Chapter 120
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 120
Chapter Title: Siege of Villa Hora (1)
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One month later, the Medici Republic Army issued orders to split their forces and assault the castles of Steiermark Province.
Our mercenary corps was assigned to Viscount Canossa's unit alongside the Red Rose Mercenary Corps and several others.
The total force numbered around four thousand—not too small, but not exactly overwhelming either.
"Otto, Squad Leader. You think Koetzbel's just some small town and we won't have it rough? You see this and still say that?"
"But from what I heard five years ago in a tavern, it was supposed to be nothing special..."
"The town might be nothing, but if they hole up in that fortress, it could easily hold five thousand defenders."
Otto had no comeback to that. He just bit his lip and hung his head, but it did nothing to ease the frustration boiling in my chest.
"Ugh, seriously. It's better than that fortress assault at Series under Baron Pappenheim, sure. But this siege won't be a walk in the park either."
The walls loomed at least four meters high, bristling with mercenaries, regulars, and serfs clutching spears and swords at every vantage point.
"Come on up if you dare, you weak-kneed Republic scum!"
Archers and mages packed the watchtowers along the walls without a gap, primed to unleash a deadly crossfire on anyone climbing up.
'Even rushing up ladders as fast as we can, we'll drop like flies.'
Arrows from either side would wound or kill climbers, and one spell could incinerate a whole ladder, wiping out four or five men at once.
Plus, there'd be trebuchets and all sorts of siege engines on the inner side of the walls.
I couldn't help but sigh at the sight.
"Ugh, getting over those walls won't be easy. Gonna lose a bunch of our poor mercenaries."
As I sighed and waited for the attack order, someone slapped my back.
"Who the hell...?"
Turning around, I saw Captain Dalton standing there.
"You startled me, you bastard. Got a solid plan? Go pitch it to Viscount Canossa."
I sighed and shrugged.
"I'm not even a captain—just a hundred-man leader. Why would a viscount listen to me? Not to complain, but even if he's not some moron like Pappenheim, plenty of nobles won't even talk to mercenary captains because we're 'lowborn.'"
In truth, many mercenary captains commanded more military might than your average knight, but knights looked down on them for lacking a title.
This disdain was even stronger among barons, viscounts, and counts who led dozens or hundreds of knights.
Of course, even those highborn snobs who despised mercenary captains in peacetime would deign to converse and treat them well when war demanded it.
'But some idiots think even talking to a lowly hundred-man leader might rub off their 'baseness.' What can you expect?'
Dalton chuckled dryly at my words.
"We're at war right now, aren't we? And a guy like you with real results? You're the exception. Hell, those Red Rose bastards from the Republic would've been wiped out without us."
"True enough."
"Viscount Canossa knows we pulled double duty last battle thanks to you. He even told me to have you come report any plans directly to him."
Someone like Margrave Estelle, who judged people by ability rather than birth or rank...
'Under a guy like this, I won't die a meaningless death in this siege.'
"What kind of special plan am I supposed to have on the first day? Nothing yet. I'll let you know if I think of something."
Dalton clicked his tongue and nodded.
"Fair enough. No one's cooking up genius strategies in a spot like this on arrival day. That'd be the weird part."
As we chatted, the Koetzbel garrison commander—who'd been trading barbs with our viscount from the central wall—bellowed out.
"I, Baron Alois von Kurtner, will never surrender this Koetzbel to the likes of you, no matter what! You pretentious Medici pricks who sip coffee black like it's high fashion—why not cut your losses and slink away now? Might save your necks!"
Viscount Canossa pointed at him and hurled back insults.
"This is Viscount Giulio von Canossa's final warning! Ditch that pathetic wall you're hiding behind and open the gates like men—surrender! Even useless scum like you might live then!"
"Shut your trap! If you want this fortress so bad, climb up with your swords and spears!"
"Fine! I'll capture you and make sausages from your guts!"
With that, the viscount turned to us and issued the order.
"All forces, full assault! Per His Excellency's command, seize Koetzbel!"
Horns blared triumphantly from across the lines, drums pounding to heighten the tension.
The hundred-man squad showed their nerves—some sweating bullets, others clenching fists to hide it.
"Ugh, a damn siege. This is gonna suck."
A few rookies, hearing sieges were the toughest fights, started losing it from sheer tension.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck... I wanna go home..."
But as always, the "helpful" veterans stepped in with some "physical therapy" to set them straight.
One got slapped so hard he face-planted. Others got vivid reminders of the whips reserved for discipline-breakers.
"Get up, you pussy! Chicken out here, and you won't die easy—count on it."
"Skip the siege and take a hundred lashes instead? Paralysis from the waist down means no more walls forever."
"Don't wanna die? Shut your brain off and follow orders!"
Personally, I preferred talking them down or proper discipline over beatings.
'Even the 21st-century US military, famous for no hazing, allows it in combat zones and ranges, right?'
Especially on a battlefield like this, violence was the quickest fix for panicked idiots. No helping it.
"Siege or open field, doesn't matter. Obey orders, kill enemies well, reap huge rewards. Fail, and my blade ends you."
As I finished, a whistling signal arrow streaked overhead, slamming eardrums.
Captain Dalton's order came down.
"Mages, archers—unload everything! Mages, focus the wall-huggers. Archers, incendiaries inside the walls!"
Our archers and mages under Viscount Canossa beat the enemy to the punch.
Spells hit clusters on the walls, exploding in flames that spread wildly or lightning that arced through nearby foes.
Soldiers caught in the blasts burned alive or got fried like electrocuted meat.
"Argh! Fuck!"
Kurtner's mages, archers, and troops faltered under our first volley, but...
"Martin Hundred! Brace for enemy spells and arrows! Scatter max!"
Similar orders echoed everywhere. Infantry excluding mages and archers spread out wide.
Then dozens of enemy spells rained toward us.
Fireballs and fire magic poured like rain, bursting like tiny bombs and igniting everything.
"Argh, fuck!"
Dozens of our guys vaporized in seconds.
Even after all these battles, the raw power of magic—and watching men die in it—never got easier.
"Hold! Don't break!"
I steadied myself first.
'Can't falter in this opening skirmish, or we're done.'
Then arrows whistled through the air toward us.
"Arrows! Heads down! Trust your helmets!"
I yelled to duck but didn't check compliance.
Peeking too soon could get me killed too.
"Fuck, my chest..."
Tristan from our hundred dropped with those words.
'Told you to buy that breastplate, dumbass.'
For about thirty minutes, we traded spells and arrows, probing each other.
As enemy arrow fire slackened, Viscount Canossa roared.
"Now! Ladders to the walls—over and in!"
I barked at my hundred.
"Weapons up! On your feet! We're vanguard!"