Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Resupply Operation (2)
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"They've really done it! They've really crossed the line!"
Jamal kept screaming nonstop.
"My God! If we're caught, we're done for! This could start a war because of us!"
Riding hard and still yapping away like that—he was begging to get his tongue cut out.
And sure enough...
"The commander-in-chief will have us for breakfast! We might even face a court-martial... Gah!"
He clutched his face like he'd bitten his own tongue.
Tsk.
I shook my head and glanced back.
No one else was voicing it like Jamal, but everyone's faces were stiff with tension.
All of them wore deeply worried expressions.
"Slow the unit down."
We needed to regroup.
"Four days, five at most. We'll hit and run before then."
One day for the enemy to notice us, another to figure out our goal.
Then a day to muster forces and prepare a response— they'd need at least four days to actually move.
"By the time they mobilize, we'll be back at the fortress."
But the Bluecoats' expressions didn't brighten at all.
And they weren't worried about clashing with the Astoria forces.
It was the risk of sparking another full-scale war because of us.
"The border was thrown into chaos just a couple weeks ago. If something like that happens again..."
"No. It won't be like last time."
The Bluecoats' mass movement had put both sides on high alert two weeks back. A lot had happened since.
The biggest? The harvest wrapping up, hands down.
"Unlike Thracia, Astoria doesn't have that many professional soldiers."
Thracia, with its vast plains yielding overwhelming harvests compared to neighbors, had long reorganized under the royal family's central army.
Astoria, on the other hand, still relied heavily on local forces—nobles' private troops.
Sure, their top brass, mage corps, and key strongholds were central army heavyweights.
But right now, post-harvest, nobles had no choice but to demobilize most of their retainers.
In short, they didn't have many troops to spare.
"Even if they rally for revenge, this whole area will be buried in snow by then."
Winter wasn't kind to armies on the march. This region's winters were notoriously brutal.
That was the problem.
"Without full bellies, no one survives this goddamn winter."
Supply lines cut, the forward fortresses weren't prepped for it at all.
They hadn't been this exposed originally.
Blame the war.
Early on, we'd lost the forward forts and had to destroy or abandon stockpiles during the retreat.
We'd recaptured them and restored the borders, but the Astorians had looted whatever was left in the warehouses.
We couldn't last the winter like this.
I knew it. The forward commanders knew it. Everyone did.
But whether the senile old headquarters generals did? Who knew.
No word from the trusted 15th Legion commander we'd pinned hopes on, and forward stockpiles were hitting critical.
Even Evgen Sanov Major—the 8th Legion's quartermaster—whined about scraping together just two weeks' rations.
If Schrelgrad, which had never been raided, was this bad, the front lines must be hell.
That's why.
"We grab enough to winter over and bolt. No looking back."
I'd decided to reclaim the supplies the Astorians had plundered from us.
"Then we hunker down like hibernating bears till spring."
HQ's scolding? Screw it.
Let 'em try.
"Unauthorized operation? Nah. This is a supply run for our survival."
I had the high ground.
"Got it? Let's make one big score!"
Steal their food. Crush their troops.
"Ha!"
The Bluecoats picked up speed.
"Just a bit farther and we'll be in friendly territory."
Jamal said it with a dazed look.
Long story short: the supply op was a smashing success.
Thracia's prized warhorses were hauling wagons like pack mules, each loaded to the brim with food.
Enough for 1,000 men for at least a fortnight, by rough count.
Hand it to Evgen Sanov Major, and he'd stretch it to a month.
"Closest spot from here is Baltegrad, right?"
"Baltegrad, with the 11th Legion garrisoned, is nearest our position."
"Then we'll drop the goods there first."
But instead of heading straight to Schrelgrad, I aimed for the nearest fortress.
"What in the...!"
The 11th Legion went into an uproar.
They flipped out once at the sight of us festooned with wagons out of nowhere, then flipped again when they saw how much food was loaded.
"Any spare cavalry in the fortress?"
"We've got one light cavalry company."
"Perfect. Mind lending it for a bit? If that's too much, just the horses will do."
The 11th Legion commander—who looked like a stickler for rules—frowned at the sudden request.
"Lend it, and half the wagons are yours."
But at the promise of thirty wagons' worth, his eyes bugged out and he handed over fifty spare mounts.
A deal impossible any other time.
But with Bluecoats and cavalry decimated, spare horses were everywhere.
"Off we go. Across the border. Again."
As I turned toward enemy territory once more, Jamal sighed without a word.
No more hysterics—he'd fully accepted my ways. Or given up.
Didn't matter. That loyal NCO would do his duty either way.
"Grab as much as we can and bounce!"
Loot.
"Everything."
Loot.
"Wahahaha!"
Loot again.
Honestly, even I hadn't expected it to go this smoothly.
Even accounting for the defector knight's intel on base locations and weak points.
Who could've guessed?
Astoria falling for the same trick four times straight.
Each border crossing, I figured it'd be tough this time, they'd be ready.
Bolt at the first whiff of trouble.
Four runs netted us three hundred wagons' worth.
Enough for 1,000 men for seventy-five days easy.
