Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Primmer Plains Battle (4)
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When forming a phalanx to clash head-on against soldiers wielding long spears, you space things out pretty generously to build the formation.
Otherwise, there's not enough room to swing your spears properly, and everyone just ends up getting in each other's way.
But when you're launching a breakthrough charge to plunge deep into the enemy lines, the best approach is to huddle up as tight as you can.
Because right now, our job is to smash through the formation those dumbfuck bastards have built up like some solid rock.
To make that breakthrough work, we've got to be as unbreakable and tough as diamond.
"Martin Squad, assemble! Prepare for charge—tighten up into dense formation!"
At my shout, the entire squad echoed the command just like I'd drilled into them during basic training.
"Prepare for charge—tighten up into dense formation!"
Including me, all eight rookies gripping spears pressed our shoulders together into a tight clump, while Karin and Lucia fell back to the rear.
"Karin, has the reserve squad arrived behind us yet?"
"Yes, Squad Leader."
With the reserves in place, all that's left for us is to shove our way forward with pure grit.
I took a massive deep breath to steel myself, then bellowed.
"Charge forward! Advance!"
With that, the spear-wielding squad under my command marched forward in perfect unison toward the enemy ranks, stepping boldly just like me.
From behind came Lucia's voice, chanting her spell.
"All-devouring flames, grant me the power to incinerate the foes before me..." ⟨ Fireball ⟩
In the original game that this world was based on, Lucia was such a timid mess that she didn't just fail to shine in her first war—she ended up fumbling around and dragging everyone down.
To make sure my mage wouldn't freeze up in her debut battle, I'd run her through hellish training for a full month, and now I'm reaping the rewards of that grueling effort.
I gripped my spear shaft as tight as I could.
"Sweep their spears aside and thrust right away—don't stop marching after you stab!"
Following my orders, me and the seven other soldiers swept the enemies' spears aside in unison, then immediately thrust at throats or torsos.
"Fuckin' hell, these crazy bastards. Just looking at their thrusts, you'd think they're rookie shitstains."
"Why the fuck are these shitstains so fearless?"
"Look at how every move syncs up perfectly. Fuck, so that's why that retard Martin worked the kids to death every damn day."
I could hear the reserve squad muttering behind me, already clocking the benefits of our drill training.
Part of me wanted to spin around and brag about how badass I am, but nah—time enough for showing off after I shine in this battle.
"Scatter!"
The second I gave the order, we fanned out left and right in a flash, clearing space for Lucia to unleash her Fireball.
"Fireball!"
With Lucia's incantation complete, a massive, scorching fireball erupted from behind us—like it was ready to burn everything in its path—and whooshed past our side.
For that instant, it felt like we were front-row in a blast furnace, the heat blasting us full force.
And naturally, the poor bastards hit by the Fireball went up in flames, spears still clutched in their hands.
"You fuckin' lunatics! Arrrgh, fuck, it's burning like hell!"
"Save me! Water! Someone douse me with water!"
"It hurts! It fuckin' hurts, you goddamn pricks!"
Unless a priest shows up with healing magic—or divine power, whatever you call it—or someone dumps a fortune in potions on them, those guys burning that fiercely aren't surviving.
So, deciding to put them out of their misery, I shouted.
"Regroup! Stab, then charge forward like mad, you fuckers! Karin, Lucia—fall back! The stage is ours now, men!"
After stabbing the guys in front of me, I hurled my cheap long spear to the ground.
"Fuck, now's the time to use this thing."
Then I drew the sword from my belt—the one Mercenary Captain Dalton had given me, laced with just a touch of mithril.
The sound of the blade sliding free was piercing and crisp, like a high note.
It looked sharp enough to make you swear—perfect for slicing.
I'd swung this sword thousands of times preparing for real combat today, but holding it to actually kill felt worlds apart from any standard longsword.
"I'm ditching my spear, but you idiots don't copy me and toss yours like morons! I'll carve the path ahead—just charge after me without thinking! Stab any enemy in sight, and if some dumbfuck next to you fucks up, help him out! Got it?"
