Chapter 68
Chapter 68
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Becoming the Wave of Iron Armor (1)
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Riding the Royal Gift Horse, I crossed in front of the cavalry lined up in formation.
Nod.
The Bluecoats whose eyes met mine dipped their heads slightly in salute.
Crack.
The light cavalry thrust their breastplates forward and snapped their chins high.
I passed back and forth in front of them several times, inspecting their readiness.
The cavalry formation stretched out in a perfect line, as if they'd rehearsed it a hundred times.
With the Bluecoats at the center, each unit naturally flanked them to the left and right—the closer to the middle, the heavier the armor and the longer the lances.
Ha, these bastards.
A chuckle escaped me.
I could see exactly why they'd lined up so long and wide.
Positions were fixed by each unit's fame and rank, unavoidable as that was, but amid it all burned the will not to fall behind any other unit.
Childish rivalry, through and through.
Perfect.
That made me like it even more.
A cavalryman needed pride like this.
Whish.
I wheeled around and returned to my spot.
I halted before the city gates, facing the cavalry.
Snort.
The Royal Gift Horse whinnied happily.
Some thirteen hundred fifty mounts raised their chins arrogantly, as if they were my subordinates strutting proudly—they looked twice as haughty as usual.
But I felt no urge to blame the Gift Horse.
In others' eyes, I probably looked no different.
Murmur murmur.
The 8th Legion atop the walls buzzed with excitement.
Praise and gasps rose endlessly behind me.
It was only natural.
A rare spectacle like this didn't come around often.
Behold that overwhelming might.
Silver helmets and breastplates gleamed in the sunlight.
Countless well-kept lances pointed skyward, while colorful unit banners fluttered here and there.
No one could look upon that sight without acclaim.
If they did, they'd have to be blind or mute.
I'd stake my name on it.
Even if ten times as many infantry stood here now, they couldn't match that grandeur.
The 8th Legion on the walls fell silent, overwhelmed, their chatter fading bit by bit until it stopped entirely.
"......"
The entire plain went still.
Thirteen hundred fifty cavalry gathered, yet not a breath could be heard.
Only the occasional rough snort from the horses broke the quiet.
All waited for my words.
My lips were parched.
Not from nerves.
Watching them set my blood aflame.
I took a deep breath to calm the fire, but it wouldn't settle.
"Thunder that cries from the horizon! Wave of iron armor!"
In the end, I shouted as if devoured by flames.
Snap.
The cavalry lining left and right turned their heads toward me.
"Do you remember the last war?!"
I bellowed until my throat tore.
"Arrows raining like downpours! Flames battering without end! The forest of sharpened pikes! Have you forgotten the blood our brothers shed before them?!"
"We haven't forgotten for a moment!"
Thirteen hundred fifty voices roared back as one.
Their voices burned as hot as mine.
"Then you know what they said."
The excited Gift Horse pawed the ground roughly again and again.
"Everyone said our era had ended for good, never to return! Is that true?!"
"Absolutely not!"
The cavalry roared with furious faces.
"I stand with you. But words alone prove nothing."
The weight of their iron armor might differ from mine.
But their resolve weighed the same—heavy and unyielding.
"Astoria's 34,000 are marching south. At latest, they'll reach the front in five days. Unfortunately, our forces to counter them are scattered across the line. It'll take at least a fortnight to assemble for battle."
The cavalry, already briefed before arriving, hardened their faces with determination.
"What must we do now?!"
I asked, gazing at those resolute expressions.
"Prove it!"
Prove what?
"Our era hasn't ended! The battlefield is still ours!"
Their answer rang across the plain like a declaration from thirteen hundred fifty riders.
"Prove it with what?!"
"My life's blood and the enemy's screams!"
Bang bang.
The cavalry hammered their breastplates and shields in unison.
Crying out for the enemy's death.
Roooar!
The 8th Legion on the walls erupted in cheers.
I raised my hand.
Silence.
The roaring cavalry shut their mouths, and the soldiers on the walls followed suit as if on cue.
"At latest, four days."
Before them, I made my vow.
"We will reclaim the heart of the battlefield!"
We'd trample everything trying to push us out and stand tall atop it.
The silent cavalry roared again.
The wall soldiers cheered themselves hoarse.
As they fell into frenzy, I signaled Jamal at the front.
"Summon all unit commanders."
About twenty commanders gathered in the temporary tent outside the fortress.
The light cavalry was mostly captain-led companies, while the Bluecoats—having lost most of their company commanders in the last war—were represented by my newly promoted lieutenants.
Among them stood field-grade officers like Major Lenin of the light cavalry, thick with me, but he'd already stepped back a few paces, tacitly affirming my command.
"You've all heard, but the situation's grim."
Time was short, so I cut straight to it.
"Astoria's 34,000. Of them, we'll face the vanguard 9,000—but depending, it could be the main and rear guard's 25,000 all at once."
Delaying the vanguard would inevitably close the distance with the trailing Astorians.
In the worst case, we'd fight them all together.
And Astoria had already tested counters to Thracia's cavalry in the last war, proving them brutally effective.
Mage battalions to shatter cohesion and hamstring mobility.
Infantry with 6-meter pikes and medium infantry with 3-meter halberds out front.
And crossbowmen equipped to pierce thick breastplates and barding.
Each a nightmare alone, now united solely against us.
"No mages to shield from bombardments, no infantry to smash their pike lines, no archers to pin their crossbows."
This wasn't like before.
Every fight meant spilling our blood, losing brothers to carve a path.
