Chapter 96
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: Decapitation Operation (1)
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A week passed just like that.
The tide of the war, which had started as 15,000 against 20,000, had indeed tilted somewhat toward our side, much as Count Estelle had anticipated.
However, Count Estelle was shackled by two major problems.
The commander of Montmartre's 20,000-strong army, Marquis Montmarshu, was far more capable than expected, and a significant number of troops under him were elite soldiers.
As a result, the count's strategy of engaging the enemy when they were fatigued and worn out wasn't panning out as well as hoped.
To break through this impasse and minimize sacrifices, the count frequently convened strategy meetings.
"They only gather the high-and-mighty, so I can't even get in..."
Endless meetings were held exclusively for mercenary captains commanding over 200 men, nobles from noble houses or their proxies, and the count's senior vassals.
No solid plan to 'break this deadlock' had emerged yet. So when Captain Dalton returned, our mercenary corps would need to discuss how to follow the count's orders.
Officers from squad leader upward had been ordered to stay sober and wait idly, without even touching alcohol.
That said, I had a 'good plan' in mind, so I'd deliberately waited for Captain Dalton to emerge from the meeting, hoping to relay it to the count through him.
A few minutes later, I heard Dalton sigh and mutter curses.
"Fuck, they say nothing in this world comes easy."
I approached him from where he was, carrying a fairly large ceramic jug filled with beer.
"Good work, Captain. Care for a drink?"
"I appreciate the thought, but I'm not in the mood for booze right now."
Was Border Count Estelle pushing so hard that even Dalton was turning down a drink?
Well, if things dragged on like this into a protracted war, the sacrifices among the border count's troops would mount, making it ever harder to achieve the next strategic objectives.
Even if told not to rush, he had no choice but to feel anxious.
'That frustration must have spilled over onto Dalton.'
"Come on, have just one. I've got a solid plan in mind, actually."
Dalton frowned for a split second, but his ears perked up.
"Fine, since it's you—the guy who grabbed that trash Baron Pappenheim by the collar and even nabbed Count Rezume—I'll hear you out."
I wished he wouldn't say stuff like that while perking his ears and subtly leaning toward me.
A grown man acting all tsundere, words clashing with his actions... it was making my stomach turn...
"You say that, but your hand's already on the beer mug..."
"Just spit it out. No time to waste."
I wanted to tease Captain Dalton a bit more, but time was short, so I let it go.
"How about proposing a decapitation operation that strikes their rear?"
Dalton stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
"We're already flanking them—going all the way around to smack the enemy in the back of the head? You serious?"
With that, I flashed a wicked grin and spent quite some time persuading Captain Dalton.
At first, he listened with a 'what the hell is this guy thinking?' look on his face, but as time wore on, he started paying closer attention to my words.
By the time I was wrapping up, he was nodding vigorously, like he was about to take notes.
"From this perspective, considering the current situation and terrain analysis, I believe a 'decapitation' operation is more than feasible."
Dalton clapped his hands and nodded.
"Not bad, fuck yeah. If the count greenlights it, we could turn this war around."
With that, Dalton grabbed my hand.
"Fuck, the border count said to come straight to him anytime with a good plan. Let's go report it right now—together."
......At this late hour, as a mere mercenary captain—not some baron or the count's direct senior knight—could we really just barge in?
We might not lose our heads for rudeness if we ran into the wrong noble, but we could end up drowning in all sorts of trouble.
"Got it. Then for our mercenary corps..."
Dalton beckoned to Albert the administrator, who was standing right beside him.
"Admin, go tell the boys I'll be late—tell 'em to hit the sack first."
"Understood."
And so, Captain Dalton and I went to meet the border count.
Border Count Estelle granted an audience only to me, out of the two of us.
**
"Border Count Estelle, pardon the intrusion."
A moment later, a deep, resonant voice came from inside.
"Enter."
"Then, pardon me."
The tent was surprisingly spacious inside, and for a noble, there were far fewer furnishings and items than I'd imagined.
Just a soft-looking bed, an expensive-looking desk and chair, a sword and armor, and a tapestry bearing his crest.
'Captain Dalton's tent, by contrast, is piled mountain-high with all sorts of valuables.'
For a noble—and a border count, no less—this Spartan setup made my favor for him tick up a notch.
"I pay my respects to Border Count Estelle. Thank you for granting this sudden audience."
If I'd been a commoner, I'd have had to drop to both knees and bow deeply, but as a former knight, I followed protocol: one knee to the ground, head bowed in respect.
Estelle approached me at once, clapped me on the shoulder, and helped me to my feet.
"Rise. I'm truly pleased to meet you alone like this."
"It's a profound honor for a mere mercenary like me to have a private audience with you, my lord."
Even a one-on-one with a baron is practically impossible for a mercenary unless you're a captain with sky-high renown.
A count—no, a border count—is far too exalted for even top-tier mercenary captains to dare request a private meeting.
Yet here I was, a lowly hundred-man leader in a mercenary corps, meeting a count one-on-one.
'This alone is brag material I could milk for ten years at the tavern, even if it's not exactly house glory.'
"I'm grateful you say that. Now, have a seat."
I sat without protest.
"Normally, I'd discuss the plan with you and Dalton together. But I called you alone because there's something I personally want to ask."
"Is that so?"
"Before we get to the operation, let me ask first: Any thoughts on enlisting under me?"
From everything I'd seen of Estelle so far, following this man would be no bad choice for my future.
As a border count, he had a gentle demeanor and treated his vassals and mercenaries well—a model employer.
He rewarded exceptional talent generously, regardless of birth, drawing out the best in everyone.
Unlike that trash Pappenheim, he possessed the judgment, command ability, and decisiveness essential for surviving chaotic times.
So if I were an ordinary mercenary, I'd have pledged my sword on the spot for a shot at turning my life around...
'But coldly speaking, my value is only climbing higher.'
"Your offer is deeply humbling, my lord, but I still have much to learn."
Of course, I didn't actually think I was lacking.
My value was sure to skyrocket further—getting hooked by a mere 'senior knight' title and stalling my career here would be a waste.
But saying that outright would be as good as picking a fight with Border Count Estelle...
Better to frame it as my own shortcomings.
At my words, the border count gave a wry smile.
"You know your own worth well. True, your feats so far were plenty for a senior knight. But now that you're leading a hundred-man unit, you can spread your wings—you'll soar from here."
I brimmed with confidence that I'd fly even higher ahead.
'No complaints about Karin or Lucia, but since I'm on this path, I might as well see it through to the end.'
"I'm humbled, my lord. I'll do my utmost to live up to your expectations and show even better results going forward."
"I look forward to your future exploits."
Bluntly put, the abilities I'd shown so far were just personal martial prowess, street smarts, and tactical schemes as Martin Meyer.
In other words, nothing that screamed 'commander or overall strategist' capable of dominating an entire battlefield indefinitely.
But by taking command of a hundred-man unit and smashing two enemy mercenary corps in a single day, I'd proven that—whether as a mercenary captain or noble—I could lead hundreds or thousands to results beyond expectations.
In military terms, it was as good as being pegged as a future four-star general.
I glanced at Border Count Estelle's face, worried he might harbor resentment...
A smile still lingered on the border count's face.
'At least no ill will toward me.'
With that, he quirked the corner of his mouth and asked me,
"Tell me, you—the man who dragged Baron Pappenheim along and wiped out the 5,000 troops led by Count Rezume. What plan have you brought?"