Chapter 203: Amidst the Summer God's Prank
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 203: Amidst the Summer God's Prank
It was after he had blended in with the crowds streaming through the castle gates.
Encrid immediately made his way outside.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" shouted a soldier stationed atop the wall, who had been helping guide the residents.
Encrid tilted back the worn, wide-brimmed hat obscuring his face. His eyes met those of the soldier who had called out to him. Vivid blue eyes, followed by the sharp bridge of his nose and firm lips—it wasn't hard to recognize him.
"For a walk."
"Captain Encrid?"
Lately, there were few in the territory who didn't know Encrid’s face.
"Shh."
Encrid pressed an index finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and slipped out. He had left Krais behind; the man was useless in a head-on clash anyway.
Moving against the tide of the flooding crowd, Encrid was bound to stand out. He felt like a fish swimming upstream, but he didn't care. What did it matter if his allies saw him? The only thing that mattered was that the enemy didn't. It was still too early for them to be within the enemy's scouting range—the perfect time to go out and hide.
"Let's go," Encrid said, breaking into a run.
"An ambush?" Finn asked, catching up to his side.
"Yeah."
Finn didn't argue. She didn't question the logic of an ambush carried out by fewer than ten people. She knew better. Having spent time with Audin, she had come to a stark realization: the members of the Mad Independent Platoon were all monsters.
And that included Encrid.
*
As Marcus stood on the gallery atop the wall, stroking his beard, his adjutant—who had accompanied him all the way from the kingdom—asked, "Will he be alright?"
It wasn't that he doubted Encrid's martial prowess; he trusted the man. However, trust aside, the situation looked precarious on the surface.
"I don't know either," Marcus replied.
"Then why are you smiling?"
The adjutant couldn't find a trace of worry on Marcus's face. It was utterly baffling. This was the first time he had seen Marcus speak with such passion, and the first time he had seen him smile like this.
No, wait. Maybe I have seen it before.
Marcus used to wear that exact smile whenever he discovered a rare tea leaf, entered an auction, and won. It was the smile of someone who had found something truly precious and had nothing left to do but enjoy it.
"I don't know about the outcome, but it's bound to be entertaining."
Marcus was not a man who viewed the battlefield as a game. The fact that he spoke this way meant there was a reason. The adjutant realized that Marcus's expectations for the Independent Platoon Leader were extraordinary. It wasn't even mere expectation; it seemed as though he was simply settling in to enjoy the show.
"The crestless troops are likely Viscount Vantra's forces. Count Molsen might have sent some men as well," the adjutant noted.
Marcus had expected as much. They had hidden their crests because they couldn't openly assist the enemy. That bastard Count Molsen wanted to carve off a piece of the meat called the Border Guard. It meant trouble—a massive jackal had joined the fray. On top of that, Molsen was an insidious man who knew no bounds.
Marcus did not dwell on things beyond his reach. Since they couldn't ask the capital for help anyway, if this was a gamble, it was only natural to bet everything on the only hand he trusted. And if he didn't even consider it a gamble in the first place... well, that said it all.
"By the way, why isn't the Independent Platoon Leader coming up?" Marcus asked.
While all the other commanders were gathering on the gallery, only Encrid was missing.
"Over there."
The sharp-eyed Elf Company Commander pointed below. Residents were streaming inside, and against that flow, a small group could be seen swimming upstream. No matter how much they tried to hide, it was impossible to conceal Audin's massive frame.
"They are heading out."
Marcus hadn't given any orders yet; he had merely granted Encrid the authority to act.
"...Ha."
Marcus let out a soft chuckle of admiration. He could guess what they were planning. If it worked, the enemy's heads would be spinning before the battle even began. He couldn't help but smile.
*
The commander of Martai was a man named Ulf. He wished to be called a General, and he possessed the ability to back it up. He had both formidable personal martial prowess and a long record of achievements as a commander.
"General, we are ready."
"What about the mangonels?"
"Eight in total. There are no issues."
A mangonel was a catapult that required six grown men to operate. It was mobile and required no setup, and while it was less powerful than a trebuchet, it was much easier to maneuver. Since it had wheels, it was essentially a mobile siege cannon.
Ulf believed eight mangonels were more than enough, especially with the crestless reinforcements on their side. The commander of those forces approached him.
"I don't think we need to drag this out, do we?"
Ulf didn't know the man's name. He was a fellow with brown eyes and a messy mustache, looking to be in his late twenties or early thirties. Although the man showed basic courtesy, he clearly didn't respect Ulf. He was likely only there because he had a powerful backer.
Ulf didn't care. The man was one of Viscount Vantra's commanders, and while he didn't seem interested in actually commanding, that was none of Ulf's business. It was better to assess the enemy's strength than to waste energy on such trivialities.
Fortunately, Viscount Vantra's army had a second commander who was far more reasonable. In fact, he was the one actually controlling the troops. That commander had said:
"Encrid? Ah, that guy? He's half bluff. He goes around boasting about ridiculous achievements. If I meet him on the battlefield, I'll put a hole in his throat."
The sharp estoc hanging from his waist lent weight to his words. Ulf had simply nodded. After all, they were on the same side.
Whatever the case.
Victory was preordained, and Ulf was the protagonist. He would swallow the Border Guard and turn this region into a new foothold for the East. His grand dreams soared.
