Chapter 90
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: Battle of Sennen Plains (2)
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Ten days later, on the plains near Sennen Castle.
When I was a squad leader, I had thirty men under me. But now that I'd become a hundred-man commander, somehow I ended up with a full hundred soldiers at my command.
Still, up until now, I'd been too busy cleaning up after Hans's death, taking over the hundred-man unit, and marching to even think about it...
But standing here on the battlefield, looking over my subordinates, it really hit me different.
"Does it feel different now that you're a hundred-man commander, sir?"
I turned at the voice and saw Otto, Hans's senior squad leader in the hundred-man unit.
"Squad Leader Otto—no, just Otto."
"It's been a while since you became hundred-man commander, hasn't it? And you still don't quite believe it. Just call me Otto, anyway."
"Got it, Otto."
Otto nodded and smiled at that.
"Out of curiosity, though—are you really okay with a guy like me suddenly becoming hundred-man commander?"
I wasn't asking because I thought Otto had some grudge against me.
A young punk like me suddenly becoming hundred-man commander—not to mention that Hans had done something anyone would agree deserved death.
But since I was the one who killed that trash, I figured it'd be tough even after taking the position. That's when Otto smoothed things over with the others.
If not for that, I'd have had to bust my ass like a dog to take full control of this unit.
"Honestly? I'd be lying if I said no. I've been a mercenary for nearly twenty years and I'm still just a senior squad leader, while a guy who's been at it less than two years is already hundred-man commander. I thought I was pretty capable myself, but next to you, Hundred-Man Commander Martin, I feel like a total incompetent."
It's like the top student in school who goes to Seoul University and suddenly feels ordinary—or worse, deludes themselves into thinking they're not incompetent.
Otto grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.
"That said, aside from that—you're way better than Hans ever was."
"Yeah?"
"Of course. Serving under a competent commander means better odds of survival and more achievements to claim. Hell, fighting under trash like Pappenheim just gets you killed like a dog. But with an excellent leader like you, we make good money and get promotions."
"It all comes down to who's at the top. Speaking of, that Pappenheim bastard—nah, let's drop it."
Just thinking about that creepy piece of shit made my skin crawl. Hell, I'd probably go limp even with Karin if he crossed my mind.
And here on this dangerous battlefield? One thought of him, and I'd swear an arrow or spell would take me out pathetically.
"I have zero complaints. If anything, I'm thrilled—and I bet the rest of the hundred-man unit feels the same. So, Hundred-Man Commander Martin, forget everything else. Just win this for us. That way, when I retire, I can snag a mid-tier knight title, marry some wife thirty years younger, fondle her tits in comfort, and enjoy my old age, right?"
Genuine fire burned in his eyes.
Well, honestly, men are suckers for women's breasts from twenty to eighty, right up till they die.
Hell, that's why they say looking at them even extends your life.
"Right? Alright, then. Let's do this proper."
And soon enough, the trumpets blared.
The call to charge the enemy lines rang out, and commanders' shouts echoed everywhere.
"Capture those Montmartre bastards and slaughter them all!"
"Show the Rhinepalz Empire our spicy side!"
"White Beard Mercenary Corps, charge!"
Ears ringing from the roars, I took position at the front of my hundred-man unit and stepped forward in sync with my men.
With every step, my heart pounded.
I've stood on battlefields countless times, survived near-death more times than I can count on two hands.
Yet marching in formation, knowing I could die in this war, still brought cold sweat to my palms.
The guys in my unit around me were muttering too.
"Look at those fuckers—numbers like cockroaches."
"Heard they've been marching nonstop for over a month without real rest."
"They look fine on the outside, but they're probably dying inside."
From the chatter, morale in my hundred-man unit seemed solid enough...
Now we just needed to clash with the enemy and land one good hit.
With that confidence, I kept stepping forward until the Montmartre soldiers came clearly into view.
I'd hoped a month of hellish marching left them exhausted, barely able to hold spears.
But they looked way better than I'd imagined.
Their marching steps toward us didn't scream utter fatigue, and I didn't spot any shaking like leaves.
"Rhinepalz Empire scum—gonna kill you all today."
"Dude, why are you so into these Montmartre bastards? You're a mercenary, merc."
"Getting into it makes you fight better, doesn't it?"
If they could joke like that, morale was high, not low.
'Did Count Estelle's plan go off track?'
I focused my aura into my eyes for a closer look.
Up close, their faces showed the strain of hard marching—haggard, definitely.
Judging by that, the Montmartre brass must've wanted to prove their heads weren't empty.
The day before battle, they stuffed the troops with meat and booze, let them sleep it off to recover as much stamina as possible...
'But built-up fatigue from the long march means they won't last in a prolonged fight.'
And most battles—especially infantry ones without aura—aren't won by who wields the spear best, but who endures longest...
Reading the strategy like that, I couldn't help but admire it inwardly.
"Damn, Montmartre bastards are smart, but our border count's even sharper. This is what a war led by competent lords looks like?"
Under Pappenheim's command, I'd never seen such a sharp mental chess match. I felt like applauding silently.
'With the board set like this, time for me to go wild too, huh?'
Decision made, we drew closer to the enemy—and mages and archers from the Rhinepalz Empire and Montmartre Kingdom began trading fire.
"Arrows! Rain 'em down!"
"Every arrow or spell you loose saves soldiers' lives!"
"Don't hold back—fire everywhere!"
As the archery duel kicked off, I slammed down my visor and barked orders.
"Heads down! Eyes forward, don't look around! No panicking and dodging, no charging ahead excited! Follow the line!"
At my command, squad leaders and ten-man leaders started chewing out their men.
"Fuck, heads down if you wanna live!"
"Do what Hundred-Man Commander says."
"Calm your asses! No rushing like premature bastards!"
Before, my orders went straight to the men with no relay nagging. Seeing it now felt kinda novel.
Then Lucia aimed the staff I'd bought her at the enemy and began chanting.
"All-devouring flames, become a spear of fire that incinerates all enemies blocking my path."
⟨ Fire Spear ⟩
As she chanted on, a flame spear as thick as my arm formed above our heads, spear-shaped and growing steadily.
The firepower dwarfed a fireball—the heat made us nearby sweat instantly.
'How much punch does it pack?'
"Fire Spear!"
Lucia finished chanting, and the fiery spear rocketed toward the enemy soldiers.
They gaped and tried to dodge...
But no escaping an arrow-speed flame spear.
"Aaaagh!"
"Fuck, it's hot!"
"Help!"
Not quite the all-devouring inferno of her last fireball, but mid-tier magic power for sure.
Soldiers in a two-meter radius around impact went up in flames at once. Roughly counting...
About a dozen.
Long chant, massive mana drain...
But in an era without guns or bombs, one mage pulling this off repeatedly was impressive.
Lucia kept firing until we were moments from collision with the Montmartre troops—now close enough to cross spears.
"Come on, try and kill me! Push slow with your spears!"