Chapter 132: A Pilgrim Walking in Search of His Dream
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 132: A Pilgrim Walking in Search of His Dream
Marcus felt a wave of vertigo wash over him.
Cold sweat broke out, quickly drenching his forehead.
‘Those bastards...’
His mouth ran dry at the enemy's dirty tricks.
But he couldn't just stand by and watch. He was the commander of this infantry battalion. With the recent reinforcements, his forces had swelled to the size of two full battalions.
"Turtle Company, on standby in the rear! The rest of you, block that giant! Keep your formations tight! Shoot any bastard who retreats in the back of the head!"
His adjutant barked the orders again, amplifying his voice. Messengers carrying the condensed commands scrambled in all directions.
"Fuck, hold the line! Just hold! You’re dead if you retreat anyway!"
This could easily turn into a worst-case scenario. Forcing the soldiers into a meat grinder would send morale plummeting, and once they started losing ground, reclaiming the advantage on this battlefield would be nothing but a pipe dream.
Still, there was no other choice. For now, he needed to buy time to rally his troops.
Horn trumpets blared continuously.
Bwooooooo!
Marcus stared at the damp fog obscuring his vision and cursed. What a goddamn, miserable environment. Hadn't they almost been wiped out because of a similar fog on the previous battlefield?
Though that time, the fog had been conjured by sorcery.
How did they resolve it back then? Through the former battalion commander's wit and tactics?
‘What a load of horseshit. Not even a dog would believe that.’
He knew exactly what kind of man the former commander was—a noble-born soldier who loved bribes more than his men. A dumbass whose greed far outstripped his competence.
It was obvious someone else had broken the sorcery.
Though everyone kept quiet about it, there was a certain platoon leader who had caused the nickname "Sorcery Breaker" to whisper through the ranks. A soldier with absurd luck, rumored to have slept with the Goddess of Fortune herself.
Sent off to Cross Guard, only to resolve the crisis there as well—a soldier who was clearly cut from a different cloth.
For some reason, that soldier came to mind at this very moment. The name of the man he had summoned to control the mad platoon and make them useful burned vividly in his mind.
Encrid.
As his train of thought reached its end, a figure towering several heads above any human came into view beyond the thinning fog.
"Holy shit."
A giant.
The enemy commander was going all out. Rather than fighting a half-hearted skirmish, they had concentrated all their strength to strike at the main force. If this was a gamble, they had just gone all-in.
‘Ha, they're pulling a stunt like that now?’
In truth, it had been a series of unprecedented moves from the start. Demoralizing them with a duel between soldiers. Striking their rear. And now, deploying a giant to flip the board in a single stroke.
Was this the work of a strategic genius? Or had a crude, reckless strategy just happened to pay off by sheer luck?
He didn't know. The battlefield only spoke in results. Achievements and victories were no different. If they lost here, it would be solely due to his own shortcomings.
As anxiety clawed at his chest, an involuntary chuckle escaped his lips. He hadn't earned the nickname "warmonger" for nothing. In a situation like this, Marcus felt his desires, cravings, and primal instincts boil over. A surge of raw ambition made his heart hammer, pumping blood through his entire body.
‘Momentum... if I can just catch a bit of momentum.’
Marcus wasn't the type to carefully weigh every option and draft a meticulous strategy. He was a gambler. Thinking was his subordinates' job.
"We must retreat. A single giant will cost us at least an entire platoon."
"We have to admit that the enemy's move is fatal."
"We should regroup and engage them with archers instead of the Turtle Heavy Infantry—"
Before the circle of adjutants could even finish their analysis, a scout burst in.
"Left flank! Elves and assassins have appeared! They’re indiscriminately assassinating our commanders!"
What the fuck?
"Right flank! Over a squad of mercenary veterans are running rampant. They're at least Special-grade!"
It was a total shitshow. Everything was going to hell. Yet, Marcus's heart did not falter.
‘I don't think it ends like this.’
