Pressure, Compulsion, and One Hell of a Gamble (1)
The Silent Field had been active for some time now.
Tap. Tap.
Oh, so now you’re tapping me to get on my nerves? Sir Grautal, just how low are you willing to sink?
I tried to ignore him and continue my train of thought, but—
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Using magic to shut you out, so now you’re resorting to physical harassment? Fine, bring it on! You middle-aged—
“Hans?”
The person poking me wasn’t Sir Grautal. It was Hans, and he wore an incredibly urgent expression.
His mouth was opening and closing frantically. It seemed he had something important to say, but the Silent Field had kept me from hearing it.
The moment I canceled the spell, Hans’s desperate voice poured out.
“…sir! Can you hear me? Vice Commander!”
“I can hear you now, so speak properly.”
“Ah, finally! Ahem. Urgent news, sir. His Highness the Third Prince has agreed to accept your plan.”
“That’s good to hear. …? Is that the urgent part?”
“No, sir. Vice Commander, the thing we feared has happened.”
Wait, already?
“The provisions at Hartzfeld Castle have been completely exhausted. The report states that the operation can no longer be delayed. It is scheduled to begin at noon tomorrow.”
“…That’s troublesome. How far are we from their position?”
“…At a pure marching pace, it will take half a day.”
Damn it. Twelve hours of forced march left? You expect peasant soldiers loaded down with rations and weapons to walk for half a day and then immediately fight?
And it was already evening. Soon the sun would set.
…Absolutely not.
Even professional soldiers would struggle under these conditions. Marching them nonstop for half a day was already unreasonable. Forcing them straight into combat afterward was pure insanity.
In the end, there was only one option left.
“Hans, gather the mage unit. And the knights as well.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“…We’re going to buy time. A small elite force will charge ahead to create a window for the infantry to arrive.”
We had no choice but to push ourselves to the limit.
Stacking gamble on top of gamble. It felt like I’d heard one shady tip and gone all-in on a shitcoin with my entire life savings.
…Ah, screw it. It’ll work out somehow. Uncle Melon, Doji, lend me your strength! We’re going to Mars, baby!
In the end, we left behind the minimum number of personnel needed to control the peasant soldiers and committed everyone else to the assault.
Nine knights and five mages. A total of fourteen raiders.
…What a pitifully small number.
Clop-clop-clop-clop-clop!
Late at night, the only light came from the moon. The sound of fourteen sets of hooves echoed through the dark forest. No one spoke. They simply rode forward, eyes fixed ahead.
When I glanced at their faces, I saw nothing but grim resolve.
…They had all steeled themselves for death. Of course they were afraid.
As their commander, I was fully aware I was leading them into a slaughter. I also knew I had devised a reckless plan and repeatedly pushed them beyond their limits until we reached this insane operation.
I had reviewed it countless times. There was no other path. We had to win and survive. But watching these men ride toward certain death because of my judgment made doubt gnaw at me like a swarm of shadows.
All because of guilt.
‘…No. Don’t hide behind guilt. This was my choice. Every future sacrifice, every outcome, began with my decision. So face it squarely. Don’t look away. Keep your eyes wide open!’
I hardened my heart and focused solely on riding. Preparing for the enemy we would soon meet.
How many hours had we galloped like that?
Clack!
I gave the prearranged hand signal to halt the raiding party.
Clop-clop-clop! Clack! Clack!
At my command, the entire unit stopped at once. According to the scouts’ reports, the enemy encampment was close enough to appear before us at any moment.
“Final check on all equipment. Confirm the horses’ condition and health.”
At the order, each man began his final inspection.
The knights adjusted the edges of their blades and helmet straps, offering short meditations to sharpen their battle tension. The mages set up the Altar Cannons, checking the spare magic stones, potions, and other consumables.
Ten minutes later.
“Any issues?”
“None, sir.”
The reply came in a deliberately hushed voice.
“Then, everyone prepare.”
There would be no retreat from here on. The only path to survival was to push forward.
“This is war!!!”
“Uwaaaaaaaaah!”
With a thunderous battle cry, the charge of just nine knights began.
Their opening move was a lance charge—the knights’ signature tactic. They drove mana-infused spears straight through the enemy lines.
Formed in a perfect wedge, they charged as if they were a single living creature, flawless and unstoppable.
“Enemy? It’s the enemy! Knights in the rear!”
“Alarm! Enemy attack! Alarm!”
The enemies’ shouts rang out. Perhaps because it was the middle of the night, their response to the surprise assault was embarrassingly sloppy.
They tried to alert the camp by yelling, but it was futile.
