexpected, a masterful tactical stroke: a blow launched while both armies were still gauging each other. Of course, Encrid’s party had also been taking advantage of that standoff to advance. BADADADUM! The ground began to rumble. As it shook with the vibrations, the source of the sound came racing into view: lightly armored cavalry, with iron plates fitted over their horses’ heads and shoulders. The enemy’s spear struck first, kicking up dust. BADADADUM! The sound of galloping horses hammered into the allied soldiers’ ears. Into Marcus’s ears too. Naturally, Encrid and his companions heard it as well. If they struck the main army, the losses would be severe. The battle would begin with a defeat. At the head of the cavalry rode the commander of the troops without insignia. Marcus had, of course, kept the cavalry’s position in mind, continually sending scouts that way to monitor them. Yet cavalry had burst out from the opposite direction. These, then, were the men marked on the tactical map the Lunatic Company had brought back. One of the enemy’s hidden daggers. That dagger was racing toward the allied main army, and the Lunatic Company stood directly in its path. “They’ll be trampled to death!” the adjutant shouted. Marcus thought the bastard kept saying what he himself was about to say. Though Marcus would only have said it to himself, of course. A commander must never sow anxiety among his own troops. BADADADUM! The cavalry raced forward at a terrifying speed. Before a cavalry charge, infantry were no different from rotten branches. On impact, they would break, shatter, and be smashed to pieces. Marcus trusted Encrid. He trusted that unit’s hidden strength. But against cavalry too? Would they really be all right against men charging in with deadly purpose? It was an unexpected blow. Those Martai bastards, playing their trump card right from the start. They had caught him squarely off guard.

* * *

The commander of Viscount Vantra’s army had declared that he would go first. That fellow Greg had protested, but he stood no chance. “Breaking the enemy’s discipline and crushing their momentum at the outset is a fundamental principle of warfare.” This was no mere city’s strategy, but that of a man who commanded a noble’s cavalry. He was a cut above some backwater infantry captain. Even Greg had to acknowledge it. The man’s proposal was more efficient, more effective, and more lethal. And so the commander of Viscount Vantra’s army brought out his cavalry. Fifty elite riders. They were lightly armored and not specialized for frontal charges, but cavalry was cavalry. Normally, they favored tactics that chipped away at an enemy unit’s flanks. Today, however, they faced infantry. Even if they charged straight into them, they would hold the advantage. That was how cavalry fought infantry. They would use polearms of their own to counter the pikes. It would be a one-sided affair. “We’ll sweep away the front of those insolent Border Guard bumpkins. Any objections?” The fifty cavalrymen answered their commander in one voice.

“None, sir!” “Let’s go.” SNORT. They would charge, having calculated even the distance they needed. Was that difficult? No. Preparing his horse and breaking into a gallop, the commander thought: ‘Stupid bastard.’ Had it been when he went to reinforce Pioneer Village? ‘Encrid’s Wall? What a load of bullshit.’ He had decided then. If he ever met that pompous fool, he would crush him. That was the resolve he had made. Originally, he had intended to cut off only half the man’s tongue. Now it looked as though he would take his head instead. Their horses wore light barding, and the riders likewise avoided heavy armor. Their favored weapon was the glaive. The unit had earned the nickname Pike-Slaying Cavalry. With the shafts secured at their sides and to their saddles, they rode in a formation that sliced through infantry as they passed. Add an edged weapon to the speed of a horse, and the result was a fearsome slash. That was their specialty: cutting and slicing through everything as they rode. The fewer than ten infantrymen standing in their path were, then, an appetizer. Their true target was the enemy main army. They would carve spectacularly through its front ranks. Excitement seized the commander, followed by elation. His men were mounted; the enemy was on foot. They had the advantage. How could he not be excited, racing across a battlefield where victory was assured? Blood boiling, heart pounding, the commander shouted: “Wall, my ass!” It was the cry of his heart, ringing out from deep within.