Chapter 132 - The Pilgrim Walking in Search of a Dream
Chapter 132 - The Pilgrim Walking in Search of a Dream
Marcus felt a wave of dizziness.
Cold sweat dripped down his forehead, soaking it almost instantly.
'These bastards…?'
His mouth went dry at the enemy's cunning ploy.
But standing idly by was not an option—he was the commander of the current infantry battalion.
With the reinforcements joining them, his unit had swelled to two battalions.
"Tortoise Company, hold the rear! The rest, stop the giant! Do not break formation! If anyone retreats, put an arrow in their skulls!"
His adjutant repeated his orders, and the messengers took off in all directions, shouting the abbreviated commands.
"Damn it, just block it! Hold the line! Fall back and you die anyway!"
It could turn into the worst possible situation.
Forcing the soldiers to sacrifice themselves would crush morale, and once they started retreating, securing a favorable position on the battlefield would be nothing but a pipe dream.
But there was no other choice.
He needed time to reorganize his forces.
The horn blared incessantly.
Bwooooooo!
Marcus stared into the mist that clouded his vision.
What a cursed, miserable battlefield.
Hadn't they nearly been wiped out because of this wretched fog in the previous battle as well?
That time, the mist had been conjured by sorcery.
How had they dealt with it back then?
Through the wit and strategy of the previous battalion commander?
'Yeah, like hell I'd believe that nonsense.'
He knew exactly what kind of man the previous battalion commander was—a noble-born officer who loved bribes more than competence.
A fool driven by greed rather than skill.
Someone else had broken that sorcery.
Everyone kept quiet about it, but it was that squad leader—the one nicknamed the "Spell Breaker."
The soldier who got lucky, the one rumored to have slept with the Goddess of Fortune herself.
The same soldier he had sent to Cross Guard, only for him to return after solving even more problems over there.
For some reason, that soldier came to mind at this moment.
The soldier he had called upon to control that lunatic squad and put them to use.
The name that burned clearly in his mind—
Enkrid.
As his train of thought came to an end—
Beyond the slowly thinning fog, something appeared.
A being that stood several heads taller than any human.
"…Holy shit."
A giant.
That bastard enemy commander was serious.
Rather than waging a drawn-out battle, he had gathered his forces and struck directly at the main army.
If this were a gamble, he had gone all in.
'Goddamn, in the middle of all this, he pulls something like that?'
In truth, it had been one shocking move after another.
First, duels using soldiers to break morale.
Then, a strike at the rear.
And now, sending a giant to overturn the battlefield in a single blow.
Was this the work of a strategic genius?
Or was it a reckless plan that happened to align by sheer luck?
He had no way of knowing.
The battlefield only cared about results.
Victories and losses—nothing more.
If they lost here, it would be because of his own inadequacy.
His chest tightened with tension, but instead of despair, a grin crept onto his lips.
There was a reason they called him a war freak.
In moments like this, his desires, his instincts, his very primal urges boiled over.
The chariot of battle pumped his veins with adrenaline.
'If… if we can catch the right flow, even just a little…'
Marcus was not the type to carefully analyze the battlefield and devise strategies.
He was a gambler.
He left the thinking to his subordinates.
"We must retreat. A single giant will cost us at least a platoon's worth of men."
"We need to acknowledge that the enemy's move is devastating."
"We should regroup and counter with archers instead of heavy infantry—"
Before his adjutants could even finish speaking—
"Left flank! Elves and assassins have appeared!"
What the hell?
"Right flank! A squad of elite mercenaries is rampaging! They're at least top-tier!"
This was a disaster.
An absolute catastrophe.
Yet, Marcus's heart did not shrink in fear.
'This isn't over yet.'
Ignoring his adjutants' pleading gazes for retreat, he remained silent.
All he needed was a small shift.
If the winds of change blew, even slightly—
Marcus swallowed dryly and waited.
And if that change never came?
'No… There's a chance.'
There were always exceptional individuals within any gathered force.
Even within this infantry battalion, there had to be such people.
All it took was a single hand to stir the stagnant waters.
Marcus believed that moment would come.
"Commander!"
His adjutant shouted in desperation.
It was that urgent.
And just then—
A messenger sprinted toward them.
From a distance, screaming the battlefield report at the top of his lungs—
He was so hoarse that his veins bulged from his neck, his voice on the verge of breaking.
"Urgent news! Urgent news! The giant has been slain!"
Change.
The shift he had been waiting for, relying purely on instinct.
It didn't matter who had done it.
"Full-scale advance!"
Marcus roared.
The moment of counterattack had arrived.
He proved his worth as a commander.
He was a formidable leader.
At his command, the Naurilian army surged forward like a charging turtle.
A circular assault formation centered around the heavy-armor Tortoise Company.
It was a formation Marcus specialized in—a large-scale battle tactic.
The giant's death was merely the beginning.
The winds of change spread across the battlefield.
Like a violent storm sweeping in at the turn of summer to autumn.
