Chapter 55
Chapter 55
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: A Barking Dog Doesn't Bite (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Only about a quarter of the 1,200 Astoria troops had survived to surrender.
They'd barely fought for three hours.
In that short time, nine hundred casualties.
Honestly, from what I'd seen, more of them had died from panic-induced flight—trampled or injured by their own side—than from our troops.
Whatever the case, it was a great victory.
Despite earning such tremendous merit, the Bluecoats were plunged into profound gloom.
"We have to bury them. If we leave them like this, wild beasts will eat them all. We can't let that happen."
"...At least half of the injured ones won't be able to run again."
Their faces, gazing at the fallen warhorses scattered across the battlefield, were filled with grief.
It was only natural.
To cavalrymen, horses weren't mere mounts.
They were trusted comrades—partners, even.
The sense of loss from losing their warhorses was never light for the Bluecoats.
But displaying that gloom so openly was unusual.
Think about it.
In a battlefield where dozens, hundreds of men died, how would it look to wail as if you'd lost everything over a horse?
The Bluecoats might act like idiots after dismounting, but they weren't so oblivious.
That's why it was their way of mourning: treating those who'd lost their horses as if they'd died in battle, forcing them to march on foot, and the riders accepting that unreasonable custom without complaint.
That was usually how it went, but things were different this time.
The horses sacrificed today didn't even have owners to mourn them in that peculiar way.
Even if they weren't their own beloved steeds, it would be stranger if their expressions stayed bright after seeing so many horses die.
I didn't feel great either.
I'd never been particularly attached to warhorses.
Considering how Bluecoats typically deducted part of their pay to cover the cost of issued mounts, I was quite unusual.
Why bear that burden yourself when the army handled all the management and upkeep if you just left it alone? I couldn't understand it.
That is, until I got the royal gift horse.
Given the circumstances, I couldn't refuse the Bluecoats' request to bury the sacrificed warhorses.
I had the prisoners dig a massive pit right there and bury them one by one.
Colonel Kalashnikov and the survivors of the 6th Legion's detachment didn't look at us strangely.
They were busy collecting their comrades' bodies.
The 6th Legion's infantry did their work, and we did ours. We ushered in the night without even a victory cheer.
Late that night, we gathered for post-battle cleanup.
"Thank you."
Colonel Kalashnikov bowed deeply without preamble.
I was startled and tried to stop him, but he wouldn't budge.
"The camaraderie you and the Bluecoats showed today... I'll never forget it, even in death."
He vowed to repay the debt many times over, his voice and demeanor dripping with sincerity.
What was so special about this that warranted such gratitude?
We had our own debt to the infantry.
We were the hammer, they the anvil.
Without their sacrifice, our battlefield feats wouldn't exist.
"How on earth did you pull it off? I heard later you tied ropes with metal scraps between the horses."
The awkward thanks finally ended, and the colonel asked about the details.
"Honestly, I didn't expect it to be this effective."
Disrupting the enemy's formation would have been thanks enough.
Using the reserve horses was primarily for defense, not offense.
Unlike us, with only Natasha as our magic power, the Astoria forces were the ones trading magic barrages with the 6th Legion over the walls not long ago.
We had to prepare for if their mages proved stronger than expected and still had reserves.
"So, it was a desperate measure to throw off the mages' bombing accuracy?"
"Yes. As you know, mages' bombardment spells don't hit well without line of sight."
Luck was on our side in the most absurd way.
The plain was drier than expected, kicking up far more dust than anticipated.
The sudden gusts, the pikemen's lines crumbling in preemptive panic at the dust— all beyond my predictions.
Though, truthfully, pikemen holding formation upon seeing us had been rarer anyway.
Horses were far larger beasts than people realized.
From hoof to shoulder, they matched an adult's eye level, with heads much higher.
The unfamiliar often forgot they were herbivores.
Even with common rounceys or noble palfreys, but warhorses? Forget it.
