Chapter 125 - Today's Victory Does Not Guarantee Tomorrow's Victory (1)

Chapter 125 - Today's Victory Does Not Guarantee Tomorrow's Victory (1)

"Fire! Kill them!"

The commander leading Aspen's light-armored troops shouted.

Three soldiers at the front raised their loaded crossbows and fired.

Thud-thud-thud!

Three crossbow bolts.

Dodging them at this distance was said to be the pinnacle of acrobatics.

Only a master could even attempt it.

Yet—

Thunk, thud.

Rem evaded the bolts simply by rolling forward at the precise moment they were fired.

Pupupuk.

The bolts embedded themselves in the ground just as Rem completed his roll.

It seemed like a narrow escape, but since it was Rem, it didn't look dangerous at all.

Even while rolling, his speed barely decreased.

He continued his momentum, using his axe as a pivot to rise, and then resumed his charge.

How does one even control their body like that?

Watching from behind, Enkrid couldn't help but be impressed.

"Just stand back and watch."

If Ragna hadn't been constantly restraining him, Enkrid would have liked to join in the fight.

But there was no opportunity.

Rem had already taken care of everything.

Before the three crossbowmen could reload, Rem was already upon them.

The enemy soldiers instinctively drew their short swords.

Different armament from the spearmen.

Even if three or four spearmen formed a proper formation, Rem wouldn't have flinched.

And now, just three short swords?

They were no match.

The outcome was exactly as Enkrid had expected.

Shuk! Thud! Chuk!

As the axe cleaved through the air, one soldier's head flew off, and Rem moved like a storm, his axe carving streaks of light through the battlefield.

Every enemy caught within those streaks perished.

His strikes were so swift and fierce that by the time the axe exited a split skull, the blood and brain matter had only just started to spill onto the ground.

One soldier, with his skull split open, weakly stabbed his short sword into the air.

Before his body could even register its death, he collapsed forward.

Blood gushed onto the battlefield.

Leaving the fallen behind, Rem began his rampage.

And somewhere unseen, Jaxen had circled behind the enemy commander.

The commander had his mouth agape in shock at Rem's display when—

Skeuk.

Jaxen's dagger sliced his throat, sending a spray of blood into the air.

It was a clean cut through the carotid artery.

Jaxen moved again—silent, precise.

His priority was clear.

The crossbowmen targeting Enkrid.

He acted accordingly, moving behind them and slitting their throats or stabbing them through the lungs.

"Ghkk!"

One crossbowman's head jerked back.

In his fading vision, he saw emotionless brown eyes tinged with a cold red glow.

Killing was nothing but mechanical labor.

The epitome of numbness.

The enemy soldier took his last breath under that terrifying gaze.

Meanwhile, Audin struck down only those who attacked him.

Simply swatting them aside with his palm was enough.

Clang! Crack!

One soldier, charging in with a short sword, had his cheek smashed so hard that his yellowed teeth scattered into the air.

They stood no chance.

What could they do when a mere slap was enough send their bodies flying?

Mack was also in motion.

He was a capable fighter in his own right.

With Andrew at his back, they guarded the center where Enri continuously loosed arrows from his short bow.

And Ragna—there was no need to even mention him.

One step forward.

He advanced, his blade cutting down all in his path.

One of the enemy scouts, wielding two short swords, charged at him.

But it only took Ragna two swings to finish him.

Clang.

The enemy blocked the first strike, only for Ragna's blade to slip past, gliding like a swallow through the air.

Tak.

The edge of the sword struck the enemy's neck.

A second mouth gaped open on his throat.

Ragna swung his sword a few more times, then shook his head, flicking the blood off his blade in apparent dissatisfaction.

He clearly didn't like the weapon he was using.

Yet, despite his complaints, he never sought out a proper blade.

Truly an odd one.

Enkrid had nothing to do.

Not only was there no need for him to intervene, but the battle had ended in an instant.

While Mac, Andrew, and Enri took down two soldiers together, the rest were slaughtered outright.

"Fall back."

Instead of praising the others, Enkrid simply gave orders.

There was no sense in getting caught between the colliding armies.

They needed to retreat to the side and assess the situation.

