Chapter 283

"Oh… this is actually good."

Enkrid stood on the platform, having just declared that he was sending assassins after the enemy commander.

Of course, that wasn’t actually happening.

Not yet, anyway.

Right now would be the worst possible time to send a strike force.

Kraiss knew this better than anyone.

Which was why he intended to milk Enkrid’s words for all they were worth.

What would happen if this reached enemy ears?

If he were in their shoes?

They wouldn’t act rashly.

They’d bolster their security, reinforce their guards, heighten their patrols.

Which meant they’d be even less likely to launch an all-out attack.

They’ll hesitate even more.

He even made a show of secretly moving their troops at night, leaking just enough information for enemy spies to report back.

Kraiss was using Enkrid’s statement to its fullest potential.

Even better than expected.

The entire strategy had been built on the assumption that neither side wanted to make the first move.

It was already bound to work well— but with Enkrid’s words thrown into the mix, it became even stronger.

I knew he was sharper than he lets on.

Enkrid pretended to hate using his brain, but he was a natural strategist.

His instincts were solid.

And this time, it had worked flawlessly.

The enemy forces, already wary of each other, did not move.

Instead, they focused on reinforcing their defenses.

More torches burned through the night.

Their scouts ran themselves ragged, their horses and riders panting from exhaustion.

Yet despite how well things were going, Kraiss still couldn’t shake his unease.

How do I fix that?

Seeing things with his own eyes would help.

And the best way to see a battlefield was, of course, through reconnaissance.

"Scouts will decide the outcome of this battle."

Kraiss stated firmly.

Venzance nodded harder than he ever had in his life.

"No shit."

And after that, he ran his scouts into the ground.

"Move it! If you get lazy, the others die! PAIN!"

"KILLS ME!"

The war cry was getting more and more unhinged, but it was undeniably effective.

The scouts worked harder than ever.

Their forces spent the day reorganizing, sharpening their discipline.

And by dawn, as the sky remained shrouded in shadow— the fortress gates opened.

"Advance!"

Veteran soldiers called out in practiced unison, guiding the troops forward.

Kraiss watched from a small hill to the south, flanked by two squads of guards.

He observed the battlefield unfold beneath him.

How will this play out?

Would things go according to plan?

Would something unexpected happen?

Or would the enemy anticipate his moves and counter?

What if they launched a full-scale offensive from both flanks?

Then… it would be over.

Not even ten Enkrids could save them if that happened.

"Getting bored here, Big Eyes."

Rem muttered.

His axe rested on his shoulder, his half-lidded gaze gleaming with suppressed aggression.

His entire posture screamed that he wanted to fight.

Kraiss, however, was different than usual.

He ignored him.

"Wait. You’ll get to fight until you’re sick of it soon enough."

His mind was working too hard to spare any more words.

He was shoving every piece of enemy information into his brain— their leaders, their tendencies, their behavioral patterns— trying to predict their next move.

His tone was unusually sharp, but Rem, for once, kept his mouth shut.

Even he could tell Kraiss was acting different.

So this bastard actually has his uses.

Rem might’ve acted like a brute, but he could think.

He just saw things through his lens.

Kraiss didn’t even notice that Rem was behaving.

His thoughts were still spinning at full speed.

It all came down to their elite units.

How they were deployed would determine the outcome.

Despite the unease creeping through his gut, a thrill ran through him.

If this goes the way I planned…

They might just hold out.

He wasn’t concerned with small variables— those would be solved by the soldiers on the field.

His focus was on the big picture.

How could they win easier?

What else did they need?

What if their weapons and tactics were standardized?

His mind spun toward the future.

A uniformed military force.

Soldiers equipped with identical weapons and trained under the same tactics.

A fully coordinated army, moving as extensions of their commander’s will.

That’s how Imperial forces fought.

Couldn’t the Border Guard Standing Army do the same?

Keep elite specialists separate.