Whether the warning annoyed them or their paths simply crossed by chance, I couldn’t say. But a knight’s lance found the shouting soldier’s body.
Crunch! Craaaack—!
The enemy was brutally pulverized. Where the knights had charged, a grotesque red carpet of blood and corpses was strewn about. In a single charge, more than twenty enemy lives were snuffed out.
Yet the charging knights still had strength to spare.
Splat!
They swiftly shook off the corpses and gore stuck to their lances, preparing for another charge by pulling back momentarily.
“What are you fools doing?! You worthless commoners! There are only nine of them! Throw your bodies if you must! Surround them!”
The enemy commander, unable to watch any longer, began shrieking like a madman as he urged his troops. He was likely the noble overseeing this sector as the battlefield supervisor.
He must have jumped straight out of bed—his armor was half-fastened and slipping, and his helmet was nowhere to be seen.
“Fire Javelin!”
Shooo— Boom!
Nice. A clean hit.
It was the fastest and most destructive offensive spell I could use. As a 4-circle spell, it consumed more mana than Fire Ball, but the results far exceeded expectations.
“U-uwaaaaaagh! Save me, save meee! Aaaaaagh!”
“Th-the commander exploded!”
“Save us! Fireballs are flying!”
“Mommy! Hooong-hooong!”
A sudden sniper attack from an unseen location, accompanied by a massive explosion and flames, was the perfect way to shatter the morale of conscripted soldiers.
Since I had taken out the local commander in one shot, the enemy forces in this area would be paralyzed and thrown into chaos for a while.
On top of that, the terror of magic was spreading like a plague. Their commander had just been blown apart before their eyes. Panic-stricken soldiers were easy to spot throughout the enemy camp.
A very positive signal. When a small force attacks a larger one, there is no better opportunity than this kind of confusion.
Fweeee— Bang!
I launched a Fire Ball into the sky like a firework. The sound it made while rising combined with the detonation served as our tactical signal. The moment they heard it, the knights reacted and moved.
The plan was simple.
“Raiding party! Break through the center!”
“Uwaaaaaah!”
We were going to ram straight into the heart of the enemy formation.
Reckless charge, you say? Nonsense. Charging into a large force is normally reckless, but although they had numbers, they were no longer a true “force.”
What is most important for a large group to exert the violence of numbers? Controlled, coordinated movement.
When they form a disciplined battle line and move like a single organism, even the most skilled knight would find it difficult to break through.
But what if that large group has no controlled movement? Then they are nothing more than a school of sardines. Against knights charging with the sharp, ferocious energy of orcas, they are nothing but prey to be devoured in a single bite.
And that wasn’t all.
“Sir Levenstil! Hans! Fire the Altar Cannons! Target the center of both enemy wings!”
“Yes, Sir Levenstil! I’ll take the left! Fire Ball!”
“Fire Ball!”
Shwoooooooo— Boom!
Dozens of Fire Balls hammered the enemy’s left and right flanks in turn. Caught off guard by the sudden night raid, the enemy seemed unable to mount a proper response.
Flames began to rise across their formation.
Fwoooosh!
“Aaaaargh!”
“Fire! It’s fire!”
“Quick, bring water! The camp! The camp’s burning!”
…So far, it was a success. We had created excellent conditions for a small force to dominate a larger one.
‘But the limit is clear.’
People are not machines. They get tired. So do horses. And mana would eventually run dry.
‘Can the Weistenfel forces link up with us before then?’
It was the middle of the night. We had no precise portable clocks. In this damned medieval fantasy world, there was no such thing as a chronometer. I could only guess by looking at the moon. It was probably well past midnight by now.
‘Even if the Weistenfel army marches at full speed, it will likely take until morning before they can arrive ready for proper combat.’
That was my most optimistic estimate. At the very least, we had to hold for six hours.
“We’ll just have to do it! Fire Ball!”
Shooo— Boom!
Six hours? I would hold no matter what. After all, the lives of two thousand five hundred men now rested on my shoulders. If I fell here, it wouldn’t end with just me.
If it were only me, I’d die frustrated and that would be the end. But if I fell here, everyone would be annihilated.
There was no way the Second Prince would spare those who had openly rebelled against him. If he could uproot us completely and exterminate us like weeds, he would slaughter every last relative.
Someone might ask—if I win here, won’t five thousand die instead?
…That is not a decision I get to make. They say the First Prince is merciful, so I can only place my hopes in that.
Anyway, for the next six hours, until the very brink of death, I would struggle with every ounce of strength I had.
“Fire Ball!”