With Evgen Sanov Major's thrifty magic, four—no, five months.
"Half goes to nearby friendlies."
But I split the spoils with neighboring units instead of hogging it.
Not out of camaraderie or frontline savior vibes.
All for later.
Astoria's bungling had me overreaching.
Way bigger than planned.
With every legion starving, the 8th hogging three hundred wagons? Backlash inevitable.
Share nice, no beef.
"Again?"
Jamal—who'd been mountain-sized worried at first crossing—now beamed with anticipation.
Assumed I'd cross again, naturally.
Made me think twice.
If Jamal figured I'd cross again, Astoria sure as hell would too.
Uneasy vibes already.
Air sticking to my neck like glue.
My misfortune-sensing instincts screamed.
"We're done. Pack it in and head home."
Time to end it.
Last run was dicey, too.
If the War Clowns I'd prepositioned hadn't shown up on cue, the pursuit would've nailed our rear.
Supplies matter, but people more.
"We've exceeded expectations. More's just greed."
No need to push with this much secured.
"Return."
I returned to Schrelgrad with the spoils.
"I-I heard the rumors, but... it's real."
Evgen Sanov Major looked ready to bawl at the hundred-plus wagons.
Made sense.
Scraping by to feed the 8th—must've been hell.
Wanted to clap his back, but rank's a bitch. Salute it was.
Seemed enough to convey my sincerity.
"You're a walking blessing for the 8th. Makes me regret ever crossing you before."
I wiped under my nose at his intense gaze.
Soon, the Yannick Unit(?) got new nicknames.
Angels of the Battlefield, Relief Cavalry, Blue Outlaws.
Honoring our noble mercy in looting foes to feed starving allies, or whatever.
"Fine, whatever else—but anyone yapping 'Blue Outlaws' gets trampled on sight. Don't repay favors with betrayal. We're feeders, not freaks."
Prime way to piss off the royals.
As I nipped future drama in the bud, the 8th Legion commander returned from HQ.
"You've turned headquarters upside down."
I chuckled.
Everything flipped? My fault by default now.
Not even surprising anymore.
That was the gist.
Post-war, most generals had stepped down over early blunders, forcing Thracia to cycle through legion commanders wholesale.
New forward appointees were mostly apolitical types—as soldiers should be—but HQ old-timers branded them the princess's cronies.
Fair enough; she'd led the merit awards and overhaul.
Problem sparked there.
"HQ's old guard moved to break them in."
"...Don't tell me the supply cutoff was them guarding their rice bowls?"
The commander didn't deny it.
"This is... "
I bowed my head quick.
Damn fossils.
Starving frontline tens of thousands to save their asses?
Greed has limits! Ptoo!
"...I hear everything. Look, I get it. Same boat."
At least clean your spit later.
Commander chided gently instead of chewing me out.
"But you wrecked it all."
Their plan to leash new commanders via supplies? Foiled when I looted Astoria and shared.
"Meanwhile, new HQ boss Langrid Guldiv swept up their lackeys. Supply leaks, treason, embezzlement—all hanged."
Explained the radio silence on supply pleas. She'd bided time to gut them.
"Bit longer, but supplies normalize soon. Thanks to you, no starving for now. Lucky break."
Not intentional, but sticking it to the old guard? Felt good.
"Oh, Langrid has a message."
"...?"
"'Don't forget that night.' No clue what she means."
I swallowed a curse.
Maybe reminding me of full unit autonomy promise.
Go wild, no looking back.
Yeah. What else?
"And the princess sent this for you."
Am I your CO or errand boy?
Commander sighed, handing over an envelope.
Skipped the fluffy BS.
"Oh."
Promise kept: reward equaling twenty years' pay deposited in the royal bank. Tucked the certificate away neatly.
Mass reinforcements? Sigh of relief.
8th swapping spots with 15th soon? Frowned inwardly.
"...?"
Thought that was it, but another page.
Short as hell.
Still took me ages to process.
[One whose name cannot be spoken has secretly departed the capital. When the north winds howl, their steps will reach there.]
That line outweighed the rest combined.
"This princess just doesn't get it."
The princess spoke up out of the blue.
"What, Your Highness?"
"Are enemy supply bases usually that poorly defended?"
"Hardly."
"So how did he raid them so effortlessly?"
Even Langrid Guldiv struggled for an answer.
"Defector intel helped, sure—but once, twice tops. Yet he boldly struck four times. All successes."
The princess looked genuinely baffled.
"He makes everything look easy. Turns what kills others into child's play. Watching him, you almost think war's a breeze."
Langrid Guldiv felt much the same.
"If so, it just proves his talent."
"Like a master's art: seems ordinary at first, but it's rare gifts and experience woven together. No one copies it easy."
The young princess nodded, convinced.
"Anyway, he's smoothed things over. Time for rewards."
"What kind?"
"Marry him to a nobleman's daughter? Carve off a chunk of my estates?"
Her eyes curved in delight.
"Fun dilemma."
Langrid Guldiv joined her glee.
Across the border, Astoria's top commander—back from absence—chatted similarly with his aide.
Admiration aplenty, but their feelings? Worlds apart.