Chapter 208

“Cavalry, a detached unit, and a shady group in dark cloaks.”

Jaxson had carried out Encrid’s orders to the letter.

After observing the forces stationed in the rear, he accurately marked their positions on the military map.

His markings were neat and precise, almost like those of an artist.

In short, it looked good and was easy to understand.

Encrid summarized all that just now.

A portion of the cavalry held in reserve, a fierce-looking detachment the size of a company, and lastly, five figures in cloaks.

The fact that Jaxson only spotted five of those cloaked figures meant one thing—they weren’t ordinary.

Sixth sense and intuition.

It was all gut feeling, but Jaxson relayed it exactly as he saw it. Encrid didn’t dismiss that.

“What do you think they are?”

Encrid, arms crossed, asked the returning Jaxson.

Jaxson was brushing dust off his armor.

With a tap, the dust scattered in the air and drifted to the ground.

It was still hot. The season for cool breezes hadn’t come yet, but Jaxson wasn’t even sweating.

Was the task that easy, or was he just acting relaxed? Encrid entertained the thought as he waited for an answer.

“I think they’re mages.”

Five mages.

Martai’s preparations were anything but simple.

So, what was the best move now? Encrid didn’t know. So he hounded Krys.

“Well then, what do you think is the best move?”

He asked not because he knew the answer—but with confidence. When you don’t know, push it onto a subordinate. As he’d learned.

“Do you think we’ll lose if we go out and fight?”

Big Eyes threw the question back.

Encrid assessed the enemy’s level, what he’d seen, what he’d learned, and their own forces.

Didn’t seem like they’d lose.

They’d even gone so far as to put on an act to hide their true strength.

Audin hadn’t fought properly, and Encrid hadn’t turned a [Tap] into a [Thud] either.

“The whole setup was built on the assumption of open battle. If we fight inside the city, the damage would be absurd.”

Krys’s eyes gleamed. Encrid understood and moved. The final decision belonged to the battalion commander. Whether open battle was needed was just their side’s thinking.

To outsiders, it would look like a desperate gamble—opening the gates with inferior numbers.

“I’ll go report it.”

Encrid promptly sought out command and spoke to Marcus.

* * *

“Sounds fun, fiancé.”

The elf company commander beside him casually added a title. Amusingly, no one corrected her.

Everyone had gotten used to it. They just let it pass.

Whether it was the 1st Company commander, the other officers, or even the battalion commander’s aide, no one paid it any mind.

That aide also doubled as a scribe, scribbling away diligently—Encrid briefly wondered if the word “fiancé” would make it into the record. A passing thought.

They could’ve ignored it.

There were more important things being discussed now than a weird nickname.

“We’ll handle the detached unit held in reserve.”

The frontier defense commander spoke first, quite proactively.

Marcus, of course, didn’t hesitate. With a bright smile, the battalion commander gave the order.

“Open the gate.”

Watching that, a natural question rose in Encrid’s mind.

A perfectly valid question from his perspective.

No matter how much you believe in your forces, wasn’t this a bit much?

“Ordinarily, this would be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it?”

The power gap was clear. Choosing chaotic battle against such odds was madness. Normally. From a strategy and tactics standpoint, a commander who made this call would be called an idiot.

Marcus simply stared at Encrid.

Then asked,

“Is that what you think?”

Encrid shook his head instead of answering.

“I don’t think so.”

And why not?

With Rem, Ragna, Audin, even Jaxson—

Even if the enemy outnumbered them, Encrid wasn’t afraid.

It was actually easier to fight on open ground with a clear objective than being dragged into street battles.

Not that urban warfare was uncomfortable.

But more than anything—

‘I don’t think we’ll lose.’

That was the first thought that came to mind.

Encrid could compare forces. He could read the tide of battle. Of course he could.

If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t have survived this long.

“They were told who we are and to withdraw, yet they stayed. I think it’s time to show them.”

Marcus smiled gently. From how many times he brought up the moment Encrid declared his name, it must’ve left a strong impression.

Encrid nodded.

“I’ll take the lead.”

