5

Chapter 4

-VB-

After a quiet week of final preparations for the forces of the baron, we marched out of the town of Vaz and towards the city of Chur. The whole army trudged forward in a disorderly line, clogging up half of the dirt road.

From the front, I spied roughly four hundred men, which was a lot for a mere baron to call upon.

Unlike the Far East, European wars and conflicts struggled to match the scale of the Asian ones; from what I remembered, the 16th century Japanese invasion of Korea resulted in more than a million casualties compared to the English-Spanish War which resulted in less than fifty thousand deaths. It wouldn't be until the Thirty Years War that Europe would reach the same level, and that was because things like disease, famine, and other series of unfortunate events struck Europe at the same time as the war. But then the high estimate of eight million deaths of Thirty Years War would be dwarfed by the concurrent Manchu Conquest of China with its twenty-five million deaths.

War was not a good thing. Just imagine how much labor a country could have gotten out of those dead people!

But that wasn't right now. The Thirty Years War hadn't started. Martin Luther wasn't even born yet. I was just participating in a minor war in a minor province in the dysfunctional Holy Roman Empire in the thirteenth century.

The baron's army had a rough composition of 5% cavalry, 60% spear, 10% close melee, 20% archer, and 5% others. Others being mercenaries like myself who weren't one or the other when it came to classification. In my personal opinion, this was not an optimal army composition. There was too few cavalryman to cover the flanks. However, the baron was restricted to what he had nor was this region particularly war-prone to need someone like the baron to extensively prepare expensive warhorses for war.

I frowned as the army walked over a hill.

And then I caught sight of another army coming towards us from afar.

"... This is where we fight, isn't it?" I mumbled as I quickly looked around.

It was a flat area with nothing between us. The hills had been just big enough to obscure each other until we were within half a mile of each other.

"Archers!" the baron called out. "Form a line! All others, form a spear wall in front!"

I looked at the other army. They were … bigger. Far bigger. At least twice the size of the baron's army.

This was going to be a mess, wasn't it?

My eyes widened as I saw -.

"Cavalry!" I shouted as I pointed towards the left flank of the bishop's army.

True to my words, a hundred fully armed and armored cavalry stood waiting for their orders on the other side. That was three times more than our own horsemen.

My brain quickly went through the numbers.

This was… this wasn't going to be a victory for us. We had too few numbers of blockade the full length of the valley to negate the cavalry advantage nor did we have enough specialized shock-and-awe troops to burst through the middle of the enemy formation.

Then the bishop's side pulled up a white flag. A flag for truce.

The bishop wanted to talk.

I looked towards the baron.

"Raise the black flag."

The charcoal-stained flag came up.

It was going to be a direct fight.

The baron's army quickly moved to obey him.

The bishop's army moved as well.

My eyes widened as I realized what was happening.

The bishop already knew that the baron's army had been coming this way. His army had been here and ready.

I snapped my attention back to the baron.

The idiot hadn't even scouted!

"This is going to be a bloodbath," I mumbled to myself again, but the others next to me heard me. I quickly got into position at the far right flank of the army, which was probably where the cavalry was going to hit. I knew that I was putting myself at risk, but dammit if I didn't try something!

And then their cavalry thundered forward.

"Alex!" the baron shouted.

"Got it!" the master-at-arms shouted back from atop his horse. "Men, to me!" he roared, and the baron's men-at-arms, all of them horsed, thundered forward.

"Good luck!" I shouted after them, and Alex gave me a salute. It might be the last time I see the man. The brave fool was going out there to fight a force three times his.

The bishop's army began to march forward.

"Hold the hill!" the baron roared. "It's easier to stab down than it is to stab up!"

I watched the cavalry clash and grimaced. The enemy formed a wedge and drove our already small cavalry into two, and then smashed into them with lances.

"Archers, get ready!"

There was a cacophony of wooden sticks behind the frontline while the distant whines of horses and clash of metals filled the front.

"DRAW!"

Our cavalry got routed near instantly. This was bad.

"LOOSE!"

Just as our fleeing cavalry sped towards us, the archers loosed.

Our cavalry was safe as they ducked underneath the arrows.

The others weren't.

Instead of chasing, they turned.

Except for a small group of them who decided to charge into the hail of arrows after the fleeing cavalry.

Shields held up above their heads, the arrows rained down on them, and only one horseman and his horse fell.

Our cavalry blitzed by me.

I didn't see Alex among them.

In an instant, I wrestled the spear from the hands of my neighboring peasant and hurled it.

With the strength of five people in my body, the spear flew true as if it was an arrow.

And slammed right into the vanguard horseman's horse.

The horse and the horseman tumbled, and the unexpected tumble got the others behind him to crash into him. Those who weren't right behind quickly brought themselves to a stop and fled right back to the bishop.

