Chapter 307 - The Stupidest Commander in the World

The stupidest commander in the world. Jaxon stood just behind the vanguard. Encrid was drawing their attention. What, then, should he do? He studied the enemy soldiers. More precisely, he read the entire enemy force through his senses. He did not need to see everything. His honed senses let him judge an opponent's skill by sound alone: unhesitating footsteps, confident battle cries, the speed of their approach—and, amid it all, calm eyes. Assessing his opponents in his own way, different from Audin's, Jaxon slipped his sword between the ranks. A long blade shot forward through a gap between waists. "Kill them all!" The first was a man wielding a heavy war hammer. Its weighted head struck an allied shield. As he used the rebound from that hard blow to recover his hammer, a blade pierced his belly. It slid in, then slipped straight out. "Huh?"

What was this?

What else? A blade.

Cold eyes watched the enemy soldier from behind the shield. SWISH. The instant their eyes met, the blade curved like a snake and slit the hammer soldier's throat. Jaxon had loosely adapted the move from watching Encrid's Flowing Sword Technique. Its trajectory was closer to an Unorthodox Sword, so it could be considered a different sword art altogether. "Y-you... ghrrk."

The man tried to speak, then fell backward clutching his throat. Whether he was bubbling blood or not, friendly and enemy boots trampled the soldier who had dropped his hammer. Jaxon kept doing the same thing, hiding among his allies and delivering single stabs. He targeted only special-grade soldiers and above. He left a few conspicuous ones alone—those he could not reliably kill with one blow. He carried out his role with absolute precision. The allied soldiers had no idea, but some commanders sensed a peculiar shift.

"Why does it feel like we're winning?"

An allied Platoon Commander said it. Weren't they outmatched on paper? So why were they winning? He could not tell. Did that matter now? No. "Fight! Puuush!"

The commander did his job, shouting until his throat nearly tore.

"Stay together! Don't scatter!" Infantry battles on the continent were, fundamentally, melees. Staying together gave an advantage; getting separated was dangerous. Both sides fought in much the same way. The Border Guard standing-army reinforcements were also fighting fiercely. "They're going around the flank! Don't let those bastards through!"

"The pain that doesn't kill me!"

"Only makes me stronger!"

"Pain!"

"Strength!" Everyone who had survived the previous battlefield was now a veteran. This was a unit of seasoned soldiers, a different caliber from the battalion stationed at Green Pearl. They blocked the enemy force curving around to the right. "The Gray Hounds!"

"Persistent sons of bitches!"

Even the allied troops knew this enemy unit well. The Gray Hounds were attempting a flanking maneuver, and Border Guard's standing army blocked them. "Crazy bastards."

The Gray Hounds lived up to their name. Despite their greater numbers, Border Guard's standing army seemed to be losing ground. Still, that was all right. They had men running rampant at the front. Encrid tore through the enemy with his Heavy Sword Technique, while Jaxon hid among Green Pearl's troops, selectively killing skilled fighters and men giving orders. Thanks to them, the battle had reached a curious equilibrium, though Aspen's powerful soldiers should have been pushing them back. Ragna had moved to Encrid's left rear. He intended to do his part by casually taking on one opponent at a time. As he swung his sword, he slowly worked up some enthusiasm. He had lived without any for several years. He still needed something to spur him into spirited action. Ragna was slow to get going. That was when he sensed killing intent on his left. The moment he registered it, steel flew toward the side of his face. He tipped his head backward, barely managing to dodge. He had been too slow to warm up. Fortunately, warmed up or not, his body reacted automatically to attacks like this. Blood sprayed as the blade grazed his cheek. The sharp edge sliced through the leather helmet covering it, leaving the bottom hanging loose.

"You dodged that?"

The swordsman immediately withdrew. Ragna recognized it at a glance.

'He's good.' Though he did not realize it, his first feeling was delight. Hadn't he wanted an opponent who naturally stirred his desire to fight? There was a hunger Encrid alone could not satisfy. A bloody, life-or-death fight was what Ragna wanted now. He did not need to find his way, so there was no reason to get lost. He only had to follow the retreating man's back. Ragna flung off his bothersome helmet. A few steps later, an enemy soldier blocked him with a short sword.

