Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Primmer Plains Battle (3)
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My spearmen under my command started moving in formation the moment they heard my order.
Considering they were bound to panic in real combat, after more than a month of the drills I'd put them through, their bodies moved like puppets on strings, completely under my control.
Anyway, they took up precise intervals and aimed their spears at the enemy at exact angles.
I stood in the center of the formation, matching their movements perfectly.
"A charge doesn't mean you grab your spears like those rookie dumbfucks over there and run at them screaming like barbarians—that's a one-way ticket to getting fucked. Got it, you shits?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Hook! You and I are in the center! Just follow me! And the rest of you assholes—think those ideas in your thick skulls sound smart? They're all pure shit. So when I say thrust, you thrust; when I say pull back, you pull back; when I say walk, you walk!"
In my past life as a mercenary, I'd done my share of melee combat, and this body I possessed was already skilled with spears and swords, so unlike these guys, I could go wild on my own.
But rookie shits called meat shields? If you let them move on their own in their first battle, they're worse than quack doctors—they endanger not just their own lives but their comrades' too.
And across from us, I could see the enemy trying to fill the gaps in their phalanx left by the charred corpses.
"Those fucking asshole bastards, bringing a mage right up front to blast us with spells?"
"No fucking honor on the battlefield, those whore-spawn cunts. Looks like we gotta send 'em quick to their mommas."
"You dog-shit fucks, time for this old man to give you a proper schooling!"
Fucking pricks—if they're scared, they could just bring their own mage and do the same. Why bitch like little girls and flap their gums?
"Thrust forward!"
The moment I said it, we all thrust our spears at the enemy's throats in unison.
A few pierced clean through necks, others missed—but no time to worry about that now.
I had to drive these fuckers like whipping horses at full gallop, not letting a single stray thought enter their heads.
Otherwise, the shock of killing their first man would make them lose it, or they'd fuck up and die pointless deaths.
That's why back when I was a fucking mercenary or NCO, I'd drill rookies mercilessly in combat or training—no breaks, no room for bullshit thoughts.
"You worthless cumrags, snap out of it! Pull back and thrust again! If you killed the guy in front of you, help the one next to him—like I fucking told you! You all wanna die today and go kiss your ancestors' asses or what?"
"No, sir!"
"Thrust when I say thrust, pull when I say pull!"
I whipped around and shouted to the rear.
"Karin, cover any we miss with arrows! Lucia! We'll protect you as best we can, but don't zone out! Be ready to fire magic the second I signal!"
Karin nodded like it was obvious, while Lucia's tail shot straight up, betraying her nerves.
Even if Lucia looked uneasy, our drill training had synced our breathing—I trusted she'd do fine.
They say a drop of training sweat saves a bucket of blood in battle, so all that hellish grind would protect us here.
"Martin Squad! The scared ones die first! So keep those shit-for-brains empty and just follow me!"
With that, I led my men deeper into the enemy phalanx, step by step.
"Thrust!"
Spears flew at the throat in front of me.
Some shafts clashed or bounced, but I'd block them, or Karin handled it from behind.
"Thanks, Senior Karin!"
The enemy soldier in front of us dropped as the words left his mouth.
"Baker, you brain-dead fuck who ate shit for breakfast! I told you not to loosen your grip unless your spear's in their throat or gut!"
"Sorry, sir!"
"No time for sorry—watch the ugly mug trying to kill you! Dead men can't apologize, you worthless dog-shit! Lucas, thrust!"
After a few rounds of killing like that, my squad had pushed deep into the enemy phalanx.
Karin stayed cool, timid Lucia was still cautious.
Some of my men were already getting cocky after a few kills, tripping over corpses.
"Fuck, you millstone-faced shits born to ugly parents! Die!"
"We've drilled formations for how long? Time to rip your guts out, you fucks!"
"Don't shove your faces in, you rag-worse-than shits!"
Dumbass dumbfucks—getting hyped in war's only for back at camp. Only then.
Guess one of 'em has to lose a head before they wise up?
Fuck, I wanted to slam their heads into the dirt like in drills and give 'em a barrage to fix that cocky shit myself.
"Fuck, you retard cumrag shits! Snap to it! Stay sharp! The real fight hasn't even started! Fuck up and after the war, while others drink and whore, you'll all be rolling left-right on the ground till your dicks blister. That clear you fucks?"
My personal barrage of insults snapped them back; their faces turned serious again.
I bellowed for the nearby platoon leader.
"Platoon Leader Chelsea! Platoon Leader Chelsea! Fuck, can you push up and support if we keep driving in?"
The platoon leader cleaved an enemy with his massive two-hander and yelled back.
"Fuck, hauling rookie shits that deep? Hold your ass—Captain's getting a report right now, you fuck."
I scanned around.
My squad was shoving the enemy mercenaries back beautifully with our formation, but other squads with rookies? Poor sync meant they were locked in stalemates.
Pior's squad wasn't collapsing, but his two new rookies had died like true meat shields—skewered by spears or arrows.
Overall, considering our foes—Pilor and that damn count's elite mercs...
'We're doing great, but ending it like this feels like such a fucking waste.'
"Platoon Leader! Our squad's out front—can you ask to redirect the reserves to us?"
"Ha, fuck you. I said I'd pass it on! Wait, you premature ejaculator."
I feigned anger and bellowed louder.
"Pior's squad next door fucked up rookie training—if we keep this up, we'll all get pierced! We're all fucked! That bastard's gonna make us all attend funerals! I'm rushing 'cause I'm not the idiot here!"
The platoon leader glanced at Pior's side.
Soon, he roared in fury.
"Agh, that fucking Pior prick. Thirteen years as a merc and still can't lead a platoon, getting shat on by other squad leaders? There's a reason!"
I cheered inwardly.
That meant my push for the White Beard Mercenary Corps to shine again on this battlefield—me and my squad—had half-succeeded.
"Dick-plugged brain, that one? Fine, fuck it. I'll report to the captain and get reserves for your support."
"Thank you!"
"Save thanks for hell—that Pior fucker's mess is why you and I are suffering."
I ordered the men around me.
"Martin Squad, grip tight! Lucia, forget everything—prep your strongest spell! Reserves incoming soon; we'll blast a path with that and dive in!"
"Yes, Squad Leader! But my mana pool's low—I can only cast low-tier spells..."
"Squeeze every drop and make it as big as you can!"
Soon after, per Captain Dalton's orders, reserves attached behind me.
No room for failure now.
Last time, I'd charged alone on orders for glory. This time? My shoulders bore my entire squad and the reserves' lives.
Heavy weight, sure—but was Martin gonna flinch at this?