Chapter 207
What did his opponents have?
One soldier was obsessed with thrusting.
Another gripped the middle of his spear and swung it like a club with great skill.
Yet another lacked the strength to swing properly, but sharply aimed for openings.
Natural instinct. A matter of talent.
But Encrid thought they lacked training.
They didn’t have stamina, and even less muscle strength.
Their reaction speed wasn’t bad, but that was all.
Each soldier brought something they had learned or honed, wielding it, raising it, and swinging it as they charged.
Even under the same training, what each developed was different.
They were all wielding spears, yet their usage varied greatly.
Encrid took it all in.
Wavering spear tips, trembling eyes.
A habit of stepping forward with the left foot.
One soldier, who had likely learned Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship poorly, faked a misstep.
Amidst all that, some showed signs of constant, tireless training.
What he felt again was that there’s something more terrifying than overwhelming talent.
Crunch.
An enemy charging forward, biting down hard, even after losing fingers.
Their courage, grit, and resolve were different. The intensity in their bloodshot eyes revealed their will.
Encrid never faced anyone half-heartedly. He never treated them lightly.
Concealing skill was one thing, but swinging his sword with sincerity was another.
As a spear blade approached, he shifted his stance. The enemy tossed aside their spear and rushed forward, trying to overpower him in one go.
Recalling the battlefield where he had obtained the Heart of the Beast, Encrid bent his knees and caught the opponent with his back.
With a surge of strength, he threw the soldier high over his shoulder.
The airborne man slammed down on his shoulder and rolled across the ground.
‘Heart of the Beast.’
A solid heart is fiercer than a gifted one.
Encrid reminded himself how important the Heart of the Beast was to him.
Though, truthfully, he had never forgotten.
How could he, when he repeated everything he had learned each day?
Trapped in the ‘now,’ he constantly reviewed what he had, again and again. There was no room for forgetting.
Even afterward, he kept observing the soldiers’ movements.
‘Twist the body using the left foot as an axis for a strike.’
One soldier used what looked like a one-handed stab with a sword, but actually extended his spear forward and released it—like a javelin throw.
It was an unexpected blow, a creative attack.
But it wasn’t threatening. Their sense of time was different to begin with.
With the Heart of the Beast, focused precision, the sense of evasion, and a body refined through the Isolation Technique—
It was an impressive technique, but he could still dodge it.
The moment he saw it, his body reacted first.
His review was complete. Now it was just a matter of embodying the techniques and efforts he had seen.
What followed would simply require time.
As he withdrew, Encrid glanced back, but no thick black smoke was rising overhead.
They’d set fires, sure, but they had been extinguished quickly.
So, the supply base didn’t take major damage. However, the impression that they’d been hit while on alert would remain.
And no matter how minor the damage, the fact that the supply base caught fire at all—that alone was a blow.
Getting away wasn’t hard.
“Cr.”
Esther walked beside him with a lighter gait than usual.
Lately, this panther rarely tried to climb into his arms while sleeping.
As they ran, Encrid glanced down and saw Esther looking up with bright, wide eyes.
Or maybe her eyes had gotten even bigger than before.
“Kyarr.”
The panther seemed to be asking, “What are you looking at?”
If she were human, she’d be just as temperamental as Rem.
“It’s nothing.”
Encrid replied flatly, as he would to Rem.
“There they are!”
As he pushed through the bushes, he heard the shout behind him. A group of soldiers was giving chase.
Hearing their voices, Encrid roughly gauged their distance.
It was a technique he’d learned from Jaxson—perceiving location through sound.
Using his sharpened senses, he calculated the positions and distances of the pursuers. He judged that shaking them off would be easy.
He was relaxed. And with that, a thought emerged.
While observing and analyzing enemy habits, one thing stood out.
One of them—a squad leader, perhaps—was using his head even in all that chaos.
“Bring the net!”
He shouted that while trying to trap both Encrid and Esther at once.
He did it while pulling back, creating distance.
If they had really meant to kill, maybe it wouldn’t have been impossible, but there seemed to be no need for that now.
