Chapter 284

A few small skirmishes subtly changed the atmosphere of the battlefield.

‘So are they going to fight or not?’

The Black Blade Bandits and the Cult of the Demon Realm wanted to ask exactly that.

They had expected fierce combat, but instead it fizzled out. And that happened dozens of times.

Yet, to suddenly launch the first strike?

“The Master of the Demon Realm said, do not trust thieves.”

The Black Blade Bandits seemed ready to pull some trick from behind. The Tarnin viscount’s army was no different.

“Don’t make the first move. Just hold out.”

“Ugh, again today? Aren’t they tired of this?”

At Lykanos’ words, Tarnin shoved a piece of jerky into a slice of bread.

He was a man who never stopped eating.

The tension that had been there before was gone.

The Border Guards’ standing army kept pulling strange stunts, and naturally the edge dulled.

Of course, Lykanos was different.

‘There’s something here.’

He couldn’t say for certain, but the instinct he had honed over years on battlefields warned him.

Their tricks were not ordinary.

It was ominous. Very ominous.

Beside him, the pig viscount kept babbling.

Something about just crushing them all right now, about how their side had the numbers—it was all nonsense.

“Shut your mouth.”

Lykanos was no fool who ignored his instincts.

The viscount shrieked in protest, but he ignored him.

“Defensive formation.”

Lykanos still had to stick to the same strategy.

He had no choice. He could not trust the Cultists nor the Azpen forces.

To turn his back to them?

‘That would be a disgrace to the Black Blade Bandits.’

He belonged to the group that would become the continent’s greatest bandit force.

They could not afford to be dragged into something so obviously a trap.

So, on a winter’s day when clouds had cleared and bright sunlight shone down, a new day of battle began.

—

“There is pain before me that would kill me!”

“Kill the pain!”

Vell thought the chants were getting stranger, but before long he found himself joining in.

“Pain that kills with kindness!”

It grew even more bizarre, but it wasn’t only the chants that had changed.

The soldiers’ movements were different.

No longer did they need curses mixed with orders barked at them.

Naturally so.

These were men already trained. Men bullied and beaten by the Madman Company.

Those who couldn’t handle even training hadn’t been placed in formation at all.

That too was Krys’ idea.

‘With manpower already lacking…’

Vell thought it was ridiculous. He wanted to say real battlefields weren’t like that.

But in the end, he couldn’t say a word.

“So be it.”

Encrid was backing it, and Graham had allowed it.

“The point is this: if they lack experience, we give them experience. If they have weaknesses, we eliminate them. That’s what this is for.”

If untrained soldiers were mixed in, the whole force grew weaker.

So only those hardened through training were gathered, hammered like iron by the forge of real combat.

What began as Krys’ theory was now reality—soldiers like Vell were the proof.

Soldier after soldier, beaten through hellish training and now forged in the hammer-blows of war.

“The flower of the battlefield!”

“The infantry!”

“The flower of pain!”

“Damnable joy!”

Corrupted chants, feverish shouts, and the burning surge of something fierce seared their chests.

“Kill them all!”

Vell roared.

Whereas before they had only tested the enemy, now they boldly charged first.

Vell led the way.

He saw the eyes of an approaching Black Blade mercenary, glaring with murderous intent from beneath a pressed-down iron helmet.

The mercenary swung a massive sword down from overhead.

An attack heavy with weight and strength came crashing down. Vell didn’t react.

It was the perfect opening to be killed.

But instead of blocking, Vell planted his left foot, twisted his waist back, and drove power into both arms.

His muscles swelled with strain. He thrust his spear forward.

It was a strike he had devised over days of effort. A full-bodied twist driving the thrust.

Was he insane? The mercenary was startled, but still brought his sword down.

It looked like mutual death.

He thought he would cut first and avoid the weakened thrust.

But the sword never fulfilled its task.

Two soldiers had slipped in beside Vell, covering his head with their thick round shields.

Clang!

The blade struck shield.

