Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 010
Chapter Title: Chapter 3: Hook, Trip, and Shove (3)
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“Clowns on the right!”
Jamal’s shout made me whip my head around.
The war clowns who had broken from their lines to smash the 8th Legion’s light infantry on our left wing had frozen in place, staring right at us.
To reiterate, our path was the enemy’s flank, locked in combat with the 15th Legion.
But the clowns didn’t know that.
Time to toy with them a bit.
I nudged my horse’s head slightly.
That alone sent the Doppelzoltner—who had been standing there dumbstruck—scrambling into defensive positions.
-…!
-…!
Their eerie faces, painted white with lips smeared blood-red, were now in sharp focus.
“What a sight!”
I flashed a grin and tilted up the lance I’d been aiming low, as if ready to charge.
-…?
-…?
Even without fluency in the imperial tongue, it wasn’t hard to guess the bewildered meaning behind their yells.
The clowns’ shouts faded into the distance.
This should buy the left wing time to react.
I didn’t bother looking back to check the battlefield.
Right now, eyes forward was the only way.
To our right, our 8th Legion clashed with the enemy. To the left, our 15th Legion did the same.
Far ahead, an enemy knight order kicked up dust clouds, charging madly our way.
Even from this distance, their speed was ferocious. They clearly meant to intercept us before we could hit the Astoria forces fighting the 15th Legion on the flank.
Fat chance.
“Turn left! Single file formation!”
“Unit! Turn left! Single file formation!”
I veered left, straight toward the 15th Legion’s right wing.
“Agh!”
“What the—?!”
“They’re insane!”
The right-wing light infantry spotted us late and let out short screams.
“Move and get trampled!”
I bellowed from the gut.
The fussing infantry froze solid.
I plunged through the gap between the rigid infantry units.
“Agh! You mad bastards!”
“Crazy Bluecoat lunatics!”
Screams erupted in waves, but I paid them no mind.
“Skirt the infantry and turn!”
I went further, pulling a sharp turn right in the heart of the 15th Legion.
The infantry’s screams pitched higher.
But none broke formation in panic or blocked our path.
At some point, they even widened the gaps between units, clearing a lane for the Bluecoats.
“Couldn’t ask for more!”
“Save the thanks! Get the hell out already! Ugh, dust, damn it!”
An unnamed infantry officer yelled in disgust.
No need to be told.
“Break out to the 15th Legion’s right wing!”
I accelerated.
Weaving lances and banners held high between infantry for what felt like ages, the allied lines finally ended.
“Astoria knight order!”
Beyond the open view, their flank loomed—heavy knights clad head to toe in plate that left no gaps for water, let alone blood.
Thanks to us boring through our own lines, the Astoria knights looked like dogs chasing chickens. Even so, they hadn’t slowed, hunting a spot to crash their momentum.
Smart. Even foot-fighters who hated mounted combat knew halting mid-battlefield was suicide.
Against infantry—or even light cavalry—they’d cleave front and rear from the flank.
But punching through a full-charge heavy cavalry wing? Their own flank would be exposed to the following wave.
“Turn right!”
“Unit, turn right!”
I sped up, pursuing the Astoria knights.
Soon, we ran parallel, them on our left, slicing across the battlefield center.
Clank, clank!
The Astoria knights drew one-handed bastard swords instead of lances, pressing close.
Even at a glance, top-shelf blades far beyond our shitty issue gear.
Our supply bastards would shatter on first clash. And their swordplay? leagues ahead.
No way I’d sword-fight lifelong duelists from horseback. I wasn’t an idiot.
“Maintain distance!”
I pulled back just out of sword reach.
Then hurled my useless-off-charge lance at an angle.
Whoosh.
The deliberately weakened strike—for rider safety, but enough to snap a warhorse’s leg relative to its bulk—speared between the enemy mount’s legs.
-Neigh!!
The shaft snapped; the leg buckled.
The Astoria knight tumbled with his horse, sword unused.
“Oof.”
Neck snapped on impact. Instant death.
But in my book, he got lucky.
The unlucky ones trailed right behind.
-…!
-…!
The heavy horse and armored rider made a massive obstacle.
Following knights tripped in chain reaction.
The knight order’s formation dissolved into chaos.
“Hook ’em!”
“Trip ’em!”
Bluecoats, veterans of mounted melees, swiftly followed suit, hurling lances into enemy legs.
Then repetition: trip, fallen trip others.
The same unfolded across the knight order’s right flank facing us.
Eyeballing it, at least a third down.
But they still outnumbered us. We had maybe 50 left; they around 70.
“Close in!”
Luckily, the enemy shields were on our side.
I shoved in shield-first.
Bang bang!
Batted away incoming sword strikes, pressing until saddle bows kissed.
One slip, and horses tangle—snapped necks all around.
-…!
The Astoria knight recoiled in horror, creating space.
I closed it instantly.
“More! More!”
I kept yelling.
“Shove!”
Honestly, doubtful if Bluecoats heard over the din.
Hooves thundering, shields clanging, shouts and screams everywhere.
I could barely hear myself.
Didn’t matter.
Cavalry officers don’t command with words.
Where to go, what to do: show with your back, lead by example. Vanguard duty.
Bang bang!
Heavy blows hammered my shield.
