Chapter 205: Tuk-Tuk, Sometimes Tak-Tak (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 205: Tuk-Tuk, Sometimes Tak-Tak (2)
"Bake the bread!"
General Ulf of Martai had no intention of feeding his men wretched black bread, water thinned with sour wine, musty jerky, or rotten fruit just because they were "rations."
Under his command were several highly competent battalion commanders, one of whom led a unit Ulf had personally raised.
It was known as the Oven Unit.
"Stack the stones and plaster the gaps with mud."
The Oven Unit was exactly what its name implied.
Once a supply base was established, they built on-site ovens to bake fresh bread.
To some, it seemed half-mad, but General Ulf knew better than anyone that food was of paramount importance. And the current battlefield was the perfect place to deploy them.
The conditions under which the Oven Unit could be used were quite limited. They were useless in short-term skirmishes and served no purpose during rapid advances. But the moment a siege—especially a prolonged one—began, the Oven Unit was destined to shine.
Above all, it was an established fact that well-fed soldiers fought well. This was a principle that every famous military strategist agreed upon, and Ulf followed it faithfully.
Thus, the Oven Unit of Martai began to send up plumes of smoke.
They fed firewood into the flames, mixed their stores of flour with water, and began kneading the dough. In less than a day, a savory, mouthwatering aroma wafted in all directions.
"Eat up, men! Who cares about a few mangonels? We don't need those things!"
Ulf personally walked among the soldiers, encouraging them.
"Who are we?!"
"The Lions of the East!"
The soldiers' response was thunderous. Martai's morale remained unbroken.
While the commander-in-chief's personal rounds played a part, the real key was the bread. Some of the soldiers in the Oven Unit were famous even back in Martai for their culinary skills; several would return to running their own bakeries once they were discharged.
Martai possessed vast wheat fields in the eastern part of its territory, and Martai wheat was renowned as some of the finest quality available. The rainfall was ideal, but more importantly, Martai's wheat fields were located on what had been called the Field of Blood decades ago—a place where numerous battles had been fought.
In other words, the countless corpses of men and beasts buried beneath had made the soil incredibly fertile. Of course, the land had also been transformed by the touch of someone once deeply devoted to agriculture, but it remained a land steeped in history.
Cultivating wheat on this fertile soil for generations, Martai had long been famous for its delicious bread, and various flour-based dishes had flourished there. There was a saying that what you ate determined your status; in the central continent, white bread was a symbol of wealth.
But Martai was different.
Its abundant wheat production made white bread an everyday staple. With over thirty years of such history, it was only natural that master bakers emerged from their ranks. Some had even gone to the capital to open their own bakeries.
That was the kind of bread it was—a food that stood as one of Martai's greatest prides.
Ulf had returned to the main camp to review their future plans when he received an urgent report.
It was bad news.
"Our supply base has been hit."
"Hit?"
From Martai's perspective, the most critical factor right now was, without a doubt, supply. What would be the point of besieging the enemy if they themselves ended up starving?
Naturally, the commander-in-chief of Martai had assigned his most trusted men to the supply unit. The three battalion commanders and the guard captain—four in total—were those General Ulf trusted most, each of them a brilliant strategist or a fierce warrior in his own right.
Ulf had entrusted the supply unit to the 2nd Battalion Commander, who was the quickest-witted and most observant of the lot. He was not a man to handle any task carelessly.
The messenger was breaking out in a cold sweat.
"Explain in detail!" Ulf barked.
The messenger swallowed hard before continuing. "A black panther and two enemy soldiers approached, stole the bread baking in the ovens, and set fire to several tents."
"Those absolute idiots..."
Ulf's anger flared as hot as the fires in the tents. And why wouldn't it? He knew how vital the supply lines were, which was why he had diverted a portion of his forces to guard them.
Furthermore, the enemy was trapped. How formidable could anyone be who managed to slip out and attack them? The ones who had destroyed the mangonels before? If they had come out, he would have welcomed the chance to crush them.
As flames of fury practically poured from the commander's eyes at the news of the overnight raid, the messenger fell silent, unable to say another word.
Zimmer, that bastard... surely he didn't get caught off guard because he was spacing out?
The 2nd Battalion Commander's name was Zimmer. He was a smart, sharp, and meticulous subordinate who rarely made mistakes. But then, why hadn't he come to report in person?
"Where is Zimmer?"
Hearing the 2nd Battalion Commander's name, the messenger replied immediately. "He said he was going to pursue the raiders."
At the messenger's words, Ulf let out a few heavy sighs before speaking.
"Tighten security! If this happens even one more time, there will be no forgiveness."
