Chapter 98
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: Beheading Operation (3)
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A few days later, Rev Forest.
Baron Aines, commanding the detached force including my Hundred-Man Unit under his wing, raised his right hand in a halt signal.
"Entire army, halt here."
At those words, the two thousand men of the detached force, myself included, came to a stop.
"Everyone stand by here until this baron issues further orders. I won't interfere even if you sit and rest, since we don't know how long the wait will be. However, anyone caught in unnecessary chatter will face severe punishment under military law."
Even as mercenaries, when serving under the margrave of the borderlands, we fall under his authority—so breaking military law here means losing your head.
Which meant we all had to stifle even our breathing with the enemy right in front of us.
The commanders, starting with me, relayed orders in hushed tones.
"No chit-chat, everyone. Sit and rest if you want."
"Don't open your mouths for no reason or you'll die—just sit there zoning out."
"Sitting and resting is fine, but talking means death."
Once the orders rippled through the entire detached force, Baron Aines turned to another knight.
"No separate enemy scouting parties nearby, right?"
"There were some, but we're clear for the next few hours. From interrogating the ones we just captured, no additional scouts will be sent around here until evening."
Aines frowned at that.
"......Can't take that at face value. Double the guard detail."
"Understood."
"And pass the word to the archers among the mercenaries—keep a thorough watch on the surroundings."
With orders given to lay in ambush in this prime spot for a surprise attack and maintain vigilant perimeter security, Baron Aines beckoned to me.
"Martin Meyer, right? Come here."
"Yes, my lord Baron."
I headed over, but couldn't shake the curiosity about why he'd called me specifically.
'No anger in his expression or voice, so probably not to dress me down.'
As I approached, Baron Aines pointed off to the front right.
Looking that way, I had a clear view of the rear lines of the Montmartre army we were facing.
"Whew, thought I was a goner... Hey, kid, grab some cold water!"
"Cold water my ass—only got lukewarm stuff."
"Acting all cocky since you made ten-man squad leader?"
They looked like they'd just pulled back from heavy fighting at the vanguard—clothes caked in dirt and blood, faces etched with exhaustion.
None of the resting men seemed to suspect a rear assault; beyond manning posts, there was barely any control in place.
Well, even if I were the Count of Montmartre, with plains all around making 'surprise attacks' incredibly tough in the first place, it wouldn't be easy to imagine a sudden blow from behind.
Plus, our forces under Margrave Estelle totaled a mere fifteen thousand—far fewer than theirs...
'No way they'd suspect we'd split our already outnumbered troops in terrain this hostile to ambushes.'
Baron Aines clapped my shoulder and flashed a grin.
"Your proposed plan looks like it'll go smoother than expected. Even in the rear, that level of defenselessness screams they didn't plan for a raid. Launch the surprise attack, and the shock will hit hard."
"We got lucky."
Even in the rear, the norm is minimal guards and some semblance of control to brace for potential raids.
So when I dreamed up and pitched this beheading op, I'd pictured them maintaining at least that much order—not this mess.
Hence my honest reply, but Baron Aines creased his brow just a touch.
"Luck? Spare me. I know that's not your intent, but it could undercut Margrave Estelle's high regard for you. This is your cool judgment of the situation shining through, pure and simple."
Since luck that sticks to the skilled counts as part of their skill, yeah?
"You're too kind."
"Kind my foot—thanks to you, we get to smash those defenseless fools from behind."
"If Margrave Estelle hadn't deigned to hear out a nobody mercenary like me, I never would've had the chance to shine. And that praise? Save it for after we bag that count over there."
"Brimming with confidence. Reminds me of my younger self. Who knows—you might even reach sword master like me."
Sword master—the pinnacle realm where, per the game's lore, maybe one in every two thousand aura-wielding swordsmen barely scrapes by.
I'm grinding steadily toward it myself, viewing every enemy I cut down in battle as part of the process.
"Thank you, my lord Baron."
Aines nodded at that, then asked in a grave tone,
"That aside, the waiting game's honestly a pain. They're parading around so defenseless, practically begging for a raid, and yet we hold back longer."
"We wait for the margrave's victory."
"I get that, but got any extra plans you mulled over on the march here?"
"Their rear discipline's a disaster, so right now it's probably just the worn-out guys and the weaklings. Put non-elites—reserves—at our front, then commit the elites once their stamina flags."
No matter how dim the Montmartre lot, if our beheading squad tears up their rear, they'll rush in elites to crush us.
So matching that timing with fresh knights and top fighters should handle it fine.
"Key to this op isn't racking up more Montmartre kills—it's snatching their commander, Count Belluga, to end the fight. Good, that's the play."
His words had barely landed when one of our soldiers came sprinting up.
"Baron Aines! Montmartre troops are rushing to the front lines!"
Aines shot to his feet.
"Margrave's moving faster than I figured. Entire force, on your feet! Common foot soldiers up front—knights and anyone strong, hang back."
Hearing that, I swung around to the rear per orders.
"Our turn's come. Everyone set?"
My White Beard Mercenary Corps lads, sharp as ever, nodded silently instead of roaring cheers.
"Arrows and spells before we charge. I'm not leading point—you lot are. I'll trail behind, so just fight like we've trained: like in the real scraps."
Other units might vary, but our White Beard Mercenary Corps troops have drilled relentlessly in formations and guerrilla tactics.
Boosting their average prowess sky-high.
Rookies still can't top veteran senior mercs one-on-one...
'But drop our rookies in any merc outfit, and they're minimum A-rank.'
With averages leveled up across the board, the White Beard Mercenary Corps will shine even without me.
Like a needle in your pocket ripping right through your pants.
"Counting on you."
With that, Baron Aines swept his sword in a signal to every soul in the detached force.
Ready to burst from the woods and strike?
"All set."
"Trust us."
"We'll show the knights and regulars of House Conrad Baron's might."
And so we crept right to the forest's edge, footsteps muffled.
No trumpets blared, no arrows flew from the enemy—they had zero clue we were lying in wait.
"......Our chance."
Soon, his standard-bearers shook their flags up and down.
"Lucia, commence spell chant. Hit 'em with your strongest."
"Yes."
As Lucia began chanting, mages in the other merc units and noble contingents kicked off theirs too.
Archers nocked arrows, holding dead silent till the chants wrapped.
Just two or three minutes—but the pressure of needing this raid to nail perfectly dragged it out forever.
'Botch it here, we're all dead.'
Always the case, but tension ratcheted higher now.
Cold sweat slicked my palms; my heartbeat hammered my eardrums.
Baron Aines felt it too, judging by the...
Aura pouring off him.
If mine looked like blue mist, his was a thick, heavy blue shroud blanketing him.
Or rather, a dense blue aura cloud billowing from his whole body—like poison gas.
Threatening as hell to the eye; wondered how it'd fare against foes for real.
Some human-limit-shattering force—like a tank or fighter plane?
Lost in such stray thoughts, his voice thundered out—not just resonant, but lightning-crack loud.
"Entire force, loose! Long live Margrave Estelle!"