"You bastard!" Where would the man who had cut him retreat? Back, toward his own side. Naturally, following him meant plunging into the enemy ranks. An enemy soldier reacted. Ragna reacted faster. He stabbed and withdrew his sword as he stepped forward. A single strike punched a hole through the soldier's throat. Still carried forward by the force of his spear thrust, the man pitched forward and fell. Before he finished falling, Ragna cut down five more and broke through the enemy ranks. The charge was utterly reckless, but it threw the enemy formation into disarray. As a result, a nearby allied commander once again felt that the battle had become strangely easy. 'This isn't so hard.'

His preparations to advance to the rear—in other words, retreat—if things went wrong now seemed pointless.

"Fight! Fight and kill them all!" The battle lines had broken down long ago. In a melee, all that mattered was killing more enemies. The platoon commander knew that well and shouted without pause.

"Pain!"

The chant had spread before anyone knew it.

"Our troops are being pushed back." Abnaire smiled at his adjutant's report. Everything was going as he had expected. How could he not smile?

"Just as expected."

The adjutant bit his lip. He could not understand this operation. Wasn't success as good as failure? "I'll become the greatest fool of our age, the man who got a thousand soldiers killed," Abnaire said.

"Is this right?"

"It is."

Not a trace of doubt. The genius's voice was clear and unwavering. The adjutant bowed his head. He could no longer even try to stop him. 'Come on. Show me what you've hidden.'

Krais watched the enemy's movements. They would have to do something. Encrid was running rampant, and thanks to Jaxon, the enemy's momentum had sharply faltered. Meanwhile, he had no idea where Ragna was going.

'This isn't all you've got, is it?' He had kept Sinar and Dunbachel as his trump cards. You were not supposed to reveal all your moves before seeing your opponent's. "Big-eyes, I want to fight."

Beside him, Dunbachel prodded his side, a hand resting on her scimitar's hilt.

"Wait."

"Am I a dog? You think I'll stay just because you tell me to?" Beside her, Sinar stood silently, eyes half closed and arms folded.

"Try being calm, like the Fairy Company Commander."

"I'm a Beastman, not a Fairy." Even while placating Dunbachel, Krais never took his eyes off the battlefield. The battle as a whole remained curiously balanced, but their prospects were improving in individual engagements. Those small victories would accumulate and eventually win the entire battle. That was the picture Krais had drawn. Rather than letting a wild card remain an isolated factor, he had made it affect the whole battlefield. He had also devised ways to pull back and buy time if the enemy made a move, but there had been no need. That was the situation so far. Then why was Aspen merely watching? Why weren't they playing their hidden hand? There was something—there had to be something. Otherwise, why advance so slowly and begin fighting at winter's end? 'No hidden trick? Are they just fucking idiots?'

Of course not.

"Messengeeer! Messengeeeer!" A messenger came running from the rear. Krais had deliberately placed Nurat there with her sharp-eyed, swift-footed troops. Garrett had been left in the command tent as a figurehead. Nurat was the Green Pearl battalion's actual combat commander. She had keen eyes and a quick mind. She had done exactly what was needed at just the right moment. "A detachment is circling around! A substantial force!"

At the report, a map unfurled in Krais's mind. The terrain he had memorized. The enemy's route. What were they after?

'Border Guard.'

They were targeting the rear. Some of their troops might already have slipped through. "To the rear!"

Dunbachel and Sinar moved. It was time to counter the card the enemy had played. "The second flanking force has been spotted."

"Good!"

Abnaire clapped his hands at the report. Not everything could go according to plan. A battlefield was a living thing. But if he aimed for just one objective...

'That, I can achieve.' A handful of elite fighters dominated a battlefield. Abnaire knew that saying well. Then what if he killed those elite fighters? Talent was finite, not infinite. How many geniuses could an age produce? Few earned that name. The scarcity of knights proved it. Therefore...

'Give up one battlefield.'

And win the war. Even if that earned him a reputation as an infamous butcher, the stupidest commander in the world, Abnaire would smile.

