Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: The Knight King's Strategy
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Troop types have their matchups. Those matchups shift with the terrain. And terrain inevitably falls under the sway of the situation.
Does that mean that's the end of it? No.
Like colors that change when mixed, the battlefield constantly reveals unpredictable shifts.
Morale, formations, timing, direction, speed—it's enough to make your mouth ache just listing them all.
Any competent commander must master and apply every one of these principles.
Of course, enduring the casualties and consequences of your own judgments is a given.
I upheld that truth my entire life.
It was the sole legacy the Knight King bestowed upon me—one I could carry without shame even into death.
And now, with the years behind me and a pivotal battle looming, I unveiled a radical strategy before my comrades, drawing on every ounce of knowledge and experience I'd amassed.
"We're setting up camp at the base of the hill...?"
"It's raining, turning everything to muck. The horses won't be able to pass through easily."
Planting our camp at the foot of the hill. Fighting with a muddy quagmire restricting movement right in front of us.
The orders I gave my comrades flew in the face of conventional wisdom—madness, by any standard.
If not for my proven track record, anyone else issuing such commands would have faced outright mutiny.
I scanned my grateful companions, who were trying to read my intent, and began shifting the miniature models on the tactical map one by one.
"The enemy already knows about the pikes. They'll bring counters along with them."
Pikes are fine weapons, no doubt.
But they shone in that unique scenario—inside city walls, first time in use—not as tools to dominate the field.
A seasoned enemy commander would pair doppelhänder wielders—two-handers thrusting sideways—with their own similar arms.
How do I know?
Because that's what I'd do.
"Now we're at a disadvantage."
Equal numbers, equal weapons, but unequal training. If both sides clashed head-on, the Eastern army would lose.
Richard spotted it first.
"...So that's why you're changing things up."
"You see it clearly."
Troop type differences can't be overturned.
The only option left is leveraging natural terrain and fluid situations to reverse the tide.
"What we can count on is the enemy's aggression. They'll strike first, no question."
I slid the enemy miniatures downward.
The battlefield took shape in my mind: both sides unleashing volley after volley.
The foe would rain arrows and bolts down the hill; we'd whirl our slings, pouring stones into the fray.
Some would die, some survive.
With a mighty trumpet blast, our slinger units—ammo spent—would peel off to the flanks as the enemy's heavy infantry advanced.
Then the thunderous charge would begin.
Downhill terrain guarantees acceleration, be it cavalry or foot.
Acceleration breeds power; power and speed mean breakthrough force. Like an avalanche, the enemy models slammed into our clustered allies at the hill's base.
I stated it flatly.
"We get pushed back."
That's why you don't set up at the base of a hill.
Yet even as the models yielded ground, I didn't pull them further rearward.
"We hold for one clash."
The front line—smashing headlong into the foe—would be held by me and our veterans.
To endure to the end, we needed to snag the enemy even a little longer.
Shield walls crumble like this.
The enemy, sensing victory, would press to solidify their advantage.
I reached out again, swiftly maneuvering the miniature for their cavalry.
Their target? Obviously our infantry's exposed flank, unprepared.
Richard swallowed hard.
"Our cavalry blocks them?"
Of course our cavalry should block.
Otherwise, those exposed foot soldiers become anvil to their hammer.
"No. We flank around."
Instead of covering our vulnerable side, I swung our cavalry to the opposite flank.
Ronald couldn't hold back any longer.
"It won't end in a simple melee. Their accelerated cavalry will definitely break through..."
"They won't break through."
"Pardon?"
"This is a quagmire."
I encircled the central cluster of models.
Then I piled them together—enemy infantry, our infantry, their cavalry—into one tangled mass.
No escape routes, no charging room.
The boot-sucking mud would bind legs, weighing bodies down endlessly.
All that'd be heard: desperate screams and shouts. All you'd see: encroaching foes!
Push of Pike! With all advantages nullified, it'd devolve into a brutal scrum.
"At that point, our cavalry hits their archers."
Our flanking horsemen massacre the enemy bowmen, fresh off their volley and defenseless.
"Meanwhile, the slinger units that withdrew to the sides rejoin with melee weapons."
Lightly armed slingers in light armor would be relatively unhindered by the mud, cracking enemy skulls at will.
I wrapped up the tactic—inspired by the Siege of Sodom—assigning roles suited to each comrade.
Slingers to the veteran Black Arrow; cavalry to Ronald and Helena; and the infantry, who'd suffer the heaviest losses...
"Led from the front by me and Richard."
"...Sir!"
"Let me take your place!"
Ronald predictably objected fiercely. Helena—who'd already shared a moment with Richard—stepped forward to volunteer instead.
Putting the future king of the East at the vanguard of infantry, the deadliest spot?
