Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Medals Rain Down (1)
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Igor stayed at the fortress for two days before vanishing just as suddenly.
In that short time, the Suicide Squad had gained countless followers.
It made sense. Most soldiers served for decades without ever laying eyes on the king, only to retire without the privilege.
"My God. His Majesty praised us in person!"
"To see His Majesty up close like this... I'm glad I stayed alive."
And this elusive king had come all the way to this remote borderland, offering praise, clapping shoulders, shaking hands. He even invited them to the capital for a medal ceremony.
Even these northern troops—rebellious and distrustful of the central command—couldn't help but feel their loyalty surging.
"Long live the royals!"
"Long live Trakieri!"
Hearing the praises for Igor pouring in from all sides irked me for no good reason.
He hadn't rushed me even up to the moment we left Killigrad.
'Remember, no matter when you hold your triumph, your return date is set.'
He'd merely reminded me that dragging my feet would only hurt me.
Thinking ahead, this was likely my last real vacation.
"Pisses me off."
I knew I'd brought it on myself, but that didn't stop the bitterness from twisting in my gut.
My one consolation was that Igor would have to wrack his brains to fulfill my demands.
Anyway.
"Mount up, everyone!"
I climbed onto my horse with the Suicide Squad, heading for the capital.
"Heh. Finally on our way."
Lieutenant Colonel Sanov's face looked relieved, like he'd just cleared a decade-old grudge. No wonder—he'd been stuck supporting this massive cavalry force.
Watching him stirred a pang of conscience.
"Sorry."
"No need for apologies. You're embarrassing me. This is my job."
"Still sorry."
"Enough already. Just get going."
What a fool.
Who knew what lay ahead.
"See you when we get back."
I left the fortress behind, waving to the lieutenant colonel who grinned and waved broadly.
Anyway, my apologies to everyone.
The journey to the capital was more than comfortable—it was downright leisurely.
Credit to Lieutenant Colonel Sanov, the 8th Legion's quartermaster, who'd meticulously planned the route. With no worries about supplies, we took our time soaking in the scenery.
Last year around this time, security had been abysmal. Now, everything looked abundant and peaceful.
Whoooosh.
A few farmers, busy with late harvesting, waved at us. Village kids cheered and trailed behind us excitedly.
Some Bluecoats handed out rations and snacks—courtesy of our thoughtful Lieutenant Colonel Sanov—and the kids squealed with delight.
"Johanna, what do you think of Thracia's farmlands?"
Johanna von Bauer, riding at the front with me, looked dazed.
Maybe the stark contrast to barren Astoria had shocked her.
"...Are they orphans?"
No.
"If not, why aren't their parents warning them?"
Her eyes stayed fixed not on the land, but the people.
"Why is no one afraid?"
She stared at the kids circling the Bluecoats, laughing hysterically, her face clouded with confusion at the inexplicable joy.
"Because we're the Thracia army."
"If you're about to say something trite like 'no reason to fear your own nation's troops'..."
She scowled instantly at my words.
"Don't put words in my mouth."
I shrugged nonchalantly.
"We are the Thracia army. Not some house troops from this or that noble family or territory."
"I don't follow."
"We're the central army. Northern Army under the northern command, technically, but standing army under central oversight."
In short, professional soldiers who'd enlisted voluntarily, not conscripts.
"...?"
She still didn't grasp the difference.
"Pay's modest but regular, gear's all state-issued. Sure, brass sometimes skimps on chow, but while we're in uniform, we never starve."
Military life everywhere barely covered basics—nothing lavish.
But it wasn't so dire we'd need to loot to survive.
"Conscripts dragged from their farms? Yeah, they'd worry post-war. No job to return to, they'd be desperate."
Lords usually turned a blind eye to looting. Why stop men from grabbing their share when they weren't footing the bill?
Some nobles even encouraged it for morale. Most didn't care as long as it wasn't their lands.
"Astoria's a federation of lords in name only, right? King's just the strongest lord. Outsiders feel like foreigners. Thracia's different."
Equal inheritance laws and policies had eroded old domain lines long ago.
Hated to admit it, but the Trakieri dynasty had unified the kingdom.
"To them, we're not some noble's private army. We're Thracia's army."
For the record, Thracia's military code was strict.
Higher-ups got leeway, but the rules were ironclad—especially against civilian crimes, starting with dishonorable discharge and dragging everyone involved from bottom to top.
No one dared. Especially not these Bluecoats and lancers, pride incarnate from the north's finest.
