Chapter 168
Chapter 168
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 168
Chapter Title: Frensil's Miscalculation
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News arrived that they had reached the banks of the Medeo River, and not even a full day had passed before Frensil's army appeared before Brodin's gates.
They must have rushed like mad—knights and mercenaries alike were drenched in sweat, and the supply wagons from the main merchant group were nowhere in sight, lagging far behind.
"They look pretty worn out."
"Yeah. Still, their morale seems decent enough? Wait, what the hell are those guys doing?"
Eugene and the knights standing atop the walls exchanged incredulous looks.
The Frensil forces were acting like they were preparing for a siege.
"Looks like they're planning to attack this place."
"Without even a declaration of war? And with two direct heirs of Frensil in tow? Have they lost their minds?"
"Ah! You don't think those bastards..."
Galpredic trailed off as realization dawned, and Eugene picked up the thread.
"They still don't know I've taken this place?"
The knights nodded in agreement.
"Oh yeah, that makes sense. From Frensil's perspective, they couldn't even imagine we've already seized the Brodia royal family."
Frensil and Brodia were on extremely friendly terms. By contrast, even at top speed, it took the Bartla ducal house four or five days to reach here.
No one would believe that an army of a thousand could cover that distance in such record time and already have the city under control.
"Your Grace, what are your orders?"
As Prabo spoke, all eyes turned to Eugene.
Eugene's mind raced.
'Isn't this even better?'
If the Frensil forces attacked first by some stroke of luck, it would give massive momentum to his 'black ink turnaround plan.'
But that hinged on one condition: they had to recognize this as Eugene's army before striking.
If they attacked and then later claimed ignorance, there'd be no real recourse.
In the end, even if they struck first, he had to leave them no room for excuses afterward.
'Alright. Let's bait them and see.'
Turning around, Eugene scanned the knights' eyes blazing with anticipation and fighting spirit before speaking.
"Open the gates and head out. We'll try talking first. If that fails, we beat the crap out of them."
Uoooooh!
Keeeh!
The knights and Beowulf warriors cheered wildly, pouring down from the walls like an avalanche.
"Tch. It's been ages since I last fought..."
Ranslo, left in command, watched them go with a wistful gaze.
Just then, Cameron III—still unofficial but as of today, the Marquis of Brodin—approached quietly. He'd shed his crown and donned chain mail with a longsword.
"Sir Durak, is this really okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"The Duke of Bartla, going out there. Even if he's the top commander, taking just dozens of knights and Beowulf warriors..."
"Eh? Has Your Lordship not seen His Grace's true prowess?"
"True prowess...?"
Was he referring to how he'd taken down two guards in a single move through that secret passage?
Impressive swordsmanship, sure. But fighting a handful in tight quarters was worlds apart from facing hundreds in open terrain.
Call it a one-man army all you want—Cameron no longer bought into such tall tales. The lies from his vassals in childhood had soured him on that.
"Better to see it once than hear it a hundred times. Of course, it'd be best if nothing happens."
"Hmm. Even so, you're worried about Duke Bartla too, huh?"
"What? Why would I worry about His Grace?"
"Huh?"
Cameron blinked in confusion, and Ranslo flashed a knowing smile.
"You must be misunderstanding something. I was worried about the Frensil family."
"What...!?"
Cameron's eyes widened in disbelief.
He couldn't grasp that Ranslo meant every word.
* * *
Creeeak! Thud!
"The gates are opening!"
"Whoa!? Looks like Brodia's rabble is surrendering!"
"Those cowards!"
Waaaaah!
As Brodin's gates swung wide, the Frensil troops erupted in cheers.
Meanwhile, at the rear of the mercenary units, the head of House Frensil smirked.
"Heh! The greenhorn king isn't entirely incompetent."
He'd crushed Brodia's royal main force before crossing the Medeo, so he knew their remaining troops were few.
To deny them any chance for tricks, he'd planned an immediate siege—and now they were surrendering out of sheer terror.
"The moment we get their oath of surrender, station a minimal force on the walls and take the rest to seize the royal castle and their vassals! We must have Brodin fully in our grasp before Duke Bartla arrives!"
That would give them leverage in hostage negotiations and properly awe that arrogant vampire duke with Frensil's might.
"Yes, my lord!"
Satisfied with his knights' crisp response, the Frensil lord turned to the mercenaries.
"Hm?"
He frowned.
Moments ago, the mercenaries had been cursing up a storm while prepping for siege, but now they were shifting oddly.
"Hey! Your formation is an utter disgrace. Knights! Tell the mercenaries to hold ranks. Even if the enemy's surrendering, it's embarrassing to watch."
Irritated, the house knights spurred their mounts toward the mercenaries, glaring.
"You lot! What are you doing? Get in proper formation!"
"Stay battle-ready just in case!"
But the mercenaries, buzzing with excitement like they were about to charge the gates, ignored the orders. It was only natural.
All mercenary companies hired by House Frensil had contracted for minimal upfront pay, with the rest covered by plunder.
Their first battle had been a huge win, yet the spoils were meager. Now Brodin's gates yawned invitingly before them.
One thought dominated their minds.
'Loot!'
'The time is now!'
First to the gates claimed it all.
That's when a few figures emerged from inside the gates, presumed to be surrender envoys.
