Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: The Most Ideal Commander (2)
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Whoooosh, boom.
The calamity that poured down from the skies slammed into the Astoria forces' protective magic.
Sizzle.
Residual mana that hadn't fully dissipated rained down as fiery embers, bathing the fortress—which hadn't lit a single campfire—in a crimson glow.
Flames erupted here and there.
Amid the chaos, it was impossible to tell if infiltrators had started the fires or if they were sparked by lingering magic. Screams and shouts echoed wildly.
"Fire!"
In the dead of night, the archers who'd been taking a breather resumed loosing arrows without pause.
Landsknechts charging the Astoria spearmen atop the walls snapped their spear hafts with their signature long bills.
Light infantry exploited the gaps, swinging short swords and shields in a frenzy to butcher the spearmen.
It was a one-sided slaughter, rendering the previous deadlock laughable.
The Astoria troops were clearly exhausted to their limits.
Yet the battle showed no signs of ending anytime soon.
Our main force still hadn't breached the north gate and was hammering away from outside the walls, while the Astorians clung on desperately.
But it was only a matter of time.
Fast or slow, the fortress was doomed to fall.
And once things reached this point, soldiers usually surrendered or fled on their own.
Sure, they called it a last stand or a heroic final charge.
I hadn't expected the mostly conscript Astoria army to resist so tenaciously.
And it wasn't mindless rage-fueled fighting, either—that would be one thing.
Their advances and retreats were dictated by precise tactical judgment.
That meant they were still following someone's orders.
It was miraculous their morale held in this situation—and even more so that their chain of command hadn't collapsed.
"Gotta hand it to them."
At this point, I was dying to see the face of the fortress commander.
What kind of bastard was clinging to command so fiercely? What kind of guy was tormenting us right up to the bitter end?
I wouldn't sleep until I saw that mug.
So I figured it was time to check.
"Clear the gate! Pull back the troops!"
"No way! If we pull out now, all our hard work's for nothing!"
Lieutenant Staretzka snapped sharply.
"We're blocking 'em so tight they can't even think of running!"
Her face was full of resentment.
After fighting tooth and nail to seize ground, handing it over felt like a slap in the face. Totally understandable.
But brute-forcing it wasn't always the answer.
Sometimes, opening an escape route was the best way to break their will.
"What about our guys? Do you know how many died just to take this wall?!"
Her defiance lacked tactical insight, but I didn't blame her.
As a front-line officer who'd watched her men fight up close, it was a natural reaction.
I had no use for anyone who saw soldiers' lives as mere numbers on paper.
"Give 'em an out, and they won't fight to the death!"
"Damn it all!"
Lieutenant Staretzka spat a curse.
Her colorful profanity caught me off guard, and I chuckled despite myself.
Infantry commanders—lagging behind other specialized units in tactics and training—tended to have foul mouths anyway, but hers had real flavor.
Igor would've had a field day with that one.
"Infantry! Withdraw by sections!"
The lieutenant, still cursing up a storm, began pulling her troops back one by one.
With the infantry retreating, I repositioned the archers.
Some stayed atop the walls; the rest took up spots on rooftops overlooking the three paths to the south gate.
The Bluecoats—who'd seen little action in the cramped fortress melee—were pulled outside separately.
Then we waited.
It would take the Astorians a bit to realize they had options beyond dying in place.
And sure enough, the response came soon after.
Some Astorians, milling confusedly in the vacated area after our withdrawal, spotted the empty south side and bolted toward it.
The first step's always the hardest; after that, it's easy.
Rumble.
Astoria troops discarded weapons and fled in droves.
"Everything moving down there is the enemy—fire at will! But pick your shots; no wild spraying!"
"......?"
The archers already perched on rooftops calmly picked off Astorians, ignoring the contradictory orders from some fool.
"The 6th Legion's reserves have finished deploying in front of the south gate!"
A messenger I'd sent ahead arrived, reporting that the 6th Legion had accepted my proposal and peeled off some troops from the north wall to cover the south gate.
"Don't push too hard to finish 'em! Let the stragglers go to the Bluecoats and infantry outside the gate!"
From then on, we leisurely hunted down the routed remnants.
Of course, both the first and second objectives were minimizing our casualties.
Opening an escape route in the first place was to end this grinding attrition war ASAP.
Dawn was breaking.
The archers' fire grew even more efficient.
I dialed back the pressure just enough—like keeping a cornered rat from biting the cat—and kept picking off stragglers.
In short, clearing the space below the walls was a wise call.
The fortress defenders—who'd fought to the last—abruptly abandoned the north side and charged south in force. Their scale and discipline were no joke.
Who'd mistake that orderly formation marching through narrow and wide streets for routed rabble?
If I'd left Lieutenant Staretzka and her infantry in place, we'd have taken horrific losses.
But by emptying the area under the walls, the enemy focused on swift evacuation rather than tangling with rooftop archers.
"Where are you."
That tight formation and iron discipline screamed it: the bastard was in there.
"Where the hell are you."
I squinted, scanning their ranks over and over.
No luck spotting the commander.
Still, my gut didn't waver.
"Gaf! You're in command!"
"W-where are you going?!"
"To the Bluecoats!"
Ignoring the captain's shout from behind, I bolted along the wall.