"Preparations?"

"Complete."

"Good. Proceed."

The adjutant bowed and withdrew. # # #

Just as Krais had predicted, Abnaire sent some of his cavalry toward Border Guard. "Enemy troops!"

Naturally, Border Guard had remained vigilant and spotted them in advance. Rem, who had been grumbling all day, sprang to his feet. The news made him forget the cold for a moment.

"Who's here?"

He could not have been happier if a lover he had parted with ten years ago had come to visit. "Brother, they say a hasty man misses the puddle and gets his shoes wet," Audin said, stepping forward behind him.

"Why don't you leave that club behind before you say that?"

"Ha ha, brother. The Lord said that protecting oneself is the beginning of all things." Spoken like an apostle of the God of War. Wasn't that the attitude of a man ready to beat everyone to death? Teresa started to rise too, then stopped at a look from Audin. The injuries she had sustained killing the Wolf Bishop were severe. Fighting in her condition would ruin her body. Audin would not stand by and watch that happen.

"You will wait, Sister."

"... Yes."

Teresa was bitterly disappointed, but restrained herself. An excited Rem and an equally excited Audin went out to meet the enemy, but their expectations went unfulfilled.

"What the hell?"

The situation was odd. All they could see was a cavalry force pitifully small for an assault on the walls. Even that force merely watched from a distance, testing the waters as though it might attack, then holding back. Rem waited two days.

"These bastards."

The enemy did not attack. They only stalled for time. It was Abnaire's ploy. Marcus had once thoroughly screwed Aspen over by pretending to march on its city of Cross Guard. The circumstances were different, but the result was similar. Abnaire had pinned Border Guard in place. This many cavalry could neither assault the walls nor cut the supply route. In the first place, Aspen's cavalry needed supplies more urgently. Besides, there were not many of them. Looking closely, Rem saw two or three horses for every rider. They were a force full of bluster, using extra horses to make themselves look larger. "Don't these bastards have anything better to do?"

Rem was left frustrated, but Abnaire had achieved precisely what he wanted. He had temporarily blocked reinforcements from leaving Border Guard. He had bought a little time, and that was enough. Esther caught the scent of a spell—a fairly high-level one. She followed it. Her soft footsteps carried her up a small mountain, where she saw a group gathered. One of them stared at her, eyes widening.

"You." Galaf, He Who Holds the River's Course. A mage who had earned his epithet through his own spell world. He had short brown hair and delicate features. She did not know his actual age, but he had looked like that for ten years. Hadn't they said he had drunk from the River of Life? Of course, it was only a rumor. Esther gazed steadily at him.

"I heard a curse had ruined you. Was that just an unfounded rumor?"

Galaf spoke in surprise at seeing her in human form. Esther merely watched him in silence. She had come this far after sensing traces of this man's spells. It had been a coincidence. The flow of mana, along with traces of a prepared spell, had happened to catch her senses. Guidance from the stars, a summons from fate? She did not care. She did not believe in gods. She believed in herself and her spell world. She trusted only what she had achieved. That was why she was a mage. "Master."

One of Galaf's apprentices started to step forward. He was famous for training many apprentices, and had six with him even now.

"You lot go on." As he spoke, Galaf studied Esther. There was something he could sense just by looking.

'You haven't completely broken the curse.'

The witch would not be able to use even half her true strength. "Witch of Strife. Will you fight?" Galaf asked.

His apprentices could carry out the planned task on their own. He was not needed. Still, that did not mean he had any particular reason to fight the witch. Esther did not know what they were doing here, but it was clearly something that would harm the nest where she was staying. Why else would a mage of his caliber be here? Her current nest was a man named Encrid. Magic would be dangerous even to him. She had gained something by staying in that nest.

'I should at least stop this for him.' "Demuller's Scythe."

Instead of answering, Esther recited the spell she had prepared. Following her fingertips, a vacuum-based cutting spell took physical form and sliced through the air. Yet even though it was one of her specialties... "Bartan's Shield."

A blue barrier rose and blocked the scything wind. The barrier rippled like water. With the round, blue-radiating membrane between them, the two mages opened their spell worlds.