Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 53
Chapter Title: Rhinepalts Empire's Main Force (3)
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Montmartre's regular troops reacted with eerie calm, as if they'd known we were coming.
"Mercenaries hired by the Rhinepalts bastards have appeared on the left flank! Everyone, lower your spears and face them!"
At the enemy regular troops' hundred-man captain's command, the regulars swiftly wheeled around to face us.
Seeing them put on such a majestic display, like they were tigers prowling the forest—it screamed veterans forged in countless drills and battles.
'Damn, a world of difference from that Garssong Baron's rabble.'
Captain Dalton bellowed, his voice laced with aura.
"Stay sharp, all of you! Coordinate! Crush 'em one by one around veteran mercenaries and squad leaders! Don't get killed playing the fool when you ain't got the skills."
With that, he signaled with his hand, and our archers and mage unleashed ranged attacks on the enemy like they'd been waiting for it.
Karin eyed the foes intently as she began gathering wind around her arrow.
"That flashy-armored prick strutting in the middle—he's gotta be the commander, right?"
She loosed the bowstring, and the armored show-off she'd pointed out in the heart of their lines let out a sharp scream before crumpling.
"Urk, fuck."
Karin turned to me, curling one corner of her mouth into a smirk.
'Ugh, blood rushing straight to my heart. Deadly beauty that shines even on the battlefield, killer archery skills to boot...'
Lucia wouldn't be outdone. She finished her incantation and hurled a fireball wreathed in blue flames at the enemy.
"Fireball!"
The enemy soldiers' morale visibly tanked from Lucia's spell—stronger than your average fireball.
"Fuck, the fireball's blue—the heat's insane. This feels bad."
"Squad leader included, a bunch just turned to black ash in seconds."
"What mercenary outfit are those fuckers from? They ain't pushovers."
Hearing the enemy praise her magic, Lucia wagged her tail with a grin.
And my instincts screamed: now's the moment to charge their lines.
"Now! Charge! Slaughter every last one of those goddamn Montmartre snail bastards! Fuck! Time to prove the White Beard Mercenary Corps is the strongest merc outfit in the Rhinepalts Empire!"
Pumping up the guys around me—and myself—I suddenly felt stronger.
Not that my realm had actually advanced or anything.
But this surge of elation and confidence alone made it feel like I'd tap into more potential.
Baseless bravado, or solid confidence rooted in my skills...
It all hinged on how I performed.
"Damn Montmartre slugs, step aside if you don't wanna die!"
I didn't really expect the enemy soldiers to just make way for me.
Instead, like true veterans who'd survived multiple scraps, they came at me aggressively and heavy-handed.
"He looks skilled with that aura—gang up on him in squads!"
"Yes, Hundred-Man Captain!"
At the hundred-man captain's order, they hemmed me in a semicircle.
Not enough—they hit me simultaneously from all angles, dizzying me for a split second, eyes spinning.
"Cowardly fucks."
"Thanks for the compliment, you sausage I'll gut and grill!"
I'd complimented them, but they weren't stronger than me.
I dropped into a low crouch, knees bent deep.
Swords, maces, war hammers whiffed harmlessly over my head.
"Fuck! Press him!"
Impressive follow-up intent right after I dodged—but showboating scrubs were doomed to die anyway.
So I bounced up, kicked off the ground, and helmet-smashed the jaw of the guy dead ahead.
Jaw, teeth, neck—all shattered. Instant kill.
"Good riddance, idiot."
Then my aura-charged sword cleaved the waists of two nearby goons.
"Goddamn mad-dog bastard."
I shot back.
"Thanks for the compliment, idiots."
I plunged deeper into their lines; my platoon stuck close behind.
"Kill the leftover squad the platoon leader softened first! Don't lose him!"
Whoever barked that, they swung desperately, tailing me.
"Coordinate! Fives—whittle 'em one by one!"
"Hans, you fuck! Can't watch front? Gotta spot the mace flying at your side too?"
"Squeeze every drop from mom's milk days, bastards! Tire out here, straight to the grave."
My platoon couldn't all wield aura like me—stuck at 'average soldier' level.
But three blocked or checked attacks up front; the other two stabbed flanks or gaps. Rinse, repeat.
Slower kill rate, sure. But solid role splits made it work like a wall, shoving and subduing effectively.
Guerrilla drills and formations paying dividends.
"These guys grinding hard—as platoon leader, can't slack."
Now full-plate knights blocked our charge into the ranks.
Finally admitting our merc corps—nameless as we were—had skills worth the brass's wariness?
True greats get props from foes first, not friends.
Family honor, huh? Grateful to tears.
'Gotta slaughter 'em to jack up our worth.'
Downing regulars one by one, I spotted a knight advancing, sword trained on me.
"I am Fleur Zaltz, knight of Viscount Bisi's house! Don't care who you are—a merc massacring our viscount's regulars? Unforgivable!"
No—our job's carving up war foes.
You've hacked our mercs too, fewer numbers or not.
Why paint only me and mine as villains? Unforgivable.
"Save your sleep-talk bullshit for bed, brainless knight."
The named knight leveled his sword and charged straight-line.
Legs powered, bullet-fast.
"I'll skewer your neck for shish kebab, merc!"
Decent speed, sharp arc—but too honest an attack.
Back when I first possessed Martin Meyer? Probably toast against this guy.
Now? Top-tier among knights.
'No way I eat this lame attack.'
"Die, merc!"
He lunged both arms, stabbing straight for my neck.
I twisted aside, dodging the neck shot.
Fleur gawked, eyes popping as his strike whiffed.
"Huh?"
From low right, I slashed up to his neck—shoulder pauldron hit the dirt.
"Rookie punk—no skill, all flash. Strut nobility, die like that."
If this scrap takes your head, show some restraint at least.
Ignored his skill, mine—pure youthful charge? Death's the punchline.
I shouldered my sword, beckoned left-handed. Provoke.
"Come again. Knights like that Fleur? Ten-pack, no sweat."
One nobody, feeling dissed, bull-rushed me.
"Insulting Sir Fleur! I'll rip your limbs off!"
I smirked.
"Knight won't name-drop?"
"No name for lowlife scum like you!"
Undignified for a knight, he hefted a hefty two-handed war hammer.
"You and Fleur low-ranks too ashamed for names?"
Dissed, he smashed hammer at my head.
"Die, filthy lowborn!"
Sword-blocked the hammer. I smirked.
"Hammer's light—Viscount Bisi crafts 'em from cork?"
"Shut it!!"
He powered down for the skull-smash, but...
'Brute force? Amateur hour.'
Angled sword, deflected hammer low.
"Wha—?"
As momentum and weight toppled him, I flipped sword, pierced nape.
"...... Dumb fuck. Trust brawn over swordplay—is that knightly? Brainless bear."
Grumbling, heart still thumped.
These low-rank knights I'd scrapped? Pre-Leblanc kill and realm-up, I'd struggled.
Now? Easy wins.
My growth hit different.
Pushing this deep, Viscount Bisi's banner—massive flag—came into view.
Captain Dalton and the brass bellowed.
"Fuck—even if we're too low-rent for the top commander, we snag a viscount for capture, right? Charge!"