Chapter 119
Chapter 119
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: Sworn Brothers
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Dong-! Dong-!
Once the knights' duel concluded, both armies eyed each other warily as they began forming up their lines. My forces were arrayed just as planned earlier: elites positioned on both flanks and mercenaries holding the center. Oslund's army, meanwhile, had heavily reinforced their left wing.
"Looks like they're planning to smash through our left."
The enemy might be inferior in quality to my army, but their sheer numbers were a real threat. And excluding my own troops, they weren't exactly low-quality either.
Lenia's army had suffered a severe drop in caliber after several wars. Either way, the dice had been cast. With the count showing no intention of avoiding battle, all I could do was fight and win.
One way to minimize casualties would be to lure them out as far as possible and create an opening for Arthur. Slim chance of success, though it was.
"Switch the flanks to square formation. And the knight taking point..."
As I scanned the knights while giving the order, Lenia grabbed my hand.
"I'll take point."
"No. If you get captured..."
It would be a total disaster. She was my fiancée and Cligrove's lord to boot. And if she died in battle, I might even regret finding her in the first place.
But the other knights backed her up.
"As you know, my lady... er, Lady Count, is the finest knight in the domain. Leave it to her without worry."
With even them saying that, I hesitated for a moment. Was putting Lenia at the front really the right call? After a brief internal debate...
"...Be careful. No reckless charges. Follow my orders."
"Yeah..."
She blushed at my worried tone and nodded.
"Pour everything into the left wing and crush them in one go! Cavalry, just keep their horsemen pinned—don't engage!"
Oslund had no choice but to use his cavalry conservatively. Just moments ago, three of his knights had fallen in a row to Kyle and some nameless knight. It was pure bad luck, but to the count, it looked like his knights were simply outclassed.
Anyone could see Oslund held the edge in cavalry, but those three losses made him play it safe. Spotting that caution, Kyle decided to use lighter cavalry—knights were too heavy—instead, to draw them out.
"Have the light cavalry keep harassing their right wing."
No point shaking their beefed-up left. So he targeted their weaker right instead.
"Charge! Riders of Cligrove!"
"Follow Cligrove's brothers! Uphold Viscount Lucas's honor! Fight bravely!"
At the command, the cavalry blew their horns and surged forward. Seeing this, Count Oslund dispatched his waiting cavalry. The problem? They weren't light cavalry—they were knights.
It was a conservative move born of caution. Better to block the enemy light horse with vastly superior knights and minimal losses than clash same-for-same and take hits.
Oslund's thinking wasn't wrong. Ordinary cavalry would either fumble an awkward fight or smash head-on and become fodder for the knights.
But Cligrove's light cavalry—the same that had dealt devastating blows to the elf riders in the Cligrove-Sarisa War—had rebuilt their strength, adopted elven cavalry tactics wholesale, and drilled relentlessly.
"Just shake them up! Stick to training!"
They plunged deep, as if aiming straight for Oslund's right flank, then wheeled sharply just before entering arrow range.
Pew! Clatter!
Late arrows rained down where the cavalry had been moments before. They inflicted no hits, scattering harmlessly on bare ground.
Once the volley passed, the cavalry wheeled back, charging near the knights again.
"Brace for charge! They're coming!"
It looked like a raid on their disorganized line, so the knights hastily reformed and prepared. But again, the cavalry teasingly turned tail.
"Those damned bastards!"
Oslund and Wisili's knights fumed, realizing they'd been toyed with. Drawn by the taunts, they were gradually lured toward the battlefield's edge.
"Seems those noble lads are doing their jobs well, brother."
"Guess they've trained properly since the last war."
Kyle nodded at Cutter's words. Meanwhile, as knights chased cavalry in a deadly game of tag, the main armies clashed.
"Spears forward! We've got the edge! Trust your spear length!"
As veteran soldiers and officers shouted, Lucas's forces gained the upper hand in the initial clash. Trained as professional pikemen, they thrust out their long pikes in three ranks.
The length difference wasn't huge—maybe a meter at most, 50cm on average. But it was enough for superiority.
"Argh!"
"Fuck! Why are their spears so damn long?!"
Side-by-side, the gap seemed minor. But head-on? Totally different. You can't measure enemy spear length precisely at speed, so illusions arise.
That mere 50cm felt like over a meter to Oslund's soldiers and mercenaries—intimidating as hell.
And their discipline? Battle-hardened troops and mercenaries formed airtight lines, spears interlocked like arrows. The center—mere mercenaries and conscripts—was even, but irrelevant.
Clack! Crack!
Spear shafts and tips clashed noisily, points darting for gaps. Oslund's plan to break through their right with overwhelming numbers crumbled in that first exchange.
"What the hell are you idiots doing?! We outnumber them several times over, and you can't win?!"
From afar, it was maddening. Fine for the even center and right, but their reinforced left had twice as many men—yet more were falling, not pushing.
And these weren't conscripts. They were elite troops raised and trained by Count Oslund's house. Yet superior pike length and advanced tactics overwhelmed them.
"What are the knights doing?! Didn't you say you'd grab their cavalry and come back?!"
"Well..."
The count knew the battlefield situation. He knew the knights who'd promised to return with cavalry were the ones trapped. It was just a reprimand.
"Send in cavalry to pin them and extract our knights. Useless lot..."
At his order, surrounding cavalry peeled off. Now only Arthur and a handful of guards remained. The guards were essentially Arthur's men, but... he pondered, then let go of his axe haft.
'Too soon... Not yet...'
Even if he killed the count here, aftermath was the issue. Returning knights would surely slay him in rage.
Plus, the battle stalled. Lured knights returned via friendly cavalry, and collapsing lines held as Viscount Wisili reformed, thickening the ranks.
Dong! Dong!
"Fall back! Fall back!"
Only when spear-wielding, armored soldiers grew exhausted, breath ragged, did the armies glare and slowly retreat.
"Their strength is no joke!"
"They said Viscount Lucas poured his heart into building that army, and..."
"Troops say it's the spear length. Ours were nearly a meter shorter. Unless we fix that..."
Post-battle, Oslund's command tent buzzed. Some noted Kyle's army's might, others the spear disadvantage.
Bang!
"Quiet!"
The count, who'd listened silently, slammed the table, cutting them off.
"So you're saying we're at a disadvantage? Spear length? Strong enemy? Talking won't solve shit! Stop whining problems—give real solutions!"
"..."
The nobles fell silent. They had no easy fixes. Couldn't swap spears now, nor bridge training and experience gaps overnight.
Today's draw was thanks to Viscount Wisili's quick tactics and knight return.
"Ahem..."
"Hm..."
As nobles coughed and glanced around, the count's brow furrowed deeper. Then one raised a hand.
"Sir Oliver. Yes... got a good idea?"
A young noble, just shedding boyishness. Under all eyes, he cleared his throat and bowed to the count.
"Noble liege. May I humbly share what I know?"
"Speak."
With permission, young Sir Oliver spilled. He'd attended a party Kyle hosted recently and learned something there.
"Viscount Lucas has a man named Cutter under him. Rumor is, he's like a sworn brother from the viscount's mercenary days..."
"Hmph! A noble sworn brothers with a commoner?"
"Can't escape base blood, after all."
Nobles sneered at Kyle, but Oliver pressed on undeterred.
Cutter—heart-deep retainer and near-sworn brother since before Kyle's nobility—still held no title. He led the bulk of Lucas's forces: the Landsknechts.
"Hmm... I see. So that commoner Cutter must harbor some resentment, at least."
"Likely, my lord."
That evening, after hearing of Cutter, a merchant visited the count's tent most discreetly.