Chapter 213: After the Soot Settles
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 213: After the Soot Settles
Marcus was a politician through and through.
Ulf only realized Marcus was closing in after he had already retreated into the territory. The moment he heard the report, he felt sick to his stomach.
His head spun.
Had the retreat been difficult? No. There had been no real danger. A few cavalrymen had merely trailed behind them as an escort.
He herded me into the territory.
And now a siege? Had that bastard completely lost his mind?
Once the initial shock passed, a cold fury naturally followed. Even so, Ulf racked his brain. If he lost his composure here, it was all over.
Could they defeat the Border Guard army if they reorganized inside the walls? Not a chance. They had just been utterly crushed after throwing everything they had at the enemy. Morale was at rock bottom, and they needed time to properly regroup.
Marcus had robbed Ulf of that very time.
Time to gather his thoughts. Time to prepare. Time to call for reinforcements.
Nevertheless, Ulf barely managed to pull himself together and summoned a military council.
“Tell everyone to get in here!”
His voice rose in urgency. It was a small mercy that it didn't tremble. Soon, everyone involved in the military operation gathered in the hall.
“I’ll go out and drive them away! Give me a hundred infantrymen and the cavalry!” one of the adjutants shouted angrily.
Is this bastard sane? Ulf thought. If the enemy could be driven away so easily, would they have been butchered so badly on the battlefield earlier? This man was Greg’s successor.
“Shut up,” Ulf snapped, turning away. No matter how carefully one chose their staff, there was always someone clueless and idiotic. It was only surprising that a fool like this had managed to rise to the rank of adjutant.
“It was political maneuvering. They hid it well,” another adjutant, one at least skilled in flattery, tried to soothe him. But such words couldn't reach Ulf’s ears right now.
His body felt heavy against the chair. His chest felt even heavier. His hands and feet wouldn't move the way he wanted them to.
Whose troops were the Crestless Troops? They belonged to Count Molsen. Viscount Vantra’s forces under the Count were the main strength, but even the swordsman sent directly by the Count was dead. Some of the survivors from Viscount Vantra’s forces had immediately retreated upon hearing news of the defeat. Their retreating backs looked like the very definition of defeated soldiers—though the same could be said for the Martai army.
Ulf’s eyes trembled. Was he to be devoured just like this?
Outside the territory, that bastard Marcus was slowly establishing a siege. Since when had he been preparing? Had he planned all of this from the very beginning?
The enemy set up camp. They began pitching tents, and reports came in that the five who had led the charge were watching Martai’s castle walls.
Pins were scattered haphazardly across the strategic map. One of the fallen pins lay on its side, and Ulf felt as though it mirrored his own situation.
Crazy bastards.
Remembering the five who had run amok on the battlefield brought a surge of irritation. Weren't they the main culprits who had ruined the battle? Ulf clenched his teeth, suppressing the nausea rising within him.
When does one lose a fight? When they lose their grit and spite. The spirit of the Eastern mercenaries woke him up. Even if he couldn't win the battle right now, he had to at least break Marcus’s dagger.
“Everyone, get out,” Ulf said.
It was time to bring out his trump card—the one he had prepared just in case but had ultimately hoped to leave unused.
“Pardon?” the clueless adjutant asked.
I will absolutely kill that bastard once this is over.
He suddenly missed Greg. Of course, Greg was dead. The assault company had been the first to be completely wiped out, and Greg was the one who had led that battalion. The only one left relatively intact was Zimmer, the 2nd Battalion Commander.
Zimmer read the room and spoke up. “The General spoke. Everyone, out.”
At his words, the crowd of adjutants shuffled out the door. Zimmer, the last to leave, turned back.
“General.”
“I need to think. Leave me.”
At Ulf’s words, Zimmer placed his hand on his waist—though he had no sword—and bowed his head. Ulf gave a curt nod.
Once the room was empty, Ulf spoke to the air.
“Come out.”
From the shadows behind him, where the light did not reach, something elongated stretched out. The protruding shape seemed like a part of the shadow itself, yet it also resembled soot spreading from a flame. The black mass rose from the ground, taking on a three-dimensional form.
Soon, it became a figure clad in a black robe. It was doubtful whether it was even human; no face could be seen beneath the hood, but the back of the exposed hand was pale and the skin smooth.
“Have you made up your mind?” the black-robed man asked.
His voice was like a clarinet—clear and hauntingly beautiful. Dealing with a mage was often said to be like making a deal with a devil. At least, that was what Ulf knew. It meant nothing could be gained without a price.
“I have,” Ulf replied.
The price of the contract was steep. But even so, was he supposed to just take a beating and let his territory be taken? He couldn't do that either.
Encrid.
