Chapter 145: Season of the Hunt
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 145: Season of the Hunt
What was with these guys?
Finn could only blink in disbelief.
She recalled their previous battle—the one before they reached this battlefield, where she had fought alongside Encrid and those Border Guard soldiers, Toris or Toros, whatever their names were.
It had been fierce. Intense.
She had fought with everything she had, barely managing to survive.
If these guys had been there, wouldn't they have just sliced through the enemy in an instant?
It certainly felt that way.
The three men clad in chainmail were combat experts. They all wielded blunt weapons: one had a hammer, another a morning star, and the last a long staff with an iron mace head. Every single one of them was a formidable opponent. Above all, despite carrying such heavy armaments, they weren't sluggish in the slightest.
If it were me...
She doubted she could have handled even one of them. They were her worst matchup. Against that kind of armor, even if she managed to close the distance and stab them with a dagger, they would likely shrug it off.
Judging by the thick gambesons they wore beneath their chainmail, she would have to plunge at least half a shortsword into them to do any real damage. Would they even give her the opening to do so? And even if an opening presented itself, what then? Would the man getting stabbed just stand there and watch?
No, he would swing his hammer or morning star and bash her skull in. Her head would shatter, and she would die. She had absolutely no confidence in winning such a trade.
Yet, her allies were playing with these three enemy soldiers like toys.
"Brother, it is time to go."
The fanatic soldier—deeply religious, invoking the Lord more than most actual priests—closed the distance to the soldier with the morning star and punched him square in the face.
Didn't they say he was a master of Valaf-style Martial Arts?
He didn't look like one at all. The fanatic was simply overpowering his opponent with raw, terrifying strength.
The soldier with the morning star swung his weapon even as he took the punch to the head. The spiked ball struck the fanatic's forearm, but despite the man wearing no proper armor, there wasn't so much as a scratch on his skin.
She would have to check later, but at least on the surface, he looked perfectly fine.
Thud.
Even with that heavy impact, the fanatic’s body didn't waver. There was no groan of pain, a sound so common in the heat of battle. He simply said what he had to say and did what he had to do.
"Go. To the Lord's side."
His opponent, reeling from the punch, stumbled. Pivoting on his left foot, the fanatic spun his hips. His massive frame created the illusion of a small whirlwind whipping up around him. Then, with the synchronized rotation of his knee and pelvis, he balanced his upper body and lashed out with his leg.
A high kick aimed straight for the head.
The moment the strike connected—
Crack!
The soldier's eyeballs literally popped out of their sockets. Even though the kick had hit his helmet, his skull couldn't withstand the sheer pressure generated by the impact.
Holy shit.
Finn couldn't close her gaping mouth.
The other two were much the same. The Axe Madman raged for a moment, then giggled.
"What? You think wearing that shit makes you immortal?"
His opponent was the one wielding the long staff. As the iron-shod club came crashing down, the Axe Madman dodged the head, reached out, and caught the shaft just below the mace with his palm. Pulling himself forward as if dragging the weapon toward him, he lunged with a single axe strike.
It was terrifyingly fast. The flying axe slammed into the opponent's abdomen.
Boom!
It sounded like a leather drum bursting.
Screeech!
The axe blade tore right through the chainmail. The links around the waist shattered and broke, spraying blood. And that wasn't the end of it. The mad soldier spun his body in reverse, swinging the extended axe back toward the exact same spot.
Rip!
The second strike sliced through the gap in the broken chainmail, cleaving the enemy soldier's flank more than halfway open.
"Gurgle...!"
Death was inevitable. Pink entrails spilled onto the ground in a heap, accompanied by a torrent of blood. The enemy collapsed to his knees and slumped into the dirt.
The blonde-haired, red-eyed soldier—the one rumored to be incredibly lazy—looked more passionate than ever.
Clang! Clang!
