Chapter 73
Chapter 73
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Becoming the Wave of Iron Armor (6)
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“Major.”
Lieutenant Staretzka, who had been lying prone on the upper slope of the hill peering beyond it, called out to me.
I lowered my stance and crawled to the hill's edge, pressing my chest flat to the ground while waiting with my horse held steady.
“...That's the Astoria army over there.”
The gap between eight thousand and fourteen thousand was far bigger than I'd imagined.
I'd expected it, but laying eyes on that colossal force firsthand left me utterly speechless.
“Are you really going to do this?”
Lieutenant Staretzka asked cautiously.
“We have to.”
There was no backing out now.
“Signal us when you spot the command staff. Then you all pull out immediately.”
I wouldn't need the lieutenant or the rearguard's help in this fight.
Whether the breakthrough succeeded or failed.
We had just one shot at it.
“I wish you luck.”
Not "good fortune in battle," but plain luck—her prayer that we survive and return, win or lose.
“You got it.”
I shot back playfully and slid down the hill.
Then I concealed myself in the thick bushes towering two meters high.
“Easy now. Good boy.”
I kept soothing the royal gift horse to prevent any sudden outbursts.
Just pass by. Don't see us. Keep moving.
I repeated the same silent plea endlessly in my mind.
How much time passed in that tense wait?
“M-Major.”
Lieutenant Staretzka came running.
I couldn't even chide her for abandoning her post on the hill.
“Th-the wizards and command staff...”
There was good reason for it.
I handed the royal gift horse to Jamal and hurried back up the hill.
“...Damn it all.”
Just as she'd said.
The wizard corps and the commander-in-chief's banner were awkwardly spaced apart.
Far enough that we couldn't sweep them both in one go.
I could guess whose handiwork that ambiguous gap was.
Nightheart!
I cursed inwardly.
“What now?”
The lieutenant asked, worry etched in her voice.
“No changes. Signal when the commander-in-chief's banner lines up straight on our charge path.”
With that, I headed back to the royal gift horse.
Pweeeet.
Hiding in the bushes, a faint whistle carried on the wind.
“Everyone, mount up.”
I murmured low, slipping my foot into the stirrup.
“Mount up.”
“Get on.”
“Mount up. Mount up.”
Whispers echoed softly from the bushes.
“Keep your heads down.”
“Hug your horses' necks.”
I waited quietly for every rider to mount.
“Ready.”
“Ready.”
“All ready.”
The echoes rippled backward from the rear.
Soon after, a racket erupted from the bushes on the opposite side of our ambush.
Too distant to make out clearly, but I knew exactly what it was without hearing.
-Kill the Astorians!
-Attack! Attack!
Something like that, no doubt.
I could sense the Astoria forces stirring beyond the bushes.
“The enemy took the bait! Escort squad deploying toward the decoy!”
At Lieutenant Staretzka's report, I straightened up.
“Heads up!”
My constricted view burst open.
The Astoria army lay ahead in the distance.
About two hundred meters from the escorts.
“Suicide squad.”
I lowered my visor and gripped my lance firm.
“Charge!”
At that instant, the suicide squad—waiting only for the order—surged forward as one.
“What the hell? What's going on?”
“Dunno. Something on the other side, I guess?”
The soldiers shrugged it off.
“Thracia cavalry, maybe.”
“Nah. They're with the rearguard now. Forgot where we were headed?”
They stayed utterly nonchalant despite the commotion opposite.
Those fearsome Thracia horsemen were at least two days' march away, and even the bold Thracians wouldn't charge straight into fourteen thousand.
“Heard the rumor?”
“What rumor?”
“About the vanguard.”
“Shh. Brass loses it if you mention the vanguard. Watch your mouth.”
“A few vanguard stragglers linking up won't change shit.”
“Tch.”
The pikeman scowled seriously, and his buddy looked sheepish.
“But seriously, you think it's true? Thracians smashed the Winged Hussars and pikes in moments. Crushed 'em flat, word for word.”
But his itchy tongue soon got going again.
“Heard it was like a wave crashing.”
“Wave my ass. People ain't water. If they're waves, we're rocks. Rock. What breaks when waves hit rocks—waves or rocks?”
Pride seeped unmistakably from the pikeman's words.
And rightly so—the longpike men here weren't common fodder.
They were elite troops honed over years by Commander-in-Chief Oscar von Nightheart himself.
A cut above the ragtag conscript pike units.
They'd proven it holding off the Safahi in Kazan.
“Kazan, Thracia, Moltan scum—they're all our chow. Chow.”
“Thracia might be different, though. Those infamous Bluecoats.”
“Bluecoats scared of longpikes? Show up and I'll—”
“Who'd think you're a knight.”
The two soldiers chuckled.
-Thracia troops!
-Thracia ambush!
But faint shouts froze them solid.
“Huh? Real Thracians!”
“Heard it too. Relax, kid. Other side anyway. Won't reach us.”
His buddy's color returned at the pikeman's reassurance.
“Fuckin' hell. If they're coming, come here—why the other way? Karel's boys get all the fun. Ugh, thinking of those bastards bragging later boils my blood already.”