I blinked in surprise. Damn, if I knew it would be that effective, then I would have made a bunch of spears, even if they were only wooden without any iron speartip.

"HOLD!" the baron ordered again.

Okay, one flank attack stopped because the enemy was arrogant enough to travel so closely (probably to decrease the chance of arrows finding a target).

And then the arrows shot up from their side.

"SHIELDS!"

I just wrapped myself and the man who I stole the spear from with my bear cape and then ducked.

Arrows came whistling in, and then -.

T-t-t-t-thunk.

When no more sounds of arrows came, I pulled my cape back to peer outside.

More arrows.

"ARCHERS, KILL THEM!" the baron roared desperately.

T-T-T-Twang!

"GAH!"

"H-H-H-"

And then arrows stopped raining.

I pulled the cape back with a flourish and grimaced after looking over the frontline.

A tenth of the spearmen were dead already.

I looked towards the bishop's army, and noticed less than five percent casualty.

So… our three hundred fifty versus their seven hundred.

I drew my longsword from its sheath.

50 feet.

40 feet.

30 feet.

20.

10!

5!

I jumped forward, spinning my longsword into a wind blurring rotation.

The spears that came thrusting towards me found their tips and shafts being cut away.

And then I was upon them.

My blade slashed into regular peasant clothes. Flowing with the momentum of my first strike, I came spinning right back and cut a man's stomach apart. I ignored the entrails flowing out and spun again.

I carved a bloody path into the flank before the cavalry could do so to ours.

A sword jabbed forward blindingly fast from within the ranks of the enemy as I spun, but it bounced off of my chestplate. It wasn't a peasant levy but a man-at-arms, armored in padded gambeson and with a sallet covering his head.

For the attempt, I sliced his skull in half horizontally, cutting right through his helmet like a hot knife through butter.

Men came at me with spears.

I grabbed one and pulled it back as I backpedaled. Twisting it out of the man's grip, I returned it to another spearman by throwing it and piercing his chest.

Then I jumped over their concerted strike.

They watched with wide open mouths. And then realized just how close I was.

My longsword swept through them like a scythe harvesting wheat.

Then I noticed a small crack.

Grunting at my own work's inferiority, I ducked underneath a few strikes and grabbed the sword of the man-at-arms I killed.

It was pitifully light, but maybe that was the point of this particular… shortsword.

I took a step back and launched myself while unclipping the bear cape.

As spears came at me, I pulled my cape forward and spun it around. The speartips caught in the fur and bundled up wildly and out of their owners' grasps.

Again, I took a step back, but I did this again to unfurl my cape and pull out the spears I'd just confiscated with a parlor trick.

… Was it me or were there more of them?

Then I jolted in surprise when I heard a roar behind me and ten horsemen bearing the banner of the baron charged forward, parting around me like a river.

Grinning at the backup, I quickly hurled a spear at a soldier trying to unhorse my ally, and grinned in satisfaction as he went down. The cavalry broke through the men and thundered around, leaving me alone once again until they could come around swinging again.

The soldiers of the bishop turned towards me: the immediate threat.

With my longsword in my right hand and the shortsword in my left, I grinned maniacally and held my ground.

"COME AT ME!" I roared.

Because each man I killed was a spear, a sword, an armor piece, and more that would go to my home!

The now desperate soldiers roared out and charged at me.

-VB-

Gasping like a man stranded in the desert for days, I pushed myself up slowly from where I had been kneeling.

I had fought for an hour - a full fucking hour! I glanced at my stats and grimaced.

Despite being an absolute superhuman Chad of a warrior, I was down to a third of my HP and single digit STA (energy). If I had to fight for even five more minutes, then I would have been a goner from being overwhelmed.

'The might of human numbers, pioneered by China and Russia!' I thought hysterically.

But it hadn't.

The battle ended when our center broke through as their flanks collapsed.

And it was a victory for the baron.

The baron's banners flew in the sweeping winds of the Alps proudly atop the hill.

The flag of truce came up once again from the routed bishop's army.

I watched as the baron went down to meet the bishop.

And came away with a paper in hand.

"Victory!" he roared.

And we cheered.

Chapter 5

-VB-

The baron of Vaz's unexpected and near total victory against the Bishop of Chur at the fields of de Curwalde* sent a ripple throughout Grisons.

For one, for a mere baron to defeat a Prince-Bishop of the Holy Roman Empire was staggering. Two, he won while having a numerical and quality disadvantage. Three, he suffered minimal losses compared to the bishop.