By our nature, commanders at the front would suffer heaviest.
So before marching, I'd offer a choice.
"If anyone wants out, speak now."
It wasn't empty kindness.
If we failed, the north would have no cavalry left.
With their mages overwhelming ours, no cavalry meant no chance in maneuvers.
So if someone bailed, I'd entrust the future to them.
Rebuilding northern cavalry would take time—we needed someone to pass on our experience.
"...."
I gave them ample time, but none stepped forward.
"When I donned this blue coat, I already wrote my will."
"Lost all my kids in the last war—what more is there to lose?"
"One life. Use it where it's needed, and that's that."
No bravado.
They'd all embraced death.
"Gotta survive tenaciously, or my wife's threats come true—she says she'll remarry the instant I die."
"Just paid off my horse debts, finally breathing easy. Dying now'd be a waste. So I won't."
Some vowed survival no matter what, but it amounted to the same resolve.
"Good. Your lives are mine for now."
Right there, I reorganized command.
Reforming platoons into companies on the spot, assigning the most experienced to lead.
"Come in."
With the basics sorted, I called in the waiters.
"Our staff and support. Introductions: the helmeted one's Captain Ilya Gaf, beside him Lieutenant Yekaterina Staretska, and the ghostly fellow's Numan."
Gaf, Staretska, Numan.
No surrendered knight.
Not distrust of exiles, but his qualities.
Fit as a spear tip, not the shaft.
Too narrow-sighted, hot-tempered.
He lacked ambition for command anyway.
So instead...
"Johanna von Bauer. She's a defector."
I brought his eldest daughter.
I'd figured using her talents later.
But we needed her command now.
No one here could handle thirteen hundred fifty better.
Thankfully, the cavalry held no grudge against her.
Bluecoats cared little unless it involved horses or fighting; light cavalry hadn't suffered directly, no reason for hate.
"Ah, the poor widow(?)."
"Those barbaric Astorians. A young girl like that."
Some even pitied her—her tale, embellished more tragically by my hand.
"If I fall, Gaf and Johanna take over. Gaf handles strategy and tactics; Johanna controls the men and direct command. Major Lenin, sir? All good?"
"What choice? I'll follow."
"What... are you doing...?"
She, who'd watched silently wondering why she'd been called, finally spoke.
"Don't worry. Even without me, your vengeance will come."
I'd already promised the 8th Legion commander to hand over her "husband."
Letter to Igor sent too—her talents detailed plainly, urging the surrendered knight under her command.
Igor, who'd embraced even me after I ruined his ankle and face, would treat her well.
"Why... this...?"
"Why? Prepping for later."
"So why?"
"Obvious. Cavalry can't stop once charging. Unlike infantry. Hesitate at the tip, and the whole unit dies—not hyperbole for us. Commanders have high casualties too."
So if I fell, we'd settled who'd lead the van and follow after.
Gape gape.
She looked ready with more questions.
But no time for chit-chat.
"Recap: If I die mid-charge, Jamal leads Bluecoats. He falls, next senior Bluecoat. All Bluecoats gone, senior light cavalry—Major Lenin—at the front. Once reformed, follow Gaf and Johanna. Objections?"
The other commanders nodded firmly, eyeing their own successors should they fall.
"Katya, Numan. Lot more cavalry to support now."
"...This is 'a lot'?"
"Don't fret. Battle whittles numbers fast. Makes your job easier."
"......?"
Lieutenant Staretska and Numan blinked wide.
Bluecoat humor—didn't land, huh.
Their blank stares said they'd heard something awful.
No doubt in my wit.
Taste issue.
Look, commanders roaring with laughter.
Coincidentally, laughers were cavalry; stone-faced were infantry.
"Anyway."
I rallied the mood and laid out the plan.
"This cavalry strength gathered. Just tying down the enemy feels wasteful."
If mere harassment, I wouldn't have asked legion commanders for troops.
"So I'll go further: smash their vanguard completely."
Commanders grinned.
Liked the bold plan.
Only Gaf, who'd heard the post-battle phase—the sole briefed commander—clanked his helmet in mixed feelings.
I pressed on regardless.
How to neuter Astoria's anti-cavalry, how to handle 9,000.
"Ooh?"
"Hmm..."
Some gasped in awe, some tilted heads, but all listened to the end.
No objections.
No one knew exactly what this cavalry could do, how to fight.
Too grand for unknown, too much experience for ignorance.
Comfort: we straddled ignorance and unknown; Astoria leaned heavier on ignorance.
"March tomorrow dawn. Twilight, so final checks by evening, then bed. Dismissed."
Unlike the legion commanders' meetings—short and sharp.
"But say."
Major Lenin, silent till now, spoke.
Not suddenly craving command postmortem.
"Regiment-plus cavalry together. Just calling it 'cavalry' feels off, no?"
Ah, that question.
"Right. A proper name would fire us up."
"I, uh, just thought of a good one. Can I?"
They buzzed eagerly.
North's first thousand-plus cavalry united as one.
Blood boiled for any rider.
But.
"Denied."
I shook my head firmly.
"Wanna watch capital bigwigs squirm?"
Infantry naming big formations irked nobles and king already; they wouldn't let massed cavalry—who could blitz border to capital—play private army.
-Isn't he just too lazy to think?
-Major Sanov kept demanding proper names, but he slapped his own on and called it done.
Not laziness, as those impudent whispering Bluecoats claimed.
Besides, we already had a perfect name.
"Suicide squad's fine."
What better fit for thirteen hundred fifty death-sworn riders?