As they pulled back, enemy infantry met the allied forces—both sides adorned with arrows sticking out of their shields.

Like long-separated lovers reuniting to exchange affection, the two forces clashed.

But instead of love, tongues, and passion—

They gouged out each other's eyes with their spears.

Puh-buh-buk!

Spears tore through bodies.

Both sides suffered losses.

But the battle's tide had already turned.

This was the first major engagement.

The surprise attack by the Frontier Slaughterers and Rem's rampage had led to a sweeping victory.

Where had this victory begun?

Of course, with the Madmen Squad.

From the squad leader running his mouth to Andrew swinging his sword.

"Uooooh! Get lost!"

"We won!"

"It's the Madmen!"

Wait, was it really necessary to call them crazy so openly?

The soldiers' gazes fixated on one group.

The ones covered in blood.

The Independent Unit, led into battle by Rem.

Most bore some traces of battle, but Enkrid stood in the center, completely unscathed.

Not even out of breath.

He hadn't swung his sword once.

Not even thrown a single dagger.

The squad's intent was clear.

"Madmen Squad!"

"Enkrid! Enki! You're handsome!"

"Great! Great! Great!"

"They're a platoon now, you bastards!"

Drunk on victory, the soldiers cheered for Enkrid and his unit.

No matter who did the actual fighting, the Independent Unit was his.

Naturally, people chanted his name.

Should he do something?

Maybe raise a hand?

But he hadn't even lifted his sword.

After the first battle, he had pulled back, leaving the rest to the infantry—the real stars of the battlefield.

So why were they celebrating him so much?

"An Independent Unit with fewer than ten men making this big an impression? That means we did our job."

Krais appeared from seemingly nowhere, slipping into their ranks.

"That's true. But how come no one's cheering for me?"

Probably because of your bad karma.

Enkrid only thought about it and didn't answer.

There was no need to ruin his mood right now.

Instead, he patted Rem on the shoulder.

"You did well."

Rem smirked.

Meanwhile, Ragna retrieved his chipped sword.

"I'll need to find a new one."

He spoke his thoughts aloud, indifferent to the cheers around him.

The brief cheers and fleeting joy of victory had already passed, and the infantry was dismissed.

The allied commanders did not recklessly pursue the enemy.

From now on, morale was on their side.

The situation had completely reversed.

Starting tomorrow, which side would find the battlefield more uncomfortable?

Krais observed the unfolding situation, considering possible variables.

'What might be coming?'

Survival—and picking up a few spoils—required calculations.

Krais was good at that.

It wasn't particularly difficult.

The enemy's intentions...

'They used sorcery to play tricks in the previous battle.'

Would they try something similar again?

"Let's rest."

Enkrid spoke upon returning to the barracks.

Now was truly the time to rest.

"All personnel are exempt from guard duty."

One of the messengers delivered the order.

He briefly wondered if the fairy company commander would show up again.

But that didn't happen.

Would today's victory lead to tomorrow's?

No one could know.

Holding the high ground didn't guarantee a win.

So by now, they were likely holding a strategy meeting to ensure their victory continued.

Enkrid's prediction was accurate.

***

Marcus was not lost in the thrill of victory.

"They just withdrew like that? Feels like they've got something planned. They used some sorcery tricks before, right? Any signs of that?"

"None."

They stood in a circle around a large table.

Marcus had just spoken, and his adjutant responded.

Sorcery?

Getting tricked once was one thing, but they wouldn't fall for it twice.

They had hired a sorcerer of their own.

An old woman from the homeland.

She lacked the ability to use sorcery herself, but she could detect when the enemy tried something.

That was good enough.

Marcus didn't care about the intricacies of sorcery.

As long as the information was true, that was all that mattered.

"If Aspen brings in asymmetric forces, part of the Crimson Cloak Knights will be sent in as reinforcements."

If the enemy deployed knights or mages, they were prepared for that as well.

Marcus nodded.

He was the kind of commander who felt the battlefield through his skin.

He used his head, but he also had a strong instinct for battlefield conditions.

'Didn't want to follow them in.'

The enemy had retreated as if luring them in.

Just thinking about chasing them made his scalp tingle.