Warhorses were an entirely different breed from ordinary mounts.
Unlike timid, sensitive riding horses, they were bold and aggressive, needing no docility, so left ungelded and massively muscled.
Among them, Thracia's warhorses were unparalleled.
Large horses usually had weak ankles. No matter the strength or stamina, weak ankles disqualified them as warhorses.
Warhorses constantly turned sharply; weak ankles meant wide turn radii—a fatal flaw for cavalry.
Occasionally, there were destriers: huge yet perfectly suited, costing ten times more and rarer than standard warhorses.
So precious their riders used other mounts daily, switching only before charges.
Thus, typical warhorses were moderately sized, ungelded course mares.
Yet Thracia somehow produced even ordinary(?) Bluecoat mounts with destrier blood.
That savage Thracia warhorse lineage accounted for much of the Bluecoats' fame.
So while we dreaded pikemen phalanxes, they feared us even more.
Imperial Landsknechts like Numan's or kingdom Reisläufern mercenaries scraping by selling themselves might differ.
But conscripts with weeks of off-season training— even today's relatively disciplined ones— couldn't easily withstand a full-charge heavy cavalry assault.
"Intended or not, does it matter? We won thanks to it."
"Can't use it twice."
"...Yeah, those precious beasts died in droves."
My comment considered Bluecoat morale; the colonel's was more pragmatic.
"Still, considering the time and cost to train one Bluecoat, it's not a loss."
The colonel nodded repeatedly.
Apparently satisfied, he asked no more.
My turn.
"What the hell is the 6th Legion commander doing?"
My discourtesy made the colonel's face harden.
"...A classic careerist, staking his life on enlightenment and promotion. Solid political instincts and connections too."
He hesitated, then spoke after a pause.
"The kind who belongs at HQ, not the front."
I didn't hide my hostility.
"...Just in case: don't recklessly provoke him. Not an easy mark. He kept his seat while other legion commanders lost theirs in the last war."
Excluding General Langrid, among the fastest risers in the Thracia army, and young too.
"If I had to name who raged most at this, it'd be me. So hold back."
He gnashed his teeth over losing nearly two hundred men to the commander's idiocy.
"If it harmed other legions, fine. But the Astoria force was annihilated here. Blaming him is tricky now."
Still worried, he cautioned me repeatedly.
Of course, normally I'd heed him.
I was just a major; he led a legion.
But not for me.
By nature, I specialized in swallowing injustice, staying silent under unfair treatment—my greatest virtue.
Like advancing in Gaillard by overlooking Lt. Col. Pieta's disgrace, I'd compromised with countless injustices.
This aligned with power-colluders' traits.
I was far from the incorruptible who shunned wielding power.
From now on, I'd gladly be power's dog.
Not fawning or barking like one, though.
But biting? Absolutely.
The thought thrilled me.
"Heh heh heh."
Just imagining it made me laugh.
No wonder people crave power.
"You..."
Lost in power's allure, giggling alone, Colonel Kalashnikov eyed me suspiciously, like a madman.
I ignored him, wings of fantasy unfurling in my mind.
Collecting horses and tending wounded flew by.
Suddenly, two days gone.
Colonel Kalashnikov's side neared completion too.
Time to move. Alone in my tent, poring over maps.
"Major!"
Captain Gaph burst in, panting.
"Y-you have to come out!"
I was getting used to the timid captain's hysterics.
"I'm busy."
I replied indifferently.
"Just for a moment!"
Today, oddly, he persisted where he'd usually retreat.
"What is it."
I scowled, looking up.
Captain Gaph, visor raised, was pale as a ghost.
As if enemies appeared.
"The 6th Legion's here!"
It was real.
"Th-the Legion Commander's standard too!"
That glory-blinded bastard who'd endangered the whole front—what else to call the son of a bitch but enemy?
< 17장 짖는 개는 물지 않는다(1) > End