Chapter 82
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Pastak Hill Ambush Operation (6)
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As I muttered that to myself, allied soldiers whose faces I didn't recognize began swarming around me in droves.
"Make a wall with shields and hold the line!"
"Any mercenaries who know how to swing a sword, get over here now!"
"If this line breaks, we're all done for!"
The guys who rushed over meshed together seamlessly.
In an instant, they formed a proper defensive formation with spears, shields, and swords, looking for all the world like a solid brick wall.
Even though they were from different mercenary groups, their coordination was this good.
'They say people unleash superhuman strength when their life is on the line?'
I never imagined it would show up as coordination like this.
On top of that, guys who claimed to know their way around a blade came strutting out from behind me, full of bravado.
"Fuck, looks like it's our time to shine."
"White Beard Mercenaries? Can't let just the tough-bearded bastards hog all the glory..."
"Martin? Hah, we'll show you what we're made of ourselves."
Maybe because they were the ones who'd volunteered to charge out front and shred anyone who got close to the formation, they seemed decently skilled...
But among the bunch gathered here, only about twenty gave off an aura vibe, and including me, maybe five were Expert-level.
Had I somehow climbed into the upper ranks of skilled mercenaries without realizing it?
'All that relentless pushing forward without a moment to catch my breath is paying off!'
As I steeled myself inwardly, a group charging in from afar caught my eye—amped-up mercenaries and what looked like the count's soldiers.
"Fuck, the Pappenheim bastards' assault is weakening! Now's our chance—charge!"
"We're breaking out of this hellhole all at once! Hurry up, everyone!"
"One second faster is the difference between life and death—they're everywhere!"
Pappenheim, that gutless prick—I'd use his fucking entrails as fish bait and still have some left over.
He wasn't as blatant about groping Karin as that Schwafen creep, but he'd been slacking off on his duties to fuck around.
No, he'd led his direct troops here for an ambush—why the hell was he leaving an opening for the count's forces to slip away?
"Fuck, this is driving me insane."
The one silver lining in this mess was that the main force seemed pinned down by Pappenheim's knights and regulars.
The truly heavy hitters from the main unit still hadn't shown...
But the numbers charging our way were bad enough, and amid those Montmartre bastards, flags were flapping that looked like noble house banners.
"It's Baron Eclaire! Fuck, that noble's stronger than most knights—total lunatic!"
In Rheinpfalz—or Montmartre, if you exaggerated a bit—there were nearly a hundred barons, and if this guy's name was known, his troops had to be no joke.
Letting a heavy hitter like that slip through to punch a hole in our retreat? They were botching the encirclement big time.
Pappenheim, that bastard—I'll make him pay someday, fuck.
The guy who looked like Baron Eclaire must've been damn confident in his skills, because the baron himself was at the vanguard, spear in hand, charging straight at us.
"Count Rezume has promised lavish rewards to whoever punches through our retreat! Mercenaries, regulars, knights, soldiers—no matter who you are, step up with me and skewer these sausage-munching Rheinpfalz scum!"
His speeches were fucking long-winded, but that was probably because he was a noble commanding all those hundreds charging behind him.
'Fuck, Pappenheim, you premature little shit.'
If we'd just held out a bit longer, we could've nabbed Count Rezume easy. What the hell was this nonsense?
"Captain Dalton!"
Dalton sighed like he had no choice after hearing me.
"Fuck, signal to unleash arrows and spells! Even if some friendlies get hit and die, we hold this line!"
The other mercenary captains issued similar orders, and soon arrows and spells rained down on the enemy like mad.
Guys hit by spells either got fried by lightning, burned to ash, groaned out their last, or just dropped dead without a sound.
Those pierced by the endless arrow storm turned into porcupines, bleeding out and dying.
"Fuck, you Rheinpfalz bastards..."
"Cowardly fucks shooting arrows from the cliff..."
"Agh, it's hot!"
With spells and arrows pouring down, their numbers dwindled fast, but...
Some of those spells and arrows went astray, smacking into us down below.
"Help! Someone save me!"
"Fuck, open your damn eyes!"
"Ignore it—keep pushing forward!"
Baron Eclaire didn't give a shit about his mercenaries and regulars dropping to arrows and spells—he kept charging straight at us.
"If you falter, you die! Fight to live and get out of here!"
...Why the fuck was a baron lumping mercenaries in with his troops and whipping them into a frenzy like this?