Ignoring his adjutants' pleading gazes for a retreat, Marcus remained silent. A change—even the slightest one would do. If only the wind would shift just a fraction.
Marcus swallowed hard and waited. What if the winds of change never blew?
‘No, there is a chance.’
Wherever people gathered, exceptional individuals were bound to emerge. There had to be such people within his infantry battalion. He needed a small gesture to break through the waves of despair. Marcus believed that moment would come.
"Commander!" the adjutant shouted, almost defiantly. That was how desperate they were.
Right then, a messenger came sprinting, shouting the status of the battlefield at the top of his lungs from afar. The messenger screamed so hard the veins in his neck bulged, looking as if he might collapse on the spot.
"Urgent report! Urgent report! The giant has been slain!"
The change. It was the very shift he had been waiting for, relying purely on his gut. It didn't matter who did it.
"All units, counterattack!" Marcus roared.
It was time for their counteroffensive to begin. He demonstrated outstanding capability as a commander, possessing the skills to back up his instincts. At his shout, the Naurilian army instantly transformed into a charging turtle.
It was a circular charge formation centered around the Turtle Heavy Infantry. This was the large-scale group battle Marcus excelled at.
*
The giant's death was only the beginning.
The winds of change that began blowing from all corners of the battlefield were fierce, like a violent typhoon sweeping in during the transition from summer to autumn.
"All uuuuuniiiiits!"
Beside each company commander, the booming voices of the messengers echoed.
Bwooooooo!
The horn trumpets signaled the advance.
"Chaaaaarge!"
"Waaaaah!"
"Wipe them all out!"
"Die, you dumb bastards!"
Bell joined the fray as well. Seeing Rem slay the giant and his allies withstand its monstrous strength made his heart boil with excitement. He felt it in his bones—they weren't going to lose this battle.
With a flurry of footsteps, the spearmen charged first, thrusting like thorns into the enemy lines.
Thuck!
The pierced unit held their ground. Azpen's elite soldiers were resilient. Bracing with shields and armor, they thrust their long spears back in retaliation.
"Make way!" a shout erupted from behind the allied spearmen.
So what? You think you're tough? Are you as tough as us?
The Turtle Heavy Infantry Company. 1st Company, 4th Battalion, 4th Regiment of the Cypress Division. The pride of the battalion, an elite unit named after a knight. Not some detached independent force, but the very core of their military strength.
They moved.
Their tactics were simple, and their overarching strategy was even simpler: Advance, crush, and break.
The Turtle Heavy Infantry Company stepped forward not to defend, but to attack. Their steps were slow, but heavy. If the vanguard spearmen were the spear, this unit was the mace—a mace designed to dent and shatter shields and armor.
Though the heavy infantry's primary weapon was originally the long spear, what they needed now was a heavy, crushing advance. They advanced having swapped their spears for blunt weapons—secondary armaments meant to smash enemy defenses.
Clad in undergarments, gambesons, chainmail, and steel gauntlets and greaves, the heavy infantry charged. As they marched in tight formation, they looked like a massive, unstoppable block of solid iron.
The ten heavy infantrymen at the very front raised their weapons in unison. They held their weapons vertically above their heads. Maces longer than standard ones cast long shadows over the blood-soaked earth.
"Holy shit..." one of the enemy soldiers muttered.
A moment later, the ten heavy infantrymen in the front row brought their weapons down simultaneously. Slicing through the air, the maces slammed into the enemy's shields, armor, and haphazardly raised spear shafts.
Crash! Clang! Crack! Crunch!
A cacophony of destructive sounds erupted all at once. It was the impact of their first strike. None of the enemy soldiers died yet; this was a clash of formations. They didn't collapse from a single blow, but the real problem came next.
The two formations were now locked in tight, face-to-face combat. The boundaries between friend and foe blurred and overlapped, like the sun and moon dissolving their borders before dawn.