He remembered the bastard who had declared his name on the battlefield. Black hair poking out from his helmet; with him at the center, Martai’s forces had been sliced and diced. Ulf knew why they had lost. Therefore, he judged that if he could break the sword that caused it, the outcome was still undecided.
*
“I don't think just surrounding them like this will solve anything,” Encrid said, measuring the height of Martai’s castle walls with his eyes.
Do we have to scale them?
The allies had no siege weapons—no mangonels, siege towers, or trebuchets. Their only means of attacking the walls was ladders, yet they hadn't even brought any with them. Which meant they had no intention of scaling them.
Then, by brute force?
The castle gate came into view. There was no moat here. If Audin swung his hammer with intent, couldn't he break through somewhere? It was a thick, dark-brown wooden gate. It looked sturdy, but Audin’s arms looked just as solid. No, they actually looked even sturdier.
If we scale them under the cover of night, we might not even need ladders.
Weathered by time, the castle walls were pitted and uneven in various places. This meant there were handholds. If they made up their minds to climb, it wasn't impossible.
Encrid simulated the night assault in his head. If I can climb it...
Then Rem, Ragna, Sachsen, and Audin could too. Just the five of them crossing over would be enough. Audin would open the gate, and the rest would hold the line.
What if they have archers waiting? How would we block that? Simply dodging wouldn't cut it. Should we bring shields then?
Though it could hardly be called a tactic, they had fought while maintaining a formation. He had used similar formations before and moved as part of them, but this time was entirely different. The destructive power, the fact that he was at the center, and that everything from start to finish moved under his control—it was a new experience.
Experience breeds growth, and Encrid was evolving yet again. Tactics and strategy—what was possible and what could be achieved with the power of the five of them? A small number of people deciding the fate of the battlefield—this was why knights existed, to change the flow of war. Encrid was realizing this firsthand with his entire body.
“Why are you worrying about that?” Rem said from beside him, picking his ear.
“Just playing commander.”
Rem chuckled at Encrid’s uncharacteristic joke. “My Lord Commander of a company of less than ten, let’s fill our bellies first.”
They had moved like madmen. They had run amok in the middle of a battlefield littered with blood, corpses, brain matter, bones, eyeballs, and severed limbs. Appetite didn't come easily, but they couldn't afford to face the next battle on an empty stomach. They had to forget what needed to be forgotten and eat when it was time to eat.
“Let’s wash up first.”
Outside the castle gate, there was a well used by the local farmers. It would have been troublesome if the enemy had poisoned it, but they likely hadn't had the peace of mind to do so.
After drawing water and washing off, Rem, Ragna, Sachsen, and Audin also stripped off their armor and poured water over their heads. The rushing streams of water splashed in all directions. Someone had laid down a few stones on the ground so they didn't have to step in the mud. Encrid liked that quite a bit.
“Quite a sight,” Finn said, popping up out of nowhere and giving a thumbs-up.
Everyone was wearing only their undergarments.
“Indeed, quite a sight.”
Beside her, the Elf Company Commander and Krais appeared. Behind them, Dunchabel stood with an indifferent expression.
Churr...
Esther had also settled in at some point, blinking her blue eyes. She seemed to be inspecting the bodies of the five men one by one.
“Where have you been?” Encrid asked, ignoring the surrounding gazes and the muttering of Finn and the Company Commander.
The black panther raised a forepaw and scratched her neck. She’s not listening to a single word. Then again, what did it matter? It wasn't as if he would get stabbed to death just because Esther wasn't around.
“Commander, if there’s a vacancy in your unit, please take me in too.”
While waiting to wash up, a few soldiers made idle chatter. They were washing because they had been given time for personal maintenance. Since there was no immediate battle, everyone had relaxed to some extent. Still, they wouldn't neglect their guard. The Border Guard standing army was highly capable, which meant they did their jobs properly.
“Are you serious?”
The soldier only grinned. Encrid chuckled softly and walked past. Even if they were serious, he couldn't accept them. They weren't a proper company-sized force yet, and what use would a few random stragglers be?
It’d be a miracle if they didn't just end up as Rem’s playthings.
He washed up and maintained his armor. The leather, already soaked in blood, would lose neither its smell nor its stain. He simply applied some abrasive and left it at that. This would suffice. After tending to his gauntlets and boots, he grasped his sword.
A sword is iron. If not properly maintained, it rusts in no time. A blood-stained sword, in particular, required extra care.
“Use this.”
A soldier from the 1st Company handed him a palm-sized earthenware bottle.
“It’s flaxseed oil. It’s valuable.”
“...Why give me something so valuable?”
“Just use it.”
The soldier simply handed over the item and quickly walked away.
“Seeing you fight like that on the battlefield, I couldn't help but feel respect myself. He’s just showing his esteem,” Krais, who was watching from the side, said.
