Command (Part 2)
Alex, commander of the Stanasila Knights' 3rd Unit, felt on the verge of losing his mind to a suffocating storm of urgency, dread, and despair.
Terabaon, capital of the ducal realm, had devolved into unprecedented chaos. The enemy was far more numerous and terrifyingly stronger than anyone could have imagined. With every passing second, the scale of destruction mounted. Desperate shrieks echoed from every corner of the city, blood dyed the paved streets a sickening crimson, and both stamina and mana were draining at a terrifying pace. The list of horrors went on and on.
Yet amidst the myriad sources of crushing dread, the single greatest cause of Alex's mounting ulcer was none other than their commander.
"What? You aren't taking a single mage or priest with you? Are you out of your fucking minds? Pfft... Ha! Why don't you just chant 'kill me, please' while you're at it? Go fetch them right now. We're moving in six-man squads—make that seven if you've got a priest. Organize yourselves around that."
The frivolous, languid drawl grating against his ear belonged to Stanasila Aljen—a delinquent and violent drunkard notorious enough that not a single soul in Terabaon didn't know his name.
"That is out of the question, Lord Aljen!" protested Vernel Daiel. "The mages have depleted their mana and cannot cast spells! Bringing them along will make them nothing more than dead weight!"
"Bullshit, utter bullshit. First off, it's painfully clear you don't know jack shit about mages. And depleted mana? What the hell does that matter? Does a mage's career end just because they're out of mana? You slackers are spoiled rotten... This is an order. You all heard my father, didn't you? Full command belongs to me. Do as you're told before I get truly nasty. Or just go die. Your choice."
"N-No... Kugh! Even setting the mages aside, dispersing our forces is sheer madness! The enemy's numbers are overwhelming! If we don't consolidate our ranks to maximize our defense and firepower—"
"Listen to me, you fuuuck! Just do what you're fucking told! Hey! You son of a bitch! Does the Duke's word look like a fucking joke to you?! If I tell you to crawl, you crawl! Or are you mutinying right now?!"
"...No, My Lord."
"Damn right, you bastard! You're going to obey in the end anyway, so stop throwing a bitch fit and move your asses already!!"
"...Understood, My Lord."
"Haaah..."
Alex could only heave a heavy sigh as Vernel Daiel, the commander of the 1st Unit—whose seniority and rank gave him the greatest authority to speak up—was thoroughly torpedoed and silenced. How in the world had a man with zero knowledge or experience of warfare, let alone the front lines, been handed absolute authority over the entire ducal army?
Gulp! Phew... "Hey, maggots. You all heard what I just said, right? Grab some mages and drag them along as fast as you can if you don't want to die. If you can manage it, drag a priest or cleric along too."
"Lord Aljen," Vernel's strained voice returned. "The Church operates under a separate chain of command. We have no authority to issue them orders."
"That's why I said if you can manage it, didn't I?! Goddammit! You're that 1st Unit Commander, Vernel Daiel, aren't you?! Why the fuck are you nitpicking every single word I say?! Just wait until this battle is over, you motherfucker, you and I are going to have words!"
"..."
"Haaaaah..."
Releasing a sigh dredged from the pit of his stomach, Alex gestured to a subordinate.
"...Hey. Go bring some mages."
"Pardon? Mages, Commander?"
"Don't ask questions, just bring them. We're breaking into six-man squads including mages... so bring six of them. Oh, and see if you can drag along some priests while you're at it!"
"Understood, Sir!"
It was an infuriating, patently suicidal command, yet Alex intended to follow it to the letter. Or rather, he had no choice. In an army, if you are told to bark, you bark. If soldiers on a battlefield disregarded their commander's orders to act on their own whims, they were no army—they were an undisciplined rabble of thugs, fools who lacked even the most rudimentary grasp of military discipline.
Not that Alex had any desire to die a meaningless death under an absurd directive, but his sense of loyalty ran deep. Even if the orders came from an incompetent drunkard who had never set foot on a battlefield, Aljen was still of the ducal bloodline. All Alex could do was hope that Aljen might learn something—that some awakening might pierce his thick skull—at the cost of his knights' blood.
...Or so Alex rationalized it, but what truly weighed most heavily upon his heart was a single sentence spoken by Duke Urtega Stanasila: I am placing absolute command in the hands of Stanasila Aljen, so follow him faithfully.
That single decree rendered everything else irrelevant. It was undoubtedly the same for every other knight in the order. Who on earth would dare disobey a direct command from that man? Alex was certain no such fool existed among their ranks. The continent's strongest knight, the Dragon Slayer, the head of the great ducal house... If Duke Urtega had entrusted Aljen with command, he had to have a reason. Therefore, their only duty was to obey.