In war, a commander who lost a battle could be forgiven, but one who was negligent in his vigilance could never be.
*
Encrid had raided the supply base with ease.
Literally, "with ease."
"Shall we go?"
"Let's."
There was nothing difficult about it. The enemy was practically advertising their location with plumes of smoke rising into the air, and the area was crowded with tents. Though the guard force was large and showed no obvious gaps, that wasn't a problem for them.
"Grrr."
Esther went first. The panther dashed forward, with Encrid and Rem hot on her heels. Esther's movements seemed lighter than usual. With a swift swipe of her forepaw, she nearly severed a soldier's shin, then whipped another's head with her tail. Her nimble movements left the enemies' eyes spinning.
"Ambush!"
There was no need to drag things out. Once Encrid rushed in and slit the throats of a couple of charging soldiers, a savory aroma pierced through the smell of blood, assaulting his nostrils. In fact, the delicious scent had been teasing his nose for a while now.
While the enemy was thrown into confusion, Sachsen set fire to several tents, and Encrid, along with Rem, grabbed a few loaves of bread before making a run for it.
They deliberately took a route through the forest on their way back. If the enemy pursued them on horseback, they would have been in trouble, but as for those chasing them on foot, shaking them off was child's play. The difference in sheer physical stamina was night and day.
After running for several hours without a single break, their pursuers were nowhere to be seen.
"We should've just slaughtered them all while we were at it," Rem muttered, clicking his tongue in regret.
Encrid shook his head. "This is enough for now."
And so, they returned and distributed the bread.
"The commander said you could report in tomorrow," a sentry told them on their way back. Marcus, the battalion commander, had been considerate enough to give them a break.
Encrid, Rem, and Sachsen caught up on their sleep and woke up fully rested. It was a bright, scorching morning—the third day on the battlefield.
Since the summer sun rose early, Encrid finished his morning training under the bright rays, washed up, and walked back in.
"This bread tastes absolutely incredible, doesn't it?" Krais marveled once again.
Well, it really was delicious.
"Don't stuff yourself."
Encrid gave Krais a light tap on the back of his head and went to find the battalion commander to deliver his report.
Right beneath the castle wall, he saw something boiling in a pot. All the commanders were gathered around the bubbling stew. Since they hadn't engaged in battle yet, their armor was pristine. In contrast, Encrid's armor was stained with blood. Though he had wiped it down, the stains remained clearly visible.
"So, you went and checked out the supply base?" Marcus asked, seated on a backless wooden stool.
"While I was there, I set a few fires as well."
"I see."
Marcus merely nodded, while the Elf Company Commander beside him muttered, "Is that a hobby of yours, or a specialty?"
He was referring to the arson. Encrid himself had been thinking that setting fires was becoming a bit of a habit, but really, what better way was there to disrupt a supply base than arson?
"Care for a bowl?" the 1st Company Commander offered, holding up a ladle of stew. It smelled quite good.
"Who made it?"
While Encrid spoke, the Border Guard Captain personally brought over a stool for him. It was a backless wooden stool just like the battalion commander's. As he sat down and caught the aroma of the stew, he figured it would taste twice as good if he dipped the bread in it.
"Hold on a moment."
Encrid went back and fetched the stolen bread. It was a baguette-style loaf, crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, baked to a perfect, fragrant crisp.
"Here."
He tore the baguette, dipped it into the stew, and took a bite.
"Mmm, superb," the 1st Company Commander spoke, his cheeks flushed with rare delight.
Had someone mentioned that this guy was a foodie? Encrid recalled Krais saying something of the sort.
Encrid tasted it as well. It was indeed delicious.
Crunch.
Though the crust felt hard, it crumbled softly the moment he bit into it, and the fluffy white interior melted in his mouth. Meanwhile, the rich, savory broth of the stew swirled over his tongue. It was truly an exquisite taste.
"So, they're fully prepared to dig in, are they?"
"They fully intend to isolate us and starve us out. They've even built ovens to bake bread."
"Ulf, that bastard... he must think his title of 'Warmonger' is something to be taken lightly," Marcus said, his lips curling into a smirk. He looked utterly confident.
The enemy still held the upper hand in numbers. They had cavalry and even the leisure to set up ovens. Yet Marcus remained completely unbothered. Only now did Encrid understand what Marcus was relying on.
While it might not be a grand gesture of returning that trust, he intended to do his part. After all, if he didn't step up, he wouldn't be able to protect his seasoned jerky or orange marmalade. Eating was important, after all.
Even now, everyone was too busy stuffing their faces in silence to speak. As they ate, two nobles approached. Their clothes were remarkably clean, looking as pristine as the commanders' armor.