Because as devastating as losing over a hundred man was for an army of four hundred, the baron and his army culled a horrific five hundred and thirty deaths from the bishop's eight hundred. It didn't matter that the commander was a bishop; a prince of the realm was foremost a military commander of the land they held, and the bishop had not only shown that he was an incompetent commander but also that he was a wasteful lord who lost so many lives and gained nothing in return.

The critical error the bishop fell into was committing his forces and not pulling back when the tide turned against him from the get-go. He could have peppered the baron's force as long as he needed to, and he would have gained more advantage as he whittled the baron's army down.

But he hadn't.

While the mysterious defeat of his cavalry after they routed the baron's left them spooked, a little more time spent to calm them down and then back out again would have been enough to harass the baron's weaker left flank.

But he hadn't.

When his army suffered an obvious disadvantage of attacking uphill, he didn't use his superior numbers to surround them, which would have made an assault easier.

But he hadn't.

He did nothing but order his men forward, and they died needlessly.

Prince-Bishop Siegfried von Gelnhausen proved himself weak, and his vassals and his neighbors all saw opportunities. With a Holy Roman Emperor not recognized by the Papacy and too focused on the Burgundian lands, there was a distinct lack of oversight.

He could have been excused - because things happen outside everyone's control - if he gained something but gained nothing after losing half a thousand troops?

The neighboring lords, trapped in their poor mountainous lands, eyed the bishop of Chur's fertile valleys and important mountain passes that dominated the south to north trade.

War would come to my new home.

But I hadn't known that at the time.

At the time, all I saw was …

-VB-

I helped carry the fallen to where the baron set up camp, right on the spot of our victory.

One of the very first I helped carry was none other than Alex.

The cousin to the baron had charged in to delay the enemy cavalry and paid the ultimate price. When I found him, he had three holes puncturing his chest right through his plate armor.

If the grief on the other men-at-arms was anything to go by, then he would be dearly missed.

It was just too bad for me that I never got to get to know him more.

As for the baron…

He stared at the signed document in front of him on the table, surrounded by his advisors, which included me apparently.

"It is-. Alex's death is a loss for the barony and I," he began. "His family's needs will be seen to as long as this barony belongs to me." He turned to his herald, who actually turned out to be his squire. The man hadn't participated in the battle at all, staying with his lord throughout the battle and standing by as his bodyguard. "See to it."

The herald-squire bowed in acknowledgment.

He then turned to the representative of the levies, who was none other than the chief of the Travaos**.

"Get me the name of all of the fallen. Though it may seem small in comparison to their passing, the fallen's families will receive a share of the victory."

He bowed and left.

Finally, he turned to me.

"... You are a monster of a warrior," he said factually. "If they said you were Charlemagne reborn, then I would not doubt them."

I chuckled politely. "It would be a high praise."

"Indeed. I watched you fight. I will tell you this right now and right here. If you had not held the right flank by yourself for the whole battle, then I would have lost and everyone who died would have died meaninglessly. I thank you for that. My squire will give you the promised reward."

"Your Excellency," the squire spoke up. "We do not know how many men he's killed…"

"Then give him every single piece of iron, leather, armor, and anything else found at the right flank of the battle. Everything," he spoke with a tone that brooked no argument. "If there is too much for him to carry, then get him a cart and an ox - an enemy horse if there's one available - so that he can carry it back home."

"Y-Yes, milord," the man uttered subserviently.

I bowed in thanks.

"Before you leave, I must ask. Is there no way for you to become one of my knights?"

I straightened myself and looked at him in surprise.

"We have already visited this, but upon seeing you in action, I can't help but ask. Should you accept, I will act according to your previous wish. You will be my vassal knight and have a portion of my land. In return. I only ask that you take charge of that land's defense and collect tax on my behalf."

…. Holy shit. He was serious. The right to collect tax was no joke.

I wanted to test him but not test him so far as to offend him, so I quickly spoke up to put a stop to this.

"I apologize, Your Excellency, but I do not wish to fight for a living." I certainly wished to fight, but I was not about to let someone else make that a responsibility.

The baron, who had very likely been ready to give me an offer too good to refuse, stopped and sighed. "Perhaps another time."

Stubborn man.

"Yes… milord." I paused. "Then by your leave…"

"Yes, you're dismissed."

The moment I left the command tent, I found a message for me from the System.

Ping!

[Battle of Churwalden is over! Calculating EXP gain…]

'Huh. So my system wasn't one of the standard ones.' Normal games would have calculated the gains as the kills happened.

[Congratulations! You've LvLed up! +5 points]

'Hot damn. Five levels in one go?'

I dumped all of the stat gains from level-ups into agility. I was already plenty strong and enduring enough. Getting faster would allow me to do even crazier stuff while endurance and strength boosts would only net me diminishing returns. I will still invest in them occasionally, but speed was the way to go right now.

Standing in the middle of the hill, I flexed my body a little. I really couldn't tell much difference.