Just then, rain began to patter down. It was rain falling from a clear sky—the Summer God's Prank.
Ulf remained mounted at the rear. A few abandoned houses were visible outside the Border Guard's walls. The mangonels moved along the well-paved road winding between the buildings. Seeing the siege engines lining up gave him a sense of reassurance.
Patter, patter.
"Hurry up," Ulf commanded. They needed to move before the light rain turned the ground into mud.
*
The "Summer God's Prank"—a phrase for rain falling from a clear sky. It was a superstition; there were no actual gods representing the seasons. In the West, they called it a shaman's mistake. Encrid remembered Rem saying something like that once.
Encrid wasn't tense. He was simply doing what needed to be done.
Is the Summer God helping us?
The sudden rain blurred visibility, creating favorable conditions for an ambush. Predicting the enemy's path was easy; if they had siege engines, they would take the paved road between the houses.
Rumble.
The sound of rolling wheels echoed. Encrid hid behind the open door of a house made of mud and wood. Audin, too large to hide like that, waited inside the house itself. Behind the door of the house opposite them were Rem, Ragna, and Dunchabel. On this side were Encrid, Sachsen, and Audin. Finn was further back.
Destroy the engines and pull back.
Encrid drew upon his experience. There was no need to win the whole war in a single clash; they just had to chip away at them. It wasn't a grand military strategy—he was simply applying what he’d learned from fighting gnolls.
Hiding behind the door, Encrid watched as a mangonel rumbled past.
"Fuck, of all times for it to rain," an enemy soldier grumbled as he pushed the engine. His eyes locked with Encrid’s.
In a calm tone, Encrid spoke: "Audin, smash it."
The soldier's eyes widened. Before he could even scream—
Whoosh, thud!
A knife from Sachsen’s hand embedded itself in the man's forehead. He slammed back against the catapult and collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Ambush!"
There were over ten men pulling the catapult. It was impossible to silence them all. Encrid lunged forward, stamping his foot and drawing his sword in a three-point strike.
A sharp, snapping thrust to the left, a quick withdrawal, a straight lunge, and a final jab to the right! Three thrusts claimed three lives in a heartbeat.
"Gahk!"
"Gurgle!"
The first man’s mouth was pierced; the second was stabbed through the throat; the third had his leather armor driven straight through to the heart. It was a perfect blend of delicacy and power.
Meanwhile, Audin burst out. He smashed through the wall of the house with a deafening crash.
"Whoa!"
"What the hell!"
Audin stepped up to the catapult, gripped it with his left hand, and threw a punch. Encrid recognized the movement—Valaf-style martial arts. By sliding his foot and rotating his entire body, Audin turned his fist into a cannonball.
Boom!
The explosive sound of the impact detonated through the rain.
Crunch!
A mangonel was rugged, but it had clear structural weaknesses in its catch, trigger, and wheels. Audin didn't care about precision; he simply shattered the thick wooden frame, sending splinters flying. With just a few punches, the engine was scrap. It was a feat of monstrous strength that even an Ogre would envy.
"Blessings upon this humble servant!" Audin shouted, destroying the engine with his bare fists. Encrid marveled at the man's strange piety.
On the opposite side, Rem was doing the same. His axe smashed the mangonel's basket and severed the taut ropes. Ragna walked leisurely among them, slicing and stabbing any soldier who drew near.
"Form ranks! Don't rush in blindly!" an enemy commander shouted. They had lost the first two engines, but he intended to regroup.
"G-gurgle?"
The commander’s thoughts never became words. Sachsen had risen like a shadow behind him, slitting his throat in one fluid motion. Sachsen moved with instantaneous acceleration, selectively assassinating anyone trying to rally the troops.
Dunchabel stayed by Ragna's side, while Finn observed from a distance.
The destruction of all eight engines took barely ten minutes. The Summer God's Prank was brief, and in that short window, Martai lost its entire siege battery.
Preeeeet!
Finn blew a sharp whistle. The enemy's main force was mobilizing. At the signal, Encrid’s team retreated. Dunchabel was the first to bolt, her beastwoman instincts taking over.
The Border Guard soldiers on the walls, who had been stiff with tension, finally found room to breathe. Encrid turned to run, but mid-stride, he stopped.
"What are you doing?" Rem asked.
Instead of answering, Encrid turned back toward the enemy. He saw the chaos—soldiers staring blankly, others shouting for a chase, others collapsing in despair. Something hot welled up from his stomach to his throat.
"Aren't we going?" Finn called out.
Encrid just felt like doing it. He wanted to release that rising sensation.
"My name is Encrid!" he declared.
He didn't roar. It was a measured, resonant shout that spread across the field.
"If you retreat now, you will live!"
He met the gaze of hundreds of enemies head-on. It was pure bravado—a sudden surge of heroic spirit. A declaration of war and a warning, stamped with his own name.
"Has he lost his mind?" Rem muttered.
But to the allies watching from the walls, it was an incomparable thrill.
Waaaaaaah!
Cheers erupted from the fortress. The sheer audacity to stand alone before an army of a thousand and shout in their faces—it was like watching a legend come to life.
"Get a grip," Rem grumbled from behind him. "Are you on drugs?"