"Fooooooorwarrrrd!"
The voices of the messengers, chosen for their booming voices, echoed across the battlefield.
Bwooooooo!
The horn sounded.
A call for the army's advance.
"Wipe them all out!"
"Die, you bastards!"
Bell joined the charge.
Seeing Rem slay the giant and their allies withstand the giant's strength set his heart ablaze.
This battlefield didn't feel like one they could lose.
That was the sense he got.
Pa-pa-bak!
The infantry wielding spears lunged forward, stabbing at the enemy like thorns.
Puk!
The struck unit held firm.
Aspen's elite soldiers were tough.
Their shields and armor were sturdy, and they retaliated by thrusting their own spears.
"Open up!"
A command rang out from behind the allied spearmen.
So what?
You think you're as tough as we are?
Turtle Heavy Infantry Company.
1st Company of the 4th Battalion, 4th Regiment, Cypress Division.
A unit named after knights and renowned even within the division.
Not an independent detachment but a core force of the army.
They moved.
Their tactics were simple, and the overall strategy was even simpler.
'Advance, break, and destroy.'
The Turtle Heavy Infantry Company did not take the field to defend. They were here to attack.
Their steps were slow but heavy.
If the spearmen at the front had been the spears, now came the maces.
Maces meant to crush and shatter shields and armor.
While their main weapon was usually a pike, what they needed now was a relentless, crushing advance.
So, they swapped to blunt weapons, designed to break enemy defenses.
Beneath their armor, they wore padded gambesons over inner garments, then chainmail, and finally reinforced their limbs with steel gauntlets and greaves.
Their charge together felt like an avalanche of iron.
Ten heavy infantrymen at the front moved in perfect unison.
Raising their weapons vertically above their heads.
Their maces, longer than standard ones, cast shadows over the blood-soaked ground.
"Damn it."
A soldier among the enemy muttered.
The ten leading heavy infantrymen brought down their weapons simultaneously.
The iron mauls sliced through the air, smashing shields, armor, and the spears feebly thrust forward.
Boom!
Crack!
Crash!
Crunch!
A cacophony of destruction erupted at once.
The first strike.
None of the enemy soldiers died from it.
This was a battle of formations.
They didn't collapse immediately, but the real problem was what followed.
The battle lines had now fully merged.
The boundaries between allies and enemies blurred.
Like the sun and moon dissolving the night's border before dawn.
Both armies fought to maintain their formations.
And the heavy infantry, locked in place, demonstrated their devastating strength.
Crunch!
The second blow shattered a buckler into splinters that scattered into the air.
The eyes of the Aspen soldier holding the broken shield widened in shock.
Another mace came flying over the remains of his shield, slamming into his helmet.
Thud!
"Guh!"
His leather helmet was no match for the force of the steel.
His skull caved in instantly, and he collapsed.
The heavy infantry marched over his fallen body.
Crunch, crunch.
Bones cracked, cheekbones shattered, and blood splattered.
The body, unable to withstand the weight, was trampled lifeless.
For the soldier crushed beneath the heavy infantry's boots, death was the only outcome.
"Advance! One step forward!"
The heavy infantry commander kept their formation intact.
A slow, deliberate advance, tightening the enemy's noose.
It wasn't a charge or a rush—just a methodical, crushing push forward.
The enemy had no room to retreat.
"Sweep them away."
The commander's voice brimmed with confidence.
It was justified—the battle had flipped in an instant.
Had there been knights present…
Had this battle begun with a duel between them, things might have been different.
But the enemy hadn't chosen that kind of fight.
They had hidden their trump card and struck first.
Yet, their attack had been met with an even stronger sword.
A sword they hadn't expected to be so unbreakable.
No one could have imagined that even a madman like Rem would not only slay a giant—but toy with it.
"Uoooooh!"
A war cry tore through the air.
The soldiers were in a frenzy.
Their eyes bloodshot, they thrust their spears and swung their swords wildly.
Some even grabbed axes and hurled them.
At that moment, Marcus's tactics shone once again.
The heavy infantry shattered the enemy's formation from the front.
"Shoot! Shoot! Fire everything!"
A unit flanked around.
Swift, lightly armored archers—rangers wielding shortbows.
One exceptional ranger had recently joined their ranks.
A woman named Finn.
Hearing Marcus's order, she understood exactly what he wanted.
Arrows rained down.
Few died from the barrage.
But the arrows kept coming, over and over.
They did not hold back.
"Drop your weapons and surrender! Put your heads to the ground! Surrender, and you will not be killed!"
They shouted repeatedly.
Messengers with powerful voices echoed the call across the battlefield.
The soldiers at the fringes, already losing morale, were on the verge of retreat.
And when they encountered Finn, they had no choice but to drop their weapons and raise their hands.
"Don't kill them! Don't kill them!"
Finn deliberately spared the surrendering soldiers.
The effect was immediate.
One by one, they fell to their knees.
The tide of the battlefield had completely turned.
Rem wiped his hands clean after slaying the giant.
