Chapter 140
Chapter 140
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 140
Chapter Title: The First Mock Battle
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The interclass mock battles of the military department at the Plato Festival were a big deal, essentially serving as showdowns between nations.
In eras with few actual wars, they were called proxy wars for their intensity.
These days, with real conflicts breaking out everywhere, they’d lost some prestige, but the honor of victory remained as potent as ever.
Bekavia, ever conscious of its international image, was highly motivated for this mock battle.
With the first match looming, Sophia had gathered her classmates to boost morale.
“Even though it’s just a mock battle, don’t let your guard down! This isn’t your average drill. That said, no need to get too intimidated. Just trust in me. And besides, we’ve got Wade on our side! We’re definitely going to win!”
Sophia was shamelessly leveraging my name.
It suddenly made me question why I’d joined the Bekavia class.
Of course, only the instructor was from Bekavia—it wasn’t officially a Bekavia class.
Satisfied with the students’ grim determination, Sophia nodded approvingly before turning to me.
“Ilrain. Mind running through the final strategy briefing?”
“Is there even a strategy to discuss? It’s a straight-up 500-vs-500 clash on open terrain. Just issue tactical orders on time.”
“That’s why we need to set our formation. You ignoring your commander?”
“Fine, fine. First things first: scout the enemy’s tendencies. Got any intel on them?”
“I do.”
Sophia handed me a dossier on the opponents.
Our first foes were a second-year class from the Eurobe lineage.
Officially, Military Department Class 13.
“Their instructor is Cadillac Cornelia. Former third general of Eurobe, known as the Maestro of Melees. He’s retired now and teaching.”
“Impressive credentials. Maestro of Melees, huh...”
“Got any bright ideas?”
“If they charge in, we’ve got plenty of ways to counter. Plenty.”
I proposed one tactic to Sophia.
She mulled it over, cycling through expressions, then adopted my suggestion.
*
*
*
The Military Department Interclass Tournament kicked off alongside the festival.
Als drew the opening match on the first day, as intended.
It was deliberate: with Wade competing, turnout was guaranteed.
The colossal arena, structured like the Colosseum, was packed with tens of thousands of spectators.
Commoners and nobles alike, plus VIPs from various nations—even a few royals.
“This should be good. Former Eurobe third general versus the supernova Wade! Won’t be a quick mock battle.”
“No kidding. Mock battles always produce casualties.”
And not just one or two. Over the festival, they often tallied over a hundred deaths.
The crowd had paid top coin to witness the bloodshed.
“Get it started!”
“Fight!”
The audience roared for the life-or-death spectacle.
One man watched it all with pity.
“This country needs to change...”
It was Reginald, Duke of Ballast Independence Faction.
He felt revulsion at foreign nations exploiting Ballast’s festival and the oblivious crowd lapping it up.
“...Your Grace.”
An attendant whispered.
“Albad forces have begun marching.”
“Quick work. The west?”
“They’ll advance tonight.”
“Night march to evade scouts. Clever.”
“But attacking during the festival... is that wise?”
“It’s now or never. Shutting down the festivities sends a message.”
That Ballast was no longer a pure neutral.
“No time to waste. I need to see Princess Alicia.”
He was curious about Wade’s prowess, but war would reveal it soon enough.
*
*
*
Ten minutes to mock battle start.
Cadillac Cornelia, commanding Class 13, eyed Als’s formation and pursed his lips.
“Oh ho...”
The banner thrust front and center.
Foolish, considering a broken banner meant defeat.
Second-year adjutant Toran chimed in.
“This’ll be over in ten minutes. Wade doesn’t even know basic tactics?”
“No, Toran. Think that way, and you’re unfit to be a strategist, let alone general.”
“...Pardon?”
“Sure, don’t cower at reputation alone—but that renown stems from real power. Study their formation closer.”
Banner forward, wings reinforced.
“If we charge the banner, they’ll pull it back and envelop from both flanks.”
“That’s...”
“Exactly. They’re baiting us. And that banner looks delicious.”
In real war, it might be a decoy—but here, it was everything. Snap it, win regardless of losses. Like a king.
“If that’s their game, we proceed cautiously.”
“No. Let’s play along.”
Cadillac stroked his snow-white beard, smirking.
“Mercenary Wade and Bekavia’s genius princess, was it? Let’s test you. Can you handle the torrent I unleash?”
The start horn blared.
Cadillac formed a V-wedge and charged the protruding banner.
Clash! Soldiers collided.
As predicted, the banner unit retreated, Als’s forces pincer-attacking from the sides.
“Hah! Perfect! Deploy as planned!”
Cadillac countered the flanks, steering into melee chaos.
The Maestro of Melees.
He read the battlefield by instinct—a high-caliber warrior.
Thus, he sensed it.
An ominous whiff permeating the field.
Cornelia’s charging troops.
The stands watched avidly.
“Wonder how it’ll end.”
“Same.”
Chatting were Grand General Jin Hyisak of Byullang and current Eurobe fourth general, Kasim Cotton—Class 4 commander.
Former Pensilon Academy classmates, they eyed the duel keenly.
Mercenary Wade versus Eurobe’s hero Cadillac.
New era versus old.
“Cadillac charges right in. Reckless, even with the bait.”
“That’s his signature. Once melee engulfs you, formations crumble. You got burned once, Hyisak.”
“When I was green. Now? I’d parry neatly.”
“Everyone thinks so—until Cadillac hits.”
His brutal melees were overwhelming.
He dominated personally, sweeping the field.
Counter that, and the tide turns.
Hyisak and Kasim expected the same here.
But.
“...This.”
“Unbelievable.”
Seizing momentum in the melee? Not Cadillac.
Sophia’s forces pressed him harder.
*
*
*
Drip! Cadillac broke into cold sweat.
