Chapter 151

Chapter 151 - A Monster Among Hungry Wolves (8)

A battlefield where a large-scale pitched battle has ended is a place more terrible than a cesspit. All sorts of foul smells mix and reek.

The stench of blood.

The foul smell of human feces.

The mustiness of intestines and fat lodged in abdomens turning rancid.

The armpit odor of horses' sweat fermenting.

Unpleasant metallic smells.

Even the disgusting smell of mud kneaded with dirt and blood.

However, on the other hand, it was also a place overflowing with milk and honey. Could one say it was like a golden wheat field growing over manure fertilizer?

"I'm properly changing equipment today. Carrying around a hand axe was too embarrassing."

A young-faced mercenary holding a decent sword laughed. Victorious soldiers were collecting spoils from all directions like digging potatoes.

"Rookie. Before that, grab what's over there first."

"Aren't they the exact same swords?"

"Retard, that is a curved sword produced in the East. It sells for much more than peninsula-style one-handed swords."

"Ah! Thank you for the advice."

On another side, some people were harvesting prisoners like picking up baby birds fallen from nests.

Most were Eugene's subordinate warriors. Because rank and priority also exist in spoils claimed on the battlefield.

The stronger the army, and those who established more merits, took priority over better spoils.

"What are you doing?"

A right-wing mercenary stealthily trying to take away an expensively dressed prisoner was caught red-handed by a tribal warrior.

"I am a squad leader of the White Snake Mercenary Corps..."

"I wasn't asking about that bullshit! Where are you trying to stick your spoon in?"

Smack!

The barbed whip of the mounted tribal warrior struck a corpse next to the mercenary.

The scalp on the back of its head tore off, dried blood splattered, and the skull was exposed. At that bloodcurdling sight, the mercenary dropped the prisoner and hastily fled.

"Shouldn't you move?"

As the tribal warrior smiled aiming his blood-stained whip, the prisoner hurriedly ran toward Eugene's formation. Over there, Dark Elves were hauling away prisoners in a line.

"Kneel and put both hands on your head."

"I didn't say to raise your hands, grab the lid of your head with your hands!"

"Line up in rows of 10. Now, sit down in order starting from the front row. One... two... three...."

Prisoner control far ahead of its time was unfolding.

Dark Elves holding binding ropes tied up several uncooperative individuals as an example.

It was a new knotting method Eugene taught, tying both hands behind the waist and connecting it to the neck.

"Gehhhgh!"

The prisoner screamed at the sensation of being choked at even the slightest rough movement.

"Were all these things learned from Lord Godfrey?"

"I learned it from a different instructor, no, a different person."

Rex rubbed his chin as if finding the advanced civilization interesting.

"Oh my! Noble lords. You don't have to put your hands on your heads. There is no need for you to do the exact same as those lowly ones."

"Come, come, please come this way. Be careful not to twist your ankles."

Knights or nobles with families to pay ransoms were cordially guided by human heavy infantrymen.

"My legs hurt, could you lend me a horse..."

"Ahem! Please do not cross the line."

Eugene scanned the luxurious-looking prisoners with a satisfied face. It looked like lumps of gold in human shapes had gathered.

"This is business."

Because he was someone who only beat up guys like mercenaries, bandits, water bandits, and pirates until now, it approached him even more affectionately.

"Our side's treatments have ended. Because there weren't many injured in the first place. There's a lot of medicine left as well; shall we send medical support? Aside from the central army, the right wing was completely pulverized."

Rex spoke while applying a cold compress to his index finger, which had swelled from shooting arrows too much.

Casualties of the Temple Knights handling the center weren't large. Though pushed back heavily while supporting the struggling right wing, basically they are robust individuals.

Furthermore, monasteries of this era are also the best medical institutions. Holy Knights and armed priests of the center swapped out with the rear line to receive first aid whenever injured.

Conversely, the right wing was poor in every aspect. It was the place where the fiercest close combat occurred, and injured mercenaries were abandoned like consumables.

"Only deliver the medicines. With monks roaming everywhere, sending witches is a bit much."

"Understood."

Eugene introduced many peculiar systems to his subordinate army.

Medics focusing solely on treatment as non-combatants were one of them. The majority comprised of witch trainees.

Being experts in herbs and medicines, he drafted them as medics during wartime. There could be nothing good from them being near the religious orders.

