Chapter 205

“Bake bread!”

General Olf of Martai had no intention of serving miserable black bread, water mixed with sour wine, or foul-smelling jerky and fruit just because it was for supplies.

Among his subordinates were several battalion commanders with exceptional skills, and one of them mobilized a unit he personally raised.

The so-called Oven Unit.

“Stack the stones, coat the gaps with mud.”

Oven Unit—just as the name implied.

Once they established a supply base, they built ovens there and baked bread.

It was half madness in a way, but General Olf knew better than anyone that eating well was the most important thing.

And this battlefield was perfect for using the Oven Unit.

There were limited conditions for deploying them.

They were useless in short-term battles and served no purpose in offensives.

But in a siege—especially a prolonged one—the Oven Unit shone.

Above all, it was a well-known fact that well-fed soldiers fought well.

This was a consensus among famous strategists, and Olf followed that belief religiously.

Thus, the Oven Unit of Martai began to send up smoke.

They threw in firewood, mixed water with the flour they brought, and began kneading the dough.

In less than a full day, the savory smell spread far and wide.

“Eat up, everyone! A few mangonels? Who needs that crap!”

Olf walked personally among the soldiers, encouraging them.

“Who are we?!”

“Lions of the East!”

The soldiers roared in response. Martai’s morale was unshaken.

It helped that the commander personally stirred things up, but the real key was the bread.

Among the soldiers baking bread were some renowned in Martai for their skills.

Several of them would continue running bakeries once they returned to the city.

Martai had vast wheat fields on the eastern outskirts of the city, and Martai’s wheat was known for its top-tier quality.

The rainfall was just right, and above all, those wheat fields used to be called the Fields of Blood decades ago—a place where countless battles had taken place.

Because of all the corpses of people and animals beneath the soil, it had become fertile land.

Of course, it had since been transformed through the care of someone once obsessed with farming, but that didn’t change the fact it was a land with a long-standing history.

With that fertile land, Martai had cultivated wheat for years, becoming famous for its bread and other wheat-based foods.

There’s a saying that food determines status, and in the central continent, white bread was a symbol of wealth.

But Martai was different.

Its abundant wheat production made white bread a part of daily life.

That history spanned over thirty years, and naturally, among the bakers were those regarded as artisans.

Some even went on to open bakeries in the central capital.

Such was the bread—one of Martai’s points of pride.

Olf had just returned to headquarters to review future plans when he received an urgent message.

Bad news.

“The supply base was hit.”

“Hit?”

From Martai’s perspective, the most important thing right now was obviously supplies.

What use was it to besiege the enemy if they ended up starving themselves?

Naturally, the general commander of Martai had assigned his most trusted men to the supply corps.

Three battalion commanders, plus the head of the guards—four in total, each someone Olf trusted and who lacked nothing in brains or brawn.

Olf had entrusted the supply corps to the second battalion commander, the quickest-witted and most perceptive among them.

He wasn’t someone who took anything lightly.

The messenger was drenched in sweat.

“Explain in detail!”

When Olf snapped at him, the messenger gulped down his saliva and continued.

“A black panther and two enemy soldiers approached, stole bread from the ovens, and set several tents on fire.”

“These bastard idiots?”

Olf was furious—just as much about the tents being burned as the stolen bread.

Why wouldn’t he be?

He understood how vital the supply line was, and he’d even diverted troops for it.

Besides, the enemy was trapped. How formidable could anyone charging out of there be?

Those guys who wrecked the mangonels before?

If they showed up, he would’ve welcomed them.

As the flames of rage flickered in the commander’s eyes, the messenger could say no more.

‘That bastard Zimmer didn’t let his guard down, did he?’

The second battalion commander’s name was Zimmer. He was smart, sharp, and meticulous—rarely made mistakes.

Then why hadn’t he come to report in person?

“Where is Zimmer?”

Upon hearing the name, the messenger immediately replied.

“He’s pursuing the attackers.”

At those words, Olf exhaled deeply several times before speaking.

“Tighten the defenses! If we get hit again, I won’t forgive it.”

A commander who loses a battle can be forgiven—but one who fails at keeping watch cannot.

* * *

Encrid raided the supply base with ease.

Truly, “with ease.”

“Shall we go?”

“Let’s.”

It hadn’t been difficult. Smoke rising into the sky told them exactly what was going on, and tents were lined up in droves.