Was that so? It was no big deal. As Encrid wiped his sword with the flaxseed oil, Rem approached and held out his axe.
“You see this? The edge is chipped.”
Wasn't it more surprising that it was still in one piece after being swung like that?
“This guy says he wants some oil too. ‘Oiiil, give me oiiil.’”
Having actually met an evil spirit trapped in a magic sword, Encrid doubted any magic weapon would ever say something so ridiculous.
“Use it.”
It was plenty to share. After wiping his sword clean, he drew a sword he had picked up from the battlefield.
Shring.
It wasn't anything grand. Carrying only one sword felt a bit empty, so he had just grabbed it when he saw it. It had belonged to a commander-class officer, but the owner hadn't even been able to draw it before his throat was pierced by Sachsen.
That move.
Was it the Mu-sal Thrust?
Erasing killing intent and hiding one’s presence. After that, only the action remains. Sometimes, you see something coming clearly, yet you just stare, wondering, Is this really going to hit me?
Sachsen’s thrust gave off that kind of feeling. It was a speed that made it seem like it wouldn't reach, as if dodging it would be effortless. A thrust that was slow and simple in its trajectory—though by the time you snapped out of it, your throat would already have been deeply pierced.
How was that possible? He had watched it from right beside him. His refined eye, sharper than before, opened up a new perspective.
Instantaneous acceleration.
Just before the thrust, Sachsen’s sword became faster than ever. To the point of momentarily vanishing. A speed similar to Rem’s lightning-fast axe, or perhaps even faster.
I think I can adapt and use that.
In a way, it seemed doable. Besides that, lessons poured in from Ragna, Rem, Audin, and everything around him. That wasn't all. The enemies he killed, the enemies brushing past him—everything was full of things to learn now that things he couldn't see before were visible.
As soon as the battle ended, he reflexively reviewed the fight, preparing for a new leap forward.
“Practicing swordsmanship again as soon as it’s over?” the Elf Company Commander asked, having approached at some point. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking just by looking at his face.
Since Encrid was swinging the edge of his hand in the air while lost in thought, anyone who knew him would easily guess what he was doing.
“It’s fun.”
“I see. There will be no battles for the time being. The order is for everyone to rest, Fiancé.”
“Yes, understood.”
The sun was setting. There were numerous tents pitched by the Border Guard army. But setting up camp wouldn't be the end of it. Since they hadn't secured a supply route, he wondered if their remaining rations would even last four days. Probably not even that.
He wondered what Marcus was thinking, but there was no strategic meeting for now. Some units would stand watch as sentries, while the rest would forget the victory and surrender their bodies to fatigue.
Since alcohol wasn't provided in the supplies, Encrid sipped on some apple wine he had stashed away.
“I thought you drank it all,” Rem grumbled, so Encrid tossed him a small bottle.
“Good work today.”
“Well, you fought well too, Boss, even with your fingers trembling.”
He saw that?
His muscles had indeed trembled from overusing the Heart of Monstrous Strength. How could they not? It was the price of fully pulling his own weight among them. That was the kind of group they were. Of course, he was fine now. His recovery was faster than before.
Clenching and opening his hand, Encrid checked his condition. As expected, he was perfectly fine.
“You’ve really grown, Boss,” Rem muttered.
Sometimes, trivial words slipped out without thought. That was the case for Encrid right now. “I was always taller than you.”
At Encrid’s words, Rem shook his head as if to say, Are you seriously calling that a joke? Sachsen pretended not to hear, while Ragna spoke up nonchalantly.
“Jokes can be trained as well.”
What kind of crazy nonsense was that? If it were about wit rather than swordsmanship, being compared to them was an insult in itself.
“Please pray.”
Since Audin had started praying beside him, Encrid simply shut his mouth. Weren't they the ones who had followed his orders so faithfully today? He wanted to ask why, but Encrid decided to keep quiet. It was a pointless question. If he had lived questioning every single action of theirs and asking 'why,' they wouldn't be getting along like this.
He merely made eye contact with each of them, one by one.
“I can fight too,” Dunchabel spoke up.
“I know.”
But if he had sent her out earlier, she would have just died. If he was going to use her as a meat shield, he wouldn't have accepted her in the first place. Since he had accepted her, it was only right to use her properly.
Resting his chin on his hand, he took one long look around before lying down on the thick cloth he had laid out. It was time to get some deep sleep. He could faintly feel the texture of the stones and the uneven ground, but it wasn't enough to keep him awake.
As he closed his eyes and drifted off, he felt Esther slip into his arms. Encrid gently hugged the black panther.
Time passed, and it became the early hours of the morning when everyone was fast asleep. Esther, who seemed to be sound asleep, slipped out of Encrid’s embrace.
A strange energy was settling over the tent. It was something closely related to Esther’s original world—what they called mystery and spells.
In other words, magic.