Chapter 401 - To Seize the Advantage

Both armies began moving at dawn, taking much the same positions as yesterday. The broad plain was their stage, the wind blowing across it their audience. Archers, infantry, and a portion of the cavalry stood in formation in place of the fighters who had stepped forward before. Without any agreement, the commanders at the head of either army had chosen daybreak as their signal. Encrid watched as he walked, his steps light enough for a stroll. It was no stroll, of course. He had carefully armed himself with three swords and his whistle daggers. There was one change: he had adjusted where he wore his swords. Silver hung at his left hip, Spark at his right, each positioned to suit the hand that wielded it. He had added loops to the back of his belt to hang the gladius horizontally across his lower back. Its tip had been cut short in a previous fight, making it more comfortable to wear this way now. It had lost about two finger joints' worth of length. 'Would the dwarf who made this be upset to see it?'

Didn't they take pride in their weapons? Fairies took pride in the trees, flowers, and plants they grew and were called children of trees and flowers. Weren't dwarves the children of iron and flame? Giants proved themselves through blood and slaughter, and so were children of hot blood. Beastmen had taken up hunting to survive, and were called children of mountains and fields. Dragonfolk stood alone, and so were the parentless. Frogs staked everything on their dreams, and were called children of dreams. Humans had no symbol, and thus could become anything. Idle thoughts. Encrid checked his equipment as he walked alongside the troops: the positions of his swords, the condition of his sword belt. He also revised his movements to keep the sword across his lower back from getting in his way. 'Block, dodge, strike.'

Feint, strike, smash. It was an imaginary battle, a Review of yesterday's fight. Flailing his limbs as he walked, he must have looked mad, but no one gave him a disapproving glance or resented him for it. "Will you be fighting with us again today?"

Instead, a soldier found the courage to ask. One group had paused amid the troops moving into formation. About fifty men—a company-sized unit. Its commander, standing at the front, had asked the question. Fifty pairs of eyes turned toward Encrid. He nodded. He would fight yesterday's opponent again. It was intuition, but he felt certain. The man had admitted defeat, yet the fire in his eyes hadn't diminished at all. He would come again. By the time Encrid had walked among the formations, worked through his movements, and finished his Review, Rem, Jaxon, Ragna, and Dunbachel had caught up behind him. "See? Told you it'd be cloudy," Rem said.

Finished checking his movements and Reviewing the fight, Encrid looked up as well. Rain didn't seem imminent, but it was cloudy. Dark clouds were gathering in the distance, moving fast enough for him to watch their progress. There was no smell of rain yet, though. Dunbachel twitched her nose.

"It won't rain until tomorrow." Ragna seemed to have nothing particular on his mind, and Jaxon wasn't one to communicate through expressions. His face was as unreadably blank as ever. Rem grinned, sounding excited.

"We'll be shitting blood." Encrid nodded. That made sense. It would be a brutal, difficult battlefield. They had already discussed it earlier that morning.

["You realize, don't you?"]

["What?"]

["If those bastards had attacked yesterday, we'd have been at a much bigger disadvantage."] Encrid didn't need the explanation. He knew it instinctively and understood it logically. The enemy had formed ranks, whereas their own troops had only the appearance of a formation, without unified discipline. Yet the enemy had withdrawn. Why? Because their heads were good for nothing but holding helmets? Hardly. Then the answer was simple. There was no need to think deeply: they had something prepared.

'Something worth throwing away a day for.' Encrid had followed the same train of thought and said as much to Marcus. Naturally, Marcus was already aware.

["I know. But it's an opportunity for us, too. We needed the time."] They were outnumbered and outmatched in training. The enemy even had a unified chain of command, while their own meager command structure threatened to come apart. Thanks to Encrid's exploits, though, its creaking parts had been oiled in a single day. Simply knowing that someone like him stood with them brought comfort and strength. Their fervor and aspirations had found the right direction. Marcus had made use of it all. He had also put every arrangement Krang had told him about into play, keeping ravens flying all night long. In short, whatever the enemy was preparing that justified granting them another day, it was time their own side needed as well. "That's why I even cooked meat."

Rem's words quickly dispelled Encrid's thoughts. What did he mean? That his anticipation had inspired him to show off his cooking skills. Even when he had caught and killed the Ageless Madman, Rem had been full of dissatisfaction. Why wouldn't he be? He had been chasing a fleeing man, not having a proper fight. Rem wanted to fight. He wanted to fight until blood flew. Urge and desire boiled inside him. He wanted to burn through every last bit of them in action. He was a bonfire piled high with wood, blazing so fiercely that the flames were about to spread.

