Chapter 401: To Seize the Initiative
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 401: To Seize the Initiative
At the break of dawn, both armies began to move.
The two forces held a formation similar to the previous day’s. The vast, sprawling plain served as their stage, with the whistling wind as their sole spectator.
Instead of the champions who had stepped forward before, the ranks were now filled with archers, infantry, and a portion of the cavalry. Though no formal agreement had been made, the commanders at the front of both sides tacitly accepted the rising sun as their signal.
Encrid watched the scene unfold as he walked.
His steps were light, as if he were merely out for a morning stroll. Of course, it was no casual walk. He was meticulously equipped with his three swords and his whistle dagger.
Something was different, however. The positions of his blades had changed slightly.
Silver hung at his left hip, and Spark at his right. Each was positioned to suit the specific reach of his hands, while his Gladius rested horizontally across the small of his back, secured by a loop on his belt. Since the tip of the Gladius had been chipped off in a previous battle, shortening its length, carrying it this way was far more comfortable.
The blade was shorter by about two knuckles.
'I wonder if the dwarf who forged this would be upset if he saw it?'
Did they not take immense pride in their creations?
If Elves were the children of trees and flowers, taking pride in all that grew, then Dwarves were the children of iron and flame. Giants, who proved their worth through blood and slaughter, were the children of hot blood. Beastmen, who hunted for survival, were the children of mountains and fields. Dragonkin, who stood alone, were the parentless ones. Froks, who risked everything for their aspirations, were the children of dreams.
And humans, having no fixed symbol, were said to be capable of becoming anything.
They were idle thoughts.
Walking alongside his unit, Encrid performed a final check of his gear. He verified the positions of his swords, the tension of his belt, and mentally adjusted his movements to ensure the blade on his lower back wouldn't hinder his mobility.
'Block, dodge, strike.'
Feint, strike, slash.
It was a virtual battle—a mental review of yesterday's fight playing out in his mind. To an outsider, watching him flex his hands and shift his feet as he walked might make him look like a madman, but not a single soldier glared or complained.
"Are you fighting with us today as well?"
On the contrary, a soldier plucked up the courage to ask. It was a unit that had halted while the rest were busy forming ranks—a company-sized force of about fifty men. The commander at their head asked the question, and fifty pairs of eyes turned toward Encrid.
Encrid nodded.
He would fight the same opponent he had faced yesterday. It was a hunch, but he was certain. Though the man had admitted defeat, the fire burning within his eyes had not dimmed in the slightest. He would return.
As he passed through the ranks, finishing his mental review, Rem, Sachsen, Ragna, and Dunchabel fell in behind him.
"Look at that. I told you it’d be cloudy," Rem said.
Encrid looked up at the sky. It didn't seem like it would rain immediately, but the horizon was indeed overcast. Dark clouds rolled in from the distance, moving fast enough to be tracked by the naked eye.
However, the scent of rain was absent. Dunchabel twitched her nose and remarked, "It won't fall until tomorrow."
Ragna didn't seem to care, and Sachsen remained as stoic as ever, his face an unreadable mask.
Rem grinned, his voice laced with excitement. "We're going to sweat blood today."
Encrid nodded. It made sense. The battlefield would be brutal. He had already discussed this with Rem at dawn.
"You know it, right?"
"Know what?"
"If they had charged us immediately yesterday, we would have been at a massive disadvantage."
Encrid didn't need it explained. He felt it in his gut. The enemy had been fully formed, while their own allies, though seemingly in position, lacked unified discipline. Yet, the enemy had withdrawn.
Why?
Was it because the things on their shoulders were merely helmet stands? Unlikely. The answer was simple and required no deep thought.
They had prepared something.
'A preparation worth wasting an entire day for.'
Encrid had reached the same conclusion and shared it with Marcus. Naturally, Marcus was already aware.
"I know. I know, but it's an opportunity for us as well. We needed that time."
They were outnumbered and out-trained. The enemy possessed a unified command structure, while their own was on the verge of creaking to a halt. Of course, thanks to Encrid's performance, those creaking parts had been oiled in a single day. Just having someone like him on their side was a source of immense strength.
The heat and desire of the soldiers were finally being channeled in the right direction.
Marcus utilized every advantage. He even deployed all the arrangements Krang had shared. Because of that, messenger crows had flown tirelessly throughout the night. In other words, while the enemy had prepared something at the cost of a day, it was time the Kingdom's side desperately needed as well.
"That's why I even roasted meat," Rem said.
