Spearheading the Assault
“The defenses have gotten incredibly tight. As expected, they're no pushovers. Especially on the sea.”
The emperor shook his head as he read the report from the Intelligence Command.
“Indeed, sire. Who would've thought they'd catch the scent.”
Chief of Staff Bust, the supreme commander, murmured in a disappointed tone.
“What's the plan for the operation?”
“Thanks to our efforts in maintaining secrecy, the enemy hasn't reached the point of certainty yet.”
This wasn't Bust's personal opinion—it was straight from the Intelligence report.
“No major troop movements, so that figures.”
“Yes, sire. The fact that they're focusing on Yalk Island instead of Hasmon Fortress suggests they can't even dream of a landing operation there.”
“Is the landing route still secure?”
“Reports indicate it's actually grown looser with the enemy reinforcing around Yalk Island.”
Troops were a finite resource.
Especially warships—even more so. Strengthening one area meant weakening another by default.
“That's good news.”
“Yes, sire. However, with the enemy's preparedness heightened, we'll need swift execution.”
The biggest risk in stabbing into the heart of enemy territory was, naturally, encirclement.
“Makes sense. You've prepared countermeasures, of course?”
“Yes, sire. If I may explain using the map from the pre-scouted landing point to Hasmon Fortress.”
Bust laid out the map and briefed the emperor on the operation.
“The goal is the shortest route at full speed. To minimize confusion, veterans from the reconnaissance will lead the vanguard.”
“If the vanguard punches through quickly, the follow-up will gain momentum.”
“Exactly. The target is to seize Hasmon Fortress by the third day after launch.”
The emperor gave a faint smile at Bust's words.
“Sounds like a pipe dream.”
“We will complete the mission successfully, no matter what.”
“You'd better. Defeat isn't even an option.”
With so much invested—too much to even put into words—failure meant hell reserved for the losers.
“Crown Prince.”
The emperor called out to Crown Prince Louis Lycan, seated quietly in one corner of the conference room.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“This operation will be your first stage to prove your capabilities to the imperial citizens.”
He'd met the people many times before, but those were mere displays of character.
“Victory will give them unparalleled stability. Defeat, however, will breed anxiety—and distrust in the next leader.”
No matter how virtuous a person was, a leader's top quality was competence, period.
Personality? Temperament? Those mattered to the people working nearby.
To imperial citizens who might never see the emperor once in their lives? Hardly relevant.
“Win and return. I'll handle the rest.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I shall obey your command.”
As Louis bowed his head, he seemed more tense than usual—his posture rigid.
“Good. I believe in you. Continue the briefing.”
The emperor wrapped up the brief exchange and pressed on with the meeting.
“Hm, peaceful. Feels just like back when we shipped out that crazy bastard of a senior to another squadron.”
The day they'd transferred out that hypocritical lunatic.
No matter what happened, everything felt blissful, life stable.
That was exactly how it felt now.
'That fucker's the real psycho. Gives me the same vibe as sending off the guy who tried to poison me.'
It had ended with a transfer and a slight delay in discharge, but Palan was certain.
The guy would screw up again elsewhere—same bad habits.
'Wish I'd seen his downfall. But he ended up here instead.'
If there was an item to witness that bastard's fate, he'd spend up to 50 points on it.
“Never have to see him or that eldest bro again. Not even a brother anymore.”
The very next day after talking to his father, Tems had been bundled into a carriage north—practically imprisoned—and shipped off.
'Disguised as a bandit attack midway, he said.'
By now, he might've even crossed the river.
“Didn't think Father would go that far.”
This time, he'd made up his mind for good.
'Yeah, cut out the rotten shoots. A seasoned guy like him knows that.'
Nobles and merchants had to be cold and ruthless, right?
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Maybe from shaking off that heavy baggage.
His sword moved faster and lighter than usual.
...
85 points
You could teach Hamus Swordsmanship to someone without any awkwardness at all.