“Fire!”
What a clever move.
They had prepared arrows while pretending to get a net.
The moment he shouted “net,” the surrounding soldiers fell back.
It was a coordinated maneuver. Above all, the way they followed that squad leader’s words revealed a degree of trust.
Shouting “net” had been a feint—what they actually prepared was a volley of arrows, but of course, he didn’t fall for it.
Instead, having some breathing room filled his mind with a rush of thoughts.
He recalled that snowy day, back when they were still called the problem squad, heading out to deal with the Gilpin Guild.
“Just give the order. Those who can will handle it.”
That’s what Ragna had said.
From the enemy squad leader’s actions, Encrid observed a way of thinking, tactics, squad-level combat—and realized this wasn’t his area of expertise.
But he knew one thing for sure: something different was needed.
The same applied to this battle. Defense alone wasn’t enough. Attacking supply lines like this wouldn’t get them anywhere.
This was nothing more than pissing on frostbitten feet.
So what needed to be done?
‘If I hound Krys…’
He’d get an answer.
Hadn’t he already learned that lesson one winter day? If he couldn’t do something, he should find someone who could.
In any case, leading even a single squad was no easy task.
‘I’m definitely not cut out to be a battalion commander.’
A silly thought.
Either way, for now, all he had to do was return.
There was no time right now to study strategy and tactics. But he couldn’t keep fighting like this forever with just the title of company commander.
‘I’ll learn one thing at a time.’
You have to know something before you can give orders.
One must at least grasp the intent behind someone’s words if they’re going to lead properly.
A knight is someone who walks at the forefront, but also someone who takes responsibility for the troops they command.
Even if that’s not always the case—
‘If all my allies die under my command.’
If that happens because he’d been lazy in his studies, then Encrid couldn’t possibly turn a blind eye to it.
* * *
“Again?”
Olf didn’t lash out blindly. His eyes were clear.
No matter what anyone said, he wasn’t a dull man.
‘This feels off.’
It wasn’t a significant blow. They hadn’t touched every supply line—just the one leading to the hearth supply base.
They barely touched it. Nothing fatal.
This alone wouldn’t shake the battlefield.
But the fact that it kept happening—that was the irritating part.
“What about him?”
Olf asked. In response to the commander’s question, Greg wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead and answered.
“We lost him.”
Greg, the vanguard captain.
Leaving aside his individual strength, he was a soldier specialized in pursuing retreating enemies. Even in combat, he wasn’t someone who could easily be overpowered.
In fact, even before rumors of that Encrid fellow had spread, he was already famed for having single-handedly wiped out two colonies.
When measuring renown in terms of village, city, or continent, he was clearly in the city-tier at minimum.
Among his subordinates, how many could be said to surpass Greg? At best—two?
“You lost him?”
And yet Greg, whose specialty was charging and striking down foes, had let someone get away?
‘Markus, you crazy bastard. What are you scheming?’
Olf asked inwardly. He didn’t know what the other side was aiming for, but there was definitely something going on.
The unease gathered in his chest. But now wasn’t the time to get angry.
“It’s a feeble trick at best. Besides, the troops I brought haven’t even shown their full strength. If we press harder like this, they’ll be powerless to do anything!”
Said the effective commander of the Count Vantra forces. From Olf’s perspective, the man reacted with sheer disgust just at the mention of Encrid’s name.
A relatively young face, layered with confidence and arrogance.
His expression said it all.
He believed he was better. That things would be fine if he took charge.
‘Inferiority complex?’
Probably not. This man was the commander of the count’s army. Rumors had it he was a noble’s illegitimate son.
Encrid, on the other hand, was a street-born soldier who clawed his way up.
Regardless, the uneasy feeling persisted.
Olf hadn’t just brought a bunch of troops recklessly.
Naturally, he had a few trump cards prepared.
For example, some of the noble’s private soldiers who’d erased their crests and merged with his forces—officially kept hidden as a show of restraint.
Since there were hidden cards, maintaining the current battlefield status wasn’t a bad idea.