With heads running hot from the slaughter and heat of the battlefield, there's no telling what trouble might occur.

"..."

Eugene shifted his gaze to the pain felt from his arm.

A late-teen Dark Elf girl was applying medicine to an abrasion on his wrist. She was an aspiring witch who stepped onto a battlefield for the first time today, and one of Valda's assistants.

Her pretty face was frozen stiff like stone from tension, and her slender hands trembled violently as if shaking hands with the grim reaper.

"Relax. It's fine if it hurts a bit."

"Y, y, yes! No, that's not it, I will definitely not make it hur... no no! I will make it not hur..."

"Shhh."

Eugene chuckled and placed his index finger on the girl's lips.

"Calm down."

The girl's face flushed bright red with awe.

"The Apostle State must also be feeling a chill down their spines."

"They likely didn't expect the Count to act this recklessly. Winning like this, the backlash from their vassals will be massive."

The Count of Sicily truly mobilized an army haphazardly. Understanding a bandit knight wanted for heinous crimes was one thing, but to think he would even pull in foreign powers like the East Empire.

"Could refusing the duel before the battle have also been an arrangement for this?"

"Probably. There may also be the fact that Immortals are unskilled in horsemanship too. Because the expeditionary force held the advantage in cavalry combat."

Right up until they crashed with a 'Bang!', public evaluation favored the expeditionary force as having the upper hand.

Correspondingly, there is also the possibility that the Count of Sicily feigned weakness to maximize arrogance and surprise effects.

Just observing how he hid the completely elite Immortals tightly in the left wing and committed them abruptly showed as much.

Fundamentally, he was someone pursuing practicality over honor, and with his family on the verge of being blown away by excommunication, he must have been even more desperate.

"Please punish my sin of moving troops arbitrarily."

"No. Sir Hind. It was an excellent judgment."

After having command delegated to him, Hind focused on holding his position. However, he kept his nerves constantly sharply focused on the central battle.

- The Lord is absolutely destroying them properly.

- Look at those guys over there? Seems that Count bastard is trying to flee right now.

At the relays from female warriors atop the combat towers, Hind bit his lip.

Repeatedly clenching and unclenching his sweaty fist, he finally made a decision.

- If left as is, the Count of Sicily will escape to his base. We must cut off his retreat route in advance.

Hind felt a massive burden from the gazes of hundred-commanders gathering on him. Suppressing his pounding heart, he continued his words.

- Hammer Brotherhood advances! The horse archers split in two. Team 1 reverses vastly to the left to cut off the southwestern retreat route! Team 2 follows from the rear but observe the center to be able to immediately respond to the Lord's support requests!

- ...

- ...

The Blackhand hundred-commanders debated. Did he have the right to issue orders of this magnitude?

Holding their positions and functioning like a shield was the left wing unit's highest priority mission. Even being the Senior Knight, Hind was merely someone temporarily delegated command.

- That is an excellent thought!

- Only by charging and cutting off the retreat path now can we catch a big fish!

Dwarf warriors under Rampage responded passionately. Because going on like this, it seemed they'd do nothing but eat up their pay failing to perform actively even in this battle.

- Hey, but still, it's not even the Lord's orders...

- We can just run if things look bad!

- ... Understood.

The Blackhand hundred-commanders reluctantly agreed. Because the principle Eugene always spoke of was 'The chain of command must be unified.'

Whether invading or holding position, the army had to move together as a single mass.

Resulting from that, Hind's judgment was extremely appropriate.

"The Count of Sicily escaping toward the Moving Castle's direction was not just a mere coincidence."

The best southwestern route among the Count's retreat paths became dangerous as Hind struck forward.

- Sir Count, retreating to the city of Adano has gone wrong!

- Our allies are still holding out, but we might get surrounded by the enemy left wing if we are careless.

- Goddammit... Shift directions!

Thus, acting as the next best option among the remaining 2 retreat routes, the Count chose the path leading to the Moving Castle of all places.

'I must also refine the rules of engagement when delegating command in my absence much more meticulously.'

Because the left wing battle was overwhelmingly superior and there were many competent officers including Hind, he trusted and delegated it.

Even so, things couldn't always work out as well as today. Eugene organized the parts to be supplemented from this battle in his head.

* * *

"After preparing that much... it was a truly perfect plan. That monster. It makes no sense..."