The tactical thoughts vanished instantly. Rem had shown off his cooking skills to the fullest in anticipation of the slaughter. Even when they had hunted down the Immortal Madman, Rem had been full of complaints. He didn't want a chase; he wanted a fight.
He wanted to fight until the earth was soaked in blood. His desires boiled over, a bonfire piled high with firewood, burning so fiercely the flames threatened to consume everything nearby.
'I shall burn everything to fight.'
It was said that a hero must know how to fight by burning their very soul. Encrid stared at Rem.
'What is wrong with him today?'
The heat radiating from the man was exceptionally intense. Ragna and Sachsen felt it too, though they remained silent. Dunchabel seemed lost in thought, and Esther sat quietly atop Odd-Eye.
The two armies stood just within arrow range. Like twins, the commanders of both sides shouted simultaneously:
"Fire!"
The arrows flew first—the opening salvo and the signal for the battle to begin.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Breeee!
The thunder of drums and the blare of horns filled the plain. Above the din, arrows blanketed the sky. The Kingdom had five hundred longbowmen; the enemy had over a thousand.
The volleys crossed in mid-air. Straight shafts of oak and pine, tipped with iron and fletched with feathers, became instruments of death.
Thwack!
An unlucky soldier, struck through a gap in his helmet, collapsed. Fortunately, such instances were few. The infantry at the front held their ground, tilting their shields to deflect the whistling rain of wood and iron.
"Charge!"
The enemy made the first move. Since Marcus had prepared a counter-attacking strategy, this was expected. A group of cavalry broke away from the right flank of the Count's formation.
"Ride!"
They were lancers, attempting a devastating charge. If a cavalry wedge tore through their lines, the battle could be lost in minutes. For the Kingdom's army, victory depended on blocking every single offensive.
"Run, move! Over there! Hold the formation!"
Shouts erupted from the allied commanders. The officer who had spoken to Encrid earlier proved his worth. His directions were sharp as he moved his infantry into the path of the charging horses.
"Pikes! Brace!"
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The soldiers raised their long spears high before planting the butts firmly into the earth, straining every muscle to hold them steady. The pikes formed a jagged wall—the ultimate deterrent against cavalry.
It was already too late for the enemy to turn back.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!
With a thunderous roar of hooves, the vanguard slammed into the pike wall.
Splat! Splat! Splat!
Spearheads skewered both horses and riders. Blood sprayed in crimson arcs, and the sickening sound of snapping bones echoed across the line. The very momentum of the charge became the tool of their demise.
"Aaargh!"
"Argh!"
Screams announced that the plain had instantly transformed into a slaughterhouse. Allied soldiers drew their longswords, stabbing and slashing at the riders who had survived the initial impact.
Thud! Crack!
"Die!"
"Shit!"
Despite the carnage, a few heavy warhorses managed to penetrate the gaps. A warhorse was a weapon in its own right, and many soldiers were crushed under their weight. Even a broken limb was a death sentence in the chaos.
As holes appeared in the pike wall, waiting reserves rushed forward to plug the gaps.
"Charge! Charge!"
The enemy cavalry pushed with sheer numbers, but the infantry held their ground with stubborn desperation. From a commander's perspective, it was a major victory.
It was a good start. Marcus clenched his fist.
Then, the opposing force moved again. Another detachment of cavalry burst from the enemy camp.
'They've prepared all sorts of things.'
It was a horse archer unit. Their numbers were small—only about fifty—but their mobility was a nightmare to deal with. Even if they just circled and harassed the lines, they could cause chaos.
Every man in that unit was an elite. Although their commander had been cut down by Encrid on the first day, the soldiers themselves were highly capable. They galloped forward, targeting the Kingdom's command structure.
They were the first "blade" the Count had prepared.
Encrid’s gaze shifted toward them. On the open plain, the movement of cavalry was impossible to miss.
'If left alone, they'll cause massive damage.'
He understood the threat, but it wasn't his time to move yet.
'And Marcus is no fool.'
As if answering his thought, a group of allied cavalry charged out. Though they numbered only a dozen, the one leading them was a striking figure with orange hair.
Flutter!
A red cloak whipped in the wind. It was Aisia and her squires.
"For Naurilia!"
Aisia’s voice rang out. She and her squires thundered forward, closing the distance to the horse archers in a heartbeat. The enemy fired as they retreated, but Aisia raised her sword, deflecting the arrows with precise, fluid movements of her wrist. She didn't even reach for a shield.
She caught their rear and struck.