And at the same time, a spear strike that no gambeson, leather, or chain armor could stop ripped into the mercenary’s torso.

Thud!

The sharpened spearhead pierced gambeson and leather, punching a hole in his belly.

The shaft jutted out of his torso like some grim ornament.

“Damn… you crazy bastard.”

Blood gushed from his lips as he spoke.

He dropped his sword, clutched the shaft protruding from his body, staggered, and toppled backward.

The spearhead scraped the ground as his corpse slumped over.

“You call that strategy, you dumb ape.”

Vell muttered as he released the spear.

It would take too long to pull it free. He fell back and drew a new one.

They fought in threes.

One spearman to pierce, two shield-bearers to guard.

“One spearman and two who can handle shields form a unit.”

It was a makeshift squad tactic.

But makeshift didn’t mean ineffective. Most of their hellish training had been about strengthening individual bodies.

It wasn’t a difficult formation.

And after weeks of adaptation, the Border Guards and the Tarnin viscount’s troops were ready for their first large-scale battle—one that pressed the enemy hard.

“Cut them down! Smash the shields! Crush them with maces!”

“Archers! Are you just watching?!”

The fight had been infantry against infantry, until the enemy brought in archers.

“Kill them.”

And that was exactly what the Benzense archers had been waiting for.

A platoon of sharp-eyed, quick-handed bowmen nocked arrows in an instant and loosed with furious release.

Thrum-thrum-thrum!

Fifty longbows at once.

Arrows rained down the enemy’s flank.

“Fall back! Fall back!”

Vell broke off to shout. The Border Guards withdrew quickly.

Anyone watching might have been awed.

The numbers on each side weren’t so different.

The standing Border Guards barely numbered a thousand.

The Tarnin viscount’s army had swelled to more than twenty-five hundred.

Reinforcements had streamed in from somewhere.

Of course, not all were committed.

Both sides fed in only a portion of their forces.

The Border Guards deployed about 250.

The viscount’s side fielded nearly 400, including many seasoned mercenaries.

Their overseers brandished swords from behind, driving soldiers to fight like madmen.

Even so, the outcome was clear.

“A trained army defeats individuals.”

On a hill, Krys murmured.

Finn, serving as his guard, replied.

“What nonsense is that?”

It wasn’t something she understood.

“It’s just the way it is.”

“Tch. They should’ve assigned me to the commander, not this guard duty.”

Finn grumbled.

Meanwhile, Encrid was at work.

—

“Here.”

At Jaxson’s lead, Encrid spoke.

“Ragna?”

“Why are you calling me?”

Good. With Ragna there, they had everything they needed.

Through her face-covering helmet, Teresa’s eyes were visible.

Was she alright?

She had been told she could sit out, but refused.

“I am wandering Teresa. My sword and shield only go where they must.”

With Jaxson guiding, the Madman Company didn’t bother hiding.

There was no need.

With a massive battle raging, all eyes were elsewhere.

They killed every scout they encountered.

Without witnesses, there were no tongues to report.

While the Black Blade Bandits and the standing army fought savagely, Encrid’s company reached the Cult’s encampment.

“I thought I’d die of boredom.”

Rem muttered, eyes gleaming. He looked like a man who needed to spill blood every three days or he’d go mad.

“Let’s go.”

Encrid said, approaching the rough palisade.

As they drew near, a growl sounded. The stench of blood and musk stung their noses.

Yellow eyes glared at them.

A wolf-beast.

Growl!

It sprang forward the moment they met its gaze.

From the left, where Dunbakel stood.

As the beast lunged, a metallic ring split the air.

Its charge met a silver arc.

Naturally, Dunbakel’s work.

The scimitar at her hip traced a half-moon.

The silver slash carved from the beast’s right shoulder to its left hind leg.

With a gush of blood and entrails, its body split and collapsed.

Blood sprayed everywhere.

“Try killing it more cleanly.”

Rem commented. Dunbakel flicked her scimitar, blood splattering.

