Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Pig Hunt (1)
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Carl von Clausewitz, known as the father of Western military history, outlined three essentials for victory in war in his seminal work On War.
Destroy the enemy's combat strength, rendering them incapable of further fighting.
Seize the enemy's capital, cutting off support for their troops.
Annihilate the enemy's will to fight, leaving them unable to continue the war.
Clausewitz argued that wars typically unfold in that order—first one, then two, then three—culminating in the conflict's end...
Yet battles to shatter combat power or sieges to claim enemy territory demand far more blood than eroding the foe's fighting spirit.
Why? Soldiers with unbreakable resolve can snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, even in desperate odds like thirteen against hundreds—as seen in the defenses of Jinju and Hangju, or the naval clash at Myeongnyang.
But generals or troops whose will falters, or proves weaker than the enemy's, crumble even when outnumbered only dozens to one, just as in those very examples.
Thus, every war hinges on steeling our own troops' morale while crushing the enemy's—and to that end, we craft a "just cause."
To build that cause, I brazenly proclaimed a litany of grievances sufficient to dissolve our vassalage, aiming to shatter not just the enemy's will but also deter any fools tempted to meddle in our civil strife...
I never imagined they'd stoop so low. Thanks to it, though, our army has leveled up into one that embodies the "ideal of chivalry."
After thrashing Schwein and returning to the manor, I laid all this out for Baldt and Chris.
"The original plan was to nitpick every justification for breaking vassalage, sidelining anyone who might back the count and demoralizing his forces. But then that pig in human form laid hands on Ella, so I seized that as cause to challenge him to a duel."
"Brilliant, Your Excellency. You couldn't have planned it, but it was the perfect move in the moment. Now the 'pig' we're toppling is branded a shameless lech who steals his own men's women. Already incompetent, and now this? No one will stake their life on him."
"Chris, even so, that's too cold. Ella's the one woman Your Excellency truly loves. As his retainer, shouldn't you be furious? I've been boiling inside ever since I heard."
Chris replied in that cool voice of hers.
"Your Excellency said we must set emotions aside and focus on strategy now. As your retainer, I can't forgive what Schwein did."
"Then...!"
I appreciated Baldt raging on my behalf, but as Chris said, it was time to cool off and think clearly.
Besides, in the end, that bastard never laid a finger on Ella before I beat him bloody into cutlet...
Still, Chris—vassal or not, without proper title or rank—chiming in on Baldt's level risked undermining the hierarchy, so I had to rein it in.
"Enough. Time to devise our strategy. Cool it, Baldt. You too, Chris."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
I cupped her chin with my right hand, tilting her face up to meet my eyes, then mimed slitting her throat.
"Baldt's a knight with a fief granted outright. Don't mistake becoming my retainer for putting you on his level, Chris Belladora. Do that on the battlefield, and I'll have your head under military law. No combat experience? You still know insubordination carries that penalty."
Hearing that, Chris seemed to genuinely fear I'd decapitate her right there—her eyes darted side to side as she trembled.
She soon bowed deeply to Baldt and apologized.
"Forgive my imprudent words, Sir Baldt."
Baldt, clearly pleased she'd yielded first, grinned.
"Watch yourself next time. Sure, vagabond life left you green, but not anymore."
"Yes, Sir Baldt."
To lighten the awkward air, I clapped to refocus them and pressed on.
"Baldt, how's the rollout with the royal capital's bards? I told you to spread this across the entire County of Nant."
"Bribed a hundred with four gold coins each and sent them to Nant. It'll blanket the place by war's start."
"Perfect. Mind reciting it? I paid you an extra gold coin since you wrote the verse."
"Gladly."
Baldt stood, cleared his throat dramatically, and recited in full bardic song.
"At His Majesty's most solemn funeral, a lecher eyed a beauty fair. Her name was Ella, woman of the undefeated hero, Baron Kroitel... Craving her bountiful bosom, the count—fatter than any swine—reached out... Oh, the baron repelled him honorably! Like a knight from legend..."
Bard songs were so trite I'd never listened properly, but Baldt said they croon it cheesily in taverns.
Middle-school edgelord lyrics in cheeseball croon? Cringe across time and space just thinking it.
But without the cheese, it wouldn't stick or shock enough.
Chris, eyes sparkling with emotion after hearing it, said,
"Sir Baldt, you have a gift for poetry. You called me illiterate, but... this tops what lifetime scribes produce."
"Hah, when His Excellency hands you goldmine anecdotes like that? And ink-brained poets can't match a battlefield roamer who's romanced countless ladies... Experience tells."
Chris's praise seemed split—genuine awe at the verse, and buttering Baldt up after my "cross him and die" vibe...
Still, them getting along made my life easier. Mission accomplished.
"Excellent. That's plenty. Baldt, two more gold when we return to the fief. Perfect poem!"
To cool my head and mend their rapport, I lavished Baldt with praise, Chris chiming "I hadn't realized!" each time.
