Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: Rhine Palatinate Empire's Main Force (2)
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The order from on high had barely dropped when Captain Dalton, standing at the very front, bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"I'll take point! Fuck, Martin! Stick your platoon right on my ass! And form up in phalanx! We're using these spears once and tossing 'em! Just think of it as slamming in once and then fighting!"
Under normal circumstances, no one in their right mind would tell you to use an expensive long spear just once and chuck it.
But no matter how pricey the thing was, it was still just an object—nothing compared to human lives.
It also meant that the key to this charge's success or failure was charging in so boldly and fiercely that the spear shafts would shatter on impact with the enemy.
'Fuck, this is getting me pumped.'
"Martin Platoon! Hug Captain Dalton's tail! We're the vanguard of the Mercenary Corps! Everyone, form phalanx!"
The guys trailing behind immediately clustered around me and Captain Dalton.
Captain Dalton gripped the swords in both hands tight, smirking at the corner of his mouth.
"Think you can climb that wall this time, you little shit?"
"No clue. Expert still feels a long way off."
"That so? Then kill off the bastards we're fighting this round and level up a bit. Fuck, our Mercenary Corps needs at least two Experts in tow."
The Expert realm that only one in thirty knights barely reached.
Just like Captain Dalton said, if I made it there, my price tag would skyrocket three or four times over in an instant.
Just thinking about it made my heart pound with excitement and anticipation.
"You think I can't do it? Fuck!"
Dalton lightly smacked the back of my head.
"Truth is, the officers made a side bet without you. On whether you'd break through to Expert or not. Me and that fucker Walter put three gold coins each on you making it."
Then the guys in front of us started charging out.
Like Captain Dalton, I shoved aside every worry and the fear of death, fixing my eyes solely on the enemy soldiers right in front of me.
'When you become Mercenary Captain like Dalton, you've gotta oversee the whole battlefield. But not me. Right now, my job is just to be an arrow and kill the enemy in front of me.'
"Lucia! Fireball as big as you can!"
"Got it!"
The other mages in our unit were already panting from the short sprint, struggling to chant their spells.
"Fire, oh fire, grant me your power. Sweep away the enemies before me. Fireball."
As the spell activated, a fireball hurtled toward the enemy soldiers in front of us.
A few enemy troops holding spears got hit by the massive flaming orb and burned to death.
"Gaaah! It's hot! Ack!!"
Meanwhile, thanks to all the drills and fitness training she'd done alongside the regular soldiers, Lucia could chant word for word, clear and steady, even at full sprint.
"Oh fire, become the orb that incinerates the enemies before me, Fireball!"
Unlike the other mages in our Mercenary Corps, her magic produced a blue-flamed fireball, different in color from the start.
When Lucia's spell engulfed the enemy soldiers, they didn't even scream—they turned to black ash in an instant.
The area of effect was at least 1.5 times wider than a regular Fireball.
I'd gifted her that mid-grade magic staff, sure, but for Fireballs on this level... it wasn't just the staff.
She'd been training her ass off in secret where no one watched, and with my faith and encouragement boosting her confidence, she'd grown this fast.
Then again, I had to live up to her expectations too, right?
"Martin, you fucker, keep up!"
"Yes, Captain!"
I immediately launched myself toward the gap that Lucia and our Mercenary Corps mages had blasted open in their phalanx.
The snail bastards spotted us and thrust their spears, trying desperately to hold us back...
'These fuckwits dare to try me?'
"You wanna block us? Come back when you're at least an Aura Expert, you slow-ass snail shits!"
The mercenaries attached to the Montmartre army jabbed their spears at us...
"Shut up and die! You gutless fuck, I'll rip your intestines out and grill 'em into sausages!"
Before their spears could touch me, I swung my sword and sliced through multiple shafts at once.
Without Aura, I'd have been lucky to cut one at a time.
Aura, transcending human strength, turned my blade sharp as a razor—hell, like some fantasy sword that cleaved anything.
"Fuck, that goddamn sausage bastard!"
"Take him down! If the formation breaks, we're all dead!"
"No spears? Use maces! Grab swords and block him!"
They pulled weapons and lunged to kill me, but I wasn't scared or tense at all.