One of the approaching nobles, a fellow with a noticeably broader forehead than the others, spoke up. "Have you given any thought to peace talks?"
Behind him, a relatively younger man chimed in. "Even to the naked eye, the disparity in our forces is too great. If we can resolve this through dialogue somehow..."
Most of the petty nobles in the Border Guard were either those who had bought their titles or those who had lost their ancestors' status and remained mere baronets. What was there for high-ranking nobles to gain by coming here?
But the situation had changed quite a bit now. Once the country stabilized, some count or viscount might try to stick their hands in here. In fact, Viscount Vantra and other nobles were already trying to stake their claims before that could happen.
Encrid knew nothing of politics and had no desire to learn, but thanks to "Big-Eyes" Krais, he had acquired a rough understanding. That guy's chatter was endless.
But then, he wondered if any of that actually mattered. If they attacked, he would simply repel them one by one.
Real combat, the sword, fighting, battle, the battlefield. These were the things that brought Encrid a strange sense of ecstasy.
I must have a rather twisted taste as well.
Why did his heart race at the thought of battle and conflict? No, in the first place, it was because he yearned for and admired such things that he wanted to become a knight. He hadn't harbored some grand, noble ambition. That was how it had started—simply imagining himself charging across a battlefield.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Marcus looked at the two nobles and chuckled.
"Why? Now that the territory shows signs of expanding, do you think you're finally going to become something? Is that why you want to make a convenient peace rather than fight Martai, so you can claim you were at the center of those negotiations?"
Was that it? Encrid let the words slide. But if Krais had been here, he would have nodded in agreement. If nothing else, Marcus possessed a sharp political instinct. He had struck right at the heart of the matter.
"Shut your mouths and get back inside. If you don't want to die, you'd better offer your thanks to the hero who declared his name standing right here."
Though he was a company commander now, he had originally been a mere soldier. Moreover, he hailed from some backwater village and had joined the army just to make a living by the sword. There was no way the nobles would bow their heads to Encrid. A hero of the soldiers was by no means a hero to the nobility.
"Hmph, I have given my warning."
"It was merely a suggestion. A suggestion made because the enemy's strength looked formidable."
The two nobles sputtered their excuses, and Marcus waved them off. Once they left, Marcus picked up his wooden bowl, gulped down some stew, and spoke.
"They're the kind of bastards you just want to slice to pieces. Don't you agree?"
He was looking at Encrid as he spoke.
"Killing a noble is a capital offense," Encrid replied.
Marcus continued with an indifferent shrug. "I suppose I could just challenge them to a duel and kill them 'by accident.'"
"Who would accept a duel from you, Commander? They'd just appoint a champion," the 1st Company Commander replied.
"I'm just speaking hypothetically."
Listening to their banter, Encrid brought up a question that had crossed his mind. "What's this about a 'hero who declared his name'?"
"It sounded cool, Independent Company Commander." Marcus gave him a thumbs-up instead of a direct answer.
"I'm thinking of copying that later myself," the 1st Company Commander chimed in.
The Border Guard Captain merely nodded.
Encrid felt no embarrassment for what he had done in a burst of bravado. He only thought that these men were a little—just a tiny bit—obnoxious.
"So, what do you plan to do next?" Marcus asked as Encrid stood up, their meal finished.
"I plan to pay them a few more visits."
"A few more times?"
The first time was an unexpected blow, but the second would not be. They would be prepared. No matter how skilled Encrid was, or how wildly Rem raged with his axe, they wouldn't survive if they got surrounded.
"There's something that's been nagging at me," Encrid replied.
It wasn't an empty statement. On his way back after setting fire to the tents during the raid on the supply base, Encrid had felt something strange. It belonged to the realm of sixth sense and intuition.
It felt like Big-Eyes hiding a Krona.
It was the exact same feeling he got when watching Krais pocket a few copper coins. In other words, he suspected the enemy was hiding something else. He wanted to verify that suspicion.
And so, he had come up with a name for the operation in his own way.
The "Tuk-Tuk Tak-Tak Operation."
A light tap first, and if an opportunity presents itself, deliver a solid thump. That was the essence of the plan. Encrid had laid down the basic framework, and Krais had filled in the details.
Back in the barracks, as he discussed when to strike and where with Krais, the scout made a suggestion.
"Then let's go at sunrise this time," Krais said.
His tone was casual, but anyone with even a basic knowledge of military strategy would have found the suggestion absurd. Yet Encrid found it reasonable. Since they had raided under the cover of night last time, trying it in broad daylight this time seemed like a solid plan.
"That sounds entertaining, Brother," Audin replied, having overheard the plan.
The key to this operation was the "big bear."