'I'll burn it all in battle.'

They said a Hero had to know how to burn his very soul to fight. Encrid looked at him.

'What's gotten into him?'

Wasn't he a little too fired up today? Naturally, Ragna felt that heat too, as did Jaxon. Neither said anything. Dunbachel seemed troubled, while Esther sat atop Odd-Eyes. The two armies stood just within bowshot. Their commanders shouted in unison, like twins.

"Loose!"

Arrows came first. They marked the battle's beginning and served as its signal. BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

BWOOOOOO!

Drums and horns filled the plain, and above the sound, arrows filled the sky. Their army had five hundred longbowmen; the enemy had over a thousand. Each side's arrows reached the other. Straight, sturdy wood—oak, pine, and the like—was trimmed into shafts, then fitted with iron heads and feathers using glue. And so short pieces of wood with sharp tips took human lives. THUNK!

A soldier unlucky enough to take an arrow through a gap in his helmet fell forward. There weren't many so unfortunate. The infantry at the front held firm with their shields raised at an angle. "Chaaaarge!"

The enemy moved first. That was only natural, since Marcus had planned to counter their attacks. A body of cavalry emerged from the middle of the count's right flank.

"Ride!"

Armed with lances, the cavalry launched a charge. If a cavalry charge punched a hole in their formation, that alone could mean defeat. The royal army had to repel every enemy attack to have any chance of victory. "Run! Move! Go, right there! Form raaaanks!"

An allied commander's shouts rang out. Having spotted where the cavalry were heading, he directed his troops brilliantly. A body of infantry took position in the path of the charge. He was the commander who had spoken to Encrid on the way. He shouted again.

"Piiiikes! Braaace!" WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

They raised their spears high, muscles tensing in both arms as they drove the butts into the ground. Pikes were long spears, and these were all pikemen trained in the same movement. Their spears formed a wall—a spear wall, the best tactic for stopping cavalry. It was already rather late for the enemy riders to turn aside. THUDUDUDUDUD!

With hoofbeats like thunder, the leading riders hurled themselves into the spear wall.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK-THUNK!

Spearheads impaled horses and riders together. Blood sprayed everywhere. Bones broke all along the line. Some riders were flung sideways as their horses died. The speed of their charge became the very instrument of their deaths. "Aaaaargh!"

"Aaargh!"

Their screams proclaimed this place hell. Seeing fallen riders who had barely survived, allied soldiers drew longswords and stabbed and slashed.

THUD! CRACK!

"Die!"

"Fuck!" A few horses forced their way through gaps in the spear wall. A massive warhorse was a weapon in its own right. Being crushed beneath one was common enough. No, even a single broken arm or leg could make survival unlikely. Several horses toppled, opening holes in the spear wall. Waiting soldiers thrust their spears and filled the breaches. "Charge! Chaaaarge!"

The enemy cavalry pressed forward through sheer numbers. Even so, the infantry's spear wall held to the last. The soldiers in the thick of it didn't know, but from a commander's perspective, this was a major victory. A good start. Marcus clenched his fist. Then the enemy moved again. More cavalry burst from their ranks.

'You've prepared a little of everything.'

Mounted archers. There weren't many—fifty riders at most. But matching their mobility wouldn't be easy. 'Even if all they do is shoot while retreating...'

Every one of them was skilled enough for that. Their captain had attacked Encrid on the first day and died by his blade, but these were capable fighters. More accurately, their very troop type was a threat. They rode out to target the royal army's commanders. Anyone would have acknowledged how well trained the unit was. The count's first blade, perhaps. Encrid's gaze turned toward them as well. On such an open plain, their movements were easy to see.

'They'll do serious damage if left alone.'

He understood that, but it wasn't time for him to move.

'Marcus isn't an idiot.'

From what he'd seen at yesterday's strategy meeting, the commanders under him weren't bad either. No sooner had the thought passed than a group of allied riders set out. There were only a dozen or so, but orange hair marked their leader.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP!

A scarlet cloak streamed in the wind. Aesia and a group of squires. They had said they wouldn't borrow the knights' strength, but these fighters had already been at the palace. "For Naurilia!"

Aesia shouted as she and the squires under her command galloped out, racing straight after the mounted archers. The enemy shot arrows as they fled. She raised her sword and knocked aside those that posed a threat, turning her wrist to guide the blade without even needing a shield. At last she caught up from behind. A swift stroke sent one man's head flying. Before it reached the ground, her sword had pierced a second rider's back. She rode alongside them, thrusting and slashing without mercy. Her onslaught was fearsome. "Keep fighting to the end!"

