Chapter 213
Marcus was indeed a politician.
Olf only realized Marcus was approaching after he had entered the city, and upon hearing the report, he felt like vomiting.
His head spun.
Was the retreat route treacherous?
No. There was no danger. Only a few cavalrymen had followed behind as an escort.
‘He herded me into the city.’
And then to be surrounded afterward—was that bastard insane?
After the shock wore off, rage naturally followed.
Even so, he racked his brain. If he lost his mind here, it would all be over.
Could they fend off the Border Guard army if they fortified themselves from inside?
Not a chance. They had just been utterly defeated.
Morale was at rock bottom, and proper reorganization would take time.
Marcus had stolen that time from Olf.
Time to pull himself together.
Time to prepare.
Time to summon reinforcements.
Even so, Olf barely managed to maintain his sanity and called for a war council.
“Get everyone in here!”
His voice rose with urgency. At least it wasn’t trembling.
Soon, everyone who could be deployed for military operations gathered.
“I’ll go out and drive them off! Just give me a hundred infantry and some cavalry!”
One of his adjutants shouted angrily.
Was this bastard serious?
If driving them off were possible, would they have been beaten so soundly in the previous battle?
He was Greg’s replacement.
“Shut up.”
Olf answered and turned away from the adjutant. No matter how carefully you picked them, there were always clueless idiots among the officers.
It was a miracle this one had even made it to adjutant.
“It was all politics. Thanks to hiding him well.”
Another adjutant, skilled at flattery, tried to soothe Olf’s nerves, but there was no way such words could reach his ears now.
The weight on his seat was heavy.
Even heavier was the weight on his chest.
His hands and feet wouldn’t move as he wanted.
Whose forces were those unmarked soldiers?
They had belonged to Count Molsen. The main force was Baron Ventra’s army under the Count’s command, and the assassin sent directly by the Count had also perished.
Some surviving members of Ventra’s army, upon hearing of the defeat, immediately withdrew.
The sight of their retreat was pathetic, but so was the Martai army.
Olf’s eyelids twitched.
Was he just going to get devoured like this?
Outside the city, Marcus slowly tightened the encirclement.
When had he started preparing this? Had he planned everything from the start?
They were setting up tents outside. Five figures, presumably the infamous ones, were said to be watching the Martai city walls.
Pins were scattered all over the strategic map. One pin had fallen over to the side, and Olf felt it resembled his current situation.
‘Mad bastards.’
Thinking of the five who had rampaged across the battlefield made him seethe. They were the main cause of this disaster.
Olf clenched his teeth, suppressing the bile rising in his throat.
When do you truly lose a fight? When you lose your grit and guts.
The mercenary spirit of the East stirred within him.
Even if he couldn’t win the battle immediately, he had to at least break Marcus’s dagger.
“Everyone, get out.”
Olf said.
It was time to bring out his secret weapon, the ones prepared just in case but never yet used.
“What?”
One clueless adjutant asked back.
He would definitely kill that bastard after this battle was over.
He missed Greg for the first time in a long while.
Of course, Greg was dead. The assault company had been the first to be wiped out, and Greg had led that battalion.
The only one who remained relatively intact was the Second Battalion Commander, Zimmer.
Zimmer, sensing the mood, spoke.
“The general said, everyone out.”
At his words, the cluster of adjutants rushed out.
Zimmer, the last to leave, turned around.
“General.”
“Let me think. Get out.”
At Olf’s words, Zimmer placed his hand on his beltless hip and bowed his head.
Olf roughly nodded.
After everyone had left—
“Come out.”
Olf spoke to the empty air. From the shadows beyond the light, something long and thin jutted out.
It looked like a part of the shadow itself or like soot stretching upward into three-dimensional form.
Soon, the dark mass took the shape of a person clad in a black robe. The face inside the robe was completely hidden, making it questionable if it was even human, but the exposed back of the hand was pale and smooth.
“Have you made up your mind?”
The man in the black robe asked.
His voice was as clear and pure as a clarinet.
Deals with wizards were often said to be like deals with the devil. Olf knew that well.
Nothing could be gained without a price.
“I have.”
Olf replied.
The price for the contract was not light. But would he sit back and let the city be taken?
‘Encrid.’
He remembered the one who had declared his name on the battlefield. The black hair poking out between the helmet, the way soldiers of Martai had been cut down around him.
Olf understood the cause of his defeat. Therefore, if he could break the sword that caused it, the outcome might yet change.