Maintaining the status quo could very well be to their advantage.
“Let’s observe for a few more days. Watch their response for two days, then we attack the walls again.”
Time was on his side—so Olf judged.
This was a moment requiring composure, not rage.
After spending the night that way, when the fourth morning of the battle arrived—
Olf ate roasted bread, fresh cabbage, jerky, dried fruit, and rinsed his mouth with watered-down wine.
As far as fighting went, it was just some small units poking at each other.
Any major losses to allied forces? None.
He calmly brushed aside his lingering unease, wiped his face roughly, and began putting on his armor—
“General!”
A messenger rushed into the command tent.
All the gathered commanders who had just finished breakfast turned toward the voice.
“What is it?”
Greg, still on edge from losing his mark the previous day, responded with a naturally harsh tone.
“The enemy is advancing.”
“……?”
Blink, blink.
Everyone simply blinked.
“Advancing where?”
Second Battalion Captain Zimmer asked.
“They’ve come out of the city.”
“Why?”
It was so absurd that the question escaped from his chest without thought.
“……Sorry?”
The messenger couldn’t possibly know that.
And Zimmer? Of course he didn’t know either.
“What are they doing after coming out?”
Even Greg, previously brash, blinked in confusion, his voice softening.
“They’re forming ranks.”
The messenger reported exactly what he’d seen and heard.
A river of silence swept through the command tent. It felt as though a silent scream had shaken the walls.
Why come out?
Have they all lost it?
Forming ranks? Declaring full-scale battle?
Why? Abandoning the walls?
They had the advantage with the walls.
Why walk into death? What could they possibly be relying on?
“Nice.”
It came from the man standing like a scarecrow—just a hollow commander of troops with no crest—speaking his thoughts aloud.
“They must’ve decided to resist rather than be cornered.”
Said the Count Vantra’s field commander.
There wasn’t much else that made sense.
But for Olf, the unease he’d shoved down now spread like a wine stain on carpet—seeping through his chest.
And now, back down?
He’d be branded a coward for life.
If there were bards around, he’d probably get the nickname “cowardly general.”
There are times in battle when, even if the odds are bad, you must step forward.
And right now? Clearly, they had the upper hand.
Back down now?
This wasn’t the time to hesitate over some vague discomfort.
“Deploy the cavalry. Block the front with a diagonal line. If they want a full battle, we’ll meet them head-on!”
Olf spoke with strength. Whatever their plan was, if they’d given up their defensive advantage, crushing them outright would suffice.
That would erase this damned unease too.
‘Did they request reinforcements?’
No, that couldn’t be it. They had the city surrounded from the start. Even if someone snuck out to ask for aid, who would send troops?
Count Molsenn? That guy had sent his own disguised troops to split the Border Guards.
‘The central government?’
No way. The odds of the Naurilia central army intervening? Lower than a crow plucking out a knight’s eyeball mid-flight.
“Let’s go.”
At the general’s words, all commanders stood.
“Please allow me to lead the charge.”
Greg stepped forward.
“Of course.”
Greg, the charge captain—he was a warrior who wouldn’t easily be overpowered by anyone.
“I’ve reinforced the defenses along the supply lines. We won’t fall for any more diversionary tactics.”
Second Battalion Captain Zimmer chimed in as well—a meticulous commander who didn’t make mistakes.
Olf nodded with a satisfied expression.
Finally, the Third Battalion Captain, who led the cavalry and scouts—his name was Retley.
While not as individually strong as Greg, his skill in maneuvering troops to strike at gaps in enemy lines surpassed Olf’s own.
“Retley?”
“Yes, all ready.”
And that wasn’t the end.
“My side’s ready too. Truthfully, we’ve been ready for some time. I’ll slit the throat of that loudmouth and put an end to these ridiculous rumors.”
Even the Count Vantra forces had a cavalry unit secretly prepared.
Their number? Over fifty.
Now then, who has the advantage in this battle?
Olf asked that question to the unseen enemy commander in the distance—Markus.
