Life Is a Matter of Luck and Timing
Levon Plateau outskirts. Asena River. A single file of troops marched along the path carved into the ridgeline and riverbank.
Thud-thud-thud—navy-blue uniforms. Limbs stepping forward without a millimeter's deviation. Formations that didn't waver an inch. Even at a glance, their iron discipline was palpable. They were the Griffin Empire's 36th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Battalion—the spearhead tasked with the main assault on Levon Plateau, an elite force handpicked for this operation.
There wasn't a trace of levity in their advance toward the objective. But unlike the soldiers moving in perfect, restrained formation, their commander was venting his fury without restraint.
"Goddamn it! Goddamn it! Where the hell is that messenger, and what the fuck is he doing?!"
Yes, Colonel Nerd. He was in a foul mood. Things weren't going according to plan.
"Sorry, sir. The terrain isn't favorable..."
"I don't want to hear it!"
One might think from this that Nerd was a control freak who flew off the handle whenever things deviated from expectations. But that assessment would be wrong. In truth, he was calm and adaptable. His superiors' evaluations and his subordinates' testimonies consistently praised his flexibility and judgment.
So why was a man of such reputation raging over a tardy messenger? Truth be told, that alone wouldn't have enraged him this much. The real issue stemmed from the 1st Battalion, ordered to assault the high ground head-on.
A short while earlier. As Colonel Nerd prepared for the assault, a messenger from the 1st Battalion arrived. The man began reporting the battalion's status in detail, and the content went like this:
"The 1st Battalion judges that clarifying the enemy's troop numbers and dispositions is essential to solidifying the operation's success. We will commence reconnaissance and activities to achieve the aforementioned objectives."
His seasoned insight cut through the messenger's flowery words about "reconnaissance" and such, instantly grasping what the 1st Battalion commander was after.
This bastard's trying to hog the glory with a solo run?
And it wasn't even a request for permission—just a notification. Nerd wanted nothing more than to clap the fool in irons and drag him before a court-martial. But he couldn't jeopardize the entire operation over one goddamn idiot (and this alone hinted at Colonel Nerd's superhuman patience).
In a multi-axis advance, timing was everything. Especially when the core was coordinated pressure on the objective—once one unit launched the assault, retreat was off the table. Hesitation could spell disaster.
He had to move before it was too late. Grind—
Since it was his own operation, Nerd reached a decision faster than anyone—and irritation followed just as swiftly.
A reckless colt, no different from a wild horse.
Thinking back, the man had never sat right with him from the start. This fiasco proved he couldn't be trusted with anything critical, so Nerd could just cast him aside without hesitation... but not now.
"Assemble the entire battalion!"
The dice had been thrown. Whether it landed on 1 or 6, they had to press forward. Even if he hadn't thrown them himself.
And so, the 3rd Battalion found itself shoved into the march.
"Colonel, sir. Still, it should be fine, right?"
The 3rd Battalion commander, who also served as on-site staff under Nerd's dual command of the regiment, knew buttering up the boss was part of the job. Seeing Nerd's stone-cold face, he pressed on.
"......"
With his superior still silent, he elaborated on his point.
"They're just stragglers, after all. Even if the 1st Battalion jumped the gun without caution, the basic force disparity is overwhelming. I don't think anything you're worried about will happen."
"...Yes, you're right."
It was sound logic. Nerd knew it in his head, but the situation grated on him anyway.
I need to keep my cool.
Thanks to the 3rd commander's desperate efforts, Nerd reined in his anger—but some fury lingered.
"Still, that report's late."
His gripe about the messenger's delay was no empty complaint. Even in this mobility-restricted mountainous terrain, untimely reports were fatal. Especially in this op, where fluid intel exchange decided victory or defeat.
"We'll correct it, sir."
"I'm not blaming you."
But there was nothing to be done about it now, so Nerd decided to let it slide.
And so, as Nerd mulled improvements to messenger protocols in his mind...
A panting runner came sprinting from the 1st Battalion's direction.
"R-report!"
Ominously, the man's face was ashen pale. Everyone tensed at the sight, awaiting his words.
"Our 1st Battalion... has been completely annihilated..."
"What—?!"
The revelation stunned them all.
...What the hell did that mean? Words defying common sense spilled from the messenger's mouth.
Annihilated? By whom? Nerd tried to stay calm and piece it together, but the shock only grew with each detail.
So... right now...
They'd launched a rogue assault, not just failed to claim glory, but gotten crushed? It had to be a bad joke. How long had passed since the first cannon shot? Unless they'd all gone mad and shoved musket barrels in their mouths to pull the trigger, it made no sense.
"Ha... hahaha..."
Nerd stopped in his tracks, letting out a hollow laugh without realizing it.
"What the hell does that mean?! A whole battalion doesn't just vanish like that!!"
The 3rd commander followed up.
"......It was a perfect counterattack. Our troops couldn't respond at all to the assault pouring in from every direction—they just fell one after another."
"This... what..."
Listening to this surreal tale, Nerd's mind cooled rapidly. A chill ran down his spine.
...If our forces were defeated that thoroughly, no one's left to pin down the enemy. The hammer without its anvil is fully exposed to resistance. And this spot was extremely vulnerable to ambush. He'd tolerated the 1st's solo act precisely because defeat seemed impossible—but now...
Gulp—
Nerd was a competent commander. His racing mind spat out the grim conclusion.
Retreat.
"We... we have to retreat!"
Right now.
"Colonel? I must have misheard."
"Turn the troops around immediately!!"
Nerd shouted urgently. But his subordinates stared back in confusion, so he spelled it out.
"If the frontal unit's gone, where do you think the enemy is?! Coming for us, of course!!"
"R-right..."
"We're marching straight into the lion's jaws!!"
Only then did realization dawn, draining the color from the officers' faces.
"If you get it, stop gawking and turn the fucking unit around!!"
It was a bit of an exaggeration... but Nerd's judgment was spot-on in the end.
The problem? He was just unlucky. His subordinates too. And the timing.
BOOM—!!!
"Am... ambush!!"
"Everyone, scatter!"
Ratta-tat-tat—BANG!
Musket fire erupted. Bullets rained down like hail from the ravine walls.
There were no proper cover or space to deploy. The Empire's sons fell like chaff without resistance.
Another massive cannon roar echoed, and ragged-looking foes—whatever the hell they'd eaten—charged like maddened bulls.
Soften with artillery, finish with assault. Textbook, but flawlessly executed. Impressive, even from the enemy.
But it made no sense. Philippe was dead—how could they pull off such precision?
Nerd was dying to know. Facing it all, he could only scream.
"Who... who the hell are you?!"
No one answered. Only the screams of the dying tore the air.
"Gahk—"
"Gaaahhh—!!"
The nightmare unfolding before his eyes was pure horror.