The position he had always dreamed of—the front of the battlefield.

Now he was allowed to stand there.

No one was stopping Encrid anymore.

With his sword in hand, Encrid took the first step at the head of the opened gate.

His fellow soldiers might’ve been expected to feel uneasy—

“I heard the Madmen Squad is going out first?”

“Then we’re good.”

No one showed doubt. It was only because they didn’t really know what they were up against that they dared to charge in so confidently.

If Martai’s army had faced them on the battlefield before, the mere presence of the Madmen Company would’ve forced them to rethink their strategy.

But the Martai forces were unbothered. Their attitude was like, “Go ahead and put on a show.”

In other words, Marcus had deceived them well.

At least in Krys’s eyes, this was a political victory.

Or a victory of trickery.

Spreading rumors—some exaggerated, some downplayed—about the madmen unit’s strength had worked.

In the end, winning was all that mattered. Whether by politics or trickery.

“Why didn’t we go for open battle from the start? I nearly died of boredom waiting.”

Rem asked as he strode ahead. Krys mentally reviewed what to say in response.

Smashing the siege engine was unexpected, but the real reason they messed with the supply line and kept skirmishing—

Why?

‘Because we have to finish this in one go.’

The longer the fight, the worse it gets for the side with fewer numbers.

On top of that, the enemy had support from nearby noble forces, while they had burned an entire Black Sword branch.

Who knew what kind of bullshit the Black Sword might try to pull. And recently, they’d even beaten up those Cult of the Demon Realm freaks.

In other words, they’d taken turns slapping the faces of every group they had bad blood with—and slapped hard.

So there was nothing to be gained by dragging this out. The longer a battle, the more vulnerabilities arise.

Krys had planned it this way from the beginning.

End everything in a single clash.

To do that, the enemy’s full attention had to be drawn. They had to get irritated—angry enough to charge.

It was a psychological tactic, more than anything else.

“Just because.”

Krys didn’t bother explaining to Rem. Encrid understood with just a few words, but explaining to Rem would take too long. Sometimes, sparing words was the right move.

‘That’s just who I am.’

Krys muttered inwardly.

Besides, knowing wouldn’t change anything for Rem.

“Bullshit.”

Rem grinned and stepped forward. He noticed why Big Eyes kept his mouth shut, but he didn’t mind. All that mattered was it was time to swing an axe.

Krys trusted his unit. He believed their strength would become an overwhelming force.

‘Right?’

Still, a sliver of anxiety crept in. It couldn’t be helped. That was just his nature.

Marcus was the same.

He was out there too, armored, among the infantry. Though, as commander, he remained at the rear with a guard detail—but he was still technically with the foot soldiers.

Marcus looked out over the battlefield with a commander’s eyes.

Encrid’s actions at the front would determine much of the outcome.

That truth struck both his mind and his gut.

‘It’s nerve-wracking.’

But so what? This was the best option.

“I’m nervous.”

His aide’s voice startled Marcus, thinking the man had read his thoughts.

But he didn’t show it on the surface. Instead, he played it cool and asked,

“Are you?”

“Will this work?”

“Of course.”

That confident answer came easily. Commanders needed confidence, above all.

Then he saw the enemy main force forming up and advancing.

“Forward—oo!”

The shout came from their front ranks, and the lead enemy unit marched forward. After that first step—

“Ha!”

Their unified battle cry rang out, shaking the air. It felt like the dust was being pushed toward them.

That kind of discipline was unsettling. The chill of it wormed its way into the soldiers’ minds. The power of a trained army.

But the Border Guard standing forces weren’t amateurs either.

They were veterans who had survived mountain battles, river skirmishes, monster hunts, and even conflicts with Azpen.

There was no need for Marcus to step forward.

“Zennnnng—!”

The 3rd Company commander shouted. Was he picked for his voice? Probably not, but his booming call reached the entire army.

“Forward!”

The crisp order sent their main force stepping out as well.

Step.

“Hot!”

They returned the enemy’s cry in kind, raising their morale.