Twice, he deflected a descending hammer with his sword, parrying it away before thrusting forward. The movement was as fluid as flowing water. It was as if that sword had originally been meant to sprout from the enemy soldier's belly.
Squish!
The sword pierced halfway through the chainmail, tearing into the enemy's padded undergarment. As he shoved the blade in with brute force, the opponent swung his recovered hammer down from above his head—a strike coming from an invisible blind spot.
Just before the hammer could crush his skull, the lazy soldier let go of the sword embedded in the enemy's body and drew another blade from his waist.
Clink.
He slashed upward, deflecting the hammer. The movement was so incredibly fast and unhesitating that even Finn's eyes couldn't track every motion.
Just how damn well do these bastards fight?
The sword that had deflected the hammer then struck the opponent's helmet—not with the edge, but with the flat of the blade.
Gong!
The soldier dropped his hammer, clutched his head, and lost his balance. Seeing this, the lazy soldier strolled over and stood before him. Then, he pushed the sword already stuck in the man's belly even deeper.
"Don't... please don't..."
Screeech, crunch, squelch.
It was a sound that evoked sheer terror, making one's knees go weak. The lazy soldier, having pushed the sword all the way through the man until it embedded in the ground, straightened his posture.
The enemy soldier, who had lost his hammer and was left holding only a shield, kept shaking his head, desperately gripping the blade piercing his body before dying in tears.
Even as they effortlessly dispatched those three skilled fighters, there was still more to be shocked by. Finn wondered if she even had any capacity left for surprise, but this was something she simply couldn't ignore.
Most of the enemy soldiers who had been watching the fight were already dead.
The cause of death: slit throats.
Without anyone noticing when he had moved, the remaining member of their squad had been going around slitting the throats of the dazed soldiers. And not even with a longsword, but with a single dagger.
When did he even start doing that?
With a mixture of shock and sheer bewilderment, Finn finally spoke. "What the hell are you guys?"
Krais was standing right beside her. Staring wide-eyed, he opened his mouth. "I was wondering the same thing."
Krais was inwardly soothing his own nerves. Why was I even worried? When they fight this damn well...
The Mad Platoon fought several times better than he had anticipated. He had used Encrid as a benchmark, but these guys surpassed all expectations. It made him wonder all over again: Just how monstrously strong are those bastard knights?
At the same time, he sent a silent tribute of praise to whoever had gathered these misfits into a single unit in the first place.
No, the person who sent their platoon leader here is the real genius. That's the truth.
These men, who otherwise might have acted like a massive explosive spell detonating within the main army, had rallied together around Encrid.
"Let's set it on fire, Squad Leader Andrew," Krais said to Andrew, who had been assigned to guard him.
"Huh? What? Set what on fire?" Andrew was just as shocked as Finn. His expression had darkened for a moment before returning to normal. For some reason, he actually looked somewhat relieved now.
"I said, let's set it on fire. If we keep lingering here, the enemy's main force will arrive. Do you want to fight them?"
No, definitely not. That was out of the question.
"Let's move."
Mac, Andrew, and Finn began striking flints. Among the supplies were haystacks meant for horse feed—dry grass, perfect for starting a fire.
"Hurry," Krais urged. There was no need to ask why.
"Fuck, they're monsters!"
"Save me!"
They didn't kill every single enemy soldier. As soon as the enemy was practically annihilated, their allies stopped fighting. There was no point in chasing down the stragglers, as they couldn't kill them all anyway.
"Leave them be," Encrid commanded before Krais could.
"Understood," Rem replied, his response proof that they were following Encrid's orders.
Watching his platoon members set the fires, Encrid spoke up. "I feel like I have some sort of affinity for setting things on fire."
What kind of nonsense was that? Did he get hit in the head during the fight?
"Pardon?"
"No, nothing. Let's go."
The trap the enemy had dug was set ablaze. Since spring had arrived, they didn't need a bonfire of this size, but the flames rose anyway—a roaring, blazing fire announcing their presence to the world.