Limited helmet vision; I missed enemy moves repeatedly.
Each time, their blades rang my armor.
Breath short, head ringing.
Still manageable.
Crack.
Enraged, the knight twisted boldly, grabbing my shield edge.
Ugh, what strength.
Unstable torso twist from saddle, yet his yank was monstrous.
Suddenly, he bore down, forcing my shield low.
Enemy visible now: sword arm cocked back, ready to smash.
Armor couldn’t deflect this committed overhead.
Helmet fine, maybe; skull? Nah.
No donating my head.
“Yeah! Take it!”
I released the shield, wheeled my horse, and backed off.
The enemy knight raised his visor, baffled.
After clinging like glue, my sudden retreat stunned him. His stern face filled with questions.
-…?
Didn’t know Astoria, but clear enough.
Probably “Why?”
Instead of words, I pointed ahead.
He turned.
-…!
Jaw dropped, yelling something. Obvious: “Fuck” or “Son of a bitch.”
-…!
Then, from ahead, imperial curse—different accent, same vibe.
And thud.
The Astoria knight plowed straight into the Doppelzoltner rear, attacking our 8th Legion’s flank.
“Break off! Break off!”
Watching, I pulled from the field.
“Hoo.”
I halted on a low hill overlooking the battle, catching breath.
“Insane! Fucking insane! You dog! Madman!”
Jamal unloaded curses as adrenaline ebbed—three languages in seconds. Rare treat.
“What the hell was that?!”
He’d flung off his helmet, practically roaring.
“Tripping legs works on infantry, fine! But pitting knights against clowns?! Planned from the start?!”
Battle highs always raised voices, but this was extreme.
Deeply impressed.
“Yes! Stuck their right on purpose! Perfect shield-shove range! Argh! Truly mad! Mad, I say!”
Jamal’s eyes shone like beholding a war god incarnate.
Not just him. Other Bluecoats too.
But I wasn’t a god.
“...”
If I were, no Bluecoat deaths.
Our 50 was down to about 40.
Compared to wrecked knights and clowns, negligible losses.
Still, lives aren’t just numbers.
No need to rain on the parade now.
“Recover stamina instead of yapping.”
Battle wasn’t over.
“Going back in?”
I didn’t answer.
Obvious from my view.
Pests cleared. Now the real fun.
“Move!”
Grabbed spare lances from reserves, back to the fray.
Victory felt tangible.
Enemy stares, their fear—within grasp.
“Full gallop!”
“Unit, gallop! Gallop!”
Now it was Bluecoat time.
Heavy cavalry? Just two platoons, about 40 riders.
Pathetic against thousands clashing.
Thracia and Astoria both knew.
Knowing didn’t stop the dread.
Hundreds of kilos thundering, dust flying—infantry-crushing pressure.
Especially after devouring a knight order and famed mercenaries.
Thracia heavies zipping east-west threw Astoria into chaos.
Damage minor, but infantry lines crumbled repeatedly. Thracia foot pounced.
Across the front.
Balance tipped fast.
First to break: Astoria forces versus 15th Legion.
Exhausted from initial bloodbath, support cut, knights crushed—morale zero.
Then Thracia heavies charging: total collapse.
“Eek!”
“Run!”
Light infantry backpedaled, then bolted.
“Flee and lose your head!”
“Hold!”
Provosts slashed, urging fight—but too few.
Units shattered.
15th Legion wheeled from pursuit, hammered Astoria flank fighting 8th.
8th reserves joined: Astoria’s 4th Legion surrounded on three sides.
Mostly Baron Offen von Bauer’s retainers, not regulars. Fanatical loyalty.
They fought doggedly.
“Captured 4th Legion commander!”
But even iron will broke when their lord, Baron Offen von Bauer, fell to the Thracia heavy leader’s hands.
Clunk, clunk.
Fighters dropped spears and swords, knelt.
“We surrender.”
Astoria infantry commander declared, face ashen.
Battle ended before nearby Astoria could reinforce.
“Lieutenant Yannick!”
The flushed commander charged me, then—
Grab.
Hugged me tight.
“I believed! Knew you’d work another miracle!”
Shaking me, yelling nonstop—head spun.
Tried prying free, but his strength was absurd.
Even fresh, doubtful.
“Hahaha! You’re the 8th Legion’s treasure!”
Finally satisfied, he released.
Salute.
Formally reporting—
“So you led the Bluecoats.”
Unfamiliar voice.
Tall woman approached: ornate yet practical armor, crimson cloak.
“Acrobatic dash through our infantry, pitting Astoria knights against clowns, mercenary tactics exploiting the whole field.”
No need to ask who.
“You embody Thracia cavalry spirit. Waste under timid Marek.”
Only one here called our commander like a kid.
“Lieutenant Yannick greets the 15th Legion commander!”
For Thracia.
Snapped salute.
“At ease.”
She waved.
Worlds from our commander.
Ideal: pure authority.
“Relax. Makes me rude. You’re exhausted. Here as commander to thank, not inspect. Skip formalities.”
Words dripped consideration.
Unlike some shoving underlings to death.
“How about under me? I’ll raise you proper.”
Cavalry slot open, reorganizing.
15th Legion commander grinned boldly.
“What the—?!”
Our commander stomped.
Roll.
I rolled my eyes.
Oho…?