'Guys weaker than me can't kill me.'
I circulated Aura through my whole body, twisting my torso right while swinging both swords wide with my arms.
A simple spinning slash, nothing but...
This strike, forged from all my training, kills, skill, resolve, and inner power, severed multiple necks in one go.
The heads flying from my sword rained down like hail.
"Anyone who doesn't wanna die, get the fuck outta my way! Martin Platoon, follow me! Anyone who doesn't take at least five enemy heads gets eight sets of 200 PT reps tonight!"
The platoon members closing in behind me let out a roar.
"Argh! Fuck, I'd rather die than do eight sets of PT! Ain't that overkill?"
"You say that like you'd actually kill us if we held back!"
"Captain says he'll kill us himself if we don't take heads today?! Fuck, these assholes piss me off—gonna lop every last one off and live!"
I blocked and slashed through enemy attacks while shouting.
"Ram 'em with spears! Fuck, just do it like you're having sex!"
Spear shafts clashed, and the death cries of enemies and allies rang out together.
"Fuck, dying skewered sucks. Never thought I'd be the one getting fucked one day..."
"Schwarz, you mad fuck!!"
"Die, you worthless snail trash—I could rip your heads off and it still wouldn't be enough!"
A quick glance around showed the Montmartre bastards suffering way more damage now that Dalton and I had combined forces to smash their front line.
We'd nailed the first crucial step, so all that was left was to rampage like hell.
Dalton, already reading the field, was slashing through enemy soldiers like paper with his Aura-infused swords, going wild.
"Hahaha! No one worthy enough to beat Dalton von Prime of the White Beard Mercenary Corps? If not, hands up and surrender!"
That power slicing through steel swords, weapons, even plate armor in one go—fuck, I coveted it no matter how many times I saw it.
Not fair? Tough shit—bite down and get stronger.
Right then, some decent-looking fuckers from the rear charged toward me with swords and weapons.
"Die!"
Swords, short halberds, maces, flails.
The flail guy swung high to low at my head, halberd guy blocking my approach.
The sword and mace guys behind eyed my flanks—no openings.
'Fuck, these guys can actually fight.'
But unlike Earth, in this world, with enough raw power and Aura...
"Four snails team up, and it's still just snails! Who you trying to fool, acting all tough?"
I poured strength and Aura into my legs, hurling myself at the halberd's thrust.
"Th-that mad fuck?"
The halberd stabbed my armor, but the iron plates rang with metal on metal, deflecting the blow.
At the same instant, flail, mace, and sword cleaved empty air.
"Fuck! Crush him! Crush the bastard!"
As they prepped their next combo, I beheaded the nearest halberd guy.
Followed up by slicing the flail shaft behind me, then using the momentum to smash his neck with my iron greave.
The sickening crunch of a neck breaking transmitted up my right shin.
'I can rampage like this solo.'
Felt just like playing a badass game character massacring mobs.
The remaining two gritted their teeth at me.
"You fucking bastard, dodging Pier and Montblanc!"
"I'll smash your skull and avenge our comrades!"
I snorted at them.
"You think one punk or two can take down this old-timer?"
Then lopped both their heads off in one swing.
"Whew, first time seeing guys link up attacks so thoroughly in real combat."
Lucky for me, the ones blocking my path after they dropped weren't all that impressive.
Not quite fly-on-the-wall slow, but attacks I could dodge visually.
Or decent speed but zero feints—sword stance alone telegraphed every target.
Facing those, my platoonmates' movements around me naturally came into view.
"Ha, fuck. Those shits got no skill and they're trying again..."
I muttered, then kindly beheaded the enemies harassing my guys with broken links.
"Dumbasses, I told you a broken link means you all die!"
The veteran acting as squad leader replied apologetically.
"Sorry, sir."
"Ha, fuck, I expect you to survive and make you do guerrilla calisthenics. Don't like it? Fight properly."
"Yes, sir!"
Like that, I kept carving through the fools in my way one by one, until I clashed with what looked like the noble house's regular troops.
'These the real muscle of the Montmartre fucks? Heh, let's see what you got.'
I'd tangled with the baron's army before, but that was then—this was now.
Time to play.