“This is clean enough.”

“She doesn’t know anything.”

Rem snorted.

Growl!

Even as he finished speaking, more yellow eyes multiplied around them.

It wasn’t even night. Their slaughter of scouts had been too brazen.

The stench was suffocating, mixed with filth and waste.

The Cult hadn’t anticipated this move.

It was a strike from where no one expected.

The wolves were just the natural guards of the palisade.

The Cult camp lay nestled among uneven hills, ridges and hollows aplenty.

More wolves emerged from the rises, yellow eyes gleaming with demonic corruption.

Growl!

Rem lifted both axes, level with the ground.

“Watch. This is clean.”

Then he surged forward.

No time to argue. He charged faster than the wolves could react.

He closed the gap, appeared before the nearest beast, and swung.

One axe swept. A wolf’s head flew up. Then another. And another.

Rem fought as he always did.

Slashing, chopping, hacking without pause.

“How is that clean?”

Dunbakel remarked. Encrid agreed silently.

It wasn’t clean, but it was devastating.

“Magnificent, brother.”

Audin muttered. It fit.

The wolf-beasts did their duty as guards, and were cut down one after another.

Encrid adjusted his sword-belt as Cultists emerged beyond the palisade.

Every bit of preparation mattered. Against any foe, for any battle.

He tightened his sword-belt.

“Ambush!”

One Cultist shouted.

It looked like Encrid was about to draw and rush.

Some enemies leveled crossbows at him.

“The Master of the Demon Realm watches us!”

With a fanatic cry, they aimed and loaded.

Encrid, in his poised stance, suddenly flung his arms outward.

It seemed odd—until the result.

Fweeeet!

The whistle split the air—and tore four throats.

The Whistle Dagger.

“Gah!”

One clutched his new throat, blood pouring, collapsing.

Four crossbowmen fell, heads thudding into the dirt.

“Clever deception.”

Jaxson murmured behind him. Whether mocking or impressed, unclear.

Encrid ignored him.

Feigning a draw to launch a Whistle Dagger—it was a fine tactic.

Every movement had been preparation for this strike.

Preparation was also deception.

Awooooo!

From deeper in the camp came a chilling wolf-howl infused with magic, freezing bodies for an instant.

“Shut that mutt up.”

Rem growled, drenched in black blood.

His teeth bared in a grin, white against gore, axes gleaming—he looked like the embodiment of fear itself.

No one here froze from a mere howl.

Even Dunbakel only grumbled.

“Just cutting off heads doesn’t make it clean.”

“D-demon Lord…”

A fanatic trembled.

“What was that? I can’t hear the words of fools who worship some idiot god.”

Rem raised a hand to his ear mockingly, axes in the other.

Then he went berserk.

From the enemy’s view, he had gone completely mad.

Encrid’s group kept at their work.

Jaxson set fire to tents and supplies.

Ragna cut down attackers from Encrid’s flank.

Teresa and Dunbakel smashed heads of beasts and men alike.

There was no need to prolong it.

When black smoke rose, Encrid gave the signal.

He hurled a Whistle Dagger into the sky.

Fweeeeeeet!

At the long whistle, the company withdrew. From the start, the goal was to hit hard and vanish.

When enemy commanders thickened their guards, they burned supplies and fled.

Simple, but effective.

“Rem!”

Encrid shouted while retreating.

“Go ahead!”

Rem called back.

He wasn’t following. Too caught up—or holding the rear.

Half of it was excitement, the other half necessity.

Four larger wolves, each twice the size of the others, were charging in.

Someone had to cut them down, or at least hold them.

“Best if he dies here.”

Jaxson muttered insincerely.

“Otherwise, let me stay.”

Ragna said words Encrid would not allow.

If he stayed behind, they wouldn’t see him again until winter ended.

But Encrid wasn’t worried about Rem.

It was Rem, after all.

Escaping with his own life was nothing for him.

“I’ll go on ahead.”

Encrid said.