The number of guards was high, and there were no obvious gaps—but that didn’t matter.

“Grrowl.”

Esther went in first.

The panther dashed in, followed by Encrid and Rem.

Esther moved more lightly than ever before.

With a single swipe of her forepaw, she nearly severed an enemy’s shin, then whacked another’s head with her tail—an elegant motion that sent the enemy’s eyes spinning.

“We’re under attack!”

No need to drag things out. Encrid rushed forward, slit the throats of two enemies, and through the stench of blood, the savory smell of bread struck his nose.

Truthfully, that delicious scent had been tickling his senses for a while now.

While the enemy was still in chaos, Jaxson set fire to a few tents, and Encrid scooped up some bread with Rem and made their escape.

They made sure to loop through the forest on their way back.

If anyone gave chase on horseback, they’d be doomed. But if they were on foot—losing them would be no trouble at all.

There was a massive gap in stamina from the start.

After running for hours without rest, the pursuers were nowhere in sight.

“Should’ve just sliced them all down and come back.”

Rem clicked his tongue with regret, but Encrid shook his head at the comment.

“This much is enough.”

And so, they returned and shared the bread.

“We were told the report could wait until the next day.”

On the way back, one of the sentries—Marcus, the battalion commander—had spoken up first out of consideration.

Encrid, Rem, and Jaxson took a much-needed rest and slept soundly.

* * *

It was the third day of battle, under the bright and blazing morning sun.

The summer sun rose early, and after finishing his morning training under its rays, Encrid came back from washing up.

“This bread is incredible.”

Krys commented again with admiration.

Well, it really was delicious.

“Don’t overeat.”

Encrid gave Krys a light tap on the back of the head and went off to find the battalion commander to make his report.

He spotted something boiling in a pot just beneath the fortress wall.

All the commanding officers were gathered around a bubbling stew.

Since no battle had taken place yet, their armor remained pristine.

By contrast, Encrid’s armor was stained with blood. He had wiped it off, but the stains remained.

“So, you went and checked on the supply base?”

Marcus asked from a backless wooden chair.

“I also set a few fires while I was at it.”

“I see.”

Marcus simply nodded, and the Elf Company Commander beside him muttered, “Is it a hobby or a specialty?”

She was referring to the arson.

Encrid himself had started to wonder if setting fires was becoming a habit, but really—what better way was there to damage a supply base?

“Care for a bowl?”

The First Company Commander offered, holding up a stew ladle. The aroma was enticing.

“Who cooked it?”

As Encrid asked, the Frontier Defense Commander personally brought over a chair.

It was a wooden chair just like the battalion commander’s, backless as well.

Seated, inhaling the stew’s aroma, Encrid figured it would taste even better with some bread to dip in it.

“One moment.”

He returned with the stolen bread.

It was a baguette—crisp on the outside, soft inside, and perfectly baked with a rich, savory crunch.

“Here.”

He handed over the baguette, and once it was torn and dipped into the stew—

“Mmm, excellent.”

The First Company Commander said, cheeks slightly flushed—an unusual sight.

Wasn’t this the guy known for being obsessed with food?

Krys had said something like that before.

Encrid tried it too. It was delicious.

Crunch.

The crust felt firm at first, but it broke apart gently upon biting, and the soft white inside blended with saliva.

Then the rich, oily stew broth swirled across the tongue.

It was truly an outstanding flavor.

“So, they really prepared thoroughly, huh?”

“They’re dead set on starving us out after encircling us. They even built ovens and started baking bread.”

“Olf, that war-crazed bastard—‘warmonger’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Marcus spoke with a smirk. He looked completely confident.

The enemy still held the advantage.

They had cavalry and even enough breathing room to build ovens.

Even so, Marcus remained unfazed. Encrid now understood what the man placed his faith in.

It wouldn’t be right to say he wanted to repay that trust—but he would do what needed to be done.

If they didn’t take action, how could they protect their seasoned jerky or orange marmalade?

Food was important, after all.

Even now, everyone was silently devouring their meal.

As they were eating, two nobles approached.

Their clothes were exceptionally clean.

Clean as the commanding officers’ armor, in fact.

One of the nobles, with a noticeably broad forehead, spoke up.

“Have you considered a peaceful resolution?”

