Chapter 116
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 116
Chapter Title: Battle of Soelden Plains (6)
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Hearing that story, I let out a cheer.
"Fuck yeah, that's right. Now that's how it's done! Even those Red Rose bastards have their uses!"
To inflate the scale of our achievements as much as possible, it went without saying that the White Beard Mercenary Corps single-handedly crushing the Black Brothers Mercenary Corps would earn us far higher praise.
'But that's way too simplistic.'
Even in team sports like soccer, where eleven players take the field together, a guy who tries to hog all the glory can't climb to the national team level, no matter how Messi-tier his skills are.
On a battlefield where you have to sync up with anywhere from thousands to tens of thousands of allies, if you want to rise above first-rate and become a mercenary corps everyone acknowledges, you need the ability to make even the trashiest recruits pull their weight.
The Red Rose guys weren't total trash, but they were on the verge of annihilation and retreating...
Making even those guys bounce back and fight on the front lines again?
Even Commander-in-Chief Medici would surely clap in astonishment and praise our White Beard Mercenary Corps upon hearing the news.
"Ha, our reputation in the Medici Republic is about to skyrocket."
Meanwhile, the enemies blocking my path glared at me with gritted teeth, their faces full of fear.
"What the hell's wrong with that crazy bastard?"
I didn't bother answering the lazy prick and just cleaved him down.
As I lopped off the head of the terrified fool, he left this world without a shred of regret.
"Should've watched your mouth before dying, you punk."
Too late for regrets now that his head was gone, but wherever he ended up—hell or heaven—better keep that trap shut.
With that, I decided to crush the morale of the guys fighting our Hundred-Man Squad right now and exploit the gap by shoving some "harsh reality" down their throats.
"The Red Rose Mercenary Corps is coming to chop your heads off!"
At those words, all their eyes locked onto me.
They were probably just stunned to hear some lunatic spilling top-secret intel about an enemy ambush straight from his own mouth.
But there was a good reason I'd announced that the Red Rose crew was coming back.
'Because if those Red Rose bastards counterattack again, there's no way they wouldn't be visible across these wide-open plains. Stealth attack's basically off the table.'
At that moment, the guys in our Hundred-Man Squad who'd overheard me erupted in cheers.
"The Red Rose perverts are coming to help us!"
Guys like Otto, fighting near me, shrugged like we'd already won, buzzing with excitement as they battled on.
"Jealous? Eat shit and die! Reinforcements are on the way!"
Even the veterans in our Hundred-Man Squad, led by Otto, fought with total conviction, shouting that reinforcements were coming...
Our morale blazed up like a bonfire doused in oil.
"Long live Hundred-Man Squad Leader Martin!"
"Not a single Black Brothers bastard gets out alive!"
"These fuckers are all dropping dead one by one today!"
As our side's morale ignited like fire on oil, the enemy ranks visibly crumbled in response.
Some were glancing sideways, wondering if Red Rose reinforcements were really coming, even as we chased them with swords drawn.
"Wha, fuck?"
Those idiots usually got slapped back to reality by their nearby Ten-Man Squad Leaders or fellow mercenaries...
"You fucking lunatic, snap out of it! Don't fall for that cheap trick!"
Or else one of our Hundred-Man Squad blades took their head clean off.
"Nice one, Baker bro. Thanks for padding your promotion to Ten-Man Squad Leader."
Reinforcements we could've used later anyway, but milking them before they even arrived...
Even I had to admit it was a damn good idea.
"Die!"
"You're the one dying."
I whipped my Aura-infused sword hard toward the voice.
The enemy's head went flying where the blade passed.
'Dumbasses like this popping up means their morale's hit rock bottom.'
This is sex, motherfuckers.
With their morale in the gutter like that, the enemy brass had their standard-bearers waving flags.
Trumpets blared alongside a massive bellow laced with Aura.
"You retarded shits! Rally to your Squad Leaders! Reform the phalanx!"
Hearing that, I grinned so wide under my helmet it nearly split my ears.
When your troops are cornered like this, reforming the formation like those morons was straight out of the textbook—a solid move.
Makes sense, too: pit a scattered, ragged mob of a hundred against a reformed hundred with solid defenses...
Obviously, the reformed unit's way tougher and trickier to crack.
'Problem is, reforming means they scatter completely while grouping up.'
And if we hit that gap just right, those idiots become our dinner.
"Martin Hundred-Man Squad, halt!"
At my order, our mercenaries froze in place.
"Halt! Halt! Stop, I said!"
"Reforming formation?"
"They reform and come at us again?"
I shook my head at that.
No way I'd sit around twiddling thumbs, reforming our own lines while stabbing at their weakness.
Hell, right now even the three minutes to boil cup ramen felt like an eternity.
"When I charge, that's your signal—run like hell!"
With that, I scanned the Black Brothers units ahead for the one packed with clumsy movers.
Just like raw recruits at boot camp taking forever to form four ranks because they don't get it.
The crappier the troops' training and combat skills, the longer formation takes.
'And smashing through those is the most efficient play.'
As my eyes gleamed, one juicy target unit caught my sight.
The others were about fifty percent formed up, but these clowns were still flailing around, standing out like sore thumbs.
"Those pathetic trash heaps you see there? They're our bread and butter! Kill 'em all!"
It sounded a bit off even to me, but our Hundred-Man Squad didn't nitpick details like that.
"Follow Hundred-Man Squad Leader Martin and charge!"
"Let's go lop those dog bastards' heads off!"
"Don't lose the Hundred-Man Squad Leader! You lag, you die!"
I bolted toward that half-assed unit for dear life, and the Black Brothers reacted with frenzy.
"Block them there! Block that spot!"
In response, some "elite" pricks from a fully formed unit nearby rushed to support.
"Martin Meyer! Stand still and stick your neck out!"
Like I'd actually stop because some moron told me to?
I rebelled like a contrary kid, cycling Aura at full throttle, sprinting at max speed toward that gaping unit.
Hell, my perceived speed was blowing past a full sprint—might as well call it flying.
Slicing through the wind with my legs felt fucking amazing.
"Whew, this is war."
A totally different thrill from embracing Lucia or Karin rushed from my head to my toes.
No wonder people get hooked on war.
About ten seconds of dashing later, I'd closed in on my target ragtag unit.
Smart of them to halt formation at my approach...
But it left their lines a total mess—not chaotic, more like a five-year-old's sloppy square. They had weapons aimed my way, sure...
'Yawn-level weak-looking.'
The spear guy right in front of me was practically begging to advertise his rookie status...
Spear tip trembling like a leaf, and... yeah, his pants were soaked down below?
Out here like me to make money through war, but doomed to end as a "Meat Shield." Poor bastard.
He swung his sword at my neck anyway, desperate to live...
"Slow."
Not a metaphor—his blade was ten times slower than mine, so it never touched my armor.
His head hit the dirt, so no more fearing death.
'Dead men don't worry about dying, so off to heaven you go.'
Shaking off stray thoughts, I fought hard and successfully broke through the weakest unit alongside our squad.
"Yes! We punched through!"
"Call out their Mercenary Captain!"
"Squad Leader Martin's gonna sashimi 'em with their own necks!"
Everyone's momentum was sky-high, matching their performance, when...
Finally, from the enemy rear, their pissed-off Mercenary Captain stormed our way, cursing up a storm.
"Fuck, you're Martin Meyer?"