Chapter 204

“That bastard?”

Amid the roar of the Naurilia troops, several of Martai’s commanders erupted in fury.

“He wants a beating! Kill that son of a bitch!”

They knew he could fight—but what the hell was with that smug attitude while retreating?

It felt like a calculated provocation. As if he were deliberately mimicking the heroic epics just to mock them.

How could they not be enraged?

“After him!”

“Don’t let them in!”

“Crush them!”

“Stop! I said stop, you bastard!”

The enraged Martai infantry charged.

Just as Encrid and his group hurried into the gate—

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

The hands of Naurilia’s archers atop the watchtower grew busier.

“Gahh!”

“Arrows! Shields up! Raise your shields!”

The charging Martai infantry recoiled under a rain of arrows.

“Fire! Fire! Hit them all!”

Benzense’s commanding voice rang out—he had been given partial control of the archers.

As Martai’s infantry withdrew—

“Yeeeeah!”

The Border Guard troops atop the wall erupted in cheers, feeling as if they’d scored an unexpected win in the very first engagement.

“Come at us!”

“Run if you want to live!”

“My name is Rian!”

Among the mocking cries, one even shouted his name.

It wasn’t quite a glorious victory, but it felt like the fight had started off on the right foot before it had even truly begun.

The enemy forces were still larger, the disparity still obvious—but for some reason, no one felt like they would lose.

Most soldiers could feel it.

And it was all thanks to Encrid.

So, it was only natural that all eyes were drawn to him as he returned as if nothing had happened.

* * *

The destruction of the mangonels, the exploits of a small enemy force—

That news had reached the commander of the troops without insignia.

He had, in fact, just received a detailed report of the events that had unfolded before his eyes.

His helmet was hastily worn. Through the visor, he twisted and pulled at his mustache as a cold gleam flickered in his eyes.

“What an interesting bastard.”

A chilling bloodlust edged his tone.

His nickname was “Blade of the Elite.”

He had originally thought this would be a boring, meaningless fight—but now there were some who made his heart race.

‘At least three.’

They were worth killing personally. In his mind, methods and tactics to kill them began to take shape.

‘A skirmish would be ideal.’

If they holed up and defended instead? Then surrounding and pressuring them would be even better.

The situation was turning out to be far more interesting than expected.

Mangonels? A surprise attack? Ambush casualties? That meant nothing to him.

That was how the “Blade of the Elite” saw things—but the true commander of the troops without insignia thought a bit differently.

“That fucking bastard.”

The commander from Baron Bantra’s forces wasn’t stupid. He was narrow-minded, yes, but he could think.

‘He suddenly stops mid-retreat just to shout his name?’

That wasn’t something a normal person would do.

Destroying eight mangonels right out the gate, then withdrawing after declaring his name—it had all left a strong impression.

He focused on the facts alone.

Why? Why would he do that?

The commander soon reached a conclusion. It was a rational judgment based on experience and theory.

‘That bastard?’

A pathetic move. A tactic. What options do those in a losing position have?

This was one of them.

Self-inflation. A cheap trick. A strategy meant to exaggerate one’s strength and make the enemy second-guess.

It was a tactic used when elite individuals could potentially sway the battlefield.

A warning to say: “We’ve got strong ones, so think twice before charging in.”

Was he really that skilled?

Smashing mangonels was impressive, sure.

‘But that’s all.’

Most likely, it was a reckless act. No—definitely reckless. He must have gambled his life on that operation.

They’d probably been lying in wait for days before this, pouring resources into this one moment.

It must’ve been a strategy prepared even before Martai’s advance.

“Classic feather-fluffing.”

The commander from Baron Bantra’s side concluded, and the Martai general fell into thought. A moment later, he nodded.

Same conclusion.

“Bring more siege engines.”

The general gave the order. They were already building more in the city anyway.

Even hastily assembled weapons were better than none.

“Fix what can be fixed.”

If they repaired a few, they might salvage one or two.

Nothing could be done about those with snapped cores or shattered structures.

‘That monster bastard.’

The one who broke a siege engine with his fists—he couldn’t shake that image.

‘He’s probably hopped up on something.’

Those quack alchemists with their tonics to slay giants and Frok-types—maybe he’d taken one of those.

A drug that lets someone exert superhuman strength for a few moments.

Of course, the side effects were extreme. Use it wrong, and you’d die the moment it wore off.

Prejudices, assumptions, biases—once lodged in the mind, they were like demons that refused to leave.

Such was the case here.

Even the “Blade of the Elite,” though he acknowledged the enemy’s strength, only did so to the extent that he believed them to be the perfect prey for himself.

