Chapter 50
Chapter 50
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: His Majesty the King (Cavalry Captain) Arrives! (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Killigrad was so close it felt like you could touch it if you fell forward.
At most ten kilometers away—a couple of hours' walk at that.
And yet, it felt like we'd entered another world entirely.
The sticky air pressing against the back of my neck, the pungent smell clinging to my nostrils and refusing to let go.
Boom... boom.
Every time the distant explosions rumbled faintly, the horses snorted roughly.
Snort...
The royal gift horse was fidgeting restlessly too, as if it couldn't wait to charge into battle.
Pat, pat.
I lightly patted its neck to calm it down.
We kept up a trot, crossing the battlefield at a leisurely pace.
Very leisurely.
"Hmm~ hmm~."
Even humming a tune.
"...?"
Suddenly, I felt eyes on me.
Captain Gaf—my adjutant, staff officer, and commander of the rearguard—stared at me in bewilderment.
"What? Got something to say...?"
Before I could finish, Captain Gaf lowered his helmet visor.
"Is it really okay to move this slowly?"
His voice came through surprisingly clear from inside the visor, unlike his usual timid self.
Apparently, his shyness only kicked in face-to-face.
First time I'd seen someone use a helmet like that.
"The Astoria forces have barricaded themselves behind the gates and are hunkering down. No point rushing. We're not charging the gates or anything..."
At that, the Bluecoats chuckled.
Probably remembering our recent charge at the firmly shut gates.
"...?"
Captain Gaf, who had no clue about the details, looked utterly puzzled even through the helmet.
"Enjoy it, Captain."
He'd be begging for mercy later.
The turncoat knight—promoted to captain recently when we Bluecoats got our field promotions, with some credit given to his pre-defection status—Otto chimed in abruptly.
It felt like just yesterday we'd infiltrated Astoria's rear and come out utterly exhausted, barely able to speak.
"......?"
"......?"
But unlike a certain timid someone, the turncoat knight had thick skin and brushed off my glance.
"There's our allies up ahead."
Jamal's words drew my eyes forward, and sure enough, an allied recon unit was there.
Not the first one, either.
We'd encountered countless allied recon teams during the march.
It felt strangely alien that this whole area was fully under our control.
Come to think of it, we'd always operated in enemy territory lately.
Hiding, being hunted, running away.
How long had it been since we'd moved this leisurely without fear of pursuit or ambush?
This wasn't half bad.
A wave of nostalgia hit me.
Heavy cavalry were the type who stuck close to the main force, charged a few key times at decisive moments, then got praised for earning their keep.
Of course, surviving those few charges unscathed wasn't easy.
But back then, everything was straightforward and simple.
We had one thought only:
Shatter the enemy's lines, or get shattered ourselves.
Nothing else mattered.
No need to watch out for mage battalions or crossbowmen, no worry of getting dragged off our horses by heavily armored halberdiers after breaking their formation.
The battlefield, now turned hostile against us, felt bitterly unfair.
But what could we do?
The world had changed, so we had to adapt.
"Hm."
I eyed the wagons.
Covered in triple layers of tarps, stuffed with charcoal inside to keep things dry.
Exaggerating a bit, our future was packed in there.
Whether that future was a bright tomorrow full of hope or a bleak, hopeless one—we'd find out when we opened it.
Either way, it beat sitting on our hands.
"Oh, our troops."
After a long march, an allied encampment appeared.
Judging by the flags, it was the 6th Legion.
Far from the Astoria fortresses, it looked like a detached force split off from the main body.
Their goal was obvious:
Devour the Astoria forces spilling out of the forts.
In that sense, we were true comrades with the same objective.
"What do we do?"
"What do you mean, what?"
Say hi, snag some food, squeeze in for a nap.
Back in the day, we'd probably get the cold shoulder or a beating for "earning" our meal.
But now we were the wise, benevolent, brave, prudent, and great His Majesty the King's cavalry,
"Raise the flag."
Who'd dare charge the king's cavalry for a handout?
Flutter.
The carefully stored Thracia royal banner—the lion-headed eagle griffon flag—we'd shoved in a wagon out of laziness was hoisted high.
"Chaos. Total chaos."
Watching the 6th Legion detachment scramble at the sight, we sauntered into the camp leisurely.
**
Major Sanov had said it:
The attitude of allied high commanders I'd meet would be one of two things.
Extremely hostile, or extremely friendly.
Neither would dare touch me recklessly, but when rubbing shoulders with units, friendly was a hundred times better.
Fortunately, the 6th Legion detachment commander, Colonel Kalishnikov, was the latter.
"What an honor. To meet the famed blue reapers of the battlefield."
Aside from the embarrassment of his childish nickname, the colonel welcomed us with hospitality that belied the grimness of the front lines.
