Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Hammer and Anvil (8)
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"Lieutenant Laura, tell me when the most people die in war."
"I learned at the academy that casualties are highest when pursuing a retreating enemy."
"That's right. People who don't know much about war think most deaths happen in fierce battles where enemies and allies are tangled up, stabbing with spears, slashing with swords, and exchanging arrows and magic. But in reality, most die when one side's victory is decided, and the triumphant soldiers chase down the routed ones."
The reason is that in actual combat, when enemies and allies clash fiercely, both sides fight with the will and ability to resist each other.
It's not like in novels, where soldiers drop like harvested barley or wheat.
But once defeat is clear and retreat begins, the chain of command collapses completely. Units can't coordinate or fight together anymore.
The defeated soldiers scatter in pieces, desperate just to survive, losing all will to fight. They can't resist at all.
Their combat effectiveness, normally around ten, plummets to half at best or less due to plummeting morale and survival instincts.
Meanwhile, the victorious pursuers move and fight as an organized force, giving them several times the advantage.
Proving that theory, our nearby allied units were toying with the enemy completely.
Checovian soldiers fleeing alone or in squads of eight, desperately trying to survive, faced our cavalry or infantry closing in.
Outnumbered and psychologically cornered, they couldn't even grip their spears properly and just got cut down.
"You Reich Empire bastards! I surrender! Spare me!"
"Do you kill even those who say they surrender?"
"You murderers!"
So even if they shouted like that, unless they dropped their weapons and hit the dirt immediately...
"Don't worry, you Checovian trash—death will be a relief!"
"What did you expect, messing with us?"
"Come on, stick your necks out and wait. Since you're dying anyway, let's make it quick and clean."
The Reich Empire soldiers swept through the Checovians like farmers harvesting wheat and barley with sickles.
Bodies of slain Checovians littered the ground, their blood staining the earth red.
A horrific sight that would be hard to watch with open eyes in normal times, but to us on the battlefield seeking merit, it was utterly beautiful.
If we didn't keep our heads straight, we'd lose track of time harvesting the merit piles right in front of us and miss the real prizes.
"Jaeger Battalion Pursuit Force, attention! Ignore the small fry in front of you! We've already conquered the enemy headquarters first and seized their flag!"
I said that and paused, but no one in the pursuit force, Laura included, responded.
Normally, I'd be annoyed that no one answered the battalion commander, but right now, I totally got it.
Who wouldn't be pissed when just a stretch away were Checovian soldiers ripe for promotion and rewards, and the commander tells them to let it go?
But I had my reasons.
"If we waste time and energy on these ragtag losers who can't even wear proper armor, won't we disgrace ourselves as Reich Empire soldiers by missing the high-ranking enemies or knights up ahead?"
In pursuits like this, killing one knight or officer counts for more than ten soldiers.
Physically, slaughtering ten grunts is way harder than nabbing one bigwig.
"Yes, sir!"
"The commander's right—if we're risking our lives this far, we go for the big ones!"
"Time to change our fates—charge!"
With that, I glanced once more at the scattered Checovians around us.
Setting aside the torn and dirtied clothes from rolling in the battlefield, their outfits weren't even decent silk.
They were patched together rags, half like old cloths or dishrags.
These were the lowest-priority Checovians—wasting time on them would be a real loss.
"So in this pursuit, your battalion commander will personally kill at least a two-star at minimum. You all grab at least one knight's head. Nobles with houses can boast for generations. Soldiers, don't miss this chance to change your stars! Everyone, pick up the pace! Full speed!"
With that, I pressed my body tight to my horse and spurred it three times, galloping at max speed toward Bisochia Castle.
Horses tire fast like this, but to catch the ones who fled headquarters for the distant castle...
We had to cover ground as fast as possible.
After speeding about three kilometers, sharp-eyed Reich cavalry came into view.
"Commander, look left! Guys in armor with cloaks—real big shots stand out even on the battlefield like idiots. We can't miss that!"
I turned left and sure enough, saw a man in armor with a red silk cloak fleeing hard.
In normal times, anyone that flashy on the field is 99.9% a high commander.
But with the commander-in-chief and top generals ditching HQ, would any smart person flee so conspicuously?
I bet not—I'd stake my wrist on it.
"That's a decoy for the commander-in-chief or top generals! Ignore it! A bit farther, you'll see more in similar armor fleeing. Those are the real ones!"
The guy who tipped me off looked unconvinced but resigned.
"Understood..."
A little farther on horseback, knights in clean, unsoiled plate armor appeared ahead.
They wore nothing fancy beyond the plate, so they looked like ordinary knights fleeing at a glance.
But I was certain.
"Battalion, attention! I don't know who those bastards are, but the ones ahead are expensive catches! Why else leave decoys?"
My shout got the trailing soldiers roaring back.
"Catch 'em!"
"Let's kill!"
"They ran damn far! You're dying anyway—why so far? Stop, you filthy bastards!"
My men might not be fully convinced they were VIPs, but they'd figure it out.
In this situation, the ones fleeing first are the high ranks.
"Dennis, forget assault formation—grab lances and skewer them! Stop them moving! Everyone, full gallop! Don't let one escape!"
Dennis's knight company broke formation with expert skill, charging with lances at 40-45 km/h.
Too fast for the usual dense wall-like charge.
"Damn Reich bastards! We threw bait—why not bite!"
"You trash! If the commander-in-chief got nabbed, I need to reach the castle too!"
"Filthy curs! Spur harder! Run!!"
The enemy panicked plenty. The lance charge shattered their group of about forty, halting them.
They yelled something, but screw that—deal with the prizes first.
"Soldiers, attack at will! Beat them before they recover!"
I knew from experience: to maximize escape chances, the top guy leads.
I spurred again, drawing my sword from my belt as I closed fast.
Five meters, four. Guessing the gap, I thrust into the helm-armor seam.
Felt like stabbing meat with a kitchen knife—the taste of killing. He tumbled off, rolling far from momentum.
Nearby Checovian knights shouted.
"Lieutenant General Nicholas!"
"Deputy commander! Deputy commander!"
"Shit, we're done for!"
...That idiot commander-in-chief probably slipped away early while we breached HQ. So we didn't get him ourselves.
But our pursuit caught the fleeing command group, and I personally killed a three-star deputy commander.
That's my max achievement. Now, let the pursuit boys rack up merit.
"Pursuit force, capture or kill the ones right in front now!"