Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Enemy in Pursuit
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“Brother! Brother!”
“Damn it, what is it, man.”
The man, who had dug a burrow at the base of a low hill and wrapped himself tightly in his sleeping bag without even lighting a campfire, irritably shook himself awake.
“Big trouble! They’re gone. The Zanstrik bastards have vanished.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
The mercenary, who had been tailing the Zanstrik Mercenary Corps from Alpmarins on a client’s orders to monitor their movements, jumped up with eyes wide open.
As expected, the scout who had scrambled up the hill scowled deeply, narrowing his eyes toward the distant riverbank.
“Where are they? Where the hell did they go!? Hey, what were you doing!”
Since they operated in pairs, the mercenary berated his long-time partner.
“No, they were gone before the sun even fully rose!”
“You should’ve kept watching them!”
“This is the riverbank! Fog was so thick from dawn that we couldn’t see a damn thing—how were we supposed to watch?”
“Didn’t you hear anything?”
“Nothing at all. Ah, shit.”
“Damn it...”
The mercenary furrowed his brow.
His own eyesight was sharper, but his partner had exceptionally keen hearing.
For such a partner to hear nothing while their target slipped away without a trace...
“...They knew we were tailing and watching them?”
Reaching that conclusion, the mercenary hurried back down the hill.
“Let’s go! Hurry!”
“Uh, which way?”
The mercenary roughly stuffed his sleeping bag into his pack and yelled at his partner.
“To the client! We’ve got to report that we lost them!”
The two mercenaries hastily gathered their gear and bolted toward Jetman Barony.
* * *
“What? They vanished in the middle of the night?”
Baron Jetman, leisurely enjoying his lunch, slammed his utensils down on the table and scowled.
“Yes, according to the scout’s report, the tracks definitely head toward our territory.”
“Ha! What the hell were those idiots doing? Weren’t they supposed to be the good ones?”
“They’re well-regarded for tracking and reconnaissance. But Zanstrik happened to camp by the river, and the fog was too thick from dawn, so they didn’t spot them leaving.”
“Tch.”
“Still, they came running to report the moment they confirmed Zanstrik was gone. At this hour, they’re probably still moving through the area near our territory. If we follow the tracks, we can catch up by late morning tomorrow at the latest.”
Sir Seilun of the royal family had Sion Dukedom as his ultimate destination.
And right in the middle of the route from the bridge he and the Zanstrik Mercenaries had crossed to Sion Dukedom sat Baron Jetman’s castle.
If he dispatched troops from the castle now, they might even make contact before sunset if luck was on their side.
“Good. Send out the troops right now. Where’s Sir Erbin?”
“He’s already waiting. Just awaiting your orders, my lord.”
“Tell him to move out immediately. And pass on that I’d prefer just one prisoner if possible.”
Annihilation. No, in this case, massacre was the more fitting term.
“Yes, sir!”
The retainer stared in terror at Baron Jetman, who bit into a rare steak cooked to his liking, blood dripping from it, and responded frantically.
* * *
Just as the spies employed by Jetman Barony had guessed, Seilun and the Zanstrik Mercenaries had crossed the river well before dawn and were passing near Jetman Barony around noon.
Having rested and slept for nearly eight hours starting from early evening, the mercenaries were in excellent condition.
Moreover, on Seilun’s orders, the group hadn’t moved too quickly.
Even if most were on horseback, long rides brought considerable fatigue.
That was why Seilun had them travel at a walking pace, resting for twenty minutes after every hour of movement.
During those rests, he had the mercenaries who’d been riding in the wagons take turns on spare horses for scouting and reconnaissance.
“Sir Seilun, I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“We know the way, and this isn’t a battlefield—do we really need to send out scouts every time?”
Piote, who had studied to become a knight but sorely lacked experience, asked Seilun his question for the day.
Seilun inwardly delighted at his great-grandson, who resembled his youngest daughter not only in appearance but even in his eagerness to ask about what he didn’t know without shame, and smiled as he replied.
“You’re right—if it were just simple travel, there’d be no need. But we’re not just traveling right now, are we? We have to choose our battlefield.”
“Ah...”
“Got it? We know the route but not the terrain well, so we send scouts. Even if Jetman’s men show up right here, knowing the local terrain lets us advance while maintaining formation.”
“Yes, I understand. So those mercenaries aren’t checking for enemies but scouting the terrain.”
“Exactly. Their job is to find the terrain I described in advance.”
“Yes. Then we haven’t found any of the terrain you mentioned yet? Since they keep going out.”
“No. We’ve passed a couple.”
“Yes? Then why...”
“We still have to keep moving. The closer we get to Jetman’s castle, the faster their reinforcements arrive, right?”
“Ah!”
Seilun spoke gently to his great-grandson, who blinked in realization before nodding thoughtfully.
“Our goal is simply to get through here safely. But since Jetman’s likely to attack, we prepare for that—and secondarily, land a big blow if possible. You want to become a knight, right? Command troops and win wars?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Then you must learn to thoroughly distinguish strategic goals from tactical ones. A knight doesn’t have to be a master tactician, but remember: you need some vision to be a great one.”
“...Yes, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Seilun smiled inwardly with satisfaction at his great-grandson’s firm gaze and clenched fist.
‘Though tactics and strategy were never my strong suits.’
That was why, during the Demon Dragon War, he’d left the big battle plans to other comrades.
