Chapter 202
“Let’s kill them all!”
Like a roaring tiger, it was the 1st Company Commander shouting.
Word had it a comrade who’d served alongside him since the early campaigns had died in the Martai Resistance War.
“We will.”
The battalion commander responded and then ordered an extremely defensive formation.
Their current force was six infantry companies.
Originally just one battalion, but two additional companies had been sent as reinforcements from the battalion stationed on the Green Pearl Plains.
That was a stretch on their part too.
If they pulled all their troops from Green Pearl, who knew what Azpen would do?
“If they come through the south gate, we can hold, but we can’t avoid a battle on the plains.”
Said the 2nd Company Commander.
“How many cavalry?”
“Fifty riders.”
Fifty cavalry. Encrid didn’t find that to be a small number.
Warhorses devoured gold during both rearing and upkeep.
You needed iron armor for them, specially trained riders to mount them.
For every Krong you poured into them, cavalry became a terrifying force on the plains.
With just fifty riders charging in with lances, they could chew through hundreds of infantry.
The total force of six companies was roughly around 1,200 soldiers.
‘Fifty cavalry is a major variable.’
That was Encrid’s assessment.
Even so, Marcus remained calm.
“You raised a sizable force in that rat hole.”
He wasn’t just calm—he was almost impressed.
“They’ve also got no shortage of archers.”
Another troubling bit of news.
To Encrid, it meant the enemy’s preparations were thorough.
“Urgent report!”
The finishing touch was the scout who burst into the room.
Bleeding from his left arm, the scout stumbled into the war room.
He was a soldier who had gone deep into enemy territory and barely made it back alive.
Enduring the pain, he reported:
“Troops with obscured insignias have joined the enemy.”
Martai’s forces hadn’t been small to begin with.
One full infantry battalion and part of a cavalry unit.
They also had an archery company.
Compared to the Border Guards, their quality was slightly inferior, but the numbers were clearly in their favor.
And yet, the Border Guards had repeatedly defeated Martai in past encounters. They’d seized victory each time.
“This is bad.”
Because of the one who had just spoken.
The Border Defense Force—an elite unit composed entirely of top-class soldiers.
Their combat ability was undoubtedly outstanding.
But even they might not be enough this time.
A string of demoralizing reports before the fighting had even begun.
“Independent Company Commander.”
Marcus finally spoke, having digested the situation.
Encrid realized a bit late that he was being addressed.
“…Yes?”
“Do you know about the authority of an independent company?”
Was there such a thing?
Marcus continued.
“A company commander, if they wish, may requisition troops from other companies. Be it at the squad or platoon level.”
‘Is he serious?’
Outwardly calm, Encrid inwardly questioned Marcus’s sanity.
That statement meant an independent company could act like a superior unit to the others.
Literally—
‘Hey, hand over your platoon. I’ll give it back later. Oh, they’re half-dead now.’
Then what?
Who’d accept an order like that?
Encrid glanced toward the other company commanders.
None of them were the soft type. They were all men who had earned their rank while living on the edge of the battlefield.
It wasn’t a role for the timid or mild-mannered.
So, no matter how high-ranking the battalion commander was, an opinion like that would surely…
“I’d give you more than that.”
The first to speak was the Elf Company Commander. Well, it figured with her.
“If you need the Border Defense Force, it’s yours.”
Next came the Border Defense Commander.
He might’ve felt indebted after recent events.
“The 1st Company fights as one, but split or not, we do our part.”
Why him? That man was considered a candidate for the next battalion commander.
Even if the Border Defense Commander had influence, this guy had power of his own.
“What, you want to stick me with the madman company? I’d move my whole unit in.”
Was the 2nd Company Commander always this spineless? Encrid thought about it and realized—no, he wasn’t.
This was the same guy who used to throw fits whenever someone took even a man from his unit. They called him “Foaming Palto.”
Even the new 3rd Company Commander who’d taken over after Rayon’s death, and the reinforcements from Green Pearl, weren’t any different.
“Hmm, I’d trust an independent company.”
Even the Green Pearl Commander, whom he’d never met before, nodded at Encrid with eyes full of trust, hope, and belief.
“Since when was this a thing?” Encrid asked.