It felt like a banshee's breath was chilling his back.

A monster whose wails could freeze a human heart.

That kind of foreboding wasn't something to ignore.

So Marcus decided to end the battle there.

"What are the frontier defense casualties?"

"Two dead."

Even the most elite soldiers could be killed if they were cut by swords or pierced by arrows.

The fact that only two had died meant they had held up well.

Meanwhile, the frontier defense unit had killed dozens of enemy soldiers.

Their longbow unit had especially dealt a devastating blow.

By all accounts, this had been a victory.

The only desperate options left to the enemy were twofold.

One was retreat.

The other was deploying asymmetric forces.

Thus, Marcus's job was simple: send out a steady stream of scouts to monitor enemy movements.

The next day, there was no battle.

Marcus doubled the usual number of scouts.

But they found nothing.

The "Turtles"—a nickname for Naurilia's heavy infantry—were hiding in their shells.

They refused to reveal their positions, and even scout encounters were rare.

They had deliberately withdrawn, choosing to entrench themselves in their stronghold.

Were they inviting an attack?

Marcus still felt uneasy.

He hesitated to give the order.

"If we attack now, it'll be a decisive victory. Even if they prepared something in their stronghold, we can just rain arrows on them first."

"We don't even need arrows. Just surround them, set fire to a few tents, and send in the spearmen."

"What about deploying the frontier defense unit to cut off their retreat?"

His adjutants offered various strategies.

'Something's off.'

"We wait."

Marcus chose to hold position.

It was a decision based on instinct—the same instinct that had kept him alive in countless battles.

The enemy still had something up their sleeve.

***

Aspen's commander had assessed the enemy's forces.

Naurilia's tactics were predictable.

'They use the frontier defense unit to disrupt us.'

Marcus's strategy was also clear.

He concentrated his forces to turn the tide of battle with a single decisive blow.

And it had worked.

The unexpected attack had reversed the momentum.

So what?

The enemy had played all their cards.

Now, what would they do against what I send?

Cowards hiding behind their skirts.

The commander silently cursed Naurilia and felt confident of victory.

It was time for his battle to begin.

And he would start by killing that arrogant bastard.

That lunatic—whatever his name was.

The one who had said they're "ghoul-headed bastards."

The one wielding an axe.

A small force could change the course of battle—knights had already proven that.

But did that small force have to be knights?

Aspen's commander had prepared his own daggers.

No, not just daggers.

His daggers would become the warhammer that shattered the battlefield.

***

One day was enough for complete recovery.

A day without duties, filled with rest and good food.

Enkrid had a brief dream that night but forgot it quickly.

A ghost from his past surfaced.

A mercenary who had taught him that skill and character didn't always align.

It wasn't a pleasant memory, so there was no reason to dwell on it.

Regardless, thanks to the divine power of Audin and the fairy's medicine...

He doubted he'd ever experience such luxury again.

"I suppose you have my medicine to thank for that."

The fairy company commander appeared early in the morning.

Enkrid was drenched in sweat, in the middle of training.

The Isolation technique.

According to Audin, it was now time to strengthen his joints.

The variety of exercises he was put through sometimes made him wonder if they were just making him suffer for fun.

But in the end, the results spoke for themselves—his body was getting stronger.

He had already proven that much.

Lying flat, he pressed his hands and toes against the ground, extending and flexing his wrists as he pushed his body up.

At first, it seemed easy.

But after a few reps, it became an ordeal.

A heavy weight bore down on his wrists.

One pair of green eyes watched with arms crossed.

A lake panther, now fully recovered, observed with keen interest as well.

Behind them, a hulking brute with a sadistic smile looked on approvingly.

In front of the barracks, a wild barbarian squatted, watching silently.

Further back, a pair of ominous reddish-brown eyes glimmered.

Big Eyes was off to the side, scratching something into the dirt, erasing it, and repeating the process.

Lastly, the perpetually lost but genius swordsman stood nearby, gripping his sword, waiting.

"Did you have business with me?"

Finishing his morning training, Enkrid asked the company commander.

The fairy locked eyes with him and spoke.

"I don't."

Then why are you still here?

His gaze conveyed the question.

But, as expected, it didn't work.