Thud thud.
I descended the stairs right by the south gate.
Neiiigh.
The Royal Gift Horse was waiting right below, as if he'd known.
With seven or eight steps left to the ground, I vaulted onto his back.
I drew my sword and positioned myself facing the gate.
"Y-you're insane!"
"Major!"
Gaf Captain and Lieutenant Staretzka screamed from atop the wall, watching me.
Step, step, step.
The Astoria vanguard—split into three groups—entered the open square.
They flinched at the sight of me but pressed on upon realizing I was alone.
"Archers! Cover the major!"
The wall-top archers wheeled toward the square as one.
Thundering hooves approached from behind.
No need to look; the Bluecoats were coming.
"Yeehaw! We're here!"
"Trying to hog all the fun solo? Not on our watch!"
"That's our major!"
Ignoring Jamal and the Bluecoats' nonsense from behind, I stepped forward.
Flinch.
The Astorians recoiled awkwardly.
But pressure from the rear forced them stumbling back into the square.
"Archers! Hold fire! Hold!"
"Infantry, get ready! Join the fight the second it starts!"
Our officers' voices rang out in confusion.
"You told us to clear below the walls! Don't force the finish—leave it to our guys outside the gate!"
Lieutenant Staretzka ranted at my sudden stunt.
She had a point.
That said, I had my excuses.
The fortress commander who'd stretched a one-day siege into over two.
His tactical sense and judgment weren't fully mature yet.
But his leadership? The real deal.
Even a battle-hardened vet like me had never seen anyone rally troops like that.
If this guy survived and returned to Astoria? Gained the experience he lacked?
Disaster.
I'd imagined it before.
What if Astoria's command grasped the overall strategy—understood and flawlessly executed the commander's deployments?
Thracia might not even claim a hollow victory.
Thank the stars Astoria lacked such talent.
But here he was.
Meticulous, flawless command. Unreal leadership. The ideal subordinate who could execute any order perfectly.
Right here.
Had to stop him here.
Let everyone else go if needed—but nail this one.
Miss him now, and he'd haunt us forever.
"..."
Two narrow paths and one wide.
Three routes total, but my eyes locked on the rightmost narrow one.
I couldn't explain it myself, but I knew.
Beyond instinct.
He was there.
The world through my visor slits felt suffocating.
Click.
I raised my visor.
"Major!"
Jamal yelled in alarm, stepping in front of me.
"Out of the way."
"Fine, but fix your helmet first!"
"Not saying it twice."
"Major!"
Even Jamal—who usually played along with my antics—rebelled this time, baffled.
But he stepped aside, and I scanned the Astoria ranks with visor up.
Astorians pouring into the square from the three paths. Especially the right group's alert eyes.
Step.
Tense, they thrust spears forward.
Snort.
Irritated by the points aimed at him, the Royal Gift Horse bucked roughly.
"...1st Platoon, follow the major."
"When 1st pulls out, 2nd and 3rd storm the fortress—hit the central and left Astorians."
"No signals. Eyes on the major, no blinking."
The Bluecoats behind buzzed, raring to charge.
Whatever. I kept watching the Astorians.
"..."
One soldier caught my eye.
No rank insignia, just ragged grunt uniform—but I couldn't look away.
The helmeted figure slowly raised his head.
Our eyes met, and I knew.
"Found you."
This was the guy.
Thoughts raced.
Charge now?
On the Royal Gift Horse, I could reach him before they reacted.
With luck, one strike to decapitate.
Then what?
My move would spark the fight.
Bluecoats charging without acceleration distance—dropping like flies. Vivid as a phantom.
Natasha's pinpoint barrage might pin them, but what if they had mages too? Multiple? She'd be exposed.
Even calling in the 6th Legion outside changed little.
They could handle broken rabble, not this unbroken force—without losses.
Futile worries.
Slash, slash.
Sudden swordplay erupted in the Astoria ranks.
In a blink, the attackers downed their comrades and held blades to his throat—like they'd planned it.
-...!
-......!
Astoria accents, varied.
The Astorians—who'd seemed ready to charge—panicked instead.
"This guy's the commander, right? That it?"
Awkward Thracia followed—Numan's voice.
"No wonder I couldn't spot you. Disguised like a grunt. If the major hadn't signaled(?), we'd have missed you to the end."
The defector knight chimed in.
'If the chance comes, seize the enemy commander without hesitation.'
Then I recalled my final order to them.
Clang.
Metal rang out.
The enemy—who'd never lost the will to fight—finally dropped weapons and knelt one by one.
"...W-we won. Gah!"
One soldier cheered prematurely, then clamped his mouth.
"I-it's over. Really over!"
"We took Rencamp!"
"Our army's victorious!"
But others' cheers ignited the rest, roaring triumphantly.
Behind the wall-top soldiers' shouts, the sun hung.
Morning.
The battle, begun under night dew, dragged through two nights and a day before ending at dawn.
While 6th and 8th Legion troops wrestled prisoners into bonds amid chaos, I gathered with the command staff in the fortress hall.
At center knelt Astoria's commander—the one who'd plagued us to the end—hands bound.
"Remove the helmet."
The defector knight, doubling as interpreter, pulled it off.