Seilun himself was most comfortable fighting alone, and even after gaining some battlefield sense, commanding three companies of a hundred was his limit.
Moving thousands was beyond his ability, so when Sion Dukedom’s forces exceeded a thousand, he’d appointed a separate supreme commander.
‘I wonder how that kid’ll turn out.’
Seilun glanced at Stelmann, who scanned the surroundings with serious eyes that belied his fierce appearance.
He took after his father, so his personal martial prowess would be more than ample—but commanding troops was another matter.
“By the way, how many do you think Jetman will send?”
Turning to Piote at his next question, Seilun replied.
“If they’ve got decent knights or commanders, at least three hundred. Forty to fifty of them will be mounted.”
“Because we’re mostly cavalry?”
“That’s right.”
“But... what if more than that come?”
“Then, of course...”
I’ll handle them all.
Seilun shrugged without revealing his inner thoughts.
“We run.”
“Yes?”
In Piote’s eyes, Seilun was a knight of considerable skill. He was also a high-ranking member of the royal family.
For such a man to casually mention fleeing?
Piote felt a twinge of disappointment.
Noticing his inner thoughts, Seilun spoke in a slightly stern tone.
“A great knight avoids fights he’s likely to lose. If unavoidable, create even a slight advantage and fight from there. Otherwise, you die—and those you protect die too. Remember that.”
“...I’m sorry. I’ll definitely keep it in mind.”
Caught out, Piote flinched and apologized at once.
“Good. As long as you understand.”
Seilun’s expression softened again upon reconfirming one of his great-grandson’s strengths.
‘Still looks off somehow.’
Piote tilted his head slightly, glancing at the shift in Seilun’s expression.
Seilun treated him like a nephew or child despite their similar ages, which still felt a bit strange.
‘But...’
He didn’t know why, but it didn’t feel bad.
If it had been someone else his age, he’d have been offended enough to challenge them to a spar ten times over by now.
“Scouts are returning!”
At the shout, Seilun and Piote turned their heads simultaneously.
The rear scout pair—not the ones ahead—was racing back on horseback from the direction they’d come.
“They must’ve spotted Jetman’s men.”
That was the only reason for rear scouts to hurry like that, so Seilun murmured softly.
“Jetman’s troops spotted northwest! Roughly over two hundred! About twenty cavalry, rest mixed infantry! Distance around four kilometers!”
A concise report packed with essentials.
Unlike run-of-the-mill mercenaries, they could gauge distant ranges by eye alone.
As Stelmann approached, Seilun issued orders without needing a repeat.
“We move at trot. If the forward scouts haven’t found terrain, link up and keep sending forward scouts continuously.”
“Shouldn’t we speed up to widen the gap more?”
Perhaps tense at the prospect of imminent battle, Piote rarely voiced doubt at Seilun’s orders.
If a veteran like Stelmann had said it, Seilun would’ve snapped at him—but since it was an honest question from his inexperienced great-grandson, he answered quickly.
“Then the horses tire fast. And we have wagons. Factoring in time to find our desired terrain and prepare for battle, maintaining distance at trot is better. Let’s go!”
“Ha! Hah!”
On Seilun’s command, the Zanstrik Mercenaries urged their horses into trot.
A horse’s trot was about thirteen kilometers per hour. Unlike canter or gallop, which tired horses after a few kilometers, trot could be sustained long even with riders.
‘But prolonged trot still wears them out. Jetman’s men have probably been pushing trot hard to chase us.’
In contrast, their horses had traveled at walk all along, resting fully on schedule, so stamina was plentiful.
They could trot another twenty to thirty minutes without much fatigue, and even if tired, a short rest would recover them quickly.
But what about Jetman’s mounts and troops, fatigued from extended trotting?
‘If we just find decent terrain.’
As Seilun thought that while riding, the sound of approaching hoofbeats reached his ears from ahead.
Thanks to his superhuman sight and hearing, only he could detect it, so he kept riding as if unaware. Soon, they met the forward scouts.
Spotting the main group en route, the forward scouts raced up and reported.
“There’s terrain Sir Seilun described southwest, about two kilometers from here.”
“Good. Perfect.”
Seilun nodded, and Stelmann stepped forward.
“We’ll head there first and prepare.”
“Do that. I’ll handle the wagons.”
“Yes. Then.”
Stelmann galloped off with the mounted mercenaries.
“Alright, we move too. You guide us.”
“Got it!”
One forward scout went with Stelmann, the other with Seilun.
They’d paired scouts in twos for this very reason.
“How’s the terrain you reported? Did you check it yourself?”
At Seilun’s question, the scouting mercenary nodded.
“Yes. Went in personally—bit tricky for men or horses to maneuver, but no major issues. Though if exhausted, it’d be rough getting out.”
“Good. Well done.”
Seilun smiled in satisfaction.
The Zanstrik Mercenaries he’d hired were nine times out of ten knight-level experts in mounted combat, capable of smashing six times their number in infantry.
But against equal cavalry, it was different.
So when fighting Jetman’s forces, Seilun had to account for their knights and mounted mercenaries.
‘I’d love to see how they fare cavalry-on-cavalry, but not this time. Can’t waste valuable assets testing them now.’
I’ll handle the troublemakers.
So show me what you can do against the foot soldiers.
If you can’t prove yourselves...
‘Your road ahead will be hell.’
A sly smile crept across the old monster’s face, and at the same moment, Stelmann shuddered from an inexplicable chill.
(To be continued)
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