Even if a king must lead by example, this was flirting with death.
Bam!
"Quiet."
I brushed off the protests without a second thought.
Turning, I locked eyes with wide-eyed Richard.
"Soldiers aren't fools. They'll know if their commander's throwing himself into the meat grinder. Right, Richard?"
If he didn't want it, I wouldn't force him.
Me, the supreme commander, at the front would boost morale enough on its own.
But he had to prove himself.
Prove how he differed from the royal family that disillusioned and drove him away. Prove what he'd seen and learned beside the Knight King and his Northern brothers.
"...I wouldn't run if the King of the East stands with them."
"Exactly!"
Richard's eyes blazed fiercely.
If the king sends soldiers to die, let the king stand gladly among them.
I unbuckled the scabbard at my waist.
Handing the Knight King's gifted sword to Richard, I took hold of Storm Prelude's reins.
Behold. Hear. Feel.
The return of the King of the East.
Shhhhhaaaaa—
The cold rain intensifies.
My whole body shivers in the icy downpour, like plunging into a frozen stream.
Frosty breath escapes with every exhale.
That breath mingles with thick fog, perfectly shrouding the hill ahead.
Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!
Bwooooooo—!
War horns blare from beyond the mist.
The bastards atop that hill were readying their charge to butcher us.
They say the unseen terrifies most.
Imagining hordes bursting from the fog, the Eastern army breathed raggedly.
'I could die today.'
It's suffocating, too tight. My hands tremble on the pike shaft—I can't grip it right.
Aching knees, pounding heart. Eyes quiver like aspen leaves.
'I'm scared, terrified.'
Why am I even here?
I should've heeded my mother begging me not to go, my wife clinging and weeping.
'I want to run.'
The resolve I'd voiced—facing death bravely—meant nothing before true war.
He was just another hapless coward, one of the ordinary folk dying pointlessly.
Squelch, squelch, squelch.
"Wh-what?"
In that moment, a soldier beside him in the front rank broke formation and trudged forward.
Yet no sergeant barked—the officers stayed silent despite the deserter.
What? Fleeing?
The stunned Eastern troops fixed their gaze on the lone figure slogging through the mud.
Clank.
After trudging far, where countless Eastern eyes looked down, the soldier turned.
Exhaling a cloudy breath, he removed his battered helmet shrouding his face.
"Your Majesty?"
"H-His Majesty!"
The dazed soldiers jolted awake.
The king! In the same armor as them, at the most perilous vanguard.
To rally us?
No—nowhere was the steed to carry their lone king back.
The soldiers couldn't trust their eyes.
The king had come to fight truly alongside them.
"My name is Richard."
He spoke with calm resolve.
A quiet voice, yet laced with aura, carried to the ranks behind.
"The sole blood of the Eastern royal house—and a shameful member who sold out his people."
No hesitation in his words.
From one to ten, he owned his failings—not shame, but disgrace laid bare.
"The royals failed to protect you through incompetence, too cowardly to step forward. I lived a disgraceful life."
Admitting faults shrinks authority; bowing quells admiration.
But Richard cast off the bloated froth, lifting his head proudly.
"Yet today, I won't flee. If death comes, here with you; if life, back to the East with you."
His plain confession shook hearts; his death-defying cry ignited battle fervor.
Noble-born or low, today on this field, all bleed the same red.
"Our names will endure until the East falls. Those not here will regret it lifelong."
Shing!
Richard drew his sword.
Donning his mud-caked helmet once more, he dashed back alongside the Eastern troops.
Rooooaaarrr—!!
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!
The moment to ignite morale.
Sensing the speech cresting, the drummers pounded war rhythms urgently; roaring soldiers stomped in sync.
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!
The enemy, spotting the shift, launched their charge.
The hill blackened with their wave; the ground quaked like an earthquake.
"Fear not!"
But as time passed, the vanguard cries spread across the army.
The Eastern forces had finished readying their counter.
Drip, plop.
The rain stops as if by lie.
The fog lifts with the wind, unveiling a gleaming world.
Yonder, the sun pierces thunderheads!
Beneath golden radiance, signal trumpeters blew steel horns with all might.
Bwoooooong—!
A deep horn like a ship's blast resounds. Pikes level forward; slingers whirl.
Huff, huff.
One spark from ignition.
Through my visor, to knight Richard gasping, I spoke last words.
"This ends your time as a knight."
"...Thank you, Captain."
Whooo, whooo, whooo!
Screeeee! Pfft!
Both sides loose volleys.
Stones whistle past my left; enemy arrows pour overhead.
"Shields up!"
But the Eastern army raised shields, blocking arrows—and collided with the downhill enemy horde.
Kwaaang—!