With my supernatural changes noted and dismissed, I made my way down towards the battle site to claim my much necessary loot.

I ignored the blood discoloring the green summer valley and arrived where I'd slain so many.

I picked up weapons and shields out of the ground and stripped the enemy of their armor (and clothes, if it was fine enough).

When the wagon arrived, I had a stack of weapons, armors, and clothes as tall as my waist. I had definitely profited from this battle.

The men-at-arms who brought the wagon to me stared at the pile with obvious envy.

Ignoring them, I loaded up the wagon with all of my loot and took a hold of the handles.

And pushed off as the soldiers gawked at me.

To home!

-VB-

I stopped by Vaz along with the rest of the army, and sold off one of the spears in exchange for simple pots, and exchanged one sallot helmet for ten bolts of fabrics in various colors, though limited to just brown, green, and an ugly dim red.

As I took these home along with my loot, I realized that I had a way to make money.

Dyes!

I had a small mining hole, so if I went mining and ever brought up any minerals I could use for dyes, then I could sell that dye for iron!

Genius! I am smart!

… actually, now that I called myself smart, aren't I dumb for not thinking about this in the past decade and a half I have been able to think and act?

… stupid! I'm so stupid!

Still, I can't wait to go back home. There's so much I needed to do.

-VB-

When Kraft came home with the rest of the village's survivors, he had a lot of thinking to do as the funerals began with the local priest, Father Meram, heading the funeral sessions.

As the father said the rites for each of the deceased as their families wept, Kraft could only think about the future of Travaos.

After all, nearly a dozen had died from his village alone when the baron and the Prince-Bishop of Chur had an argument over a parcel of land he had heard to house no more than a hundred villagers. He wondered if his sons and daughters would die in such arguments.

He glanced at his respected rival, the village's only blacksmith, as he wept on the ground before the grave of his eldest son.

That could have been him.

He was thankful to God that he had gone instead of Derrick or others because in the battlefield, only the strong survived.

He nearly laughed at the thought in the middle of the funeral rites. That could have been bad.

He survived, but he wasn't strong. So perhaps he had said it wrong.

In the battlefield, only the strong thrived.

He had seen the newcomer from Uri, how he fought in the battle.

A man's body split in two as it flew away.

A dangerous roar thundered out as two dozen spearmen attempted to end him.

Spear shafts splintered and broke and their tips failed to penetrate.

Blood flowed like water from the metal plates the warrior wore.

His sword, chipped and jagged, cut into another body and tossed it aside.

The bishop's soldiers backed off, but their center was failing. If they didn't push…

The monstrous warrior laughed as he held his hands up in an inviting manner. "COME AT ME!"

The desperate enemy soldiers charged, but just as many soldiers fled.

They ran like the Devil was after them.

Kraft flinched as he focused back on his fight and barely managed to dodge a spear thrust. He struck back, thrusting his own spear forward in the general direction of the spear that tried to kill him, and winced as his own spear punched through the man's poorly made gambeson. He did not like the squishy flesh and blood he felt through the pole.

When the enemy soldier he speared didn't go down immediately, several other spears flashed and stabbed into him with body shuddering rips.

Kraft shuddered.

He just killed a man. Again.

He glanced at Hans, the newcomer. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the man grabbing the arm of a swordsman who struck too deep. His eyes tried to follow the motion as Hans somehow twisted the man around with only two pulls, and then-.

Kraft closed his eyes as the image of a man's head twisting in place flashed to the front of his mind again.

Hans ignored how he nearly ripped the man's head off and continued to strike to kill.

The seemingly jovial and optimistic man he met in the forest not too far from the village was a monster.

If Hans decided to make the village his little fiefdom like the bishops and barons did, then could anything stop him?

He knew that a hundred men wouldn't be enough: half of them died and the other half ran in the battle.

If he was truly honest with himself as God the Father asked of all of his children, then he must admit that Hans scared him.

Eighteen years old and a killer of half a hundred men, if not more.

A person like that wasn't from around here. Though he had the tongue of the valley folk, he must have been a veteran of a hundred battles.

How else could such an efficient killing warrior be born aside from experience?

The service came to an end, and he walked away with the rest of his family.

He caught sight of Alvia as she whispered something with her mother.

And then he had a horrible idea.

It would be … depending on how it turns out, it could be the best idea or the worst idea.

He gulped.

-VB-

[Character Status]

Name: Hans, son of Louis of Ourzcvelt, of Travaos

Age: 18

LvL: 27

HP: 480

MP: 200

ST: 240

STR: 39

END: 48

AGI: 60

DEX: 44

INT: 20

CHA: 8

Current Objective: Set Up Home [2/?]

Current Quest: N/A

-VB-