"Our mission here is to cut off the enemy's messengers. Lately, the Astorians have been sending fast runners under cover of night. Caught three just last night."
That explained why the camp seemed understaffed for its size—most troops were out on recon and ambushes in the area.
"Soon enough, the Astorians will throw open their gates and charge out. You can feel their asses twitching from here."
He shared intel, gave us tents, fed us.
He gave generously—even his own tent went to me.
Thanks to him, we spent a comfortable night.
"Good luck. May you rack up another great feat."
"May fortune favor you too, Colonel."
With him seeing us off personally, we headed north again.
"Another ambush team up there."
The further north—into Astoria's rear—the more allied ambushes we ran into.
"Allies everywhere, for real."
As Jamal said, our forces blanketed the area.
Anywhere to hide, and there was an ambush team dug in.
And it wasn't just here.
High Command had set the board perfectly this time.
You could tell how meticulously they'd planned just from the ambush placements.
They'd laid out the feast; failing to scoop it up meant handing over their general stars and drowning in the dishwater.
"If this goes wrong, we might not even get our turn."
Jamal was spot on.
At this rate, even if we grabbed a spot, forward ambushes would snag the Astorians first.
Hell, there might not even be spots left.
All viable ambush terrain was probably already claimed.
"Hope we don't end up like dogs chasing chickens and coming up empty."
Our Lieutenant Jamal seemed extra worried today.
The other Bluecoats wore similar expressions.
They were itching for a fight, practically bouncing.
Screw up the spot and strike out, and I'd never hear the end of it.
"Don't worry. Who am I?"
"Who? Major Yannick, the guy who drags flatland storms everywhere he goes, right? Oh?"
Jamal, answering as if it were obvious, suddenly went wide-eyed.
"You're right. Just my paranoia."
"......?"
"A guy who's brought chaos since birth? No way there's no fight. I worried for nothing."
Starting with Jamal, whispers spread.
"He's been cooped up planning ops for two weeks straight..."
"Ah, perfect. Wonder what mess he'll stir up this time. Just thinking about it gets me pumped."
The same guys who'd been fretting about missing a fight were now grinning ear to ear.
I hadn't hoped for this much confidence.
"...I scouted the prime spot. Just trust me."
Whatever.
"What kind of conversation is this?"
"I've heard Bluecoats are aggressive, but this is beyond imagination."
Captain Gaf and Lieutenant Staretska, who'd overheard, shook their heads.
"You lot really have no idea what this unit's like. Heh."
Otto puffed up, seizing the moment.
"Unit, halt."
And just like that, we reached our destination.
"Here? Really here? It's just open plain?"
Jamal glanced at me nervously.
"This spot's too awkward..."
Captain Gaf muttered under his helmet like it was to himself.
"No cover anywhere for an ambush. Requesting reassignment."
Lieutenant Staretska raised the objection after scouting the terrain.
Whatever.
"This is the prime spot."
I stated firmly.
**
Great that the unit had grown, great that commanders joined to lighten my load.
But a proper chain of command wasn't all convenience for me.
Before, a sharp order was enough.
No need for explanations or persuasion.
"Allies aren't just in this area—they're deployed across nearly the entire front."
Now, it was necessary.
With the unit's size, if commanders didn't fully grasp and execute the plan, mistakes were inevitable.
And on the battlefield, mistakes meant allied deaths.
"As you see, bushes, ridges, valleys—every suitable ambush spot is taken."
I pointed out details on the top-secret tactical map from High Command via the royals.
"We've seized this area, but it's Astoria territory. Astorian forces who've operated here long know exactly where ambushes lurk and where dangers hide."
"Ah."
Captain Gaf gasped the moment I finished.
His uniform and lone helmet looked comical, but I ignored it.
"So it's reverse psychology."
True to the talent I'd spotted, the captain caught on quick.
"The enemy aren't idiots; they'll avoid obvious ambush spots... Brilliant. I get it."
Lieutenant Staretska followed a beat later, quick for a newbie.
"Sure, some fools'll charge straight into the rear blindly, but those idiots aren't our targets."
We hadn't come this far just to snag morons.
I explained rapidly.
Even if we controlled the area, blocking every possible enemy route was impossible from the start.
Sealing this vast border would've needed 100,000 troops.
If they dodged ambushes and looped around endlessly, game over.
"But they can't circle forever. Rumors of their estates being raided lit a fire under them—they won't dawdle."
In short: they'd skirt ambushes but pick the fastest routes possible.
And such routes were few on this wide border.
"This is one."
"But in this exposed spot, the enemy will spot us right away."
Why hadn't allies taken it, right?
"Lieutenant, you forgot."
I smirked at Staretska.
"Who we are."
The unit of Thracia's best riders.
"Bluecoats never let sighted enemies escape."
Everything in our sight was our battlefield.