Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Yannick Unit (3)
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Storming out of the capital like a gale, slipping through the streets like the wind—that part had gone smoothly.
The problem was that I'd gotten too thrilled by the Royal Gift Horse's speed and completely forgotten about my condition.
“Urk!”
I bent over while still in the saddle and heaved up my guts.
Just when my stomach seemed to settle down a bit, we were off again.
“Ugh!”
Then I'd stop once more to retch.
Start and stop, start and stop—we repeated it countless times.
My gut, wrecked from the previous night's binge, refused to calm anytime soon.
In the end, I halted well before dusk, in the late afternoon, and set about preparing camp.
I tied the Royal Gift Horse to a suitable tree and wandered nearby to gather dry branches.
Since I'd always traveled with supply trains before, doing this alone felt like ages ago.
Maybe that's why it took forever to get the fire going.
Things I'd always done solo back in the day.
Rustle, rustle.
I pulled out my cloak—which would double as a blanket, gaudy as befits a princess's gift—and draped it over myself before leaning back against a tree trunk.
By the time I'd slapped together my camp, night had already fallen.
Crackle, crackle.
I stared blankly at the dancing red flames.
Sitting like this made me newly aware of how alone I was.
Naturally, my thoughts began to wander.
Those Redcoats—they definitely called him "Your Highness the Prince."
I could guess why the princess had urged me to flee the capital in such a hurry.
I already had one foot plunged deep into the muck of the power struggle.
It was something I'd half-expected, to some degree.
When the princess knighted me—no, even earlier, when I'd taken an officer's commission in exchange for turning a blind eye to the Thracia army's dirty laundry—it had all been inevitable.
At least the cards I'd drawn weren't half bad, which was some consolation.
Yeniche Trakieri made for a decent enough partner.
If I was going to get dragged in anyway, better to side with the reasonable one who could at least hold a conversation.
At minimum, she didn't demand blind loyalty like the other royals.
And her rewards were fairly generous, too.
Of course, that didn't mean I planned to let my guard down.
No matter how I sliced it, it had to be the princess who'd leaked my past to headquarters.
The timing of my history leaking out right now was suspicious enough, and for her to show up amid all the construction chaos for the victory celebration prep? Plenty of things didn't add up.
Crackle.
I tossed another dry branch onto the bonfire.
After this mess, I was surely known as one of the princess's people by now.
For better or worse, I had no choice but to root for her to win the power struggle.
I was already in the same boat as her.
“What a twist. What a cruel twist.”
To stay out of the power struggle, I had to help her win it—what kind of ironic fate was this?
Ah, how contradictory.
“...Time to sleep.”
I pulled my cloak higher and closed my eyes.
“Yaaawn.”
The next day, I scarfed down some jerky from my pack for breakfast and hit the road again.
I wanted to detour into the nearest city for resupply, but the chaos before leaving the capital kept nagging at me.
I had no idea which prince had sent those guys, but if I ran into the prince's Redcoats again, fleeing like last time wouldn't be an option.
I'm a gentleman who prefers polite conversation over blind running, but this was an exception.
The moment they dropped the prince's name in talks, I'd be cornered—no escape.
At that point, I'd have no choice but to fully commit as the princess's man.
Better to keep some wiggle room for now.
And so.
“Let's go, Royal Gift Horse!”
I gave the nearby city a wide berth and headed north.
On the way to Schrelgrad, I felt it in my bones.
How deeply the war had wounded Thracia.
Scars invisible in the bustling capital littered the countryside.
Fields that should have been bustling with harvest hands lay half-abandoned right before reaping season, and young men were scarce on the roads.
Every few steps, starving ragamuffins clung to my legs, and in any shadowy alley, desperate women propositioned me.
War orphans and fresh widows who'd lost husbands in the war.
The rare young men I spotted were all in rough shape—body or mind broken.
“Hey, mister. You look loaded... Urk!”
“Riding such a fine horse... Agh!”
The latter got a personal lesson in mind-body disconnect right there.
Security was abysmal overall, and it only worsened toward the front.
“Halt! Halt! Danger ahead!”
Suddenly, guards had blocked an entire road, controlling passersby.
“Soldier, what's the issue?”
“Oh, an officer?”