Encrid and the Mad Platoon slipped away like the wind. Finn, who was guiding them out, mentioned that they only needed to move in a straight line from here on out before falling in step beside Audin.
"Hey, what did you say your name was?"
"It is Audin, Sister."
"Is that so? Think I could get some pointers from you later?"
Finn seemed to have developed a strange sense of competitiveness. Her eyes scanned Audin's arm. Sure enough, there wasn't even a scratch. This had nothing to do with Valaf-style Martial Arts; it was pure physical resilience. Finn's eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and competitive spirit.
Encrid didn't care what the two of them did. Instead, he resumed his training as he walked.
"You failed to utilize your sense of evasion. It is a matter of proficiency."
He recalled and pondered Sachsen's words.
"You said you wanted to wield two swords? Do not forget. Only when they feel more natural than your own hands will they be of any use."
There was also Ragna's assessment.
"Using the Heart of Monstrous Strength for the first time back then... well, you did good."
Surprisingly, Rem praised Encrid's personal tactics. Had it been impressive? In truth, Encrid didn't pay it much mind.
"Keep training, Brother. Rolling in the dirt is the only thing that stays with you," Audin said after glancing back at Finn.
Encrid also believed that rolling in the dirt—struggling and training—was the only thing that truly remained. Though, of course, that was only after he returned.
He did wonder how much longer they would have to traverse these mountain ridges. He felt it was about time they pulled back. But to do that, there were still some people they had to meet.
Sure enough, two days after they had smashed through the enemy's trap with brute force, the moment arrived. Having turned back toward the main army to evade the enemy's relentless pursuit, the platoon had stopped to rest.
They were chewing on jerky when—
Twang!
An arrow shot right into the middle of Encrid's group. To be precise, it aimed straight for Rem's head, but Rem dodged it with beast-like reflexes, twisting his body aside in an instant. Failing to dodge it completely, Rem's earlobe was torn, and droplets of blood sprayed into the air.
Munch.
With the jerky still in his mouth, Rem grinned. "It's the hawk bastard."
For some reason, Rem had seemed constantly excited lately. Encrid examined the arrow embedded in the ground. It was short and sturdy, different from the ones they had seen before.
"They seem determined. I can't sense their presence at all," Finn said, her voice low.
The Hawk's Claw Unit, which had originally been harassing their main army's rear, had returned to hunt down the Mad Platoon. To put it precisely, they had been flanked.
But of course, this was exactly what they had intended.
"We're good, right?" Finn asked.
Encrid nodded. This was all part of the plan Krais had drawn up, and Encrid understood it well. From the very beginning, the Mad Platoon's purpose and goal had been clear: Draw attention, and clean up.
Now, it was time for the cleanup.
*
While the Mad Platoon was whittling down the enemy forces one by one, Marcus's main army departed for Cross Guard.
Was it possible to capture a territory with only this many troops? It was out of the question. However, it was certainly enough to be a nuisance. In the midst of this, a certain guerrilla unit was striking the enemy's rear and drawing their attention.
Azpen didn't have many options. For the commander in particular, his practical choices were limited.
"Cross Guard won't fall. However, the stigma of having our territory invaded because of this will remain. For the sake of the next battle, if not this one, we must send reinforcements. You must sweep the remaining enemy forces from the detour route."
At his strategist's words, the Azpen commander fell into deep thought. Several scenarios tangled in his mind.
Attack our territory? With only those forces? It won't fall. It shouldn't. But the fact that Cross Guard was attacked will remain.
It was a strange battle of pride. Having failed with both the giants and the sorcery, he was backed into a corner. Would he remain remembered as the commander who surrendered the Principality's front yard?
No, I can't let that happen.
Even if it didn't fall, the fact that they were attacked would remain. The label of a commander who let his territory be invaded would linger. Should he shoulder that disgrace and endure it? Or should he use this as an opportunity?