'Guess my sweat's going to dry now.'
It had been fun up to this point.
What came next?
Chasing down and slaughtering the enemy?
Didn't feel like it.
It wasn't about mercy or avoiding a massacre.
They had already won.
The pursuit just seemed tedious.
He looked around, wondering if the enemy had another hidden giant or something.
But there was nothing.
Only murmurs from the enemy command.
'They're about to scatter.'
'Maybe they'll try some sorcery or something.'
No signs of that either.
The battle was over.
That was Rem's conclusion.
He turned around to find his platoon leader.
"…What the hell."
Where'd that bastard go?
He was supposed to stay back and watch.
He didn't even see him fight the giant?
The lazy bastard and the religious zealot were gone.
And the stray cat was gone too?
Which meant… he must've gone off with one of them.
"Uh?"
Something felt off.
"Whoa! Long live the Madmen unit!"
"Long live Rem!"
Even after the battle, voices continued to praise Rem for taking down the giant.
Every passing soldier sang his name.
A madman in their ranks had slaughtered an enemy giant, a beast consumed by bloodlust.
But more than anything, it was that final move.
He had seen the giant wielding its massive war hammer, then kicked the giant's thigh, smashed its fingers gripping the weapon with his fist, and broke them.
After that, he launched himself into the air, spinning.
His head dipped downward as his foot struck the giant's jaw.
A resounding impact.
Then, without hesitation, he picked up a stray spear, driving it through the giant's shattered jaw and up through the back of its skull, creating something almost like a work of art.
The fallen giant looked like a sculpted monument.
And standing before it, Rem seemed like a hero from legends.
Giant foes often played the role of villains in stories.
So, naturally, cheers erupted non-stop.
"Shut up!"
Even as he was being praised, Rem suddenly shouted.
His voice was so loud that those celebrating him immediately fell silent.
Only then did his nickname surface in their minds, shining like the full moon.
'Barbarian madman.'
A lunatic who lost it for no reason.
A madman who raged and swore without cause.
"Where's our captain?"
Someone raised a hand and pointed.
There stood Enkrid, holding two axes.
He had already been heading their way.
Soon, Rem, Ragna, and Enkrid met.
"I told you to watch—"
"Picked them up on the way."
Enkrid cut Rem off and tossed the weapons toward him.
The two axes sliced through the air and landed perfectly in Rem's grasp.
Thud.
He stretched his hands out and caught them.
"Hmm?"
The grip, the weight—it felt just right.
Holding them, he could tell.
These were better than what he had used before.
Weapons that had been personally maintained, that had tasted blood.
From the balance to the axe blades.
Made with high-quality steel, meticulously cared for.
"You went to get these just because my axe broke?"
It didn't matter how he got them, as long as they were in his hands now.
Enkrid knew Rem well.
"Yeah."
He nodded in agreement.
Though in truth, he had just stumbled upon them, if this was enough to bring peace, then so be it.
The killing intent emanating from Rem softened.
The hostility faded.
"You saw what I told you to watch?"
"I saw it. An axe blocking a giant. Overpowering it with strength."
As Enkrid spoke, Rem met his gaze.
The axes weren't the important thing.
What burned in Enkrid's eyes—that flame, that hunger, a desire that could be called ambition or obsession.
A pilgrim walking a bloodied path to learn, to grow, to reach something beyond.
That was enough.
That was why Rem liked Enkrid.
"Good."
Rem grinned.
Enkrid smiled too.
Their smiles were different, yet somehow similar.
Watching them, Ragna muttered,
"First, get your sword back on you."
Then, without a sound, Jaxen suddenly appeared behind him.
No footsteps, no presence—he was just there.
"When your instincts sharpen and your sixth sense opens, what comes next? Refinement, breaking it down, training each aspect separately, and learning how to respond. There's a lot to do."
Enkrid turned his gaze to him, meeting Jaxen's eyes.
He silently asked,
'And what does all that mean?'
No answer came.
"You'll find out next time."
It seemed Jaxen was even better at cutting things short than Ragna.
"This bastard? Just cutting in?"
Rem narrowed his eyes.
Before they could exchange sharper words, Audin returned.
"Whoa! Our crazy giant is even stronger!"
The cheering was relentless.
Yeah, this side had their own mad giant now.
Drenched in blood, smiling faintly.
Blood dripping from his sleeves as he grinned—was it a talent, or just madness?
"Do you know the essence of Valaf combat?"
Another one.
Enkrid's gaze shifted to the mad giant.
Audin flashed a grin.
"Goddamn it, everyone's cutting in."
Rem growled.
They all released killing intent at each other.
Enkrid watched for a moment, then stepped in.
Right in the middle of the battlefield, regardless of the ongoing fight, they were more focused on teaching him.
And these people—
They were the true heroes of this battle.
As Enkrid calmed the chaos, he asked,
"But what about the others?"
Now that he looked around, Andrew and the others were nowhere to be seen.
"They got swept up and pushed forward."
Rem answered.