The soldiers of both armies fought to hold their ground, and the heavy infantry, fighting stationary in the melee, fully demonstrated their devastating power.
Crunch!
The second wave of blunt strikes shattered bucklers, sending wooden splinters flying into the air. The pupils of an Azpen soldier holding a broken shield dilated in terror. Past the ruined shield, another mace swung in, striking him squarely on the helmet.
Thwack!
"Gah!"
A leather helmet was useless against the impact of solid iron. His skull caved in from the single blow, and he collapsed. The heavy infantry marched right over him.
Crunch, crack.
Bones snapped, cheekbones shattered, and blood spurted. Unable to withstand the crushing weight, his body lost its soul. For the soldier trampled beneath the heavy infantry's boots, only death remained.
"Forward, one step!"
The heavy infantry company commander maintained the formation his unit took pride in. A slow, step-by-step advance that choked the life out of the enemy. Though too slow and sluggish to be called a charge, since the enemy had nowhere to retreat, it was a death sentence.
"Wipe them out."
The company commander was brimming with confidence. And with good reason—the tide of battle had turned in an instant. If there had been knights in this battle, and if it had begun with a duel between knights, things might have been different. But the enemy hadn't initiated that kind of fight. They had hidden a trump card and stabbed with it, but the allies' blade was sturdier.
And it was a sturdiness no one could have anticipated. No matter how crazy Rem was, who could have guessed he would toy with a giant before killing it?
"Uwoooooh!"
Someone's roar tore through the air and soared into the sky. The soldiers were completely whipped into a frenzy. With bloodshot eyes, they thrust their spears and swung their swords. Occasionally, some even hurled throwing axes.
At this point, Marcus's tactical brilliance shone once more. After shattering the enemy's formation with the heavy infantry's frontal assault, he deployed a detachment to the flanks.
"Fire! Fire! Shoot them all!"
It was the swift light archers, a ranger unit armed with shortbows. Conveniently, an outstanding ranger who had recently joined the unit led them—a woman named Finn.
Upon hearing Marcus's orders, she immediately understood his intent. Arrows took flight. Not many died from the arrows themselves; they simply shot, and shot again. Raining down arrows without sparing a single one, they shouted repeatedly.
"Surrender! Drop your weapons and press your heads to the ground! Surrender and you will be spared!"
Several loud-voiced messengers echoed the words, spreading them across the battlefield. In the chaotic battle, those fleeing along the flanks were already demoralized and retreating. The moment they encountered Finn, they had no choice but to drop their weapons and raise their hands.
"Don't kill them! Don't kill!"
Finn deliberately spared those who surrendered. The effect was immediate. One by one, they began pressing their heads to the dirt. The tide of the battlefield had completely and utterly turned.
Rem dusted off his hands after killing the giant.
‘My sweat's gonna dry up at this rate.’
It had only been fun up to this point. What next? It was time to pursue and slaughter, but he didn't feel particularly motivated. It wasn't out of some soft-hearted aversion to a massacre; the battle was already won. Chasing them down was just a hassle.
He scanned the area to see if the enemy had hidden another giant, but there was none. He only sensed a commotion coming from the enemy command.
Those guys are going to bolt any second.
‘They could at least try some sorcery.’
But there was no sign of that either. The momentum had shifted, and the battle was over. That was Rem's assessment. He turned around to look for his platoon leader, but...
"What the fuck?"
Where did this guy go? He had told him to watch closely from behind. He had vanished without even properly watching Rem fight the giant. On top of that, the stray cat and the rest of them were nowhere to be seen either. Which meant he had gone off with one of them.
‘Huh?’
This is starting to piss me off.
"Woah! Long live the Mad Platoon!"
"Long live Rem!"
Thanks to him slaying the giant, soldiers nearby were still chanting Rem's name. Everyone who passed by praised him. The madman on their side had killed the bloodthirsty enemy giant.
And above all, that final move of his...