"They're here, Commander!"
"Good. Well done."
Praising the subordinate who had miraculously managed to round up the exact number of clerics as well, Alex slowly rose and scanned the men under his command. They were not mere subordinates; they were comrades and brothers-in-arms who had shared life and death together for years. Alex knew their temperaments and values inside and out—in fact, he had deliberately assembled a unit of men whose spirits resonated with his own.
"Let's move, boys! None of you bastards are cowardly enough to be scared of dying here, right?! Let's go see what dying feels like!"
"Bwahaha! Sounds great! What's the worst that can happen, we die?!"
"For the Ducal House! For Stanasilaaa!!"
Hearing the roaring shouts of his men, most of whom were commoners by birth, brought a stinging prickle to the corners of his eyes. Masking his emotion, Alex drew his sword and mounted his horse. They had rested long enough; it was time to plunge back into the fray.
"U-Um... what are we supposed to do...?"
The mages and clerics, hauled into the midst of the rough-hewn knights without warning, looked utterly lost and bewildered. Without a word of explanation, the knights simply hauled them up onto their saddles.
The battle raged across the entirety of Terabaon, from the outer ramparts of the Duke's Castle to the furthest residential districts. In a sprawling metropolis inhabited by over three hundred thousand citizens, tens of thousands of undead and demonic beasts had erupted simultaneously, unleashing catastrophic devastation. To make matters worse, these were no ordinary monsters; they were grotesquely mutated, terrifyingly potent variants whose relentless assault caused casualties to compound by the minute.
Granted, monsters capable of matching a Stanasila knight in single combat were rare. Each knight was an elite warrior who had undergone rigorous training in esoteric mana refinement and secret swordsmanship, their latent potential nurtured over years with precious elixirs. The Stanasila Knights were, without exaggeration, the undisputed pinnacle order of the continent. Even so, guarding an entire metropolis with a mere six hundred knights was an impossible task. Weaker though the horde might be compared to individual knights, they were only two or three tiers below them at most—meaning the knights could not simply carve through the overwhelming numerical advantage like mowing grass. To make matters worse, abnormally powerful specimens capable of overpowering a knight were mixed among the ranks, leaving no room for a single lapse in focus.
Furthermore, though nearly ten thousand regular soldiers alongside hundreds of adventurers and mercenaries were evacuating citizens and maintaining a dense perimeter around the Duke's Castle, the unending tide of undead vastly outmatched common foot soldiers. Formidable though the castle walls were, their collapse was merely a question of time. Simply put, the situation in Terabaon had crossed past dire straight into hopelessness.
Under such apocalyptic circumstances, Stanasila Aljen had seized absolute command. It was only natural that the knights felt a suffocating despair, bracing for their inevitable deaths. Yet it did not take long at all for that bitter dread to turn on its head, blooming into stunned awe and reverence.
"I'll say this one more time: Priority number one is citizen evacuation and protection. Priority number two is destroying black magic circles and altars. Priority number three is subjugating undead. Carve that into your thick skulls."
"I already gave you the coordinates for every single magic circle, didn't I? That's why I split up your units in the first place, so whoever's closest handles it. What? Repeat that? You fucking worthless maggot...!"
"Once you secure civilians, pluck a strand of hair and verify their blood color without fail. If there's a Doppelganger among them, an altar will be hidden in that disguised citizen's house. Destroy it immediately."
"Ah—Squad 23 entering District 1, Block 5. That's a massive ambush zone. Watch the ground beneath your feet. Your mage should be able to detect them."
"Squad 11 in District 5, Block 3, cavalry charge my ass. Don't overheat your Aura Amplifiers—pick off the stragglers on the periphery first."
"You muscle-brained idiots, how many times do I have to tell you to prioritize defense over offense? Your brains are stiff as rocks, so your ability to improvise and handle variables is absolute garbage. Just focus on defense from the start."
"The Long-Arms leap between buildings, aiming for your head and back. Bigfoots stomp the ground with their ridiculous leg strength to kick building debris at you. Moles unleash slashing attacks from beneath the earth or grab your ankles, while Stingers fire bone spikes from range. Hunters conceal themselves like assassins to ambush you with suicidal, lethal strikes, and Gas Tanks spew toxic fumes everywhere. With this much crap to juggle, which braindead bastard wanted to prioritize offense?! If you want to take down a couple of them and die alone, go right ahead."
