Chapter 97
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: Decapitation Operation (2)
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"I propose we launch a decapitation operation."
At those words, the Border Count furrowed his brow and let out a groan.
"You're not talking about sending a small unit to capture or assassinate the 'commander,' are you? That's far too out of left field."
As the Border Count said, a decapitation operation was essentially just a more refined way of saying 'assassination.'
In this world, assassination was seen as a cowardly act.
Even if it was to kill the enemy leader and swiftly end the war.
So, suggesting such a lowly act to a noble like the Border Count—for whom honor was more precious than life—was tantamount to touching his reverse scale.
To avoid any misunderstanding with Estelle, I added,
"This is absolutely not assassination dressed up in fancy terms. It's a forthright operation to raid and take down the enemy's 'high command.'"
At that, the Border Count's furrowed brow relaxed.
"When you, who's no assassin, suddenly brought up a decapitation op, it put me on edge. But looking at it rationally, a surprise attack would be incredibly tough here. This isn't a forest—it's open plains, isn't it?"
Executing a surprise attack on wide-open plains was practically impossible.
Anyone with good eyesight could spot us approaching from 3 or 4 kilometers away, even without a telescope.
Estelle continued pressing me with questions.
"Moreover, the enemy commander has a solid grasp of our troop numbers. So for a decapitation strike, say we pull out 2,000 men today—he'd notice by tomorrow morning."
Just as we knew the enemy's approximate strength from our scouts, they were surely using theirs to gauge our numbers.
Pulling out over 2,000 at once would tip them off that we were up to something, as the Border Count noted.
'But the way scouts tally our numbers is plain as day.'
"You're right, sir. Unless the enemy has spies infiltrated as mid-level knights, centurions, or mercenary officers under your command, they won't know our 'exact' numbers."
The reason was simple.
Even with a force of around 20,000, details like combat losses or deserters were classified as 'high-level intel.'
Unless you were someone of rank, you couldn't know how many able-bodied troops remained since the war began.
Even I, a mercenary centurion of some standing, had no clue how many 'combat-ready' soldiers Estelle currently commanded.
The Border Count nodded in agreement.
"Spot on. Only a tiny handful know the precise count, and the odds of one of them being a Montmartre spy are negligible."
"So, to gauge our strength, they're probably just counting cooking fires, flags, and the like, right?"
From ancient times through the medieval and early modern eras, scouts had indeed estimated enemy numbers by counting flags and cooking smokes.
And it was highly effective.
For instance, if one pot fed ten men, four thousand smokes meant roughly 40,000 troops.
'Which means we can fake 40,000 by setting out four thousand pots.'
The Border Count's eyes widened.
"Even after pulling out 2,000, if we gradually reduce the pots instead of slashing them outright, the enemy won't catch on easily."
If it were Pappenheim, he'd get the pot-counting bit but balk at slowly reducing them, forcing me into an hour-long lecture on why scouts rely on it.
But our Border Count grasped my intent instantly from a brief explanation.
'The nobles serving this man must be truly blessed.'
If I weren't hell-bent on climbing the ranks, I'd have aimed for a stable life as his civil servant—or upper knight.
"Yes, exactly. So withdrawing 2,000 to the rear while slowly cutting back on pots, flags, and tents should fool the enemy commander."
"Brilliant idea. But we still have mountains of hurdles. First off, for the ambush—where exactly?"
I pointed to the forest behind the Montmartre camp on the map atop his desk.
"Here, in Rev Forest. To avoid the Montmartre commander noticing if we head straight there, we'll disguise it as desertions and circle around over a few days."
The Border Count raised strong doubts.
"Disguising a troop withdrawal as desertions? That's a bit iffy."
"The enemy isn't stupid. Faking desertions is our best bet."
"Fair point. We're down to 15,000, war's dragging on—mass desertions wouldn't raise eyebrows. If scouts report large-scale desertions, he'll buy it. To sell the ruse properly, yeah, we need the act."
"Thank you for understanding."
Convincing Pappenheim would've required invoking his honor, piling on praise like a nationalist YouTuber hyping 'Korea is amazing!'
With the Border Count, no such pandering needed—pure bliss.
The conversation flowed so smoothly I kept thinking it.
"Alright, then how do we spring the ambush? Even hitting their rear, luring him into dropping his guard is key, no?"
I nodded.
"Over four days, we'll circle to Rev Forest. So on the fifth day, when battle erupts, feign defeat, tuck tail, and pretend to retreat."
His brow furrowed at the fake defeat and retreat.
"Feign defeat? You know casualties spike most during retreats—not frontal clashes with spears and swords."
In organized melee, troops could resist, keeping deaths moderate.
But retreating? No resistance—pure slaughter.
The results spoke for themselves.
"Yes, but there's good reason."
"Out with it."
"This op's core is bait. Put yourself in his shoes: if you had a shot at their commander, wouldn't you mass your vanguard for pursuit?"
The Border Count nodded.
"Leaving the rear lightly held with reserves. We'd move on that signal. If the decapitation unit strikes then, it should work fine."
A bright smile lit Estelle's face.
"Attack the commander's rear, enemy panics. We fake retreat then wheel about—they're caught flat-footed. Masterful plan."
"No prolonged war, fewer sacrifices, certain victory. What do you think, sir?"
"Heard you schemed Pappenheim into beating Count Rezume's 5,000 with 2,000—had high hopes from the start, but this exceeds them. Any support needed?"
Tempted to rat out Pappenheim's 'lies-packed report' then, but I held back.
Reporting now meant light punishment for false reports to HQ.
Plus, mid-decapitation talk, switching topics felt off.
"Draw evenly from each mercenary corps and nobles' regulars in the Linepfalz Imperial Army—for easy 'deserter' disguise. And for capturing the commander alive, we need elites..."
Estelle grinned.
"I'll commit Baron Ainz, an Aura Master under me, and our Border Count house's finest. They'll lead—any complaints?"
An Aura Master knight? No complaints.
"None, sir."
"Good. Get prepping. Op launches tomorrow night—need time to sort the decapitation detachment."