“Lieutenant Yannick, 8th Legion Cavalry Battalion, en route to Schrelgrad.”
For Thracia.
“City guard NCO Blaki, sir.”
The saluting soldier, Blaki, explained the trouble with a troubled look.
To sum up: Astoria stragglers were banding up for robbery.
Platoon-sized, not huge, but armed with crossbows, making it tough for the lightly equipped guards.
“We're just waiting on a suppression force from the nearby 11th Legion, but...”
“How long we gonna wait for that force? This stuff's rotting here... You gonna cover our losses if we miss delivery?”
“Yeah, or we'll handle it ourselves!”
No sooner had he spoken than the stalled merchants and civilians erupted in protest.
“As you can see, the situation's dire.”
Blaki sighed.
“Troublesome.”
I frowned.
Bypassing would mean a huge detour, and who knew if we'd hit the same snag again.
This was all HQ's fault for letting the enemy penetrate so deep.
Plus, these merchants seemed headed to the front.
Usually they'd tag along with army supply trains, but they were solo for some reason.
Two possibilities: issues with the trains, or botched logistics.
Either way, major problem.
Made clearing the road even more urgent.
If supplies were truly short, the front was starving.
Even these merchants needed to get through to ease the pressure.
Damn those old fogeys. Logistics suck even in wartime.
Once the self-preservationist trash cleared out, the army might actually function.
Made me want to back Princess Yeniche Trakieri even harder.
“Why hold us up if you can't fix it? Driving me nuts! If guards can't handle it, we'll do it!”
“You think Astoria regulars are street thugs? What can mercenaries do?”
“Scared of limp-dick soldiers who can't find their own homes?”
Meanwhile, the merchants' spat with the guards escalated.
The protesting merchants led big caravans, naturally with hired mercenaries.
Filtering out the greenhorns, about twenty seasoned blades—twice the guards' number.
Hence the arrogance.
“Hm.”
I rode toward the merchants. Seeing my clearly exceptional Royal Gift Horse, they bowed obsequiously, unlike with the soldiers, and stepped aside.
“Lend me some mercenaries.”
Sharp as merchants are, they got it instantly and eagerly offered up their best.
I picked seven prime ones and headed back to the guards.
“Any among you who can handle bows?”
“We all can basics, but why...”
“Good. Leave two to hold the blockade and follow me.”
The guards' faces hardened.
Ordering city troops like privates? Natural resentment.
Even as an officer from another unit, I had no right to commandeer them.
But.
“By knightly policing authority, I now command all forces in this area.”
What about as a knight?
“Gah! Forgive our ignorance!”
NCO Blaki blanched and bowed deeply.
The others followed; some even knelt and kowtowed.
Knighthood wasn't that big a deal anymore.
Policing rights were mostly nominal, trial rights long revoked.
Still, frontier guards trembled.
In capitals or big cities, nobles were common, but out here? Rare—and knights counted as such, vaguely.
Anyway, I had the pretext.
“Arm up and follow. Explanations en route.”
And so I conscripted seven mercenaries and eight guards for suppression.
Night was creeping in while they stalled mid-road.
We crept along silently.
“Milord, we found 'em, but...”
“But?”
“They're fighting among themselves over some issue.”
A scout mercenary reported the stragglers' status.
“Perfect.”
We slipped through the dark.
–...!
–...!
Sure enough, the stragglers were split into two factions brawling fiercely—knives out any second.
“Left wants to surrender, right refuses. Internal rift over massacring merchants, from what I gather.”
Thanks to an Astoria-speaking mercenary, I got the gist.
Saved us effort, anyway.
We closed in, confirming looted wagons and corpses.
“Soldiers, pick out the loaded crossbowmen—can you snipe them?”
“We'll try.”
“Don't try—do it. On three, fire. Rest wait and charge with me.”
I kept the Astoria-speaker close; might need him.
“Three. Fire.”
Guards loosed bolts with sharp whistles.
Crossbowmen toppled in heaps.
Some missed—fine by me.
“Charge! Target the right flank!”
I drew from the saddle sheath, spurred the Royal Gift Horse.
–...!
Stragglers spotting us scrambled to ready.
Too late—the horse was already upon them.
Long live Her Highness the Princess, you bastards.
I praised her inwardly while swinging.
Mopped up guards' misses, swept the rest.