"Manage your Aura Amplifiers efficiently! Do you think the armor you're wearing is cheap scrap metal? It's an artifact crammed with the finest magic and alchemy! Guarding your joints and visors is more than enough!"
"Units approaching District 7, Block 3; District 10, Block 14; and District 4, Block 8—stay alert. High probability of ambushes."
"If an undead with an abnormally swollen neck comes sprinting at you like a maniac, widen the distance immediately! That thing is a self-destruct bomb!"
"Night is falling soon. Prime time for wraiths, banshees, and specters to run wild. Did all of you bring a cleric like I said? Have them cast the most basic divine spell, Holy Light. That alone will pay massive dividends until the battle ends."
"Specially enhanced variant confirmed in District 9, Block 14. I'm dispatching nearby knights. Don't recklessly engage—just stall for time!"
"You fucking maggots in District 1! Are the Duke's Castle and the soldiers holding formation there just decorative ornaments?! If the numbers get out of hand, dump them on their side!"
"Doppelganger confirmed in District 2, Block 3. Breach the residence, destroy the altar in the basement, and report back."
"Squad 80, redeploy to District 3, Block 5. Squad 71, redeploy to District 3, Block 4. Squad 33, redeploy to District 8, Block 6. Step on it! What? Wounded? Then just sit there and rot, see if I care. If other bastards die because you failed to reinforce them, that's on you."
"Squad 99 is taking too damn long to clear. What? An uncatalogued mutated variant? Why the fuck are you only mentioning that now, you moron?! Describe what it looks like! ...Mhm, huh... Ah, that's a Meatball. Its eyeball pops out periodically—that's its weak point. Rotate your fighters in shifts and wait for an opening."
"Squads 38 and 22, move to District 13, Block 6 and reinforce Squad 99 immediately."
"Good gods..."
Alex could only marvel in speechless awe at the godlike command echoing ceaselessly through his ear at breakneck speed. When they first rode out, he had marched with the grim acceptance of a dying man. Yet Aljen maneuvered six hundred knights—dispersed across a staggering one hundred and twenty separate squads—with flawless efficiency. As if gazing straight into the future, Aljen foresaw ambushes, exposed concealed enemies, and rattled off granular intelligence and weaknesses for every mutated variant. Under this guidance, losing was practically impossible.
Furthermore, the mages and clerics, whom they had assumed would be dead weight, were proving their worth ten times over. The mana-sensitive mages functioned as living detection totems, giving early warning for undead lurking in the skies, subterranean tunnels, or inside collapsed buildings. Meanwhile, the clerics' holy magic acted as the ultimate natural counter to the undead, disrupting their senses and sapping their strength, which made each engagement vastly easier.
Never in his wildest dreams had Alex imagined Aljen possessed such terrifying tactical genius. With every passing minute, gasps of admiration slipped unbidden from his lips, and a deep reverence took root within his chest.
"Truly, he carries the Duke's bloodline after all..." Alex muttered to himself, eyes shining. "At this rate, we might actually survive this."
It had already been two full hours since Aljen assumed command, yet the Stanasila Knights had not suffered a single fatality. Though there were wounded, considering the sheer scale and monstrous ferocity of the enemy, zero deaths was nothing short of a miracle.
Kkigreuk. Kkireureuk!
Kkieeeh! Kkiii-eeek!
"...Hm?"
Just then, Alex noticed something peculiar about the undead ahead. Without a moment's hesitation, he pressed his communication artifact and reported in.
"Squad 13 in District 8, Block 21 reporting. I have detected an unusual behavior among the undead."
"Unusual behavior?" came Aljen's prompt retort. "What, did the corpses form a balanced raiding party or something?"
Hearing Aljen's offhand remark suddenly crystallized the strange feeling that nagged at his instincts, prompting Alex to let out a quiet gasp.
"...Y-Yes, exactly that. They appear to be organized into frontline vanguards, melee strikers, and ranged attackers, holding a deliberate formation."
"Is that so? Hmmm... Retreat."
"Pardon?"
"I said retreat, Squad 13. Pull back to the Duke's Castle as fast as you can and rest."
"...Acknowledged. We are retreating."
"Fall back! All units, fall back!"
Alex felt confident they could handle the opposition, leaving him baffled as to why they were being told to withdraw. Even so, possessing complete faith in Aljen now, he wheeled his steed around without a single complaint.
Even though their escorting of rescued civilians slowed their movement, the formed undead did not charge. They merely watched them leave in eerie stillness. A chill traced its fingers down Alex's spine at that uncharacteristically calm, deliberate gaze, and his grip tightened around the hilt of his weapon.