Watching archers and crossbowmen deploy opposite, the pikeman feigned regret.
“Why just yell and not show?”
“Can't you tell? Saw our numbers up close and chickened out.”
“Guess they ran.”
Other pikemen joined the jeers toward the Thracians.
But only briefly.
Thud thud thud thud thud.
The ground trembled beneath their feet.
“Th-they're coming!”
“Other side—why the fuss...”
The pikeman smirked, mid-laugh—then stiffened.
“Th-this is close.”
Thud thud thud thud thud thud!
The vibrations intensified.
“Getting closer!”
He screamed it just as—
Bwooooooo!
A trumpet blared, higher and shriller than Thracia's.
“Phalanx! Phalanx!”
“Battle stations!”
Officers bellowed near-simultaneously.
“Wha—?”
“Move your ass! Phalanx! Wanna die together?”
Snapped back to reality by the pikeman, his buddy hoisted his six-meter pike at an angle.
“Plant those shafts straight! Wider grip! More! More! H-how'd a clown like you end up in our unit?!”
Meanwhile, pikemen crammed shoulder-to-shoulder.
“Still loose!”
“Tighter! Wanna get trampled?!”
“Shoulder to shoulder!”
Officers roared from behind as the men packed into tight space.
“Sorry. I'll do it right.”
Feeling his buddy's body heat through their shoulders eased the fear; his voice sharpened.
“Kid, let's do this right. Half your mouth-flapping in action...”
The pikeman's grinning words faded under the din.
Thud thud thud thud!
Hooves thundered from all directions.
“K-Kazan wasn't like this.”
“F-fuck. Something's off. Why so damn loud?”
The shaking earth felt like an earthquake.
“Snap to! Who are we?!”
The pikeman bellowed at his faltering buddy.
“Astoria's strongest!”
“Geriot Pike Brigade!”
The waverers roared back.
Thus steeled, the Astorians waited.
For the Thracia cavalry to emerge.
Eyes fixed on the bush line.
“Here they come!”
“It's them!”
And at last, they appeared.
“We're Astoria's strongest!”
Pikemen bellowed the chant.
A spell to summon courage.
“Geriot Pike Brigade!”
But this time, it fell flat.
Chant after chant, the fear lingered.
Thud thud thud thud thud thud!
Unlike the clownish Kazan riders in absurd armor.
The Thracia heavy cavalry looked like knights.
Blue cloaks streaming, charging dead-straight—twice the menace of Kazan horsemen.
-Fire!
A sharp command pierced from afar.
Pew pew pew pew pew!
Followed by whistling bolts.
Shwaaaaa!
Arrows blackened the sky in a downpour.
“Archers!”
“Kill 'em all!”
The creeping dread vanished like a lie.
But courage was fleeting.
Thud thud thud thud.
Thracia's heavy cavalry took the brutal volley without slowing a step.
“Why don't they fall?!”
“Idiot! Look at the armor! Think it'll pierce? Where the hell are the crossbowmen?!”
The pikeman snarled.
He knew the truth.
Crossbowmen had deployed opposite long ago.
Stopping these Thracia riders fell to him and his mates.
Clatter.
Arrows snapped and ricocheted off rider plates.
“Grip tight! Chant!”
“We're Astoria's strongest!”
Pikemen ground their teeth, chanting.
“Geriot Pike Brigade!”
Archers loosed a third volley.
Thracia heavies showed no sign of slackening.
Not one fewer in number.
“Astoria's strong—strong...”
Chants quavered faintly.
“G-Geriot Pike...”
Swallowed by earth-shaking hooves.
Thracia cavalry closed in.
Seconds from impact.
Yet to pikemen, those seconds stretched eternal.
Thud.
The lead white horse slammed the ground.
Whoosh.
Gravel sprayed; dust billowed.
Clank, clank.
Lances clinked against underarm guards.
Riders behind echoed half a beat late.
'Wave...'
Now the vanguard survivors' words made sense.
Piss-stink rose.
He'd soiled himself.
Not just one.
Everywhere reeked of it.
Surge, surge.
The Thracia heavy on pristine white lowered into charge posture.
From the long visor slit, icy blue gleamed.
So chilling, you questioned if humans lurked inside.
Clunk.
One slanted pike shaft tilted.
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
One became two, two four.
Clatter.
Dozens of cherished pikes dipped heads in succession.
They rolled pitifully on the dirt.
“H-heeeeek!”
Pikemen wailed grotesquely, fleeing in droves.
Ranks had collapsed ages ago.
“F-fuck. Shoulda gone with Karel's lot.”
A pikeman sighed, realizing too late.
Crash.
The white horse smashed him.
Crunch.
Something sturdy snapped.
Thud thud thud thud thud!
But hooves drowned it.
Swallowing death rattles, panicked screams, desperate pleas.
Thud thud thud thud thud!
Hooves thundered on.
Dozens of seconds into full combat.
Oscar von Nightheart's prized elites, the Geriot Pike Brigade, shattered.
The command staff's flank guard—first defensive line—breached.
Thracia suicide squad: full gallop maintained.
The ironclad wave engulfed the second line.
Red blood and shrill screams frothed like foam.