Seeing the giant swing its massive hammer, he had kicked its thigh, then smashed his fist into the giant's fingers to break its grip. Then, launching himself into the air, he spun. Inverting his body mid-air, Rem’s heel slammed into the giant’s jaw.
It was a spectacular strike. Next, he had grabbed a stray spear rolling on the ground and driven it from the giant's shattered jaw straight through the back of its skull, creating a grotesque work of art.
The fallen giant looked like some bizarre sculpture, and Rem, standing before it, looked like a hero straight out of a legend. After all, giants were common villains in stories. It was only natural that cheers erupted continuously, but...
"Shut up!" Rem barked.
His voice was so booming that the soldiers praising him instantly shut their mouths. Only then did Rem's nickname dawn on them like bright moonlight.
‘Just a madman.’
A lunatic who threw fits for no reason. A psycho who got angry and threw tantrums over nothing.
"Where did our platoon leader go?"
Someone raised a hand and pointed. Over there stood Encrid, holding two axes. He was already making his way over. Rem, Ragna, and Encrid met.
"Hey, I told you to watch—"
"Found these on the way."
Encrid cut Rem off and tossed the weapons. The two axes sliced through the air and landed right in Rem's hands. Rem caught them with both hands, one after the other.
"Hmm?"
The grip felt remarkably good. Feeling them in his hands, he realized they were better than the ones he had used before. Well-maintained by hand, weapons that had tasted blood. From the center of gravity to the blades, they were crafted from high-quality iron and meticulously cared for.
"Did you go fetch these because my axes broke?"
No matter the path, as long as the destination was reached. Knowing Rem as he did, Encrid simply replied, "Yeah."
He nodded in agreement. In truth, he had just stumbled upon them, but if it brought peace, so be it. The inexplicable bloodlust radiating from Rem softened considerably. His murderous aura faded.
"Did you at least watch what I told you to watch?"
"I did. The axe that blocks a giant. And winning through sheer strength."
As Encrid spoke, Rem looked into his platoon leader's eyes. The axes tossed like a joke didn't matter. Inside his eyes burned a fire—a flame that could well be called desire or passion.
To learn, to master, and to forge ahead. A pilgrim walking and shedding blood in search of his dream stood right there.
This was more than enough. This was precisely why Rem liked the man named Encrid.
"Works for me," Rem grinned.
Encrid smiled back. Their smiles were different, yet somehow the same.
Ragna, who had been watching from the side, murmured, "First, keep the sword close to your body..."
Suddenly, Sachsen materialized behind Ragna. He had approached without making a single sound or presence.
"Once your senses ripen and your sixth sense opens, what do you think comes next? Segmentation—training each part individually, and learning how to react. There is much to do."
Encrid turned his gaze. He locked eyes with Sachsen, asking silently, ‘What does any of that even mean?’
There was no answer.
"Next time."
It seemed Severing was more of this guy's specialty than Ragna's.
"This bastard... cutting in?" Rem glared, his eyes widening.
Before they could exchange sharp words, Audin returned as well.
"Woah! The crazy giant on our side is way stronger!"
What a hell of a cheer. Indeed, he had returned as a crazy giant himself. Drenched in blood from head to toe, wearing a simple smile. Was smiling so innocently while blood dripped from his sleeves a talent, or was he just a complete lunatic?
"Do you know the core of Valaf-style hand-to-hand combat?"
This one's no different.
Encrid's gaze shifted to the crazy giant. Audin offered a cheerful grin.
"Goddammit, everyone's chiming in now?" Rem grumbled in annoyance.
They all began radiating bloodlust at one another. Encrid watched them for a moment before stepping in to stop them. Right in the middle of a battlefield, regardless of how the fight was going, these men were only busy thinking about how to train Encrid.
And yet, they were the ones who deserved the greatest credit for this battle. Encrid calmed the group of heroes down and asked, "By the way, where is everyone else?"
Looking around, he realized Andrew and the rest of the squad were missing.
"They got swept up and went ahead," Rem replied.