The squad roared back at me.
"Yes, sir!"
"Leave it to us! We'll show you every trick we picked up getting worked to death by you today, Squad Leader!"
"We'll prove we're not rookie shitstains anymore—we're real men!"
These dumbfucks who couldn't even hold a spear right without my supervision were talking big like that—it nearly made me crack up inside.
Still, way better than pissing themselves in fear or whimpering like morons.
Though it did feel like overconfident pups yapping at a tiger...
"Charge forward! Follow me, you tiny-dicked rookies!"
I gripped my sword hard and swung at the neck of an incoming bastard who'd ditched his spear for a mace.
The blade whistled through the air, then bit into his neck—heavy resistance, but it cleaved clean through smooth as butter.
"As expected of a mithril blade—total game-changer. This thing's the real deal! Thanks, Captain Dalton!"
Muttering that, I channeled the aura inside me and kept slashing through enemies.
Back on the Chiptin Plains, I'd gone berserk on raw grit and the wild energy of a first-timer.
Now, with aura pushing me beyond human limits...
'It's like giving a tiger wings.'
"Die, you worthless shits who can't even swing a sword right!"
As I slashed away, cutting down foes nonstop, I glanced around—the rookie shitstains were holding their own pretty damn well.
"Peter, you goddamn fuckwit! Do it by the book! I said thrust right after I sweep their spear!"
"Talk's cheap, fuck—these pricks are strong as hell!"
"Shut your traps, you limp-dick losers—focus on what's in front! If we lose the Squad Leader or let 'em close in, we're all fucked!"
I knew damn well these guys lacked skill, so I'd drilled them relentlessly for a month on moving in pairs for exactly this shit.
And it was paying off big time—they were fighting like pros.
Look close: Baker sweeps a spear, and Peter instantly follows up, stabbing the bastard's throat or gut dead.
The enemies were showing clear tension at the sight.
"Keep those fuckers pinned! Fuck, especially that shiny tin-can asshole rampaging up front in full plate!"
"If we let this slide, we're done! Breached means you and me both croak, fuckers!"
"Don't wanna die? Focus fire on those pricks!"
My mercenaries—and the reserves behind—were following our squad's lead perfectly, so the momentum's on our side now.
Even if they pile attacks on us, as long as I—the tip of this spear—hold firm, we can punch right through this rotten mercenary company up front.
"Ditch those shitty spears! Can't thrust anymore anyway since we're in close—grab your maces and follow!"
Seizing the moment their morale dipped, I went full berserk to rip through the mercenary ranks and deal massive damage.
"Die, you tiny-dicked rookies!"
Swinging my sword at speeds impossible without aura, the fools blocking my path dropped like autumn leaves, heads rolling.
As I rampaged, a guy who looked like a big shot stepped up from the enemy mercenaries to stop me.
Not swinging a greatsword like Schmitz, but wielding a halberd—the mark of a veteran—and decked out in full plate armor.
"Fuck, you little shit! Don't you know the basics? Showoffs die first in war! I'll teach you proper—Mike, platoon leader of the Black Bear Mercenaries, slicing your fool head off!"
"Save your shit-talk!"
Then he swung his halberd at blinding speed, aiming for my neck—guess he had aura too.
"Your thrust's sloppy, you tiny-dicked fuck!"
Thanks to all the tempering since facing Schmitz, my skills had shot up—I flicked his halberd aside like nothing.
"Wha, fuck?"
He'd probably thought it was lightning-fast... fat chance.
"Croak, you fat pig with nothing but your gut going for you."
I slipped inside his guard and ran him through the armpit, straight to the heart.
With that, my squad and the reserves broke clean through to the rearmost ranks of the so-called Black Bear Mercenaries.
Waiting there were the men Count Pilor had brought personally.
Most were serfs barely handed a spear, but the front fifty or so—clearly the count's standing army—radiated serious menace.
"Fuck... guess it's time to get serious."