Chapter 120
Chapter 120
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 120
Chapter Title: Trap
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"Who are you? I heard you were looking for me."
Cutter spoke with a listless expression at the sudden visit from the merchant. But that lasted only a moment—his face hardened as the guest continued speaking.
At first, the man offered a donation and slipped him a bit of coin. But then he started badmouthing Kyle. What had come of all those years serving him? Or how the viscount didn't seem to appreciate his captain's merits. Things like that.
"How dare you speak ill of my lord!"
He did snap in anger, but the words weren't entirely wrong. Despite serving Kyle up close for so long, Cutter hadn't received a proper title. A baron's rank would have been nice, at least. He had thought that sometimes.
"To be frank, I'm a man sent by Count Osland. His lordship heard of your captain's plight and pitied him. He asked me to extend an offer."
Osland's proposal was simple: betray Kyle and come over to his side, and he'd grant a noble title. Not just any—a viscountcy, no less. Cutter fell silent for a moment.
When he finally spoke again, their conversation dragged on a bit longer. It was about thirty minutes later that the merchant left the tent with a beaming smile.
The moment the merchant stepped out, Cutter's face—which had been smiling just seconds ago—turned to stone like magic. He knew his place. And he knew how those who chased after undeserved rewards and betrayed their oaths ended up.
"A viscountcy, huh... How am I supposed to believe that?"
In the end, the count had only made the offer because Cutter held the position of mercenary captain. But if he betrayed Kyle now and sided with Osland—and if Osland won—would that promise hold? Especially to a commoner like him?
With those thoughts in mind, he went to find Kyle.
"My lord. Captain Cutter is here to see you."
"Send him in."
At this hour? Kyle found it a bit odd, but he gladly cleared a spot in the tent when he heard it was Cutter. The captain entered, grinning as he rubbed his palms together.
"Still up, as expected, brother. Where's the lady, though? That countess is always stuck to you like glue."
"That what you came to see?"
Cutter shook his head at Kyle's words.
"Nah... I came to talk about something important. When have I ever dropped by for no reason? A guy sent by Count Osland showed up earlier, and he offered me..."
A viscountcy in exchange for betraying his lord. He relayed the exact proposal to Kyle, word for word.
"The count must be desperate."
Kyle's face showed no surprise. He'd expected the count to pull some scheme with those around him after the battle had turned against him.
The knights obsessed with honor and such wouldn't tolerate talk of betrayal—they'd lop off his head on the spot. And among the other nobles, there was no one whose defection would make a real difference.
That left only Cutter: a commoner without a title, whose betrayal would hit hardest.
"Why not betray me and take the viscountcy?"
Cutter stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"You crazy? Say I do betray you and win—what then? No guarantee that noble prick keeps his word to a mere commoner like me."
"So you turned him down flat?"
"Not quite. Told him I'd think it over and sent him packing. Figured you could use this somehow."
Kyle smiled in satisfaction. That was why he'd kept Cutter by his side all this time. No formal education, but the man had sharp instincts.
As Cutter looked at him expectantly, Kyle spoke quietly.
"Call that merchant back and say you'll betray me. For the signal... yeah, a flare arrow. Ask him to send his knights and cavalry charging at us when it goes up."
That was his order to Cutter. A fake betrayal to lure the knights as far out as possible, clearing the way for Arthur to take down the count and viscount. He'd planned to bait the cavalry and knights out somehow anyway, but this might make it easier.
The next day, with winds strong enough to whip the banners on the battlefield, Count Osland's army began bustling about from morning.
"Haha! Even the wind fights for us!"
The breeze blew from Osland's lines toward Lucas's. With the wind at their backs, their archers would hold the advantage. The count laughed heartily as he surveyed the field.
"Good! So that mercenary took the deal?"
"Heh... what'd you expect from a sellsword? Offered him a viscountcy, and he jumped at it. Said he'd signal when he hits the viscount—wants knights and cavalry to back him up then."
Everything was going according to plan. Sure, it might be a ruse, but in their eyes, commoners were uneducated, greedy fools. They brushed the doubt aside. Noble arrogance blinded them.
"Excellent! Finally, time to teach that fool Viscount Lucas a lesson!"
"Congratulations on the victory in advance!"