The younger one behind him added,

“Seeing the overwhelming difference in strength, if we could just resolve this through negotiation…”

Normally, the nobles assigned to the Border Guards were those who’d bought their titles or had fallen from grace and were stuck as petty barons.

What would a high-ranking noble come here for?

But now things were starting to change.

Once the region stabilized, counts or viscounts might try to claim influence here.

In fact, Count Ventra and others were already trying to plant their flags before that happened.

Encrid didn’t know much about politics, and he didn’t want to—but thanks to big-eyed Krys, he’d picked up the gist.

That chatterbox, seriously.

Then again, was it really important?

If anyone attacked, all they had to do was fight them off.

Real battles, blades, combat, war—those were the things that brought Encrid a strange thrill.

‘I must have some twisted tastes.’

Why did his heart race at the thought of fighting and battle?

No—he had always longed for such things, which was why he’d wanted to become a knight.

It hadn’t been some lofty ambition. The dream had simply started with an image—himself dashing across the battlefield.

After that brief thought—

Marcus looked at the two nobles and chuckled.

“What? Now that the city shows signs of growth, you think there’s something in it for you? So instead of fighting Martai, you want to make peace and claim you were central to the agreement? Is that it?”

Was it?

Encrid didn’t pay much attention, but Krys would’ve likely nodded internally.

Marcus, if nothing else, had sharp political instincts. He’d nailed the core of it.

“Shut your traps and get inside. If you don’t want to die, be thankful to the hero present here and offer your gratitude.”

He might be a company commander now, but he’d started out as just a soldier.

From a remote village, no less—joined the army just to make a living off war.

There was no reason nobles would bow their heads to Encrid.

He might’ve been the soldiers’ hero, but not a hero to nobles.

“Hmph, I said my piece.”

“It was just a suggestion. A suggestion. It just seemed dangerous, looking at their strength…”

The two nobles muttered nonsense, and Marcus waved his hand dismissively.

After they left, Marcus picked up a wooden bowl and slurped his stew before speaking.

“Seriously, I just want to slice every last one of those bastards. Don’t you?” he said, looking at Encrid.

“Killing a noble is a serious crime.”

When Encrid responded, Marcus continued with a bored tone.

“You could challenge one to a duel and accidentally kill them, maybe.”

“Who would accept the battalion commander’s duel? They’d just appoint a proxy.”

That was the First Company Commander’s reply.

“It’s just a figure of speech.”

Hearing that, Encrid brought up a question that had been nagging at him.

“What did you mean by ‘named hero’?”

“You looked great, Independent Company Commander.”

Marcus didn’t answer—he just gave a thumbs-up.

“I’m thinking of copying it later myself.”

The First Company Commander added.

The Frontier Defense Commander merely nodded.

Encrid felt no shame for what he’d done in a moment of enthusiasm.

Only that these guys were just a little—really, just a little—annoying.

“So, what are you planning to do next?”

They were nearly done eating. Just as Encrid was about to get up, Marcus asked.

“I’m thinking of going a few more times.”

“A few more?”

The first time might’ve been a surprise attack, but the second wouldn’t be. They’d be prepared.

No matter how skilled Encrid was, or how wild Rem went with his axe, if they were surrounded, survival was impossible.

“Something’s been bugging me.”

Encrid answered. It wasn’t just lip service. When they hit the supply base and set a few tents on fire, Encrid had sensed something strange on the way back.

It was a matter of intuition and instinct.

‘Like when Krys hides a coin or two.’

It felt the same as when he caught Krys trying to sneak off with some copper.

In other words, he believed the enemy was hiding something more.

He wanted to check it out.

He even came up with a name for the operation.

Operation ‘Tap Tap Clack.’

‘Tap’ with a probe, then ‘clack’ if an opportunity showed itself—that was the idea.

Encrid laid the basic framework, and Krys filled in the details.

Back at the barracks, when they discussed when to go and what to hit—

“Then let’s go at sunrise this time.”

Krys said. His tone was casual, but anyone with even a bit of knowledge in tactics would’ve called it a brilliant move.

But to Encrid, it just sounded reasonable.

Last time was a night raid—so why not try it in broad daylight this time? Seemed like a good idea.

“Sounds fun, brother.”

Audin responded after hearing the plan.

This time, the centerpiece of the operation would be the “bear-brain.”