"Don't move!"
"You bastards! Stay right there!"
The knights bellowed, unwilling to shame themselves before surrender delegates.
But the mercenaries' greedy eyes were locked solely on the wide-open gates beyond.
"Screw this! Nobles can handle talks and bullshit!"
"We need our pay first!"
"Boys! Charge! Latecomers get goblin scraps!"
Uwaaaah!
One mercenary company unleashed a howl and surged forward.
"Those snake bastards are jumping the gun?"
"Us too! The royal castle's ours—Gray Bear Mercenaries claim it!"
Waaaaah!
One company's dash ignited competitive greed, and others followed in droves.
"Damn it! What the hell are you doing? Vulgar! Dishonorable!"
The Frensil lord swung his baton, roaring in fury.
"Those mad dogs!"
The knights panicked at their lord's rage, but there was no stopping the half-maddened mercenaries.
But then.
"Hm?"
"What's with all those coming out?"
The Frensil lord and knights gawked as a horde spilled from Brodin's gates.
They'd expected the Brodia king and maybe three or four knights as envoys. They were wrong.
And not just in numbers.
"Knights?"
"And armored monsters too!?"
Dozens of knights and Beowulf warriors in imposing plate mail and plate coats emerged, exuding menace. The Frensil lord and his men recoiled in shock.
Worst of all, a knight in pitch-black armor at their fore bore a white flag on his spear tip.
Anyone could see: they were here to surrender—or negotiate.
"Halt! I command you to halt!"
The Frensil lord's throat-tearing shout drowned in the mercenaries' howls.
"Damn it!"
As the lord's face twisted in horror at the onrushing pack of greed-driven dogs.
Krooooaaar!!!
A monstrous roar erupted, and the enemy's heavy infantry charged.
* * *
"Talk about taking the bait."
Eugene muttered with a hint of emptiness.
"Those guys are completely insane. Hey, eldest son. Your dad's lost it, hasn't he?"
"......!"
Reyma, unable to comprehend Galpredic's words, stared pale-faced at the madly charging mercenaries.
He couldn't fathom how this had happened.
Nor were Maren and Karsbagin's knights, or even the Beowulf warriors who emerged with Eugene, any less baffled.
"Don't they see us?"
"They see us, sure. But the wide-open city gates behind us look better."
"Ah!"
The knights grasped it instantly at Galpredic's words.
Even they, as knights, had screwed up from battle lust more than once.
For mercenaries wagering lives on silver coins, an open enemy city was a treasure cart begging to be claimed.
"Makes sense, but it stings the pride."
"Sir Eugene! No, Your Grace Duke Eugene! Just give the order!"
"We sharpened our spears for a day like this!"
"Dark Lord! Let's give 'em hell!"
"Let us run wild this time!"
Knights brandished spears and swords, shouting at Eugene. The Beowulf warriors snarled fiercely, their auras flaring as if ready to pounce.
Clank.
"Hold position for now."
Eugene lowered his visor and tore off the white flag from Madarajika's tip.
Fwoooosh...!
Crimson light gleamed in his helmeted eyes as fiend aura coiled around Madarajika's blade.
By then, the Frensil mercenaries closed in, distance shrinking to under fifty meters.
Eugene gripped Madarajika, whipped his reins, and bellowed.
"Smash them!"
Thud-thud-thud!
Silion bolted like an arrow.
Knights and Beowulf warriors followed in packs, swiftly forming a wedge on either side of Eugene.
At thirty meters.
"Grroooaaargh!"
Eugene, Galpredic, and the Beowulf warriors unleashed fiend-laced roars.
The potent intangible force rippled forward, bending ankle-high grass like a gale.
Krarararak!
Vampire and Beowulf roars hammered the plunder-blind mercenaries.
The Frensil mercenaries had sensed something off when dozens of heavily armored knights and burly figures in thick plate leaped into motion.
But momentum from greed-fueled unity was unstoppable.
Plus, they numbered over four hundred against fewer than fifty foes—even if all knights.
Having operated mainly in the west, they'd never tasted the continental knights' famed 'charge' from the Codex Wars.
So they figured they could handle it.
"Urk!?"
"Hiii!"
But the thunderous roars and embedded fiend aura melted their momentum like spring snow.
Reason swiftly filled the void, left behind by plunder lust.
Now their terrifying foes' true nature slammed into view, hurtling at breakneck speed.
"......!"
Self-reproach, regret, shock, terror hit simultaneously.
Kwadududuk!!!
The continental knights' vaunted lance charge and Beowulf warriors' body slams crushed the bunched-up mercenaries fixated on the open gates.
Kwa-kwa-kwa-kwa!!!
The armored knights and Beowulf carved a long bloody path.
Beside the trail of blood, brains, guts, and flesh, barely surviving wretches wailed like a dirge.
Moments later, as repeated clashes slowed them, spears, swords, axes, maces, and morningstars danced, butchering the panicked mercenaries.
Kyaak! Kek!
Aaaagh!
Screams erupted everywhere, blood fountains adding lurid flair.
And this hellscape imprinted fully in the Frensil lord's bulging, disbelieving eyes.
His sole thought:
'We're fu—ed.'
A perfectly timed and spot-on assessment.
(To be continued)
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