While their tents buzzed with festive cheer, Osland's soldiers marched forward with grim faces. The nobles barking orders from the rear might not have noticed, but those up front—facing the enemy blades-to-blades, eyes locked—knew they were at a disadvantage.
"Today's the day I die..."
"Shh! Don't jinx it!"
The soldiers' weary footsteps echoed across the field. Their officers sensed the mood but said nothing. They were just as uneasy.
"Archers forward!"
Uneasy soldiers and overconfident nobles. The morning's battle curtain rose amid this strange tension with the archers' volley.
"Loose!"
Twang! Thwip-!
Strings snapped like gayageum wires, and arrows sliced through the air. As Osland and his nobles thought, the wind favored them—their archers were dominating the exchange.
"Archers, fall back! Archers, fall back!"
Lucas's side pulled theirs first. Seeing the wind-inflicted losses in the archery duel, Kyle quickly withdrew them.
"Heads down! Tighten ranks, you dumb bastards!"
As the infantry advanced, officers reformed the lines to minimize arrow casualties. Spears bristled like a forest atop the formation—so dense, an apple tossed from above would be skewered. It wasn't perfect, but it offered some protection from arrows.
And their solid gear shone again here. Even arrows piercing the spear wall bounced harmlessly off their armor, inflicting no real damage.
This forced Osland's emboldened archers to slowly retreat. Sure, some fell, but they were just conscripts from the center. Intimidated by the fierce-eyed infantry charging like they meant to tear limbs if caught, the archers fell back to their lines.
"Looks like Count Osland learned nothing from yesterday's fight."
Lenia's observation, seeing their unchanged formation despite near-defeat.
"Maybe he's that confident in Cutter's betrayal."
Everyone nodded at Kyle's words. Otherwise, their troop deployment made no sense. And as the infantry clashed again in yesterday's spot, Kyle—watching the field—gave the order.
"Send out the knights and cavalry. Fire the flare once they're at a good distance."
"The time has come to end this war! Swords of Cligrove! Mount up!"
At the command, the waiting knights and cavalry saddled up. They knew it was a feint, but they armed fully and charged out at full speed to sell the ruse.
And as distance grew from the command tent, a flare arced into the sky.
Screeeee-!
The specially made arrow whistled through the air, echoing across the field. Timed perfectly after the light cavalry and knights had pulled ahead, it was enough to fool Osland, who was just watching for the signal.
Even the command tent staff milling about in feigned chaos at the perfect moment. He could have double-checked, but impatience won out.
"The mercenary's finally moving! What are you waiting for? Charge!"
"As you command!"
"Light cavalry up front! Grab Viscount Lucas prisoner! We'll cover you!"
The eager cavalry surged forward. Hooves thundered across the earth. They spurred their mounts without hesitation, aiming to smash Lucas's command and end the war.
Bwaaaaaa-!
Trumpets blared—the light cavalry's signature. Their drawn swords flashed in the sun. The lead banner whipped in the gale.
"Cavalry incoming! They're charging!"
Kyle's infantry clenched their jaws at the sight—unlike yesterday, these riders looked ready to crash right in. Trained and battle-tested or not, facing ton-heavy living tanks head-on was daunting.
Pike blocks at the flanks raised their weapons like hedgehogs bristling spines, bracing for the charge.
"Damn it! Thought we'd get a breather!"
"Battle ready! Spears up proper! You miss one, we're all dead!"
The distant specks grew larger. Close enough now to hear the horses snorting. Soldiers braced, fixing spears into the ground...
But...
"Huh?"
The cavalry thundered past them. Straight toward the command tent in the rear.
"Capture Viscount Lucas!"
"Grab him, and we're the heroes of the feast!"
Even if Cligrove's knights and cavalry returned now, they had time to snag Kyle. Young riders whooped at the chance for glory, whipping their horses on.
And the moment they reached the command tent, they realized something was wrong.
"Wha— Huh?!"
"Pull up!"
Neighhh-!
A cleverly concealed pit trap yawned before them—invisible until too close. Wooden stakes filled the depths. Panicked riders yanked reins, but it was far too late.
"Aaaagh!"
"Trap... Gahk!"
Horses and riders plunged in. A few quick-thinkers gunned their speed and leaped across, saving their lives—but nothing more.