Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Pastak Hill Ambush Operation (3)
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As soon as I gave the charge order, the men in our mercenary corps thrust their weapons high into the sky.
"Time to crack open those Montmartre snail bastards' shells!"
"Kill every last one of 'em!"
"Papenheim's trash, but we're still plenty useful—let's show 'em!"
They outnumbered us by 2.5 to 1 compared to our allied forces, but seeing them thrown into chaos by the surprise attack firsthand must have boosted morale.
Everyone's spirits were sky-high. What a relief.
Before charging, I circulated aura throughout my body.
The familiar surge of power rose within me, and the grip strength in my sword hand grew immensely stronger.
Even after using aura countless times, this sensation—something I'd never felt back when I lived in Korea—was still thrilling and exhilarating every time.
"Everyone, spears up and charge! Slam in like men!"
With those words, the soldiers—including me—sprinted down the hill at full speed.
Charging from the hilltop added acceleration, plus the weight of men and spears, maximizing the impact.
'With the smoke limiting visibility down there and the surprise attack hitting them, the terror they feel must be immense.'
Proving my guess right, screams mixed with Montmartre soldiers' cries pierced the thick smoke, stimulating our ears.
"Fuck, spare me! Ambush, it's an ambush!"
"Forget putting out the fire—grab your spears!"
"If you don't wanna die, form up, form up! What kind of scattered formation is this?!"
Just hearing the desperate flailing from the higher-ups trying to dodge death and the chaos from the grunts below painted a clear picture of the enemy camp.
The rank-and-file were probably too scared to even think of fighting properly, scrambling around, while veteran mercenaries and squad leaders were beating sense into them from above...
Recalling their predicament again, one corner of my mouth tugged up involuntarily.
"Losers who lose their minds from a single ambush."
Of course, from their perspective, they'd feel wronged by that...
But if they thought they'd die twisted up like that, they should've used scouts and sentries properly to prevent this.
About ten seconds into the sprint, through the rising smoke, I spotted a dazed fool standing there with his mouth agape.
He was too pathetic to waste a sword swing on, so I barreled into him with my body and crushed him.
"Gahk!"
Then, without mercy, I hacked down every enemy-looking bastard in sight.
"Die, you Montmartre snail bastards!"
The soldiers charging beside me used their momentum to thrust spears into the foes ahead in unison.
"Palatinate sons of bitches..."
"Mommy, save me!"
"Not like this... not like this."
Death rattles echoed plenty from their lines...
"How's the taste of a White Beard Mercenary Corps charge? A bit hot for you snails?"
Anyone could see they'd taken far heavier losses in this clash.
And why not? Unless they could fly, getting ambushed and body-slammed by spears...
Anyone unscathed would be a monster, not human.
"Long live the White Beard Mercenary Corps!"
"Look at those Montmartre snail bastards!"
"We ain't pushovers!"
After the cheers, Mercenary Captain Dalton's order rang out from a bit farther away.
"We're at their rear! Seal it tight—no letting them through! Spears intact up front, broken ones in back—form a defensive circle!"
Baron Papenheim's 2,000 troops had ambushed them simultaneously from the narrow paths front and back.
In other words, even if we succeeded in the surprise attack, if front or back broke, they'd flee through the gaps.
We'd let fish slip right off the hook...
'We have to hold this position at all costs.'
We pulled back from the enemy and, per Dalton's orders, formed the defensive circle, sealing the lid tight.
Squad leaders and veteran mercenaries whipped their subordinates into shape.
"Fuck, hold those spears straight if you wanna live!"
"Hold here and we win!"
"Time to show the White Beard Mercenary Corps' strength."
With the circle formed, the signal rider tilted the flag forward at Dalton's cue.
My platoon and the White Beard soldiers followed the signal, advancing into the still-thick, vision-obscuring smoke.
"Thrust and kill any enemy you see!"
Limited visibility hurt the ambushed too, but it wasn't easy for us ambushers either.
Yet our mercenary corps soldiers moved by the book, as trained.
"One, thrust! Two, withdraw! Three, bash! One, two, three!"
They stabbed, pulled back spears, and smashed sudden foes emerging from the fog with hafts.
"Die, you Montmartre scum!"
The enemy wasn't stupid—they tried counterattacking when our mercenaries appeared in view...
"Die yourself!"
But our soldiers' reflexive, drill-honed moves were a half-beat faster.
"Urk..."
About ten minutes of herding them like this, the fog began to lift...
And the Montmartre bastards, unlike in the thick smoke, started reforming their units properly.
"Golden Barley Mercenary Corps! Assemble! Rally together!"
"Group up and push 'em back together!"
"Don't let those Palatinate bastards strut!"
Having been hit hard, they'd now go all-out to break free.
That meant all attacks—not just the vanguard—would concentrate on the rear we guarded, for those heading toward Seriz Fortress.
If we couldn't scatter their attempt to regroup into chaos now, we'd turn a hoe-blockable problem into a disaster.
'Unnecessary sacrifices would pile up.'
"Captain Dalton! Gonna let those damn mercenaries clump up?"
"No chance. I'll handle your platoon—pair 'em with Heinz and the heavy hitters. Wipe out those Golden Barley ragtag bastards."
The word to go wild finally dropped, so I circulated aura through my body.
Gripping my sword tight, I stared at the mercenaries sorting their defensive circle and the Montmartre soldiers.
'That Golden Barley bunch the weakest?'
Whoever showed a gap, I'd rip into them like a lion or tiger.
After twenty seconds scanning their lines, I spotted the Golden Barley Mercenary Corps' opening.
'Miss this, and I ain't human.'
"Vice Captain Heinz! I'll lead the vanguard—follow tight from behind!"
With that, I loaded aura into my legs and shot forward like a bullet.
The Golden Barley guys welcomed me enthusiastically.
So enthusiastically some ground their teeth, others sweated coldly.
"Aura Expert!"
"Brace yourselves! Hold the formation!"
"Think Expert means blades and spears won't touch ya?!"
As I approached, they huddled to block my attacks somehow.
"Block that bastard!"
I ignored them, locked eyes with the fool right in front, and aimed my sword at his throat.
In the blink of an eye, his neck skewered on my blade like a kebab.
"Our squad leader! You bastard! Die!"
"Thinks we're the easiest target? We'll show you we're the strongest!"
"Palatinate punks strutting!"
The others lunged to stab me...
'Slow.'
Second-rate mercenary corps bottom-feeders, breaths barely synced...
Even dumping a truckload on these, they'd never touch my neck.
"You lot die! You chickenheads!"
I wrapped aura around my sword and sliced through the weapons of those in front.
Seeing their blades severed, their jaws dropped.
"Gasp... fuck."
Then their heads fell like dropped apples, thudding to the ground.
"Punks with no skill."
Glancing back, Vice Captain Heinz and the vets were handling their share well.
First strike this smooth—halfway there already?