Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Roivite Battle (2)
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The weight of the battlefield air I felt when we encountered the Montmartre bastards was markedly different from anything before.
"Fuck, there's a shit-ton of 'em. How many are those fuckers even? How many enemies are there? Can't even guess... like 30,000 or something...?"
Just like one of my platoon members said, in all the wars I'd fought so far, the most we'd ever seen was a few thousand at best...
But this time, it was a massive enemy force of 40,000 strong.
"Those fuckers look seriously scary, huh? Like they're dead set on wiping us all out..."
All the battles I'd been in up to now involved life and death, sure, but they were like duels between nobles—there was some order to them.
In a brutal war between two nations, where the higher-ups fought over territory, people, interests, and justifications, none of that existed.
Feeling that atmosphere, my body started trembling uncontrollably on its own.
Karin looked at me and grinned widely as she spoke.
"Platoon Leader Martin, why the shakes? You aren't scared, are you?"
"Scared? Hell no. I'm just excited 'cause my big chance to make my name known to Montmartre and the Rhinepalz Empire has finally come—body's trembling from anticipation."
Compared to real powerhouses like Captain Dalton, I was still just a greenhorn.
Standing on a battlefield where lives hung in the balance, sometimes I'd get anxious, wondering if I'd die here.
But more than that, I pushed down the fear by thinking about how far I could go this time.
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say, oh great Platoon Leader. Still, don't get hurt. I'm worried."
"Don't worry. I'll definitely survive and savor that meal you're buying me after the war ends."
Karin turned her head away at my words, her face flushing red.
But she didn't shake her head, deny it, or say anything against it.
"...Fuck, why's the first war I fight after joining the mercenaries against these Montmartre snail bastards? Look at those fuckers—scary as shit."
"Shut your trap, you idiot. You're making me scared too."
"Think we'll make it back alive?"
The rookies were trembling and fidgeting uncontrollably.
"Montmartre snails, mercenaries, knights—bring 'em all! This old man's gonna punch a hole through their necks with the spear skills I've honed through hell!"
There were guys putting on a tough front to hide their fear, acting like immature boys cracking dumb jokes in front of girls because they were too embarrassed to admit they were scared.
Lucia, unlike last time, didn't look scared or downhearted even with full-scale war against the Montmartre forces looming.
Her ears and tail perked up straight as she gripped tight the new staff I'd bought her.
"...Platoon Leader Martin said I can do well... I did good last time, so I can do it this time too."
Seeing Lucia tense but without a trace of her former timidity made something warm stir in my chest.
No, seeing her leaning on me like that... after Karin, Lucia's next on my list, huh...
Even with war right in front of us, my lips were already curling up to my ears.
"Time to cut loose, huh?"
As I muttered that, trumpet blasts echoed from all over.
Voices of the higher-ups rang out from various spots in the Rhinepalz army.
"Charge forward!"
I grabbed my spear—no, the halberd symbolizing my authority as platoon leader—and stepped forward in sync with my men.
"Fuck, keep your heads down and don't think a damn thing! In war, the first to die ain't the ones who suck at fighting or can't hold a spear! It's the scared little shits who freeze up! Got it?"
"Yes, sir!!!"
"Maintain formation perfectly and just march forward! If any dumbass gets distracted and fucks up, I'll make tonight special—number 8 and 11 till you drop dead, so you'll wish you died here instead!"
"Yes, sir!!! We'll obey! Spare us!"
The reason I was busting their balls this hard was 'cause I genuinely cared for my platoon underlings.
You might think that's bullshit, but just like how drill sergeants in basic training grind recruits to the bone not out of cruelty but to keep depression at bay with no room to breathe...
Newbies heading into their first war, if you don't whip 'em hard, they'll buckle under the battlefield pressure and enemy presence, turning into piss-pants meat shields.
"Fuck! What's that noise from the side..."
"Shut your mouth, you fucking moron!"
Then I looked to the side.
A massive pillar of fire erupted from underground, incinerating dozens of soldiers in the distance in one go.