—
“Just surrounding them won’t solve anything.”
Encrid muttered, gauging the height of Martai’s walls.
‘Should I climb it?’
The army had no mangonels, siege towers, or trebuchets—only ladders to assault the walls.
And even those ladders hadn’t been prepared in advance.
Meaning they didn’t intend to force a siege by brute strength.
Then what? Force the gate?
The gates were visible. There were no moats.
If Audin swung his hammer seriously, they might be able to break a section open.
It was a thick, dark-brown wooden gate. It looked sturdy, but Audin looked even sturdier.
Maybe even more so.
‘If we sneak over at night, we might not even need ladders.’
The wall, weathered by time, was full of cracks and uneven surfaces.
Plenty of handholds.
If they really set their minds to it, it wasn’t impossible to climb.
Encrid mentally mapped out what might happen that night.
‘If I can climb it…’
Then so could Rem, Ragna, Jaxson, and Audin.
If just the five of them crossed, that would be enough. Audin would open the gate, and the rest would hold the line.
‘What if archers are lying in wait?’
How would they block that? It didn’t seem like something that could be dodged.
Then maybe they needed to bring shields?
It wasn’t exactly a tactical masterpiece, but they had fought while maintaining formation before.
Similar formations had been used many times in the past, and he had moved as part of one too, but this time was entirely different.
The destructive power, being at the center himself, controlling the start to the end—everything was under command.
It was a new experience.
And experience fosters growth. Encrid was growing once again.
Tactics and strategy—understanding what was possible with the combined strength of the five, and what could be achieved.
When a few determined the flow of a battlefield—that was the reason knights could change the tide of war.
Encrid was feeling that realization with his whole body.
“Why are you worrying about that?”
Rem said from the side, picking his ear.
“Practicing acting like a commander.”
Encrid joked—a rare sight—and Rem let out a cackling laugh.
“The great commander of a company of less than ten men, let’s just fill our bellies instead.”
They had moved like madmen. Amidst blood, corpses, brains, bones, eyeballs, severed arms and fingers, they had rampaged through the center of the battlefield.
There was no appetite to speak of. But they couldn’t go into battle hungry either.
When it’s time to eat, you eat. That’s all.
“Let’s wash up first.”
There was a well outside the city gate, used by farmers.
It would be bad if someone had poisoned it, but who had the time or mind for that now?
Drawing water and washing thoroughly, Rem, Ragna, Jaxson, and Audin stripped off their armor and dumped water over their heads.
The splash of water burst in all directions.
Flat stones had been laid on the ground to avoid stepping in the mud, which Encrid appreciated.
“Looking good.”
When had he arrived? Finn raised his thumb.
Everyone was only half-covered below the waist.
“Indeed, looks good.”
Next to him were the elf company commander and Krys. Behind them stood Dunbakel, impassive as always.
Kyarrreurr.
When had she gotten there? Esther blinked her blue eyes, seemingly observing the five of them intently.
“Where have you been?”
Ignoring the glances and the mumblings of Finn and the commander, Encrid asked.
The black panther raised a front paw to scratch its neck.
‘A pose that shows she isn’t listening.’
Well, what did it matter.
It wasn’t as if they’d die just because Esther wasn’t there.
“Commander, if there’s ever an opening in your unit, let me join too!”
Some soldiers joked while waiting their turn to wash.
Since personal maintenance time had been granted, they were washing up.
There was no immediate battle ahead, so morale was somewhat relaxed. But vigilance wouldn’t slacken. The Border Guard’s standing army was disciplined. They always did their part.
“Are you serious?”
The soldier only grinned.
Encrid snorted and moved on.
Even if he was serious, there was no point. A few random soldiers wouldn’t make a difference.
‘If they don’t end up as Rem’s playthings, that would be lucky.’
After washing, he tended to his armor. The blood-stained leather wouldn’t lose its smell or color. He just applied some polish.
That would suffice. After checking his gauntlets and boots, he grabbed his sword.
It was black iron. If not properly maintained, rust would soon follow.
Especially a blade smeared with blood—it needed extra care.
“Here, use this.”
A soldier from First Company handed over a small earthen jar.
“Flaxseed oil. It’s precious.”
“…Why are you giving this to me?”
“Please use it.”
The soldier left the jar and quickly retreated.
“After seeing you fight, they couldn’t help but feel respect. It’s just their way of paying homage.”
Krys commented while watching from the side.