But the bulk of their army…

Make them uniform. A cohesive force.

A standardized military with consistent training and gear…

Even if individual soldiers lost duels…

They’d win large-scale battles.

Elite units were crucial— but mass warfare required a different approach.

To win in large-scale combat, cohesion was key.

Lose one-on-one.

Lose ten-on-ten.

But win one hundred-on-one hundred.

Watching the assembled troops, a realization struck him.

He began mentally sorting them into categories.

Swordsmen, spearmen, shield-bearers.

Kraiss quietly solidified his thoughts.

This idea…

It would be useful later.

If not now, then someday.

***

Tarnin Viscount flinched the moment the Border Guard Standing Army marched out.

"Pain is—"

"Joy!"

"Bring it oooon!"

They were outnumbered. Their enemy's equipment looked superior.

"Don’t be afraid. That’s exactly what they want."

Lykanos, a warrior from the Black Blade, spoke.

The hilt of a weapon jutted from over his shoulder, a massive iron flail strapped diagonally across his back.

A thick, round iron ball with spikes protruded from the end, an intimidating sight even at a glance.

Lykanos’ forearms were as thick as a woman’s thighs, his gloves reinforced with steel plates.

It wouldn’t take much for him to crush a human skull barehanded.

And in fact, he could do just that.

He was one of the best in the Black Blade— a warrior so strong that no one outside of the Commander could order him around.

"What the hell are the Cult bastards doing?"

"They’re probably just watching and waiting."

Lykanos was an exceptional fighter, but not a smart man.

Tarnin was even worse.

One of the nobles, who had fled from the Border Guard, spoke up hesitantly.

"The rumors inside the Border Guard aren’t great. There are plenty who are ready to desert at any moment."

Tarnin’s expression darkened.

If the enemy’s internal state was that rotten, then what was this?

"Pain!"

"Agony!"

"I want to hurt!"

"Make me suffer!"

Were they all just insane?

Did they take some kind of drug together?

"…When I left, the army wasn’t even properly organized."

The noble’s voice trailed off.

Lykanos resisted the urge to smash his skull in.

It didn’t matter.

"Just fight them at an appropriate level!"

If they launched an all-out attack, would the Cult respond?

What about Azpen beyond the territory?

They probably wouldn’t.

All of them were slimy, scheming bastards.

If their forces took too many losses here, there might not be a "next time."

He couldn't afford to let the Cult stab them in the back.

"Fuck it. Crush whoever charges in!"

It was a reasonable response, in his mind.

One of Tarnin’s officers bit his lip.

If we launched a full-scale attack right now, the Cult and Azpen would have no choice but to join in. That would end this war immediately.

He hesitated.

If he voiced that thought out loud, he might be branded a Cult sympathizer.

"You… you’re a spy, aren’t you?!"

Tarnin’s fat, meaty hand slapped across the noble’s face.

SMACK!

"Ack! No, no! I swear I’m not! When I left, the army’s morale was in the gutter!"

The noble flopped to the ground, wailing.

"Bullshit!"

Tarnin stomped on him a few more times for good measure.

As the noble pathetically begged for his life, the rest of them kept their mouths shut.

Someone up top would handle things.

That was their conclusion.

Lykanos did as he said— engaging the enemy just enough to keep them at bay.

"Let them bleed each other first. Then we go in."

The Wolf Bishop agreed with his thinking.

No need for our believers to bleed first.

The Cult’s forces remained still.

Sure, no assassins had come last night— but they might come tonight.

A messenger from the Black Blade arrived, demanding immediate reinforcements.

"We need to keep an eye on the Martai garrison and prepare for assassins."

The Bishop dismissed the request immediately.

When Lykanos heard this, a vein bulged in his forehead.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

All he could hear was Tarnin’s pig-like squealing.

"If we get wiped out, we’re done for!"

Lykanos fought the urge to rip his throat out.

The pig was still useful— for now.