When the mounted archers had lost half their number, more enemy cavalry emerged and charged the knight order. No, that wasn't all. The enemy infantry began advancing, and three or four conspicuously skilled fighters among them moved toward Aesia and her fellow order members.

* * *

As the infantry sprang into action and skilled fighters began distinguishing themselves across the field, Rem ran too.

"I'll go first!"

The moment he kicked off the ground, his body seemed to stretch as he shot forward. It was a movement that required a knack. Of course, Encrid knew how to do it too. You drove your foot into the ground with superhuman strength, directing the force forward rather than leaping upward. That didn't make it easy. Even Encrid had learned it through countless todays. Rem ran toward a man who had broken away from the infantry's flank. The man spotted him and changed course to meet him. He carried two hammers. Rem drew and swung his axe; his opponent swung a hammer. CLAAANG!

At the tremendous crash, the infantry parted around them, making room. In that instant, Encrid saw a shadow appear behind Rem. Someone hiding among the withdrawing infantry had darted out with a thrust. The attacker's movements were unbelievably agile and swift, the thrust astonishingly fast and sharp. Its timing was naturally hard to anticipate, but Rem twisted aside. The blade grazed his lower back. As he dodged, he chopped down with his axe, and his attacker retreated. He wouldn't need help. If things became dangerous, he could get himself out. Otherwise, he would win. That was Rem standing there.

"Let's thin their numbers," Encrid said, turning his eyes away. "Barbarian bastard, snatching up the best bits first."

Ragna stepped forward as he spoke, heading for one flank of the enemy infantry at a steady walk. The Lunatic Company had moved out to one side of the allied formation. With so few of them, they hadn't drawn much attention. Everyone was succumbing to the madness of mass combat. Encrid watched Ragna's back. A knight was said to be a calamity that could face a thousand men. What, then, of Ragna, who had come so very close to knighthood? He was neither injured nor tired, and he'd eaten his fill yesterday. Ragna slipped into the enemy infantry's flank. No, he seemed to seep into it. He walked, and he reached them. There was no need to find his way in a battle like this. He only had to cut down every enemy he saw. Where he met the infantry's flank, men began falling to the ground like bundles of straw. His sword moved in a swift sweep. An enemy soldier's head flew. No scream, no surprise. They died without even knowing when death had come. As Ragna calmly swung his sword, the enemy's numbers began to dwindle. One with each stroke. So many died in so short a time that the enemy noticed him. It changed nothing. Knowing only made it worse. It was as though death itself had stepped among ordinary soldiers. Meanwhile, Encrid spotted several men moving with clear purpose among the enemy soldiers.

"Jaxon?"

"Leave them to me."

He would handle it himself. The enemy weren't fools either. Not the five living weapons themselves, but their adjutants could be seen slipping among the rank and file. It was a sound tactic. Exceptional fighters striking again and again from hiding among ordinary troops would rapidly thin the allied ranks. Superior formations or not, a handful of elites could overturn a battlefield. They had to be stopped before that happened. Jaxon moved to hunt down those whose movements stood out, one by one. Meanwhile, Encrid walked toward the enemy ranks again. "Who the fuck is this?"

As he approached the ranks in the rear that hadn't yet joined the battle, an enemy soldier called out rather than rashly breaking formation to attack. Encrid ignored him and kept walking. An enormous shadow fell before him. Its owner stood with the sun at his back. He was big. Very big. Bigger even than Audin.

"My name is Benukt. I'm a Giant."

His voice sounded as though it echoed from a cave. The Giant part seemed unnecessary. The man had filled Encrid's view from the moment he approached. He came closer and settled into a stance with both fists held forward. Something about it reminded Encrid of Audin. Encrid raised his drawn sword high. Its silver blade revealed its naked length amid the shadows rather than in the sunlight. Stances set, they read each other's breathing—or tried to. Each watched for an opening, searching for the perfect moment to seize the advantage. Amid that taut silence, Encrid asked, "What about your captain?"

Was Benukt fighting in his place? Ready to spring at any moment, Benukt unleashed the full strength of a Giant.

BOOM!

He kicked off the ground, turning his body into a cannonball. He hurtled forward as though folding space and drove his shoulder into Encrid. The instant they met—

BANG!

A sound like a bursting drum erupted between them. Every eye in the enemy infantry, still waiting to charge, turned toward the pair. Dust rose, then cleared enough to reveal them. Neither had given ground. They had collided with tremendous force, but each had deflected what needed deflecting and endured what needed enduring. That single clash told Encrid what he needed to know. For all his size, the Giant called Benukt wasn't particularly impressive. It wasn't arrogance or confidence. It was a cold assessment.