Everyone had their own misconceptions.

“We’ll surround and starve them out.”

The commander from Baron Bantra clenched his fist. They’d puffed themselves up and exaggerated their power—now they’d focus on defending.

But what if they came out anyway?

He was also a cavalry commander.

If the enemy opened the gates to retaliate, the cavalry would sweep them down.

It was a simple yet effective strategy.

Whether the enemy puffed themselves up or not—it didn’t matter.

“Let’s do that.”

The general of Martai agreed.

* * *

Krys stood atop the wall, watching the enemy’s movements.

‘They’re pissed.’

Chattering, shouting—

Even with eight siege engines destroyed and a pile of corpses left behind, what the enemy showed wasn’t fear—it was rage. They hadn’t lost their edge or fighting spirit.

Even after witnessing Encrid and his squad, they fumed.

How could that be?

‘The fight was too brief.’

The clash had been so short. As impressive as the battle might’ve been, only a handful had actually seen it.

‘That final line from the captain, though.’

Right at the end, stopping mid-retreat to declare his name and tell them to back off—that hit the mark.

If a little provocation was all it took to make them retreat, they wouldn’t have come this far to begin with.

If it was planned, it was the perfect kind of taunt.

Just enough to lead the enemy to a useful misunderstanding.

‘If it were me…’

Krys put himself in the enemy commander’s shoes for a moment.

Murmuring “if it were me” over and over, he watched the enemy’s movements.

From atop the wall, he could see the enemy troops shifting.

They were rattled, yes, but they weren’t retreating. They were shaken—but not afraid.

Their formation was reorganizing. Even the way they’d fallen back after giving chase had been orderly. It meant they were trained professionals.

Their fighting spirit remained strong.

‘They’re underestimating us.’

That confidence came from looking down on them.

Why were they so confident? There were plenty of reasons.

They had superior numbers, better training, and even extra reinforcements.

And though Commander Marcus had tried to keep it quiet, word had still spread—Encrid’s strength.

‘Are they thinking it’s all bravado? That we’re puffing ourselves up because we’re scared?’

That was possible. Not entirely certain—but likely.

If only the Gilpin Guild were a bit bigger. If they knew the enemy commander’s name or temperament, that would help.

But that’d mean stepping into full-blown intelligence guild territory.

‘Twice the work, no thanks.’

Right now was perfect. Just enough size and just enough krong to make it worthwhile.

Krys finished sorting his thoughts. The enemy still hadn’t figured out their real strength, and they had a very sharp blade on their side.

‘Let’s hope they’re idiots.’

Not just doubtful—but fully biased fools, the kind who refuse to believe they’re wrong once they’ve decided they’re right.

If that were the case, no need for any grand strategy.

All of this had been sparked by one burst of Encrid’s whim.

Smashing the mangonels and turning right back.

Had they kept fighting and revealed their strength, things might’ve gone very differently.

‘But did the captain actually plan all this?’

Well, that was easy to find out.

“What are you doing?”

Benzense asked. Krys had been mumbling to himself so much, he looked possessed.

Benzense hated ghosts. They messed up his sleep.

“I was just organizing my thoughts.”

“That so?”

Benzense didn’t think anything would change just because the kid had done a little thinking.

But in Krys’s head, the future of the battlefield was already unfolding.

A scenario for victory was unraveling thread by thread.

Not that he planned to share it.

Krys figured everyone would figure it out themselves.

* * *

“You okay?”

As they returned inside the Border Guard’s walls, Rem asked.

Encrid looked over himself. Any injuries?

None. Not even close.

It had just been a warm-up.

Of course it was. Even though the operation was rushed, he had acted because he was confident it would work.

Martai might believe they’d spent days planning an ambush and investing resources, but the truth?

It had been half a warm-up, done on a whim because it felt doable.

“Pretty sure you hit your head.”

Rem said seriously, not a hint of a joke.

Ragna turned her gaze to Encrid, and so did Rem and Audin.

“Fever, maybe?”

Finn asked at last. Encrid felt genuinely sad that none of them had a shred of romance in their hearts.

He knew why they were reacting this way.

It was the whole “saying his name” thing at the end.

“It was just a rush of spirit.”

With nothing to hide, he said it flat-out. Rem, uncharacteristically, didn’t tease him. Instead, he let out a surprised “Hooh.”

“Wooooooh!”

A cheer erupted above Encrid’s returning unit.

They’d gone out and wrecked siege engines—such a reaction was natural.

Amid the cheers—

“Spirit, huh…”

Ragna murmured, visibly lost in thought.