Thanks to his rallying cries, their morale looked pretty damn high even while surrounded on three sides.
"Hah, these fuckers are gonna make me lose it."
And so, cornered like rats, they came at us biting like cats.
"Martin Squad! Grip your weapons tight! Fuck, we hold no matter what!"
I gripped my sword with both hands and first sliced the throat of the cocky bastard swinging a iron mace at me.
Kill one, and another zombie-looking fucker lunged from behind.
"Die, you vermin shit!"
They were in a do-or-die spot where failing to break us meant death, and their eyes burned with feral fire.
Of course, no skillless scrub could kill me no matter how hyped they got...
'But when that's one or two turning into hundreds, shit gets real.'
Knowing that, I couldn't let my guard down.
They kept slamming into us like waves crashing on shore, and the death rattles and curses from the guys around me dying echoed now and then.
"Fuck, these ant-swarm bastards!"
"Ugh, Mom..."
"Am I dying like this?"
I was holding out on pure skill, but if this kept up, things were getting dicey.
Meanwhile, the ones desperate to break the encirclement kept ramping up their momentum to survive.
"We gotta crush these fuckers somehow if we wanna live!"
With that resolve, the Montmartre bastards kept pushing us back, their fury building.
Before I knew it, casualties started piling up in my squad, and the number attacking me wasn't dropping—it was exploding.
At first, two or three at a time; now it was four or five...
"Kill that showoff first!"
Whether they'd gotten smart or not, they put the weaklings up front to wear us down, saving the stronger ones for later.
They were pulling every dirty trick to drive us insane.
"Fuck, seriously. These goddamn assholes."
The baron who earned my praise kept feeding in more troops.
"The only way out is forward! Advance!"
Under Baron Eclaire's reckless single-point breakthrough strategy, both sides were grinding down bit by bit.
Even in our mercenary corps, elites like Walter requested to fall back.
"Captain, gimme ten minutes to catch my breath..."
Dalton nodded while fighting, giving his approval.
He'd have preferred keeping elites like Walter up front, but losing him to exhaustion would hurt worse, so he agreed.
"Martin, you holding up?"
I tossed back a joke while killing enemies.
"Feels like I'm about to drop—can I fall back?"
"Bullshit. If you got breath for jokes, you could take another hundred."
Normally a quip like that eased the strain a bit, but right now, with how brutal it was, I felt nothing.
Even in that chaos, the enemies kept swarming me...
After holding out for nearly an hour, knights from the baron's command started appearing.
"Die, you mercenary scum!"
A low-rank knight swung at me, and I parried then counterattacked instantly.
"A mercenary like you!"
"What? Says the weak-ass knight."
I lopped off the neck of the pompous unskilled fucker.
But as more decent regulars and knights kept coming...
I called for help from Hans's Hundred-Man Squad—the only unit nearby that looked like they had some breathing room.
"Hans Hundred-Man Captain, backup here, please!"
The guy's an idiot and looks at me like I'm dogshit, but surely he wouldn't ignore a fellow mercenary's call for aid?
But contrary to what I'd expected, the reinforcements Hans should've sent kept getting delayed.
At that moment, Lucia was with Karin, relentlessly slaughtering Baron Eclaire and his mercenaries attacking the White Beard Mercenary Corps with spells.
"Fireball!"
Lucia chanted and unleashed her spell, incinerating several soldiers trailing the baron.
But her expression was grim.
It was because Martin, the Squad Leader she'd fallen for at some point, was in dire straits.
On top of that, for some reason, Hans Hundred-Man Captain—who'd been asked for support—wasn't splitting his unit to help; he just kept fighting his own battle...
'If this goes on, the Squad Leader will...'
And right then, as if seizing the moment, Baron Eclaire and Count Rezume's army threw a mass of soldiers and knights at Martin, the core blocking their retreat.
Looking down from above, it seemed impossible for Martin to handle alone.
She couldn't ask other mercenary mages for help in this situation either.
In the end, Lucia knew she had to attempt an intermediate spell—something beyond her current level, just like Martin had once pushed her.
'If it's an intermediate spell's power... I can save the Squad Leader...'
Lucia recited the incantation for the intermediate spell she'd memorized.
"O fire, become a piercing spear before me and burn all enemies to ash..."
"As wood vanishes in scorching flames and all life perishes. Spirit of fire, judge them with your power... Fire Spear!"
⟨ Fire Spear ⟩