Was that so? It wasn’t a big deal.
He wiped down the blade with the flaxseed oil, and soon Rem came up beside him, extending his axe.
“Look here. It’s chipped.”
Honestly, it was more surprising that it wasn’t more damaged after all that swinging.
“This guy’s asking for oil too. Gimme oil, oil!”
Considering he’d seen an actual cursed blade before, Encrid felt no real magic sword would ever talk like that.
“Use it.”
There was plenty to go around.
After finishing with his sword, he drew the blade he had picked up from the battlefield.
Srrk.
It wasn’t anything special. He had picked it up because it felt empty having just one sword.
It had belonged to a company commander who hadn’t even managed to draw it before Jaxson pierced his throat.
‘That move.’
It was a silent thrust.
Erasing killing intent and presence—only action remained.
Sometimes, you could see it coming, but still question if it was real.
Jaxson’s thrust gave that feeling.
It seemed slow, simple in trajectory, something you could dodge.
But by the time you realized, the blade would already be buried in your throat.
How was that possible?
He had seen it up close. His improved awareness opened a new perspective.
‘Momentary acceleration.’
Just before the thrust, Jaxson’s sword moved at a speed almost invisible. As fast as, or even faster than, Rem’s lightning axe.
‘Feels like I can adapt that.’
Maybe he could.
There was so much to learn from Ragna, from Rem, from Audin, from everyone around.
Even the enemies he killed and those that merely brushed past him—everything was a lesson.
Things that had been invisible were now clear.
After the battle, this was an instinctive review—preparation for another leap forward.
“Practicing swordsmanship right after a battle?”
The elf company commander asked, having approached without a sound.
You couldn’t tell what she was thinking just by looking at her.
But those who knew Encrid would instantly understand—he was practicing mental movements with a hand blade against the air.
“It’s amusing.”
“I see. There will be no battles for a while. Everyone is ordered to rest. Fiancé.”
“Yes, acknowledged.”
The sun was setting. Several tents were set up by the Border Guard army.
But setting up tents wasn’t the end of it.
‘They haven’t secured a supply line either.’
Maybe they had enough food for four days?
Probably not even that much.
Encrid wondered what Marcus was planning, but for now, there were no strategy meetings.
Some units would stand night watch and guard duty, while the rest were to forget victory and surrender to their fatigue.
There was no alcohol issued with supplies, so Encrid sipped from the apple wine he had stashed away.
“I thought you drank it all.”
Rem grumbled, so Encrid tossed him a small bottle.
“Good work out there.”
“You too, boss. You fought well even with your fingers trembling.”
So he noticed.
The muscles were trembling because he had overused the [Heart of Monstrous Strength].
How could they not?
It was to carry his own weight among these monsters. But now it was fine. His recovery was much faster than before.
Encrid clenched and unclenched his hand to check his condition.
He was fine.
“You’ve grown a lot, boss.”
Rem muttered.
Sometimes, pointless words would slip out without thinking. Encrid figured this was one of those times.
“I was always taller.”
At that, Rem shook his head as if to say, ‘was that supposed to be a joke?’
Jaxson pretended not to hear, and Ragna said indifferently,
“Jokes can be trained too.”
What nonsense.
Comparing himself to these people in terms of wit was an insult in itself.
“Pray for him.”
Audin began to pray nearby, so Encrid shut his mouth.
They had faithfully followed his orders today.
He was curious why but decided not to ask.
It was a pointless question.
If he had spent all this time questioning every action they took, they wouldn’t have come this far.
Instead, he just made eye contact with each of them in turn.
“I can fight too.”
While glancing around, Dunbakel spoke up.
“I know.”
But if he sent her out now, she’d just end up dead.
If he wanted a meat shield, he wouldn’t have accepted her in the first place.
Since he accepted her, it was only right to use her properly.
* * *
He propped his chin on his hand, looked around once, then laid his body down on the thick cloth spread out beneath them. It was time for a good sleep.
The feel of rocks and uneven ground pressed through faintly, but it wasn’t unbearable.
As he closed his eyes and fell asleep, he felt Esther crawl into his arms.
Encrid gently hugged the black panther.
Time passed, and it was already deep into the early morning when everyone was sound asleep.
The Esther who seemed like she should have been sleeping peacefully slipped quietly from Encrid’s embrace.
A strange energy was settling over the tent.
Something intimately tied to Esther’s world—what people call mystery and spells—in other words, magic.