He wasn’t the type to show emotion, and his voice was calm. The company commander laughed heartily and responded:
“Starting now, of course!”
‘Is this bastard cursed or something?’
Or maybe he ate something wrong. Heatstroke, maybe? The weather was getting hotter.
Encrid once again masked his expression. He might not be much of an actor, but when it came to hiding his face, he was a master.
“I’m not much for imagination,”
Marcus continued. Encrid stared blankly, unsure what the man was on about. Meeting his eyes, Marcus went on.
“If you were allowed to do whatever you wanted outside the bounds of strategy and tactics, how far could you go? Could you take out the enemy cavalry? Could you crush every incoming force you laid eyes on?”
Marcus’s voice began to heat up. But maybe because of his earlier performance—
There wasn’t even a hint of acting in his words now. That’s how it felt.
Genuine words spoken in a sincere tone.
It reminded Encrid of a speech he once heard from Crang. That speech had a force that could command a room.
His gestures, voice, and presence—there was a grandeur that made people see visions.
Marcus didn’t have that kind of grandeur.
What he had was heat.
A burning passion. Something beyond age—something deeply human.
And that heat now reached Encrid through his voice.
“From small-scale reconnaissance to striking enemy cities—and on the battlefield, bringing victory to our forces! And that’s not all!”
Thud!
Marcus slammed his palm onto the table again, and once more, the pins scattered across the map.
But no one took their eyes off him.
Everyone watched his lips. They listened to his words and were swept up in his presence.
“He survived alone among a thousand gnolls, proved himself, and solidified his role as commander of an uncontrollable force. Above all, I admire the company commander’s outstanding skill and ability. So I ask: if given unlimited authority on this battlefield, what could you accomplish?”
What was it that Marcus believed in?
Why didn’t the battalion commander feel threatened?
Why did no one question the acceptance of a beastkin who once belonged to the Black Sword?
Why did company commanders remain unbothered even when their men were being taken?
Why did their eyes reflect faith, hope, and trust?
‘The things I’ve accomplished.’
A knight is made through skill and merit.
Encrid felt, for the first time in a long while, like his efforts hadn’t been in vain.
Pride? That word didn’t do it justice.
A long-forgotten dream had touched reality.
And with it, Encrid found his purpose.
He’d been asked a question—he had to answer.
Krang’s speeches used to dazzle, overwhelming those around him with sheer presence before ending.
But Marcus simply asked for a response.
‘Elite strike force.’
In the current continent, the outcome of war hinges on whether knights or knight-level forces are present.
When a knight enters the battlefield and no enemy knight meets them, a massacre occurs.
Most of the time, duels happen instead, but sometimes, strategies are twisted to pit a knight against a whole unit.
Conversely, some use that as a trap—wearing down a knight with troops to kill them.
‘They don’t know me.’
They don’t know the Madman Company either. Marcus made it that way.
A small, elite force whose strength the enemy couldn’t predict.
Five members with at least Junior Knight-level combat power.
Facing his evolved self, Encrid spoke:
“I don’t know. I’ll try everything I can.”
Truthfully, this was Encrid’s first time wielding such authority—and Marcus’s first time making such a ridiculous plan.
Instead of deploying a knight order, they formed an independent company of fewer than ten men and handed them battlefield authority.
It was like placing the fate of the war in Encrid’s hands alone.
He thought the answer was lacking, but Marcus smiled in satisfaction.
“Then go.”
If given power, he’d use it. A pounding heart moved Encrid’s body as he turned to leave.
Bwooooo!
Right then, as if on cue, the distant sound of a horn and the faint beat of war drums echoed from beyond the walls.
The enemy was approaching.
“All units, assemble!”
Marcus’s shout followed him out of the war room, and Encrid broke into a near-sprint.
There was a battlefield waiting—one where he’d fight alongside the core of his unit. But, as always, gathering them was part of the job.
It had been that way since the days they were just a misfit squad.
As he headed toward the barracks, Encrid spotted one of his soldiers already armed and stepping out.
“Deployment, right? Marcus probably went all in on you and asked you to wipe out their cavalry?”
Krys spoke, his leather helmet tilted.
‘He guessed it.’
Well, he expected as much.
“No.”
“Then what? Did he ask you to bring back the enemy commander’s head? Bit much, though.”
