A Reckless Advance
“The reconnaissance unit was wiped out?”
Leorn Valtroon’s voice cracked, cold and sharp.
His face twisted hideously at the report, a strange murderous gleam flickering in his eyes.
Before him, his adjutant, Sergeant Major Sharokl, nodded and answered with careful caution.
“Not completely wiped out… but the situation is deteriorating badly. What’s more, just moments ago we confirmed that a distress flare was fired from the front.”
“A distress flare…?”
Leorn squeezed his eyes shut.
The distress flares issued to reconnaissance units were absolute last resorts. The moment one rose into the sky meant the scouts’ plan had already failed—and that their survival could no longer be guaranteed.
They had taken heavy losses before a proper battle had even begun.
Leorn clenched his fists.
“If we’d advanced the main force earlier, this never would have happened!”
Bang!
He ground his teeth and slammed the desk. The wood gave a dull thud under his fist, and the officers nearby flinched, glancing about nervously.
Sharokl alone kept his annoyingly smooth expression as he nodded and continued.
“You are entirely correct. The Kar Tribe lost considerable strength in the last engagement and still has many wounded. If we had committed the main force while their combat power was weakened like this… we could have inflicted decisive damage.”
Leorn’s brow furrowed as he thought of Hadel.
That weak-eyed man. Always hiding behind the pretense of caution. Wasn’t it that very weakness that kept creating situations like this?
I never should have left it to him.
Leorn ground his teeth again and rose from his seat. He looked at Sharokl.
“We advance the main force at once. Leave them any longer and there’s no telling how far the damage will spread.”
An officer standing beside him spoke carefully.
“But Commander, Captain Hadel currently has three days allotted for the reconnaissance mission—”
Before the man could finish, Leorn roared.
“Look at the situation we’re in and you’re still talking that nonsense?! We’ve already confirmed the enemy is at the front—what more is there to find out?!”
Leorn was absolute. His shout cut like a blade, without a shred of hesitation.
The officers exchanged glances. Past experience had taught every one of them that once Leorn reached this state, there was no stopping him. If things went wrong, he would simply dump every failure on Captain Hadel and walk away clean.
No one said another word. They only watched one another warily, afraid the sparks might land on them.
Into that silence Leorn spoke, eyes glittering.
“Advance the main force immediately. Sweep those bastards clean and claim victory in this war for ourselves.”
The Kar Tribe’s spirit was already broken. Win this single battle and they could seize the entire southern half of Elbarphiel Lake—perhaps even the lake itself.
Sharokl bowed his head. His face was hidden, but the corners of his mouth curved in a strangely satisfied arc.
“I will relay the order at once.”
He turned and left, head still lowered so no one would see his expression. His retreating figure was neat and precise, yet a quiet excitement rode in every step.
…An advance, is it.
Of course, a bold push could still snatch victory. But here, where they barely understood the terrain…
What are the real odds of winning?
If a reckless advance cost them the main force and the operation failed, the Kar counterattack would begin at once.
Sharokl lifted his head slightly.
The moment that happened, the conflict in the North would deepen even further.
Recently the Empire’s center of gravity had been drifting toward the southern border and the matter of imperial succession. The aging emperor’s condition had already set the princes fighting for the throne. And while the First Defense Line in the North had seen major shifts, every other sector remained locked in stalemate.
With the capital’s interest cooling…
If imperial blood is spilled here…
Their gaze would swing back this way once more.
Sharokl’s eyes glittered sharper than ever as he walked away.
“Aaaaaaagh!”
Blood sprayed. Flesh tore.
Kar warriors hunted the fleeing imperial scouts like predators. Their eyes stayed fixed on the soldiers’ backs, silent and unblinking.
“Think you can run?”
Once caught in the trap, the scouts were no better than rabbits in a snare.
One Kar warrior raised his axe—
Thud!
“Ghk!”
A dull impact, a dying scream. An imperial scout crumpled as the axe split his waist. The survivors ran harder, desperate.
But there was nowhere left to go.
“Uuuuugh…”
“S-save me!”
Despair settled over them. Terror flooded their eyes.
The Kar closed in. At their head walked a warrior whose left arm bore two feather tattoos—a mid-rank Kar fighter, one who wielded mana freely. His mere presence was a death sentence for the imperial scouts.
“Kill these ones and move on. Hurry.”
The mid-rank warrior, Balkuroilka, gave the order. Cutting off the imperial reconnaissance had improved their position somewhat, but much work still remained.
The Kar warriors nodded.
“Understood.”
“Die, imperial dogs!”
Weapons rose. They charged.