‘So many foul eddies...!’
He’d planned chaos via melees, but panic set in. Variables existed, but all traps.
To him, foul eddies.
Enter, and get crushed.
‘Devious and intricate. Can’t even guess how far they’ve read.’
Instinct guided him, but his tactical mind rivaled strategists.
Als’s maneuvers dazzled.
Flashy meant messy—yet Als’s were precise.
Seeming gaps? Artful traps.
“Instructor! Enemy breached right flank—secured foothold! Right wing’s severed!”
“...Bordeaux! To the right. Reform formation.”
“Yes!”
Cadillac, meant to rampage, was pinned directing fixes. Solo rampage risked total collapse.
“Toran!”
“Y-yes.”
Even Toran, who’d dismissed Als, croaked dry-mouthed.
“If this were real war, what then?”
“That’s...”
“We’d be done. But it’s mock. No killing, time wasted on surrendered foes. Even Wade hasn’t faced this.”
Resulting discord.
“A fatal gap appears.”
Sophia with the banner.
Cadillac spotted a charge path to devour her.
“B-but it could be a trap!”
“Wouldn’t that be fun? Let’s see if they can rein me in.”
Clank! Adjusting armor, he glared at the enemy banner.
Despite Als’s sway, he’d prepped one bridgehead: this very assault route.
Sophia observed entranced.
“Amazing.”
Not her first joint front with Als, but first witnessing him command live.
His tactical insight stunned her.
“Commanding by unit across the board...”
Turning the field into a chessboard.
No—deeper, a go board of intricate flows.
Gains everywhere, superiority swift.
Continent knew Als as strategist-type, but his peak was tactics.
“This is Wade...”
She chided herself: of course she’d lost to him.
Then.
“Princess! They’re breaking through here!”
“Ah...!”
Puzzle snapping: a breakthrough to the banner.
Cadillac’s 100 elites surged like a tide.
Not Als’s error—mock battle artifact. Real war? No such gap.
“We’re had...!”
“Princess! Fall back!”
But Cadillac closed in.
Eyes bulging before Sophia, he muttered.
“As expected... a trap after all.”
“...?”
Before she could question.
Snap! Snap! Snap! Retreat paths sealed methodically.
The “open” route choked shut post-breakthrough.
Isolated, Cadillac lost retreat.
Then—Als, hidden right flank, led 50 commandos to strike the enemy banner rear.
“Kuahaha! Neatly played! All in the palm, eh?”
Sophia gaped too, biting her lip.
‘Not telling me, the commander, before pulling this!’
Irksome, but victory neared. One step left.
20 minutes till Als toppled their banner. She had to hold.
Als trusted her, granting her spotlight.
Grateful yet resentful.
Cadillac grinned, bellowing.
“Green girl! Think you can handle me?”
Outraged at “green girl,” Sophia shouted.
“Come try! I’ll repel you utterly!”
“Spunk! Let’s see it!”
Cadillac charged her banner. Sophia directed counters.
Meanwhile, Als’s 50 commandos raided the banner.
“Whew! Gramps has moves. Sophia might struggle.”
Even if she folded, no sweat. Loss was loss. He was support; she needed one crux.
Thus, no rush on the banner.
“You bastard...! Defend!”
Cadillac’s adjutant Toran.
He charged Als with wooden sword and shield—outmatched.
Als’s spear gut-punched him; Toran retched, kneeling.
Thud! Als knocked him out, then ordered troops to bend the banner.
Thick iron to resist arrows—six soldiers strained full-force.
“St-stop! Can’t lose the banner!”
“...?”
Familiar voice; Als tilted head.
Maysen with 20 troops to rescue.
“No yielding the banner!”
“Hah, medic on the battlefield? Olaf’ll worry.”
“Ugh...! No other talk!”
“Fine. Come at me.”
Maysen lunged with wooden sword.
Her skill? Lackluster.
Unwinnable anyway, Als humored—till trip!
“Whoa!”
Als caught, cradling her.
“Swordplay hinges on footing—especially shaky fields. Remember that.”
“Let—let go!”
Flailing Maysen. Dropping meant tumble; Als hugged tighter.
“I’ll set you down—calm!”
“Ugh...”
Down meekly, she blushed at her blunder.
Promptly, six suitors charged to “rescue.”
“You scum! Molesting amid chaos!”
“Release Roipier! Strike him!”
Her usual admirers.
Duke’s daughter, beauty—plenty such. His catch seemed harassment.
“N-no! Junior Ilrain just helped...!”
Maysen clarified; they raged, ignoring.
Fearing for Als, she yelled retreat.
Als smiled wryly.
“Worried for the enemy?”
Slink! Drew back-sword. Cadets’ skill unignorable despite motives; spear alone risky.
“Knowing I’m Wade? Gutsy. Come.”
“Y-you!”
Als toyed elegantly, Chester-style.
Under a minute, done.
“G-gah!?”
“Urk!”
Kneeling; Als tapped heads, KO.
“...!?”
Maysen agape.
Casually: “Bending takes time. Chat? Got Olaf questions for you.”
“Y-yes...”
Unthinking reply.
His feats defied belief.
All second-years—seniors. Wade the strategist? Yet this prowess.
“Senior Maysen.”
“Y-yes!?”
“Hesitate, someone snags Olaf. He’s popular—seen girls eyeing him.”
“...”
Lip bitten. Als seized: “Want? I’ll bridge actively.”
“H-how?”
“Olaf’s my subordinate. Set a date, I’ll give him leave.”
Strategic alliance tempted.
Before reply, banner bent—Class 8 cheers erupted.
“Whoops, done. Changed mind? Contact me. Later.”
Class 8 victorious.
First-years beating second-years? Five years first—shocker. Als just shrugged.