Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Crushing the Vanguard
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Thud!
“……!?”
Ervin, who had been riding at the forefront, urging his foaming horse to its limits, suddenly had his foot slip from the stirrup, flipping his view upside down in an instant.
As his body spun a full rotation in the air, a powerful impact struck Ervin's back.
“Gahk!”
The massive shock that choked off his breath left Ervin dazed, flailing his limbs wildly.
But that struggle didn't last long.
Crunch!
“Gurk!”
This time, a heavy blow landed on his chest.
Through his gasping breaths under the pressure on his back and chest, Ervin caught sight of a sword tip gleaming with silver light and the face of someone standing on his chest.
“Exactly the level of incompetence I expected. Lucky for me.”
“Gozua!”
Flanking the coldly smirking Sion, the Zanstrick mercenaries charged forward energetically through the sucking mud.
* * *
Only four riders, including Knight Ervin, fell for the ropes the mercenaries had set up.
The rest noticed the taut ropes hidden awkwardly in the grass and leaped over them on horseback.
“Sir Ervin! Those cowardly bastards!”
“We'll kill them all!”
The Jetman knights lost their minds when their comrade and commander Ervin fell.
But what awaited them after jumping the grass was...
Hiiihiiing!
“W-what's wrong with this?!”
“Zoro? Why aren't you moving?!”
A warhorse, far stronger than any human, wouldn't be completely immobilized just from sinking into the mud.
But after the scouts spotted Sion and Piot and they had run several kilometers on foot, plus hours of nonstop travel before that, the horses sank into the mire and couldn't muster their strength.
Hiiing! Hiihiiing!
The Zanstrick mercenaries rushed toward the struggling horses and their riders.
Having taken turns riding in the wagons and resting regularly, the Zanstrick mercenaries were brimming with energy.
To them, the targets stuck atop immobile horses were easy prey.
“Y-you bastards... Aaargh!”
“Krk!”
Those right behind Ervin were the first to be surrounded by two or three mercenaries, spilling blood as they tumbled from their horses.
“Shit!”
Those who belatedly grasped the situation tried to dismount in a panic, but by then half had already fallen to the rope traps or been dispatched by the Zanstrick's swift, mechanical attacks.
Thrown into numerical inferiority in seconds, exhausted from nonstop travel just like their horses, they couldn't fight properly in the mud.
Aaagh!
Kreeek!
Heads crushed by maces or bodies battered all over crawled through the mud like worms, while those run through by spears and swords writhed, spilling blood.
“Not bad. Looking good.”
A smile curled on Sion's lips as he watched the scene, foot planted on Ervin's chest.
“Y-you... Urgh!”
Regaining some strength after a moment, Ervin strained with all his might to resist.
“Stay put.”
“Khup!”
A pressure like a massive boulder crushed him, draining all strength from his body in an instant and choking his breath.
‘W-what kind of strength is this?’
It might have made sense if it were Stellman of the Zanstrick.
But his opponent was just a sturdy young man.
“Y-you... Ngh! Who... are you...?”
Sion smirked at Ervin, who struggled desperately to spit out even one word.
“The owner of that check you took.”
“W-what...!?”
“But this bastard's been... talking back like a retard since earlier?”
Sion let out a flicker of killing intent.
Already struggling to breathe, Ervin's face turned blue the instant he was exposed to it.
Not just the unnatural draining of his strength, but now he finally knew his opponent's identity.
Yet, proving his knightly title wasn't won by gambling, Ervin mustered everything to speak.
“I-if you kill me... you'll make enemies of Jetman Territory and... Ch-Check. And our forces aren't all here... Mercenaries will...”
“Ah, those guys coming over there?”
When Sion pointed to over a hundred soldiers and mercenaries kicking up dust clouds in the distance, Ervin brightened despite his strain.
“Y-yes. You should negotiate now.”
“It's been less than ten minutes since you and these bastards arrived, and they're already chasing? They must be exhausted. Wonder if they'll even catch their breath.”
“……!”
Ervin's heart sank.
But they were still only around twenty strong, while their allies joining soon numbered over five times that.
As he recalled that and opened his mouth again, Sion spoke first.
“Ah, here they come.”
Thududududu!
He barely turned his head to look, but he could tell from the sound alone.
On the gentle hill opposite the panting allied soldiers and mercenaries racing over, a group of cavalry charged down toward them.
Even encountering them on flat ground in top condition would scatter them in terror, but in their worst state, in the most disadvantageous terrain, facing armed cavalry?
Seeing the doomed future first, Ervin screamed with all his might.
“N-negotiaaate! Let's negotiate!”
The same words as before, but laden with entirely different meaning. Sion flashed a refreshingly generous smile at him.
“Fuck off.”
* * *
Stellman and the Zanstrick elite mercenaries swept away several times their number.
Even well-rested heavy infantry armed with the same pikes would be crushed by a cavalry charge if unprepared.
Let alone exhausted rabble of territory soldiers and ragtag mercenaries?
It was no different from releasing dozens of wolves into a herd of hundreds of sheep.