In that same instant—
Whish!
The sound of wind splitting came from behind them.
Thud!
A sharp javelin streaked through the air and punched clean through a Kar warrior’s spine.
“Gaaah!”
The warrior screamed. The spear that had transfixed his torso flew on and buried itself in a tree.
“……!”
“E-enemy!”
The Kar whirled. At that moment a single man burst from the undergrowth.
Arteon, who had outrun them all along the forest path, eyes flashing with cold light, swept his spear toward them.
Slash! Thunk!
“Gyaah!”
“Khk!”
Two Kar warriors sprayed blood and collapsed in the span of a breath.
Balkuroilka roared.
“It’s only one man! Don’t panic!”
The sudden attack had sown chaos, but Balkuroilka restored order in an instant. The Kar warriors snapped into formation, kicked off the ground, and surrounded Arteon.
The terrain was poor for numbers, yet they were not so soft that a lone soldier could cut them down.
Murderous intent poured from the warriors ringing him.
“Arrogant brat! Looking to die, are you?!”
“Think a solo ambush will change anything?!”
They lunged—
Or began to.
“Who said I was alone?”
“……!”
Shadows poured in from every side.
The soldiers of the 3rd Platoon exploded out of the brush on left and right at once. Lean shapes knifed through the thick undergrowth and crashed over the Kar warriors.
Thrust! Crack!
At the heart of the assault, Grein took a Kar warrior’s head, then drove his fist into the jaw of the man beside him. The warrior dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
The rest of the platoon did not waste the opening.
Thrust! Thrust! Thrust!
Five or six Kar fell in seconds.
Balkuroilka could not hide his shock. Where in the world had these men come from?
But thought was brief. Origin did not matter—only killing them did.
He bit down hard, drawing up his mana and lifting his axe. He had lost several warriors to the ambush, yet these newcomers looked only a little better than ordinary soldiers. A mid-rank fighter like him could slaughter a dozen greenhorns in moments.
He started toward the platoon—
“Your opponent is me.”
Arteon drove straight into his chest.
In that flicker of time Balkuroilka saw the weapon in the soldier’s hands.
A spear. Closing the distance with a spear.
“Stupid fool! A spearman giving up his range like that!”
Balkuroilka howled and brought the axe down like lightning toward Arteon’s skull, meaning to split him and then butcher the rest.
But—
Clang!
The axe rebounded. Metal crashed against metal with a heavy shock, and pain like a breaking wrist ripped through his nerves.
…What?!
He had not even registered what happened.
Whoosh!
The imperial soldier, spear resting across one shoulder, kicked off the ground and leapt into the air. His trajectory scattered like rain, light as a bird’s flight.
“……Ah.”
Balkuroilka tilted his head back, following the boy’s form, and a soft sound of disbelief escaped him.
Light filtering through the canopy washed over his eyes. He could see every movement—yet his body would not answer.
And then—
“Worry about yourself.”
The youth looking down on him murmured the words almost quietly.
Balkuroilka opened his mouth to reply—
Shunk!
The spear punched through his heart first.
“…….”
There was no scream.
While death’s silence settled, the 3rd Platoon butchered the remaining Kar warriors.
“R-run!”
“S-scatter! Now!”
The instant Balkuroilka fell so pointlessly, the survivors broke and fled for their lives.
“Rear! Don’t let that one escape!”
“Miro! Take the one on the left!”
Grein read the field in a heartbeat and shouted the orders. The platoon moved as one, driving spears into the backs of the fleeing Kar.
Thrust! Thrust! Thunk!
It was over almost at once.
The surviving scouts stared at Arteon and the 3rd Platoon in dazed confusion.
Arteon walked up to them.
“Return to the main camp at once. Report the situation here to Captain Hadel. Under no circumstances is the main force to move. The enemy has this entire area surrounded like a spider’s web. March straight in and every one of you dies.”
One of the scouts gasped for breath.
“Then… what should we do?”
“Form a special-operations team. Right now we have to pull the enemy’s claws first. Captain Hadel will handle it. Tell him that.”
They nodded heavily.
“Th-thank you for saving our lives!”
The scouts hurried away. Arteon watched their backs for a moment, then turned to his platoon.
“We’re heading somewhere else. There are still… comrades left alive.”
“Understood!”
The soldiers sprang into motion as one. Arteon followed, vanishing into the brush.
This fight…
If the main force advances recklessly… the absolute worst outcome will follow.
Hadel would see to it that never happened… yet a strange chill kept settling over him.
Thud!
As Arteon raced through the undergrowth, an ominous shadow began to fall across his back.