“No.”
“Huh? He didn’t ask for anything?”
“He asked.”
Encrid naturally took the lead.
While talking with Krys, Rem chimed in.
“That bug-eyed bastard said we’d be fighting soon—turns out he was right?”
He was. But wasn’t Rem the type to complain first, saying they had to break the commanding officer’s head before any battle?
Well, now that commanding officer was Encrid himself.
Not that Rem being eager was surprising. He was the type who liked combat.
The surprise came after.
“I heard Martai’s forces joined with troops wearing no insignias.”
Ragna.
The one who never cared about anything actually noticed the enemy’s troop composition.
Encrid glanced up at the sky, wondering if it had split in half.
It hadn’t. It was perfectly clear.
Barely a cloud in sight.
“That’s right.”
Lowering his gaze, he answered—and Audin chuckled from behind.
“Brother, let us go. There are souls outside waiting to be sent to our lord.”
Not exactly what a priest should say, but those who served the God of War were always like that.
Jaxson gave a silent nod.
Krys wasn’t the kind who could move these people with words.
So why did they move?
Encrid realized again that something in their relationship had changed.
From “the squad leader we dump everything on.”
To “the curious squad leader.”
To “the squad leader who doesn’t cause trouble.”
Then to “the lieutenant who knows a few things.”
And then, “the lieutenant who got a little better after some training.”
And now—
‘If I lead them—’
A person acknowledged as both a commander and a man.
His heart pounded—like it did when he once chased his dream.
“So, what did he ask you?” Krys asked again.
“He asked what I could do.”
“…Wow. Shameless bastard.”
Krys seemed to understand all that was unsaid behind Encrid’s words.
It meant: show me everything you’ve got.
“So you told him you’d do everything you could?”
“I did.”
“Then you’re serious about this?”
At Krys’s question, Encrid smiled faintly.
He didn’t know. Was this the time to feel confident, or not?
Was this arrogance—or something else?
Was what boiled inside him just the urge to fight?
Or was it awe at realizing he now stood in a different place, leading these men?
He didn’t know.
And Encrid had no intention of finding out.
Right now, he just wanted to swing his sword. He wanted the enemy to know what he was capable of.
Desire and craving swirled in his chest.
Encrid burned with the urge to assert his presence on the battlefield and leave a strong impression on the enemy.
It was a level of initiative he hadn’t shown before.
As he strode ahead, Encrid glanced back and caught Dunbakel’s eyes.
“What’s with your eyes?”
“I’m fine. I can do my part.”
Her eyes were bruised. The golden irises and blue swelling around them glinted under the light.
He didn’t need to ask who was responsible.
There was someone capable of recreating blue paint on a person’s body without using any actual pigment.
Wasn’t that Rem’s specialty?
“Stop hitting the recruits.”
“It was just a light sparring demo. She said she wanted to test herself against me.”
Well, kids grow by getting hit.
Encrid didn’t make a fuss. If she was the type to run away or scheme behind their backs after a few hits, she wouldn’t have said she wanted to be beneath him in the first place.
Daaang!
A bell rang out from the bell tower.
That meant the enemy was now in view.
Through the open gate, people returning from the fields outside the wall came into view.
They were farmers—residents who’d been working the land.
No matter how many troops the enemy had, their first target would be the wall.
Which meant siege weapons were a given.
“They’ve got mangonels, right?”
To Encrid’s question, Krys responded.
“Of course they do.”
“Grab a few outfits from the ones coming in. Ones that fit our builds. Right now.”
“…That’s a hell of a plan.”
Krys replied immediately, without needing an explanation.
Encrid liked that there was no need for a long explanation. Krys moved swiftly, and Encrid headed for the main gate instead of joining the other officers atop the wall.
Soon, Krys returned with the clothes.
“Nothing fits Audin.”
Fair enough—hard to argue with that.
“Brother, this body is content with a simple rag.”
Audin waved his hand dismissively, then tore the tarp off a nearby vendor’s stall and draped it over himself like a cloak.
It suited him oddly well.
“So what are we doing?”
Rem asked. Encrid debated whether to explain the plan in detail. But quickly decided there was no need.
“Just follow and watch.”
And with that, Encrid and the Madman Company stepped through the main gate.