“Oh, that's high praise.”
Beyond learning—into teaching territory.
A major milestone.
Would you like to view the detailed evaluation?
“Gotta check it anyway.”
Couldn't grow on compliments alone.
• Movement 4: Link speed slightly faster than standard.
Comment: Form perfection near flawless. Next step: infuse swordsmanship with will and spirit.
“Will and spirit, huh.”
About as abstract as it got.
But thanks to Hamus's hints, he had a rough idea.
• If difficult, apply for in-person lecture or learn another sword art.
'Yeah, time to branch into other styles.'
Hamus would call it crazy—“Can't master this one yet?”—but further progress here was tough.
'Can parallel-train anyway.'
Hamus style needed real combat now.
But combat wasn't daily. Most time was solo swings—needed something for that.
“Shop.”
First sword manual check in ages.
Defensive Swordsmanship 35p
Mountain Swordsmanship 60p
...
One Strike Kill 1,000p
Domain Deployment 2,000p
“Huh...?”
Didn't recall it before, but one manual grabbed his eye.
'One Strike Kill looks tempting.'
Self-explanatory: one focused strike.
Seemed OP.
'But the price. Tsk.'
Double the Hamus manual—1,000 points.
Wallet was fat enough in theory, but reality:
Held Points: 20p
“Siiiigh.”
Blew 400 on strength potions recently—broke.
'Cart it mentally for now.'
“Points after this op anyway. Not late then.”
Big buys needed a day or two to mull—no impulse.
“Young master, wipe your sweat first.”
Head butler Havel handed him a towel while browsing.
“Huh? Oh, thanks.”
Startled by the sudden appearance, but wiped his damp forehead.
“Speak casually. You're the future head of the house.”
Always respectful, but now deferential.
No mystery why—no effort needed to guess.
“Got it. Figured out which way the wind's blowing?”
“Haha, what choice do family retainers have? We follow the lord.”
Lifelong servant—shrewd as ever.
“Smart. Longest-lived path. Let's do well going forward.”
“Yes, sir. Anything you need, just say.”
Returned the towel, sheathed the sword.
“Heading out after washing. Call the carriage.”
“Right away.”
Requested, then soaked in the bath.
'If luck's bad, this life's last bath.'
Post-bath destination: Intelligence Command.
'Rested plenty.'
Letter confirmed a full week off—shocking.
“Wanted a month, honestly.”
Knew it was greed.
But couldn't he indulge a bit? After all that hell.
“Calm down. End this, rest again.”
Like finishing a grad thesis.
'Thesis mindset? Not so bad.'
Mindset was everything.
“Ahh, refreshing. So clean.”
Perfectly pristine body.
One regret: donning that filthy, loathsome uniform again.
“Ugh, gross.”
Week in luxury fabrics made the military cloth feel cheap.
'Explains why nobles at camp demanded silk.'
Tempted to mod it illegally.
'Try if posted as rural supply company commander.'
Too risky now.
“Vacation over?”
Aurora asked as he boarded in uniform.
“We'll see. If going, I'll stop by once—tell Mother.”
“Understood. Safe travels.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Shut the door, headed to Intelligence—unaware vacation bliss would vanish instantly.
“Sit comfortably, Captain.”
Met Eden Tal, dragged to another conference room.
Commander absent today—relief.
“Y-Yes... seated.”
Papers—likely briefs—on every spot.
“Time short, so key points first: landing op timing and your role set.”
“What role?”
Last mission.
Won't be easy or ordinary.
'Supply company ideal.'
Confident in boosting combat via logistics, but they undervalue him.
'Scout unit, probably.'
Recon experience fit.
“Punch through to Hasmon Fortress with Special Forces Command's 103rd Battalion vanguard. That's your task.”
“Pardon...?”
Odd words piled up.
'Hold on. Special Forces Command why now?'
Forced as hell.
“Special Forces during landing op?”
“Spot on.”
'Spot on? You madman.'