Chapter 101
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 101
Chapter Title: Decapitation Operation (6)
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"Martin, Hundred-Man Squad Leader! Let's keep pushing forward like this!"
I took in the surroundings upon hearing those words.
The enemy troops in front of me hadn't deployed their 'elites' yet, and the other mercenary bands nearby were locked in fierce stalemates with the foe.
"Damn it! There's no end to them. How are we supposed to break through like this?"
"Shut your trap and thrust your spear!"
"We'll make it if we just kill them one by one!"
In contrast to the other bands, our Hundred-Man Squad had drilled basics honed through formation training, so against the ragtag reserves positioned in the rear...
We were completely overwhelming an enemy force about one-and-a-half times our size.
"Thrust and pull back! Thrust and pull back! Just remember that!"
"Unify your movements, and even a massive formation falls easily!"
"The comrade behind you will cover any enemy you miss!"
I hadn't noticed it while leading from the front, but watching from the rear, the sight of a unit in perfect sync was truly magnificent.
When the front rank thrust at the enemy, the second and third ranks blocked attacks coming from behind them.
Conversely, when the front rank blocked an assault, the soldiers in the second and third ranks stabbed and killed the foes, fighting in seamless mutual support.
The Montmartre bastards watched us in stunned disbelief.
"Those crazy fuckers... what the hell are they? Why are these grunts so damn solid?"
"Individually, the mercenaries don't seem that strong."
"I don't know, shit! Call for reinforcements!"
The situation tempted me to charge ahead, but...
Push too far on momentum alone, and we'd isolate ourselves from the allied lines, ripe for encirclement.
'Not yet. We wait for the right moment.'
"No more advancing from here! Instead, we'll actively support the allied units floundering beside us! First Platoon, flank the enemies fighting the band to our right!"
At my command, First Platoon broke off and struck the enemy at a right-diagonal position.
"Orders from the Hundred-Man Squad Leader—kill them!"
The impact of inserting into a deadlock we'd exploited several times before exceeded even my expectations.
A single assault shook the enemy mercenary band's formation.
"Fuck, the right flank's breached! Hold it!"
The allied band spotted the gap and hammered it relentlessly.
"Push! If we don't kill these bastards here, we're done for!"
The enemy line wavered in moments, and after about twenty minutes, the foe we were aiding raised the white flag.
A signal of heavy losses forcing their retreat.
Belluga Count's other mercenaries under Viscount Belluga's banner let them flee with bitter reluctance, opening a path.
Cheers erupted from the neighboring band toward us.
"Damn, White Beard Mercenary Corps—you've earned my respect!"
"You saved our asses! We'll buy you a round when we get back!"
"We'll repay this debt someday!"
I hadn't received direct praise, but recognition for my men equated to validation of my leadership.
Even a Sword Master couldn't handle over a thousand troops alone...
The pinnacle of a commander's evaluation was forging and wielding a 'strong army.'
Turning recruits into this caliber—and earning such acclaim from peers—meant...
'My name will spread far and wide.'
And with it, the value I could command would skyrocket.
"Hold here and keep pressing forward."
About thirty minutes later, the enemy's movements shifted abruptly.
The middling reserves pulled back entirely, heading toward Estelle Margrave's position.
Toward us marched a new unit that looked like elites.
My men broke into cold sweats, pointing ahead.
"Shit, what the hell are those guys?"
"They're all gleaming—even the rank-and-file in chainmail."
"Look at those perfect steps. That'll be a nightmare."
As I'd predicted, Viscount Belluga had chosen the most efficient way to protect himself.
Makes sense—even I'd struggle under attacks from both sides...
They prioritized repelling our puny two-thousand-strong decapitation force nipping at their heels.
'Smarter than Papenheim, by a mile.'
As I sorted my thoughts, a thunderous voice boomed across the entire formation.
"Our turn! All you sword arms, forward!"
With that, each mercenary band's so-called 'elites' surged ahead.
"Fuck yeah, finally our moment."
"Made us wait while the rookies dropped. This is it, huh?"
"I'll crack those dullards' skulls."
For some reason, Baron Ainz approached me.
"Martin Meyer, your Hundred-Man Squad moves with me, Baron Ainz, from now on."
"Understood, sir."
"I'll scrutinize the skills the Count praises so highly. And I'll show you what the Master's realm truly means—and its power."
Ainz began emanating Aura from his body.
Vast quantities billowed out like dry ice fog at a concert, enveloping him.
An inexplicable pressure weighed the air, heavy as illusion.
"A Sword Master's Aura is this dense. And its might..."
At those words, three knights in solid mithril armor charged from Belluga Count's army.
The mood shifted to a champion duel, leaving me and my squad dazed spectators.
"Die, trash!"
"Even a Sword Master won't easily beat three mid-tier Sword Experts!"
"Long live Belluga Count!"
These knights outclassed me in realm; their charge evoked all-wheel-drive fury—immense power and speed.
'Just colliding with that body would mean severe injury...'
They said the gap widens exponentially past Expert, and here mid-tier Experts—just one step above me—unleashed that devastation?
Yet when Ainz kicked off toward them, a jet-engine roar erupted.
A man running, but the windstorm left in his wake rivaled a high-speed train's passage.
"You whelps think numbers alone beat a Master?!"
His sword elongated subtly.
More precisely, a vivid, intense blue blade of Aura extended his weapon's length.
We call this the Sword Master's hallmark: the Aura Sword. Its power transcends human limits.
'Last time Aura Masters clashed, their blades rang like crashing cars.'
"Die, you brats!"
As the Aura Master swung, a gale whipped up like a tempest.
There, a mid-tier Expert in mithril armor lay bisected. The others barely parried.
The cleaved one died instantly, sans final words; the wind's backlash staggered the rest.
"Sir Lucas!"
"You bastard, Baron Ainz!"
The two mid-tier Experts slashed in unison, but Ainz deflected effortlessly, sneering.
"Pathetic whelps—your blades are feather-light!"
Helmets hid their faces, but panic must've gripped them.
No mid-tier Expert ever imagines their strikes brushed aside so casually...
"My turn!"
Ainz repelled their swords, clashed twenty exchanges, then split one's helmeted skull clean in two.
The last knight lunged in desperation.
"Die! Baron Ainz!"
Ainz swung his Aura Sword at the charge.
The foe cleaved in twain—sword and body alike.
Our lines exploded in cheers.
"Baron Ainz sliced three enemy Experts in seconds!"
"Long live Estelle Margrave! Long live Baron Ainz!"
"Victory's ours now!"
Chills—not fear, but awe—shook me; cold sweat beaded.
Our ally inspired relief, not dread.
Just thrill at the prospect: could I reach that realm and do the same someday...?
Then an enemy mage targeted Baron Ainz with mid-tier magic.
"Fire Spear!"
Mine and countless soldiers' faces twisted.
No Sword Master survives a direct magic hit—or so we thought.
But Ainz gripped his Aura Sword tight, swinging at the blazing spear.
An astonishing sight unfolded.
"......He sliced the spell?"
The fiery lance parted cleanly at the Aura Sword's path, crashing to earth.
He pointed his blade at the enemy lines, then glanced my way.
"Martin Meyer, I expect great things."
I slapped my cheek hard.
"That's my future goal. Right now, break the limits before me."
And I will surpass them.