With a swift swing, her blade severed a man's neck. Before the head could hit the ground, her sword pierced the back of another. She rode through them, a whirlwind of steel, stabbing and swinging mercilessly.
"Fight to the end!"
As the horse archers were halved, enemy cavalry rode out to intercept the squires. Not only that, but the enemy infantry began their advance, and several exceptionally skilled fighters among them began closing in on Aisia’s unit.
* * *
As the infantry clashed and elite fighters began to emerge, Rem finally sprang into action.
"I'm heading out first!"
The moment Rem kicked off, his body seemed to blur as he shot forward. It was a technique that required a specific knack—stomping the ground with monstrous strength and directing that force forward rather than upward. Encrid had mastered it through countless "todays," and Rem performed it with natural ferocity.
Rem dashed toward a man who had broken away from the enemy infantry—a brute wielding two hammers. The man spotted Rem and changed course to meet him.
Rem swung his axe; the opponent swung a hammer.
Clang!
The deafening roar of the collision forced the surrounding infantry to part, clearing a space for the two. In that instant, Encrid spotted a shadow appearing behind Rem. A man who had been hiding among the ranks leaped out with an incredibly agile, sharp thrust.
It was a strike designed to be impossible to anticipate, but Rem twisted his body mid-swing. The blade grazed his lower back, and Rem lashed out with his axe as he dodged, forcing the assassin to retreat.
There was no need to help. If it got dangerous, Rem could pull back. If not, he would win. That was simply who Rem was.
"Let's thin their numbers a bit," Encrid said, turning his gaze away.
"That barbarian bastard, always snatching up the best parts," Ragna muttered, stepping forward.
He headed toward the enemy's flank with steady, calm steps. The Mad Company had positioned themselves on the edge of the allied formation; because their numbers were small, they didn't draw much attention in the madness of the mass combat.
Encrid watched Ragna’s back. It was said that a knight was a calamity capable of facing a thousand men. What, then, of Ragna, who stood on the very threshold of knighthood?
He was fresh, well-fed, and uninjured.
Ragna didn't just hit the enemy flank; he seemed to seep into it. He walked, and he made contact. In a battle of this scale, there was no need to search for a path. It was enough to cut down whatever stood in his way.
Where Ragna moved, the enemy flank collapsed like dry straw.
Whoosh.
His sword moved in a blur. An enemy soldier's head flew. There was no scream, no time for surprise. They died without even knowing they had been targeted. As Ragna calmly reaped lives, the enemy's numbers dwindled rapidly. Men fell in heaps before the enemy even realized what was happening.
By the time they noticed him, it was too late. Knowing he was there only made it worse—it was like watching the Grim Reaper walk through a field of wheat.
Meanwhile, Encrid spotted several individuals moving with clear intent. Among the enemy soldiers, certain figures were maneuvering purposefully.
"Sachsen?"
"Leave them be."
Sachsen meant he would handle it. The enemy wasn't stupid; the lieutenants of the Five Weapons were slipping into the ranks of the common soldiers. It was a sound tactic—if elite forces hid among the masses and picked off targets, the Kingdom's numbers would vanish.
Sachsen moved to hunt them down one by one.
Encrid continued his walk toward the enemy lines.
"Who the hell is this guy?!" an enemy soldier shouted, hesitant to break formation as Encrid approached the rear ranks.
Encrid ignored him.
A massive shadow fell across his path, cast by a man with his back to the sun. He was gargantuan—larger even than Audin.
"My name is Benukt. I am a giant."
The voice sounded like it was echoing from the depths of a cave. He didn't need to announce his race; he filled Encrid’s entire field of vision. Raising two massive fists, the man took a stance that reminded Encrid of Audin.
Encrid drew his sword. The silver blade gleamed in the shadows.
The two read each other's breathing, sizing one another up, searching for the perfect moment to seize the initiative.
In that tense silence, Encrid asked, "What about your boss?"
He was asking if the giant had stepped up in place of his leader.
Benukt, who had been coiled like a spring, unleashed the full extent of his strength.
Boom!
He kicked off the ground, turning his massive frame into a living cannonball. With a whoosh that seemed to fold the very air, he flew forward and slammed his shoulder toward Encrid.
The collision sounded like a drum bursting.
The eyes of the nearby infantry gathered on the pair. As the dust billowed and settled, their figures were revealed.
Neither had backed down.
They had collided, and the impact had been immense, but both had deflected what they could and endured the rest.
With that single clash, Encrid knew everything he needed to know. Despite his terrifying size, the giant named Benukt was not all that impressive.
It wasn't arrogance. It was a cold, objective assessment.