***

Azpen had been gathering intelligence on the situation beyond the territory.

Spies, scouts, divinations, magic— they used everything at their disposal.

"Do we move?"

A subordinate asked.

A man brushed back his hair— green locks shifting over his forehead before falling back into place.

His fingers ran through the strands as he spoke.

"Not yet. It’s not our turn."

His cold eyes gleamed.

Azpen’s genius strategist—

A man who had been demoted after their previous war’s failure.

His name was Abnair.

He had one clear goal for this battle.

One head.

Land and territory could come later.

That was why he had prepared so meticulously.

His heart raced slightly.

How long would they last?

He wasn’t the type to derive pleasure from others’ suffering, but as a strategist, watching his plans unfold was exhilarating.

***

"You insane bastards! What did I tell you? My word is the word of God! It is LIGHT! Huh?! You LISTEN when I speak!"

The squad leader bellowed.

The soldiers under his command roared back.

"Aaaargh!"

They were all furious.

And for good reason.

They had been trained— no, tortured— into absolute obedience.

The newer recruits had it worst.

Not out of malice.

Veteran squad and platoon leaders had been summoned, and they followed orders.

"We’ll make sure they don’t lose themselves in the heat of battle. They’ll fight hot, but stay cold."

Kraiss barked orders.

No one listened.

Then Enkrid stepped forward.

Dark-haired, blue-eyed.

The madman of the battlefield.

"Beat them half to death if they don’t follow orders. And you follow your superior’s orders. If you don’t, you die. Rem and I will take turns during training and beat the shit out of you."

It didn’t matter what their past rank was.

It didn’t matter if they were smart or dumb.

If they were soldiers, they needed to follow simple orders.

And so, they obeyed.

Among them was Bell.

Now a platoon leader, Bell roared.

"WHO WANTS TO DIE?!"

"Ugh!"

"Don’t break formation! DON’T BREAK FORMATION!"

He was at the front lines— the cutting edge of battle.

Kraiss had arranged this with Graham in advance.

Most of the soldiers fighting today were new recruits.

One of them couldn’t even hear the noise around him.

All he saw was the approaching enemy—

Like demons rushing toward him.

Spears. Swords. Shields. Hammers. Flails.

Am I ready?

Will my movements be sharp enough? Should I thrust? Should I block?

He froze.

His mind whitened.

Then—

BAM!

A blow landed on the back of his head.

Stars flashed in his vision.

Color returned to his sight.

The battlefield came back into focus.

"You stupid fuck, repeat after me!"

A string of curses slammed into his ears.

It was the voice of his platoon leader.

"YES SIR!"

"FORMATION THRUST!"

"FORMATION THRUST!"

The recruits stabbed forward in unison.

"Pull back! Pull back! You, I’m gonna kill you later!"

Veteran soldiers bellowed orders across the field.

And thus, the first skirmish ended.

They had marched out at sunrise.

At noon, they clashed.

The enemy force— around eighty infantry soldiers.

Casualties?

Six wounded. No deaths.

They fought in unison, spearing forward, blocking, then retreating.

Not because the enemy was weak—

But because their leaders knew what they were doing.

"Why are they withdrawing?"

A mercenary from the Black Blade muttered.

His blood was boiling.

Just as he was ready to cut loose, the enemy pulled back.

And he couldn’t charge alone.

So the Black Blade withdrew as well.

The next day, a similar battle.

Then another.

And another.

Twelve total engagements.

Six deaths.

And now—

Most of the soldiers understood what war was.

More importantly, they had survived Enkrid’s training.

Battle filled the gaps in their experience.

And just as Kraiss planned—

The Border Guard Standing Army looked much larger than it was.

From the enemy’s perspective, their tactics weren’t normal.

Of course.

Who the hell trains in the middle of a war?

"Luckily, they’re all idiots."

Kraiss exhaled.

Then he looked at Sinar and Enkrid.

"Now it’s really time to get to work."