Mercenaries piled in then.
“Surrender! We'll spare those who do!”
“...Surrender!”
“Idiot! In Astoria!”
A dim merc finally gave the proper call late.
Left faction dropped arms, hands up.
Right was already mopped up by then.
The horse trampled more Astorians than my blade felled.
Royal Gift Horse, what are you...!
Its snowy coat splattered crimson was utterly majestic.
The fight ended anticlimactically quick.
“Hey! Survivor's here!”
While binding surrenders, a merc found one in an abandoned wagon.
A hunched old woman—face familiar.
“That fortune teller from before?”
“That jinx from back then?”
Freed from bonds, the old crone—the fortune teller who'd read my fate—gaped at me.
We handed the surrenders to guards and hit the road at dawn.
“Supply trains dawdling half a month already, they say.”
“That's why we're risking it with pricey mercenaries.”
“What's 'regular' supply if they don't leave or arrive on schedule?”
Merchants vented against the Thracia army.
Supply woes confirmed, as feared.
Damn old bastards. War's barely over.
I cursed HQ silently.
“But with Gaillard's hero along, we're relieved. Almost lucky the trains lagged—got an escort like you.”
A grizzled merchant rubbed his palms fawningly.
One merc knew my name, word spread.
“Ah, sure.”
I brushed it off and fell back.
Asha, trailing at the rear looking half-dead, brightened at me.
“Finally gonna let me ride?”
“Told you a dozen times: Royal Gift Horse is royal property—no randos.”
“So prissy over one word.”
Asha pouted.
“Still can't believe it no matter how many looks. This your real face?”
“Easier for a pretty girl to granny-up, or a 70-year-old hag to girl-up?”
“Neither sounds easy.”
“Then believe this is my real 70-year-old fortune teller face.”
Shockingly, this woman was the fortune teller.
‘The world's too harsh for young girls.’
She'd disguised as a crone because the world was shady.
The hag I'd known was fake.
She wasn't even a real fortune teller.
“But it nailed everything. Spot-on predictions.”
Still couldn't wrap my head around it.
“Told you: random guesses.”
“But...!”
“No successful guy shops fortunes, obvious. And life's not all doom—snags untangle, then snag again. Don't overthink; fortunes are vague like that.”
Clung to ‘misfortune births luck,’ chasing tellers.
“How the hell have I survived this long?”
Looking back, downright insane.
“You're babbling nonsense. Frustrating.”
Asha replied flatly.
“How? Your own skills got you through.”
Her casual toss hit like thunder, forcing life reflection.
Led to one question I'd never pondered.
Am I... ridiculously competent?
“Or who knows.”
Asha's upturned gaze flickered oddly.
“Maybe fate's goddess really borrowed my mouth. She's fickle.”p>
“Who could say.”
Somehow, I ended up escorting the caravan all the way to Schrelgrad Fortress. Asha the gypsy woman tagged along too, heaven knows why.
“Ooh! Supplies!”
“Finally!”
8th Legion soldiers swarmed like beggars—their state was pitiful.
As feared, proper supplies hadn't reached them.
She'd switched back to granny disguise and vanished the moment we arrived.
I reported return to furious Major Evgen, then dashed off a letter detailing front-line woes to the 15th Legion commander.
If she made HQ, she'd handle it—not ignore supply shortages.
If 15th couldn't, princess would step in.
Waiting for reply, something else arrived first.
“...!”
Astoria's Otto von Bauer strode up and halted before me.
“...”
I fetched an Astoria-fluent merchant for translation.
“Some Oscar guy pinned the defeat blame on him, dooming his house—no ransom possible.”
Summary.
No home to return to, so he'd temporarily join Thracia forces for revenge.
“Why the 8th Legion specifically?”
Merchant translated quick.
“...!”
“To follow honorably, the man who beat me—obviously!”
More precisely, my command—not 8th Legion.
Though you just fell off your horse, really.
Otto wasn't alone.
Doppelzoltner war clowns, ransom-blocked by their house's fall.
“We. Follow. You. Pay. Ransom. With. Service.”
Clunky Thracia, invoking mercenary tradition, they pledged under me.
Thus, turncoat knight and famed clowns became my subordinates.
“Huh?”
Meanwhile, I hadn't even started unit formation.