"Picture this: Astoria's elite knights arrive. Astorians gonna loot?"
"........."
Ah, she got it.
Wonder what horrors those Astorian knights inflicted.
"Ugh! Think of it this way!"
They'd charge if we stole their horses, but we had no reason to touch them.
"Hm."
She still looked lost.
Made sense. Born and bred differently, this land was alien to her.
"Better adapt quick. Pull Astoria stunts here, and it's the chop. Got it?"
Time would sort it.
The capital loomed in the distance.
"Anyone not ready?"
I halted the unit for a final check.
Thud.
Bluecoats and light cavalry thumped their breastplates in unison.
Armor and lance tips gleamed, polished since dawn.
"Good."
I grinned, satisfied.
"Raise the banners."
"Banners high!"
The four-winged royal flag of Thracia soared aloft.
"Advance."
"Unit, forward!"
The Suicide Squad marched in proudly.
"Huh? Whoa!"
"They're here! They're here!"
People who'd waited eagerly poured out beyond the gates, buzzing excitedly.
"Real Bluecoats!"
"Look at that majestic sight!"
Citizens cheered wildly, faces ecstatic.
No need to look back—I knew the Bluecoats were chests out, chins high, strutting.
"Northern lancers!"
"Waaaaaaah! Lancers! Lancers!"
Light cavalry got the same frenzy.
The roar was deafening—but nothing compared to the thunder aimed at me alone.
-WAAAAAIGH!
The capital's walls shook; even the Suicide Squad hesitated.
Ahem.
I fought down my rising smirk, forcing a stern face.
"Major Yannick! Over here! Ahh! He looked at me...!"
"Please! Just one glimpse! Kyaaah! I'm in heaven! I could die happy now...!"
Women fainted at eye contact.
Dozens. It got scary.
After a bearded man bellowed my name hoarsely, locked eyes, and collapsed, I stared straight ahead through the main avenue.
A massive gate divided outer and inner walls.
Click.
The Suicide Squad halted without orders. Expected—a regiment-sized force, fully armed cavalry and mounted infantry totaling around nine hundred.
Too much for the inner citadel where the king resided. Parade permit ended at the outer walls.
Rumble.
The inner gate groaned open fully.
Redcoats waited beneath.
Normally, royalty or dignitaries would emerge here.
But no one appeared, despite the wait.
"Huh? Why's no one coming out?"
"What's going on?"
The crowd murmured, cheers fading.
Past triumphs ended with victors saluted by inner figures.
Not this time.
Swish.
Redcoats glaring daggers parted left and right.
Click.
They raised ornate lances—lavish beyond belief for mere guards.
"Unit, forward."
"Major, this is the inner citadel."
"I know."
"...You're really going in?"
I spurred my royal gift horse ahead without answering.
"Unit, advance!"
"Maintain formation! Lances down!"
Ramir and the Bluecoats grumbled but fell in behind.
Tremble.
Redcoats held rigid postures, faces twitching to avoid our gaze. Furious at our intrusion—unprecedented for any cavalry but them.
I passed slowly, deliberately, memorizing every twisted face.
Hahaha. Feels amazing! Long live Igor!
An eternity for them, a flash for us.
Click.
We halted in the inner citadel's depths, before the palace plaza.
"Visors up!"
"Visors fully open!"
I looked up.
The ornate palace of the Trakieris, balcony facing the plaza.
Igor stood there.
Satisfied now?
His eyes asked.
"For Thracia."
I thumped my breastplate with my lance hand.
-For Thracia!
Suicide Squad cavalry and rear infantry roared.
"Thracia's lances! Thracia's shields!"
Igor responded.
"Suicide Squad! Saviors of the nation!"
His booming voice echoed across the plaza.
"You who've won impossible victories from afar—I'll cut to the chase!"
A middle-aged herald stepped forward behind him.
Gulp.
Someone swallowed dryly.
Back in Killigrad, Igor had promised fitting rewards.
This was it.
"To every Suicide Squad member: one horse, one suit of plate armor from the royal workshops, and two years' pay in gold!"
-Woooow...
An eager soul cut off mid-praise for the king's grace.
Not over yet.
"Suicide Squad promoted two ranks each! And per rank and valor: 3rd Class Honorary Medals and 4th Class Military Merit Medals!"
Still not.
In Killigrad, I'd impulsively demanded seven things; he'd accepted all on the spot.
First: honors. Second: money. Third: promotions.
Just three of seven unwrapped.
The real show started now.