Chapter 80
Chapter 80
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: Pasutek Hills Ambush Operation (4)
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We're about halfway there, but put another way, we still have half the distance left...
Truth be told, we've only succeeded in the ambush so far—there's a mountain of work still piled up ahead.
Right now, right in front of us, there are these guys who've hastily formed up in some sloppy formation, trying to make things annoying for us. First things first, we need to kill them.
And in a bit, the ones trying to retreat will come swarming toward the White Beard Mercenary Corps. We'll have to block those bastards too.
Talking about it is easy, but actually doing it means our bodies could get torn to shreds—or we might even die. It's all dangerous stuff.
'Gotta steel myself.'
Still, thanks to our ambush, we're in a better spot than the Golden Barley crew, who are still out of their minds.
"The Rheinpfalz bastards are coming! Request support from the flanking mercenary corps!"
"Will they come?"
"Fall back and regroup!"
Their mercenary captain, caught off guard by the sudden attack, was barking out orders left and right, changing them on a whim.
His mercenaries were darting right, then left, following the commands like reeds swaying in the wind.
'What idiots. Are they coquettishly begging us to harvest their heads?'
Well, whatever—their necks are going to get reaped by me and the rest of our mercenary corps anyway.
"You pathetic pieces of trash!"
I immediately wrapped my entire body in aura and started with the closest ones: one guy, two guys, three... Exaggerating a bit, but every time I swung my sword, someone's head was rolling on the ground.
Back in Korea, even the most trained soldier—or a lifelong swordsman—would struggle to do this kind of thing...
But with an aura expert's aura coating the blade, you could slice through steel harder than human bone in one go. That made this feat possible.
The fact that a single human could wield this kind of power... it felt like getting hooked on the drug of war.
But who cares?
I'm not gonna end up with PTSD or war trauma, and I'm not massacring these guys for no reason.
After swinging my sword and putting some distance between me and the enemy, I caught my breath and crooked my finger at them.
"Anyone who doesn't want to die, drop your weapons. Kneel, and I'll spare your lives."
The guys in front of me ground their teeth, their faces flushing red like persimmons, then charged at me.
"Kill that son of a bitch!"
"Stab him with spears! He's no master— one solid hit and we can take him down!"
"Throat, anywhere—stab him!"
Even after watching their comrades prove they couldn't match me, dying right in front of their eyes, they still hadn't come to their senses.
Oh well. Thinking of them as soon-to-be achievements turning into money and reputation points made them not so hateful.
'Kinda cute, even.'
They formed a formation around me, sort of.
Shield-and-sword guys up front, then flail wielders behind, short spears at the rear.
Making a formation like that in seconds with over ten men... probably because me and the others from our corps were slicing them up so well?
Even the lame ones turn sharp when fire's at their feet.
"Kill that bastard! For the honor of the Golden Barley Mercenary Corps—kill him!"
A guy who looked somewhat competent started ranting from the front with his shield and sword, and they tried to restrict my movements with their shields first.
For a split second, I considered taking a shield to the body to knock them over and exploit the gap...
But the shields they had weren't small bucklers—they were man-sized ones for shieldbearers to hold off long spear phalanxes.
In other words, things that could withstand a charge from an average person.
"Even an expert like me might not break through if I ram it."
That said, I had zero reason to feel anxious about those things.
"Think a shield stops a sword?"
The day I set my mind to it is market day—and the day I decide to kill is their funeral. With that thought, I charged at them too.
The shieldbearers moved just as I'd predicted.
"Plant those shields in the ground! Restrict his movement and stab!"
They slammed their spiked-bottom shields into the earth and exuded a pretty intimidating presence.
"Come on in!"
"We'll smash you flat!"
"You're done, you dog!"
Instead of answering, I just smirked.
Then I channeled aura into my sword and used the same technique I'd been employing to cleave through armored torsos.
First, I stabbed the shield of the guy right in front of me.
Stabbed deep—or got lucky—because I heard his death rattle.
"Argh!"
The Golden Barley guys around him, boasting they were the elite of their corps, surrounded me with shields, trying to press the attack.
"Die! You rotten bastard!"
"We'll turn you into a pincushion!"
"Fuck, you tin can prick."
Ignoring them, I pulled my sword back, infused it with aura, and cleaved through the next guy's shield and body in one stroke.
Then I kicked the corpse in front straight down and twisted my body sharply to the right.
The guys behind swung flails and war hammers to crush me...
'Even if you fly at me, you're still in Buddha's palm.'
I immediately planted my feet, using the ground as leverage, and took the hit from the guy in front with my armor.
The bastard, struck by armor far tougher and heavier than a human body, flew off like he'd been hit by a motorcycle.
"Help! Aaaagh!"
He bowled over three comrades in his flight path, and I advanced to the right, aura-charged foot stomping their faces.
"Argh!"
"No, spare me!"
"Dying like this? Fuck!"
The face-stomped ones' heads burst immediately, instant deaths, and the faces of those hiding behind shields went bone-white.
"Crazy monster bastard."
"Kill that fucker!"
"Smash a flail into that dog's head!"
Honestly, the scariest things against a sword-fighting me are shield presses or guys harassing with spear reach.
Flails or scythes without length advantage aren't that scary.
Because if I just slip in a bit faster, they're helpless.
"Where's your captain?"
So I figured these guys were alive now but soon-to-be corpses, and pointed my sword at them.
The scythe guy looks weakest—start with him, and cleaning up the rest will be a breeze...
Kill that one first, then dive straight inside.
The moment I locked on my target, I launched myself toward him.
Fast as an arrow to its mark, but calmly thrusting my sword at his throat.
As I charged, flail wielders and spear guys attacked.
Flails hammering my armor, spears aiming for vitals...
'As long as I've got this armor, hits like these won't kill me.'
So I decided to deflect only the vital-targeting attacks flying at me and ignore the rest.
"Die, you trash!"
"I'll show you how scary the Golden Barley Mercenary Corps is!"
"I'll crack your skull, bastard!"
I don't know exactly how many attacks were coming at me...
But only three could deal lethal damage.
The dangerous ones, I stared down squarely and dodged or parried with my sword.
"You think you weaklings can kill me?!"
Then the heavy flail and spear blows landed on undefended spots.
The flail's impact felt like a baseball bat to the gut, but spears—piercing weapons—were blocked by the mithril-infused armor, hitting like a mere stick tap.
'No wonder medieval knights treated flails as specialized anti-armor weapons.'
Still, those frail bastards couldn't kill me with their flails.
"All skin and bones—can you even swing those properly?"
With that taunt, I swung my sword and sent the head of the guy who'd been harassing me with flail strikes flying.
Then a spear-thruster came from behind...
"Not a chance, bastard."
I snatched his spear shaft with my left hand and yanked him in.
"Crazy bastard, fuck!"
His flying face met my left fist, smashing it.
"With your shitty skills, you think you can catch me?"
After that rampage, cheers erupted from our mercenary corps behind me.
"That's our corps' mad dog Martin for ya!"
"Follow Martin's lead!"
"Long live the platoon leader!"
Unless it's a modern war with bullets flying everywhere, one rampaging hero in close combat can shift the tide of battle.
Luckily, the guys I'm facing are trash-tier, and our successful ambush has our morale through the roof.
"If only you fought like this all the time."
I grumbled a bit, but it wasn't real dissatisfaction.
And now, I fixed my gaze on the Golden Barley Mercenary Corps flag right in front of me—and the captain-looking guy standing nearby.
"Fitting for a captain— that aura mist is plain as day. Perfect opponent."
That bastard? I'm gonna kill him personally to prove my badass skills.