I'd seen Fireball spells hit and burn a few soldiers alive, filling the air with the stench of roasting flesh...
But this was different. Intense. Nothing remained where the fire pillar had shot up—not a single trace.
'This is what a full-scale national war looks like, huh?'
The sheer power of that magic sent cold sweat trickling down my hands—no, my spine.
"Wonder if I could ever cast magic like that someday?"
Lucia watched it with pursed lips and tail straight up.
"Argh, fuck, why's thunder cracking outta clear skies? What the hell's happening?"
Focusing my aura into my eyes to peer far off, I spotted two men in orichalcum armor clashing swords at blinding speeds a bit further away.
"Not bad with a sword for a Montmartre king-snail worshiper!"
"You're no slouch yourself."
"Save the flattery about my soft gut!"
Even Dalton's sword, at Aura Expert level, would seem pathetically slow compared to those two, and its power wouldn't even be in the same league.
"That's the realm I gotta aim for, Aura Master territory? Fuck, who knew a human sword swing could make a sound that heavy. One hit could cleave an elephant in half."
Watching those guys on a whole other level fight left me more frustrated than impressed, a sigh escaping me.
Still, if I kept training, gaining real combat experience, and chowing down on spirit herbs to get stronger...
'I'll reach that level someday too.'
I gripped my halberd tighter, steeling my resolve.
"Platoon Leader, fuck! Montmartre snails crawling right at us! Hey, fuckers, grip those spears tight, you worthless shits!"
They say even a dog hangs around the school for three years and starts reciting poetry—Baker's been a merc for half a year now and already knows exactly how to handle the newbies. Cute kid.
Last time under Count Zaltzheim, he was just a sniveling punk.
Guess he's more useful than I thought.
Separately from that, I smacked the back of his head with the halberd shaft hard enough to sting.
"If you're gonna give orders, start with the veterans, you brainless pretty-boy baker fuck! Messes up the chain of command! You're booked for 70 reps of 8 tonight and 50 of 11!"
Mercs might be freewheeling as fuck, but screwing with command structure gets no mercy.
Base punishment's the whip that tears flesh with one lash.
Starting at minimum 30 lashes, so this is me going easy.
"Martin Platoon, you worthless shits! All spears down, aim at the necks of the enemies in front!"
They complied, pointing spears at similar angles and heights toward the foe.
Ideal phalanx where adjacent shafts ran perfectly parallel.
'Worth drilling formations to hell and back.'
What the hell, even now my lips curl up.
"Rows and files, align!"
"Rows and files! Align!"
"Aligned? March in step! One, two! One, two!"
Our entire platoon's footsteps synced as one, everything matching perfectly except breathing.
The enemies saw Martin Platoon under my lead and started grinding their teeth.
"Those fucking hook-nosed shits. Look competent? Still just a buncha sausage-and-beer losers."
"Take it easy. Flag's got a white wolf, but probably just white kittens. Worthless shits—white kittens, how cute."
"Thanks be to Deus. Facing idiots like this on day one."
That scratched our guys wrong, and a few started mouthing off.
"Fuck, you snail-munching dreamers!"
One rookie gets hyped, and it all falls apart. Like pulling a support pillar from a building—the whole thing crumbles.
"You there, fuck, worthless shit! Who told you to open your mouth? Wanna funeral today? Wanna run laps till your legs give out?"
"N-no, sir!"
"No my ass! Lately no laps, so stamina's overflowing you're chatting mid-war? Think you're hot shit 'cause you're fitter now?"
As I reamed them out, the platoon's tension ratcheted up.
Right before clashing with the Montmartre bastards, I gripped my halberd tight, channeling aura through my body.
Last time against Count Zaltzheim's men, I'd ordered Lucia to blast magic right away...
"Any of you lag behind today, fuck, I'll kill you with laps tonight. I'll grind you till you puke and think dying here was mercy! Follow orders!"
"Yes, sir!!"
I took a breath and said.
"Mages, stay ready to fire on my command—keep up!"