It would be a lie to say he wasn't conflicted. However, his thoughts leaned heavily in one direction. The Principality had failed with the cards they had prepared. Naurilia had penetrated deeper than before, expanding its territory. If the current state solidified, the border between the two nations would change.
Can I really just let this happen?
If they wiped out the enemy forces on the detour route... and if they held out against the remaining Naurilian forces' attack? If they could manage that, it might actually open up an opportunity to strike from behind via the detour route.
Leaving their positions to head to Cross Guard could turn out to be the worst possible move. He didn't know what kind of madman was commanding the enemy, but to gamble here? Why? When they were already winning the war?
Then, couldn't this be considered an opportunity? Simply by pulling back instead of holding the detour route, space had opened up for their own detachment to move.
"Sss."
Sucking air through his teeth out of habit, the commander spoke. "Organize a force centered around swift units and send them to the detour route."
The command slipped out with a whistling sound through the wide gap between his front teeth.
"Yes, sir!"
Soon, the Principality was on the move. The adjutant, acting as the military advisor, felt a sense of foreboding. If things go wrong here...
It wouldn't just end with a shift in the national borders. The adjutant missed Abnayor—the greatest strategist Azpen had ever produced, the genius who, at a young age, had already integrated the giants and others into their military forces.
What a waste, what a tragic waste.
That he was ultimately never given a high position due to his background. Of course, it was a pointless thought. In his eyes, Abnayor was a genius. He would surely manage on his own.
"You should send some knights."
If Naurilia had the Red Cloak Knights, the Principality had the Azpen Ducal Knights. Though their name lacked individuality, their skill was a different matter entirely.
"Send two... no, send three."
Did the commander feel the same foreboding as his adjutant? The quality of the troops entering the detour route increased. So did their numbers.
If the Hawk's Claw Unit dealt with the annoying pests buzzing around their rear, and the rest advanced with three Associate Knights leading them? If everything went according to plan, it might become the lethal stroke that would turn the tide of the entire battle.
*
"Captain, do you know the difference between a sniper and a hunter?"
Those were the words Rem spoke immediately after dodging the arrow. According to Krais's plan, their task was to deal with those Hawk's Claw—or whatever claw or eyebrow—bastards. Under those circumstances, they had used a decoy to lure them in. As for the lure, it was enough for Finn to leave appropriate tracks.
"These guys are pretty sharp. We should be careful," Finn said.
Even then, Rem kept grinning. Looking at Rem, Encrid asked blankly, "Do I need to know?"
"Actually, you don't need to, but I'm telling you because I want to."
Rem was sometimes honest to a fault. This was one of those times. Though he was always talkative anyway.
"A sniper is someone who shoots and hits a target from far away, while a hunter is, literally, someone who hunts."
So what's the difference?
"Hunting is much more fun than just shooting arrows from afar. Especially hunting with an axe. Man, it's the best."
As Encrid repeatedly asked with his eyes, Rem continued.
"It means you just need to make sure you don't go getting hit by some stupid arrow while I'm gone. I'll be back."
"Where are you going?"
"I've got to go hunting. If someone gives you a gift, you've got to return the favor, right?"
Rem spoke as he pulled the arrow from the ground. Tucking the shaft into his belt, Rem trudged into the thicket.
Is it really okay to just let him go?
It would be. He wouldn't have stepped forward in the first place if he lacked confidence.
"Sachsen?" Encrid called out, silently asking if Sachsen had any intention of going with Rem to perform a duet of ambush and surprise attacks.
"No."
Well, that was firm. Yes, fair enough. Rem would do fine on his own. He decided to believe in him.
"We should move in our own way, shouldn't we?"
Rem was the hunter, and the Hawk's Claw was the prey. And in turn, the Mad Platoon was the Hawk's Claw's prey.
Though summer was more fitting, hunting was still something to be enjoyed in the spring. It was safe to say that the season of the hunt had arrived.