Encrid had simply done what he felt like doing in the moment.

Ahead, he spotted Krys already down from the gallery.

“A calculated taunt, planting fear in their heads—wait, no. If not that, then why say your name?”

People sure loved asking about that one. Encrid repeated himself again.

“Spirit. Felt like it’d work.”

“That’s kind of… uh, sure. Cool, I guess.”

Passing Krys, Encrid saw the other commanders gathered.

“You destroyed all the siege weapons?”

Marcus asked, a strange smile tugging at his lips—probably just his imagination.

Encrid gave a quiet nod.

“Excellent!”

That was the end of it.

“My name is Sinar. If you come closer, you can have me.”

The Elf Commander slipped up and whispered.

Elvish-style joke. Would they ever get tired of those?

“Did you hit your head?”

“Nope. Aside from my good looks, I’m practically a corpse. Do you prefer sickly girls or something?”

Was there any point in talking more? Encrid just shook his head and walked away.

“Don’t let your guard down!”

Marcus rallied the troops from the front.

“We will win!”

The timing was perfect. The crowd’s hero had just returned.

A roar of morale swept through. The war had only just begun, but spirits were soaring.

It was the first day of the battlefield.

And just after the next day began—

“We’re going out again today, right?”

Krys approached and asked. Encrid had just finished his morning training.

Training—even in these conditions. Some people who saw it just shook their heads in disbelief.

Those who knew Encrid well, though, weren’t surprised.

“Where to?”

“Outside.”

“Why?”

Krys blinked.

“We have to keep the pressure on.”

What was he even saying?

“Didn’t the battalion commander say anything?”

Krys asked instead.

Encrid nodded. Just a simple message to rest up and be ready to fight again. And to speak up if he needed anything.

There’d been no mention at all of him going off and staging an ambush on his own.

Sure, the mission had gone well, but more importantly—he’d already been granted that kind of authority.

So Marcus had no complaints.

“Do the opposite of what the enemy expects and intends.”

Krys raised his voice and declared clearly.

Encrid blankly stared at his wide-eyed subordinate, who had just shouted.

“That’s the foundation of strategy and tactics.”

So?

Encrid asked with his eyes, and Krys explained further.

The siege weapons had been destroyed. The enemy would now prepare for a prolonged siege. They’d repair the engines, restock supplies, and threaten the Border Guard by simply surrounding them—that alone gave Martai the upper hand.

After all, their supply routes were already secured and reinforced.

So, what should be done today?

To Krys, it was obvious—so much so that he was surprised no one else had brought it up.

“We hit the supply lines.”

Basic strategy and warfare.

Starve the enemy.

Of course, they couldn’t actually starve them out—but they could at least make them uneasy when they tried to eat.

It sounded easy, but was hard in practice. The enemy wasn’t stupid. Naturally, they’d be guarding that area.

But here they had Encrid and the rest of the Madman Company.

“Any unit outside the enemy’s calculations fights beyond the expected range.”

Fewer than ten people. That meant they could still move.

“Nyaah.”

Esther, who’d been missing all night, let out a cry and stared at Encrid.

After hearing everything Krys had said, Encrid nodded.

Didn’t seem like a bad idea. He had a good feeling about it—worth trying.

“Wanna come with?”

He randomly asked Esther. She stood up with a light hop and stuck by his side.

And just like that, their next operation was decided.

First day: destroy siege weapons.
Second day: hit the supply lines.

Naturally, they decided to move at night.

“Krys, go report to the higher-ups. Tell them we’re going out for a stroll.”

It was just after sunset. Encrid began quietly gathering his gear. Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Finn also stepped forward—

“Not you, Audin.”

“Yes, Brother. I’ll remain here.”

Audin’s build stood out too much. He was left behind. Finn was too. Ragna was also excluded.

Finn was potentially at risk, and Ragna might get lost. No way they’d let her earn the nickname “stray of the battlefield.”

“Rem, Jaxson.”

“Good. Fine. Could’ve left the stray cat behind too, but whatever. He can carry our stuff if nothing else.”

“Better to leave behind the stupid barbarian.”

Still bickering as always—but there was no one more reliable when it came to the battlefield.

“I’m heading out.”

Encrid left as casually as if he were off to buy bread at the market.

And when Encrid returned, he really did bring bread.

“This was pretty good.”

At Encrid’s words upon returning, everyone marveled at the flavor of the bread.

It really was delicious. Naturally, it was something he’d picked up from the enemy supply depot.

(T/N: Damn fking monsters!)Chapter 204: Tap Tap, and Sometimes, Whack Whack (1)