Chapter 81
Chapter 81
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 81
Chapter Title: Flanking Maneuver
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Finally, the clash of two civilizations had begun. That said, the skirmish felt a bit underwhelming compared to the duke's grand speech. Laughably so.
"Deploy more archers to the left flank!"
"Take cover behind the wagons!"
Taking into account that the enemy's forces were mostly horse archers, the duke ordered the army to use the wagons for protection. The loaded carts served as excellent cover in their own right. Like a mobile wall, the army positioned itself behind the wagons, waiting for the elves to approach.
Dong! Dong!
The sound of drums, trumpets, fluttering flags, marching soldiers, and galloping horses. The clamor of the battlefield blended into a disorienting roar.
"Fire!"
The elves circled around before charging swiftly toward the right flank. But the empire's army, with its defenses properly set, was no pushover as they had hoped.
The empire's pride, its longbowmen, unleashed a volley the moment the elves drew near. The elves cried out in agony under the hail of arrows and wheeled their horses around. The unlucky ones tumbled from their mounts, pierced by shafts.
Thanks to that, the empire's cavalry pursued the fleeing elves fiercely, claiming a few more heads for their tally.
"Viscount Lucas Kyle! Join the cavalry unit with your horsemen!"
"As you command!"
Lenia had handed over her subordinate cavalry in consideration of my lack of troops. Suddenly thrust into command of the cavalry, I was fortunate that Cligrove's riders knew me well and accepted me as their leader without protest at her order.
"It's an honor to ride with you again, Viscount!"
"Riding with the viscount means we'll have plenty of tales of valor to boast about! Haha!"
"We've got one job. No reckless fights—just harass and keep them in check."
I tempered their eagerness, which was running wild with excitement. Even the toughest iron softens when heated, after all.
"Ehfruur!"
"Rkwk chdnjsdml gduwpemfdlduu!"
While waiting at the rear on horseback, elves charged from the front. And then...
Bang!
"Argh!"
"Hold the line!"
We collided head-on and devolved into a melee. Why? Why on earth were they throwing their precious cavalry straight into the infantry? They could've shot from afar and exploited gaps.
"Kill them!"
It was a battle utterly beyond comprehension—at least by my standards. Charging scarecrow-like foes with cavalry, the elves left dozens of their dead behind and fled.
There was no trace of the nomadic horde that ruled the plains in their frantic retreat, not even bothering to recover their comrades' bodies. They weren't using a single tactic they excelled at from the start.
"..."
"Were the elves really nothing special...?"
"Long live the Empire!"
The soldiers' cheers rang out as the empire claimed an easy first victory. Laughably so, after all that heroic preparation.
"General! Retreat complete!"
"What's the empire's movement?"
"They pursued but halted! They seem suspicious of a decoy tactic!"
Decai smirked at Mingan's report. They weren't falling for it as easily as expected.
"The empire is the empire, after all. Their commander has a sharp mind."
He temporarily retracted his underestimation of the empire. They hadn't chased after that mere handful of cavalry bait with reckless abandon. Any ordinary commander would have bitten hard.
"Their commander, Duke Northmond, is said to be the empire's greatest warrior."
"A fierce general? Or a brilliant strategist?"
"Pardon?"
"A fierce general is threatening but not frightening. A brilliant strategist isn't overtly threatening but is truly fearsome. To me, the enemy seems more the latter than the former."
"Why do you think so?"
"A mere fierce general would've been satisfied with that bait and pursued. But look at them. They're drooling like it's not nearly enough. This won't end easily."
"What then, General?"
Decai pondered briefly, then snapped his fingers with a spark of inspiration.
"Fine. If they won't bite easily, we'll use a harder method. Keep tossing bait and feign imminent attacks to scatter their attention. Then, have the five thousand-man commanders lead their units to flank the battlefield. I'll give the signal separately."
"Elves!"
"Don't panic! Respond as always!"
When the elves fled, the empire advanced accordingly. When they attacked, the empire repelled them steadily. Duke Northmond forbade reckless pursuits, no matter how provocatively the elves shook their rears in front of him.
He had raged at the elf envoy's taunts, but the duke strictly separated personal fury from warfare. Anger was anger; war was war. You couldn't win if swayed by rage. He knew that well.
"Deploy the conscripts to the center."
He handled the conscripts with utmost care, minimizing pointless losses and feeding them sweet victories.
"Why spare the conscripts so much, Your Grace?"
If asked, the duke would reply:
"Conscripts are like sandcastles. They look grand but crumble at the slightest blow."
"Then using them as frontline shields to preserve elites..."
To nobles suggesting meat shields for veterans, the duke shook his head.
"But if they taste victory's sweetness and gain real battle experience bit by bit, they'll be useful in a true war someday."
Preserving these soft, tender conscripts while building experience and morale to prevent easy routs. Kyle didn't fully endorse this elite-nurturing-via-conscripts project but didn't dismiss it either.
Why not squeeze value from what you can? What truly concerned him was the elves' assaults.
'They're not fighting properly... But too many for mere bait...'
His thoughts drifted to the supply units. What if their target wasn't the army but supplies? Cavalry raids on rear lines were common. Kyle hurried to the noble handling logistics.
"Count Lagos."
"Well, if it isn't Viscount Lucas Kyle."
This noble, over sixty and too aged for combat, managed supplies. He knew Kyle well—the rising star.
Young, skilled, polite. He twitched his caterpillar-white brows in greeting.
"What brings you here?"
"It's about..."
Kyle explained his suspicion: the elves might target supplies. Count Lagos chuckled, stroking his beard in agreement.
"You might be right, Viscount. But they haven't struck supplies aggressively yet. And the duke is aware of the issue."
"Then..."
The count shook his head. He seemed to see farther ahead; arguing wouldn't change supplies. Instead, he offered better advice.
"If you have a good idea, request a private audience with His Grace. He favors men like you."
After the talk, Kyle stepped out. If not raiding supplies, why keep luring them in?
"No supply raids, just bait and draws... Why?"
An unsettling unease. Ignoring it risked disaster—and his own neck if the empire routed. Then, a small hill caught his eye.
Twelve battles, twelve losses. The elves retreated after each defeat. Anyone would suspect a ploy by now. But as Decai intended, the mounting elf casualties—hundreds of cavalry—made empire nobles doubt tricks.
Who'd sacrifice hundreds as bait? Plus, elves massed threateningly before the empire's eyes.
The duke held defensive, but young, victory-hungry nobles' frustrations grew.
"Your Grace! They're no better than scarecrows!"
"A full charge now, and they'll scatter in panic!"
Their whining for glory gave the duke a headache.
"If you crave merit so badly, join supply duty."
He demoted the whiners to logistics—a sidelining. It bolstered rear defenses too.
Then Kyle and Lenia arrived.
"Your Grace, Viscount Lucas Kyle and Lady Lenia of Cligrove request audience."
"Send them in."
Yet disappointment showed. Kyle was one he eyed favorably, but showing up now seemed merit-chasing.
"What brings you?"
His tone was curt.
"It's about..."
"If it's merit you want, I'll send you rearward like the others."
"No, Your Grace."
"Then what?"
"I wished to discuss the elves' tactics."
Interest lit the duke's eyes. Finally, a useful opinion amid merit-mad chatter!
"Elf tactics, eh? What do you have to say?"
"They're flanking us right now."