In the first clash, nearly half died or suffered wounds that would never let them wield a sword again, and the Jetman forces collapsed completely.
Mercenaries aren't fools.
The moment they were shattered in the first clash with Stellman's mercenaries, they dropped their weapons, knelt in surrender, or fled in every direction with their last strength.
Even money-grubbing mercenaries value their own lives.
There was no loyalty to their employer in a lost fight.
Stellman didn't bother pursuing the runners.
Exhausted as they were, they wouldn't get far.
They'd fall to the beasts and monsters drawn by the blood and corpses, or if lucky, reach Jetman Castle and face the lord's lashes.
Half fled, and over fifty were taken prisoner.
Though the prisoners outnumbered their side, Sion paid it no mind—it was a familiar situation.
After stripping them of all arms and just clothing them, Sion loaded the gear onto spare wagons and captured warhorses.
“As promised, we'll split these spoils half and half.”
The resting Stellman and Zanstrick mercenaries were moved by the extraordinary employer's magnanimity, having shown their true prowess today.
“What about the prisoners? You'll ransom them to Jetman lord, right?”
Though it was against floundering foes in the mud, Piot—tasting real combat for the first time—asked with flushed excitement still lingering.
“That's the proper way, but I doubt our Jetman lord will be in any state for that.”
Piot, Stellman, and the mercenaries all looked puzzled at Sion's meaningful smile.
“They'll be busy hosting guests for a while.”
“Uh... what do you mean?”
“It's a thing. Anyway, I'll handle the prisoners once we reach the nearest big town or city outside this area. Feeding idle mouths is a waste.”
He planned to collect it all eventually, but waste was waste for now.
Better to reach a place to offload the prisoners as soon as possible.
“Let's hurry. We'll leave this area by tonight.”
“Yes!”
With a resounding reply, the Zanstrick mercenary band proudly resumed march, leading spoils and prisoners.
* * *
By dusk, when the sunset dyed the western sky blood-red like soil soaked in daytime blood, Sion and his group reached a fairly large village.
Located at the edge of the royal demesne, it had a dispatched administrator.
Confirming Sion's status and circumstances, the administrator treated him deferentially and gladly accepted the prisoners.
Of course, the 5,000 dien Sion slipped him helped greatly, and the group stayed a few more days.
Piot and the mercenaries, expecting just one day of rest before departing, had their questions answered on the third day.
Jenna and her two subordinates, who had slipped away stealthily while camping by the Marin River, returned to the village.
And they weren't alone.
A knight in chain mail overcoat emblazoned with two wolves rearing under a birch tree, accompanied by three lightly armed nobles, came to see Sion.
“What's this?”
As Piot puzzled over the unexpected visitors, Stellman spoke without hiding his surprise.
“Young master, that's the crest of Bolpart Territory.”
“Bolpart... Ah!”
The place where conflict had erupted with Jetman Territory.
“But why are they... Ah! No way?”
“That 'no way' is right. Sir Sailun must have planned to contact the Bolpart family even before leaving Alpmarin.”
“Ha, haha...”
Piot let out a hollow laugh, as if struck on the back of the head.
But with a little thought, it was obvious.
Jetman Baron was surely targeting them, and Jetman was preparing for war with Bolpart Territory.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
It would be stranger not to link up with Bolpart.
But with unexpected events piling up and a tight schedule, no one but Sion had thought that far.
Plus, even if contacting real Bolpart, how to convince them?
But from the current situation, Sion had tried—and succeeded.
“Sir Sailun really is...”
“An extraordinary man.”
Whether the two gazed in admiration or not, Sion ignored them and dealt only with the Bolpart representatives before him.
“5,000 dien per knight, 1,000 per soldier.”
“Too expensive. You took all their arms as spoils, didn't you? 3,000 per knight, 500 per soldier.”
“I kept my promise and took out 20-30% of Jetman's forces. So you keep yours. Besides, you'll squeeze it out of Jetman Baron after victory, right? 5,000 per knight, 1,000 per soldier.”
“But still...”
“Remember, the royal family has no empty words.”
“…….”
The Bolpart knight and nobles fell silent.
Even as a collateral branch, the young noble before them was royal blood.
Moreover, somehow he'd truly routed part of Jetman's forces, capturing key knights including Ervin.
No one would say 'you're just a powerless collateral' to such a man.
Especially not now, with the capital in uproar over succession.
“Fine. 5,000 per knight, 1,000 per soldier.”
“Unlike the vile Jetman family, Bolpart honors trust, as expected. I'll convey that well.”
To whom, unclear.
But good was good; assuming he was a likely crown prince successor, the Bolpart knight smiled awkwardly, shook hands with Sion.
“Thank you. Looking forward to more cooperation, sir.”
“You too, prosper. Ah, I'll sell you the prisoners' captured arms and horses cheap. In hopes Bolpart wins.”
Unable to crush Jetman personally due to circumstances, Sion spoke sincerely, feeling he was showing mercy.
“Th-that's appreciated.”
Having confirmed in the haggling that Sion wouldn't bleed even if pricked, the man just managed an awkward smile.
(To be continued)