Chapter 75
Chapter 75
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: Grabbing the Trash Baron by the Collar and Carrying Him (1)
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Our baron has to be a crazy son of a bitch.
There's no other explanation for why the hell he'd issue a dogshit order like this...
"Baker, why the fuck do we have to stand at attention for the baron just because he's coming? Sure, we've rested enough, but this is bullshit, right?"
Baker let out a sigh that could have sunk the earth.
"You're damn right. Even though we're standing mercenaries, basically half under the emperor's direct command... Even Count Zaltzheim didn't demand a review like this, but since this guy orders it, here we are. Honestly, I have no clue what this is about either."
He grumbled as he glanced around.
Because that bastard Baron Pappenheim had sent word ahead that he wanted a goddamn review on his way into the fortress...
Everyone was dressed as sharply as possible, standing at perfect angles like they'd been measured with rulers, holding long spears, swords, shields, and banners, just waiting for the prick to show up.
If he'd demanded this from other mercenary bands, they'd barely manage some semblance of formation...
'Thanks to all that drill practice, every stance is picture-perfect. It's blinding, fuck me.'
Since the bastard demanded it, we had to plot out unnecessary marching routes and even rehearse, so recalling that shitty memory made my teeth grind.
"Practicing this crap since yesterday morning because of that baron fucker—it's gonna go down in White Beard Mercenary Corps history as a true legend. Legend."
As I grumbled, the platoon mates around me joined in the bitching.
"We fought like hell, won, and were finally resting—no booze, and now this insane shit."
"Anyone seeing this would think we're his regular troops."
"Sigh, what a madman. Hope he gets struck by lightning on the road and drops dead."
I didn't say it out loud, but even without lightning, I hoped a horse would throw the baron—give him some injuries so he'd pull out of the battlefield quick and spare us his whims.
The guy had us take a fortress that should've been impossible with our numbers, and now he's ordering meaningless parades like this.
God knows what other retarded shit he'll pull next.
About thirty minutes of trashing Baron Pappenheim behind his back later, a trumpet blast echoed out.
"Baron Emil von Pappenheim arrives! Everyone, pay your respects!"
That liver-frying bastard—the lowest rank of nobility, a baron, yet demanding a review and having his name bellowed like that.
What, did he catch some disease where he craves all the pomp that's impossible to get in the Reingalts Empire under normal circumstances? Wants to play it out on mercenaries in wartime?
Fuck, that inferiority-complex lump of shit.
Thoughts aside, he's our commander, so pissing him off openly wouldn't end well. I held it in.
As I swallowed my anger, Baron Pappenheim rode up, waving at us from horseback.
"Ahem, ahem. Everyone's worked hard."
If we were his regular troops or serfs who had to watch his every mood or fake reverence to survive, fine.
But waving at mercenaries like he's some triumphant general? Does he really think that'll make us happy?
Glancing at his trailing regular troops, none looked pleased.
'Makes sense. Marching here must've been hell. Doing this nonsense on top of it.'
With the review roughly done, the baron summoned our mercenary corps to the Seriz Fortress plaza.
"Platoon Leader, doesn't this bastard give you a bad feeling?"
From his obsession with pointless pomp like he had staff officer syndrome, plus assigning us high-difficulty ops that'd be tough for anyone...
'This fucker reeks of Imperial Japanese Army ghosts.'
Saying that outright might get our whole corps wiped out with him, so I decided to beat around the bush.
"That Schwaben bitch was nuts, and now Baron Pappenheim too. Do we just attract crazies? Whatever, gotta do the job."
Baker sighed, then grinned with a joke.
"If I don't get promoted after this war, I'm quitting."
"Look at this cocky bastard bragging 'cause he fights decent."
"So take good care of us, Platoon Leader."
As we bantered to shake off the ominous vibe, Pappenheim climbed the podium and bellowed.
"I, the baron, am deeply satisfied with your feats in capturing Seriz Fortress, laying the foundation for our Pappenheim forces to awe the Montmartre Kingdom!"
One thought hit my mind.
'Why's this fucker talking like a trash company commander?'
Next he'll whine about being disappointed like some company commander.
Nah, with 2,000 under him, maybe "regiment commander is disappointed"?
The baron thumped his breastplate, puffed his chest, and declared.
"This was all possible because I, Baron Emil von Pappenheim, trusted your White Beard Mercenary Corps' valor with my keen judgment and bold drive. Thus, I have no doubt you'll all fight bravely under my command in the coming war with Montmartre Kingdom, spreading our fame far and wide."
Is he insane?
He ordered our 500-man corps alone to take a fortress garrisoned by 250, and when it worked...
Instead of admitting his fuckup and apologizing like "I, the baron, erred," he's bragging?
My head spun, impulse surging to gift him an "accidental death."
'I get why U.S. grunts in Vietnam put bounties on lieutenants' heads for the Viet Cong...'
Looking around, not just our platoon but the whole corps stared at the baron with awkward smiles.
He spread his arms in a lame pose.
"Finally, I am close friends with Vice Commander Marquis Konrad of this expeditionary force. We always drink after banquets, even hit high-end brothels together. So the more I shine, the bigger rewards you'll get."
Seems he wants us to know he's buddy-buddy with the vice commander—booze, girls, the works.
But why spout this crap to us?
Does he think we're regular troops or knights who can't survive without kissing his ass?
"Dismissed. I expect the White Beard Mercenary Corps to follow my orders and strive your best. With that, as of now, I'll relay future plans, so the captain and officers attend the briefing. Dismissed."
He dramatically fluttered his red silk cloak as he descended.
Lucia watched, her fox ears and tail drooping...
"Is that baron really okay?"
Karin perked her ears and sighed.
"We knew he was nuts since ordering us alone to take Seriz. But he's pushing it too far, right?"
I nodded instinctively.
"Whew, I'll head to the briefing. Hope he doesn't say anything crazy there."
Then I headed to the meeting room with Dalton and other high-ups from our corps.
Everyone's faces were screwed up like they'd eaten shit.
**
Seriz Fortress meeting room.
The baron at the head, surrounded by lofty knights and mercenary captains seated at the table.
Ambiguous mid-levels like me naturally stood against the wall like decorations.
'Why call us if we're just props?'
Baron Pappenheim pointed at a map-pinned board of the area and began explaining.
"Our Pappenheim forces number 2,000, under Lord Estelle Marchioness's command, part of Montmartre Expeditionary Force's 3rd Army. 3rd Army totals 15,000, ordered to advance from Seriz to Marseille, capturing fortresses and castles en route."
There were maybe two castles between Seriz and Marseille—small towns of 4,000 and 5,000 residents each.
"Defenders number less than a third of ours, so fully assaultable."
.....You mad bastard, factor in attrition from those sieges.
Should've conscripted serfs from your barony to fill 3,000 at least.
'Did I fuck up by volunteering our corps solo for Seriz?'
Otherwise, this lunatic would've hired more ragtag mercs or serfs to pad numbers.
But I shook my head.
'Whatever. His "plan" is worthless per the camp merchant's intel. All moot.'
"Thus, I plan to push straight to Marseille. Other opinions?"
He said it, but his attitude screamed he wasn't listening.
Then Dalton stood cautiously.
"Apologies for interrupting, Baron, but my corps' senior platoon leader has critical intel we can't ignore. May I?"
Pappenheim shrugged and nodded.
"Speak."
Dalton eyed me.
On cue, I straightened and spoke carefully.
"From a camp merchant captured after taking Seriz: enemy 5,000 heading this way."