Five minutes in, Chris deemed it enough and shifted to grave tone.
"Your Excellency, the battlefield? We should avoid villages or river crossings... Factoring march speed from mobilization day, Sengal's decent—but it's our territory. Schwein's reputation..."
"Given the count's character, rape and pillage would follow for sure. He'd devour every village maiden. Chris."
Chris, as a woman, quietly seethed—though she hid it well.
Of course it shouldn't happen, and letting a disgraced, plunder-happy army loose was disqualification for any commander.
Schwein would scream "Win here, and loot to your heart's content!" unleashing unlimited rape and pillage on our milk-and-honey land compared to others...
That'd turn their greed into war fervor, charging madly.
We were already outnumbered; boosting their morale?
Our casualties would skyrocket.
And no way I'd let that Nant scum ravage my fief and serfs... I still cherished those happy days farming with them in Windheim.
So I drew my sword, slammed it on the desk, and declared,
"Not a chance! Our army force-marches to clash in the Sternheim Plains—their turf! One decisive victory to pulverize whatever morale they have left and shake Nant Castle loose!"
Chris and Baldt, seated, saluted with right arms extended and bowed heads, pledging obedience.
Chris eyed me.
"Your past campaigns and records convince me you'll craft victory from this... But how?"
"Here's..."
After my long explanation, they applauded, convinced.
"Your Excellency's a genius..."
"Following the reincarnation of a master strategist—best choice of my life."
I waved off the praise.
"Dismissed. Rest up. Oh, Chris—compile all prior strategies by tomorrow. I'll have scribes copy them back at the fief."
The all-or-nothing gamble for total victory began now...
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Back at the fief, we introduced Chris to my retainers.
Not as a "woman," since unproven—she'd just seem like a "concubine"...
We recounted everything about her, minus the gender.
Then I launched into selecting knights and troops for the muster.
As meetings wrapped—predictably—my father, former Baron Kroitel...
Paul von Kroitel, now viscount, strode in armored, sword belted.
He marched up to me.
"Siel von Kroitel! How dare you plot to crush Count Nant without a word to me?!"
"It had to be done. Father knows what that 'Excellency'—that Schwein—did to our house."
"B-But..."
Seizing the moment to purge any lingering doubts, I recited facts coldly, icily.
"He sent not one soldier when we two barons fought alone. The Helsman clash was just a spat over Baron Gent's daughter. Even there, his vanguard fled mid-lance charge, costing fifty knights. Then he dishonorably stripped you of guardianship on flimsy grounds."
"True... yes..."
"I might've endured that far. Severing vassalage could invite Maxburg or Franch incursions. Coldly, better under trash than dead."
I said it, but commanding 10,000 trash? I'd rather lead 1,000 alone—better survival odds. Pure bullshit to gag the viscount and those here.
"But at His sacred Majesty's funeral—the proxy of holy Deus—that damned pig reached for Ella, my beloved. Less than swine. As a knight of honor, exemplar and banner for these men, I dissolved vassalage and dueled. Bluntly: we're done."
The viscount's face drained to ashen despair.
To seal it—ensure he wouldn't sabotage the campaign, forcing me to imprison or kill him...
I hammered home, colder still,
"Were you not my father, who trusted me fully, revered prior baron to them, anyone blocking me now—even Ella—dies. Past follies forgiven... but no more. Your choice?"
I signaled two knights; they moved to escort him out.
As they grabbed his arms, he shook them off with inhuman strength and bellowed,
"Then what of the barons serving him loyally? If you claim his title—what then?!"
"Slay any who interfere; the rest can serve me, wealthier than now."
The viscount scanned Jack, Baldt, Helmut, Weiss, Bierman—our fief's powerhouses.
Their armor gleamed silver now, not the crude stuff from my first reborn days.
Emblazoned mid-plate with gold and dyes for house crests—proof of prosperity other fiefs' poor barons scraped for. He'd grasp the wealth I'd guaranteed them.
He sighed earth-shatteringly, then declared firmly,
"Erasing Count Nant's disgrace—forsaking knightly path—is my duty. Last as guardian, final loyalty to his late father. Rallying his comrades, fine retainers into 'one Nant'... that's mine too. I'll go with you, Siel."
His presence would demoralize baron-led detachments of hundreds or thousands, sidelining some entirely.
That preserved my soldiers—and future fief pillars.
No command for him, though—his attitude precluded it.
I smiled, offered my hand.
"Father, no troops assigned..."
He clasped it.
"Mine's swaying barons, witnessing the count's end. As father, first and perhaps last—watch my splendid grown son wage war. Keep me at your side. Nights, we'll drink, catch up."
No hesitation in those eyes now.
Just pure paternal worry... Father's love, first in decades counting past lives.
Uncharacteristically sincere, I vowed,
"I'll exceed your expectations, Father. Full army—mobilize in three months. Prepare as ordered."