Chapter 73
Chapter 73
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: Deserters
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Draw your sword.”
From student to teacher, just like that. I wasn’t sure what I could even teach him, but since he’d learned the sword anyway, sparring with him would be good experience. Still, he was a mercenary, so I didn’t have high expectations—just planned to go easy on him.
If his skills turned out better than expected, I could always sweet-talk him into joining the lanzknechts. More skilled mercenaries wouldn’t hurt the unit.
Shring—
As Rahil drew his sword, a fine blade emerged—one that seemed a bit much for a mercenary to wield. Honestly, it looked better than the one I was using. Made at that Ashwick Forge in Cligrove, I figured.
“Then... Hansu... if you please...”
Just as I thought I saw his eyes gleaming from inside his helmet, Rahil’s shoulder twitched.
Kaang!
A fast, straightforward, heavy strike. The clash of steel sent a solid shock through my arms. Better than I’d thought—no, way better. If I spaced out, he might turn the tables on me.
Chaeng! Chae-aeng—!
I deflected the blade aimed at my neck and swung mine in a wide arc. Rahil frantically raised his sword overhead, parrying it away. I’d meant to just block, but his skill pulled a real swing out of me on instinct.
“You’re better than I expected.”
“Th-thank you...”
We were sparring in a quiet clearing after setting up camp, but the ringing clashes drew soldiers and knights over, aggro pulled by the noise. If I weren’t nobility, they’d probably be betting money, but for now, they just watched with interest.
As their eyes gathered, Rahil glanced around, and a small voice leaked from his helmet.
“Sh-shall we... continue...?”
“What do you want to do?”
He raised his sword again.
“Let’s... keep going...”
The clearing filled with the sound of clashing steel, and by the time soldiers and knights ringed it completely, rough breaths leaked from Rahil’s helmet. He’d hit his physical limit. I lowered my sword.
“You look exhausted. Let’s call it.”
“Haa... haa... Yes...”
Even as he panted like his lungs were bursting from the intense bout, he kept his helmet on. I worried he might suffocate.
“Sir Lucas.”
As I watched Rahil heaving for breath, Lenia walked over. Smiling faintly, she handed me a waterskin.
“You’ve improved even more. Makes me want to spar too.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
I took her waterskin. My throat wasn’t dry, but I figured Rahil might keel over any second. He didn’t look that strong, yet swinging a sword in full armor and helmet could dehydrate him to death.
“Here, drink.”
“...I’m fine.”
“Fine, my ass. You could die like that.”
“......”
He refused even the water at first, but when I kept offering, he bowed his head and took it. Then... without removing his helmet, he just flipped up the visor and poured it inside.
No water spilled visibly, so he must’ve drunk it fine, but Lenia watched, shot me a glance, and muttered with clear displeasure.
“Hmm... a female mercenary, huh...”
Female mercenary?
“My lady? What was that about a female mercenary...?”
“Oh... nothing. Just talking to myself. Anyway, don’t get too close to that mercenary.”
And after the spar, Rahil picked up a weird nickname.
“Hey! Helmet!”
“Take off the helmet already!”
Every time soldiers snickered, Rahil would duck his head and bolt for his tent. Maybe I shouldn’t have sparred with him? And that brought another annoyance: more knights challenging me.
“If you please, Hansu.”
“I hear Viscount Lucas uses a two-hander? So do I...”
Anyway, the army marched smoothly north. Four days in. As we neared the north, sights far from the capital’s plenty appeared: small, shabby villages, terrified villagers, trampled wheat fields. And elf traces.
The scouts spotted the elf tracks first. Elf hoofprints in the dirt and local eyewitnesses confirmed it—proof the north was worse off than thought.
We were close to the north, sure, but this was still deep in empire territory. Elves roaming here meant the northern defenses were wide open. Which implied...
“Kyle... what do you think?”
Lenia asked with a grave face. She’d probably guessed too.
“The northern castles are likely cut off completely. Elves this far south means they’re already prowling right around the forts.”
“Hmm... same as me. So they’ve probably spotted our army by now.”
She nodded, agreeing. But I didn’t voice the rest: our vanguard, a day ahead, might be in danger.
Someone might ask why a vanguard just a day ahead would be at risk. But they had three thousand; main force was a whopping 170,000. The size difference slowed us way down naturally.
If elves ambushed them in the gap? Could the vanguard hold? And the imperial army had another issue.
“Deserters have appeared?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Several lords are already dealing with them.”
Deserters. Mercenaries were fine with pay on the line. The problem was most levies from lords—conscripts. Roughly: 70k pure combatants, so maybe 40k conscripts, 10k mercenaries, 20k elites.
Can’t expect much from this world’s soldiers. Even with 100k, 99% are illiterate, and over half are conscripts with zero loyalty.
Even in the Cligrove-Sarisa war, deserters happened. It didn’t show ‘cause they were nearby and arrived quick.
But that’s not all. Mixing conscripts, mercenaries, elites means orders don’t work right. All tactics must be set pre-battle.
Flexible strategy with untrained conscripts? No way. That’s why I’m pessimistic about this campaign. Beat nomadic elf warriors with this bloated mob?
Only hope was knights and heavy cavalry. Meanwhile, the duke furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Then his simple solution for deserters:
“Mix conscripts and elites for night watches. And when deserters are caught, whip them in front of everyone.”
“Aigoo!”
“Mercy, just once!”
Whiiik—! Crack—!
The whip, tipped with iron barbs, mercilessly tore into soldiers’ backs, ripping flesh. They’d been caught deserting the night before. The duke watched impassively.
Hundreds in one day, nabbed mid-flight. Furious at the scale, he’d sent cavalry after them, so the floggings were brutally severe.
With the duke glaring, the floggers couldn’t half-ass it either.
From his view, simplest and most efficient. Crush with fear—even idiots get it. Rahil, staring, turned to me.
“Viscount... why do... deserters happen?”
Like a kid asking how babies are made. Obvious for conscripts, but...
He was a young master who’d volunteered for glory. Makes sense he wouldn’t know.
“Know the biggest difference between elites and conscripts?”
“Equipment... or training...?”
I shook my head. It’s withstanding war’s pressure. Training helps courage, but elites self-select for it.
Take my foes so far: ten conscripts vs. five elites? The five are thornier. Kill the front conscript, they scatter. Elites don’t.
Both die eventually, but elites drag it out. Huge in war. Earth rebels didn’t lose to gov armies for nothing.
“Uwaaak!”
Floggings lasted till hundreds were bloody messes. They’d survive now but die soon—no time or care for wounds.
Harsh, sure, but bad luck. Deserted right when duke ordered hunts. Effective, though—desertions dropped sharply.
Confirming that, the duke called nobles for council.
“Time to contact the vanguard. Elf traces mean attacks anytime.”
“Your Grace, Count Sterling is reliable. No need to worry...”
“War demands worry and checks everywhere. Plus, a day behind or not, our pace is half theirs. We’re already late...”
He detailed a hundred knights from nobles—mobile enough, elf-resistant. But the confident riders never returned. Not next day. Nor the one after.