Meanwhile, Encrid and the rest of the Madman Company were already advancing.

Amid the two opposing armies, they could be seen strolling forward.

The moment of clashing chaos was approaching.

Then—something stirred at the enemy’s front.

Something was charging into the no-man’s land between both armies.

The timing was absurd—and tactically brilliant.

An attack while both sides were still sizing each other up.

Of course, Encrid’s group had also used that standoff to keep moving forward.

Dududududu!

The ground began to shake. The rumble intensified as something charged from the source of the tremor.

Light cavalry, fitted with metal plates on the horses’ heads and shoulders.

The enemy’s lances struck the air first, stirring up dust.

Dududududu!

The sound of galloping horses drilled into the army’s ears. Into Marcus’s ears. Into Encrid’s ears and his unit’s, naturally.

If they reached the main force, the casualties would be severe. It’d be a defeat from the start.

Leading the cavalry was a commander from a unit bearing no emblem.

Marcus had kept tabs on the cavalry’s location. Scouts were constantly monitoring them.

But this charge came from the opposite side.

So this—this was the unit marked on the strategy map the Madman Company had provided.

One of the hidden daggers the enemy had kept in reserve.

Now that dagger was rushing at their main force—and the Madman Company stood directly in its path.

“We’re gonna get trampled!”

The aide shouted.

Marcus grumbled that this kid always stole his lines. Not that he would’ve said it out loud anyway.

A commander should never spread panic among his own men.

Dududududu!

The cavalry charged at terrifying speed. Against a charging cavalry unit, infantry were no better than rotten branches—they’d snap, shatter, and get crushed.

Marcus trusted Encrid. He trusted that unit’s power.

But against cavalry? Against enemies coming in full force with deadly intent?

This was unexpected.

Those Martai bastards were playing their trump card right out the gate.

They’d been hit clean.

* * *

The commander of the Vantra Viscount’s cavalry had insisted on leading the charge himself. That guy Greg had objected, but it was futile.

“Breaking the enemy’s morale and momentum from the start is the foundation of warfare.”

This was not the strategy of some city militia. This was a noble’s cavalry commander speaking.

A far cry from a backwoods infantry captain.

Even Greg had to admit it.

The man’s strategy was more efficient, more effective, more devastating.

So the commander of the Vantra cavalry led his unit.

Fifty elite cavalrymen.

Not heavy lancers, but they were still cavalry.

Usually, they’d harass flanks—but today, the enemy was infantry.

A frontal charge would favor them. That’s just how cavalry vs. infantry battles went. They had long spears to counter pikes. It’d be one-sided.

“We’ll wipe the faces of those arrogant Border Guard bumpkins clean. Any objections?”

At the commander’s words, the fifty cavalrymen roared in unison.

“None, sir!”

“Then let’s go.”

Snort!

They charged, having already calculated the distance to impact.

Was it difficult?

Not at all.

As he spurred his horse forward, the commander thought,

‘That bastard.’

Was it during that deployment to the frontier village?

‘Encrid’s wall? Bullshit.’

He had made up his mind then. If he ever met that arrogant bastard, he’d crush him. That was his resolve.

Originally, he’d planned to just cut out half the guy’s tongue—but now it seemed he’d be severing the neck instead.

Their cavalry wore light barding, and the riders avoided heavy armor. Their preferred weapon was the glaive. A unit nicknamed the “lance-gripping cavalry.”

They attached the shaft of their weapons to their saddles and flanks, cutting through infantry from the side as they charged. With speed and a sharpened edge, cavalry turned into a terrifying blade.

That was their specialty—charge and cleave.

So the less than ten infantrymen standing mid-path were just appetizers.

Their real target was the enemy main force.

But first, they would carve through that front with a glorious slash.

The commander was overcome with excitement. A rush of exhilaration followed. They were mounted. The enemy was on foot.

It was a clear advantage. Charging across a battlefield where victory felt guaranteed—how could his blood not boil?

His pulse pounded. His heart raced. The commander shouted:

“THE WALL IS BULLSHIT!”

A cry from the depths of his soul.