The fleeing Count of Sicily continuously mumbled incoherently. Bearing a face completely deaf to both a vassal's consolations and the commander of the guard's advice on future countermeasures.

"I lived as a free knight on the peninsula for 20 years, but I've never seen such a battle."

An old knight spoke repeatedly looking back at the battlefield they fled from.

Large casualties arising in battles of this era are when the fleeing army gets attacked from behind.

When facing each other, they died slowly and collapsed slowly even with a substantial gap in military strength. Thus, nobles could also flee if they felt things wouldn't work out.

However, this pitched battle was a slaughterhouse destroying all such common sense.

"M, my sons all remained in that place!"

A participating Baron sobbed clenching his reins, leaving his three grown sons who became knights.

- Lord Baron, no, Father! Leave the rear to us and depart. You must protect the family's future.

From the eldest son to the youngest who had just held his coming-of-age ceremony, they raised their swords. The sight of them remaining behind to buy time for their incompetent father to escape couldn't be forgotten.

"To think a father fled terrified without even looking back..."

"Hey, it's already too late! Calm yourself!"

Neighboring nobles struggled to stop the Baron trying to turn his horse's head to return to the battlefield.

"Just what on earth is that massive warhorse? Where in the world is there a warhorse that rams into and launches a horse ridden by a knight?"

Eugene's first appearance was far too impressive. A massive monster that made sturdy Sicilyn warhorses look like foals.

"The reputation loudly proclaiming him the Monster Punisher of the Bonyard was a false rumor. Rather than a Monster Punisher, he was a Monster Tamer. That definitely is a demonic beast summoned from hell!"

Within the despondency, the nobles babbled meaningless words. Among them, someone spoke seriously.

"Could it truly be divine punishment?"

It was a thought everyone here had brought to mind internally at least once.

"Keep quiet. If it enters His Excellency the Count's ears..."

"Hmph! Look at that pathetic state. Whatever we chatter about here, do you think it would even reach his ears?"

When fighting, victors and losers dividing is a natural occurrence. Showing a resolute figure as a leader and instilling courage in subordinates even when losing is a monarch's virtue.

Mumble mumble mumble.

The figure the Count was displaying now was utterly disappointing to his vassals.

"Did you all not see how that knight fought? Sir Ashurram and that Mikkel bastard were both great knights, but they departed for the afterlife without even properly matching weapons once."

"I have never seen such a ferocious and robust cavalry. It looked as if venomous snakes were riding on top of the horses."

"With such a monster scab leading while running amok in the front lines, naturally they would have nothing to fear."

In wars with cold weapons, momentum and morale were more important than anything. Sometimes the heat produced by a single hero could overturn the battlefield's dynamic.

"Rumors circulate that the Apostle State received a Great Warrior from the gods."

If events exceeding human comprehension occurred, people of this era commonly linked them to gods. Eugene's combat displayed on today's battlefield was precisely so.

'Perhaps the Count truly was a heathen worshipper.'

While the Count lost reasoning, doubts and disappointment were growing like poisonous mushrooms in the vassals' hearts.

Thinking perhaps their Lord truly got struck by God's iron mace.

What drove a wedge into the nobles' turbulent atmosphere was a massive chunk of rock and the shadow it cast.

"..."

"What is that?"

"It's a first for me seeing it too. There should only be fields here."

The nobles were all well-versed in the island's geography. Bouncing around receiving invitations from other families for weddings, funerals, and various events naturally widens one's connections.

Where nothing should be normally, a massive castle had seated itself. The presence and imposing pressure the castle emitted was far too intense to merely be a dream.

"The Moving Castle. That legend was true."

The old knight muttered with a blank face.

He had visited the Bonyard in his youth. The impressive fountain he saw back then had become reality and descended before his eyes.

Rumble.

The castle gates, which wouldn't budge regardless of whatever siege weapon in the world was brought forth, slowly opened.

From within, mounted cavalry and Dwarf heavy infantrymen were launching a sortie.

A noble with good eyes saw the leading rider licking his lips as if he struck gold.

Generally they were aged warriors, but not a single one looked weak.

Even though their muscles had diminished, countless combat experiences were condensed like the highly toxic venom of a hibernating viper.

* * *

A brief moment before the Count arrived, inside the Moving Castle.

"Enemy remnants discovered! They are currently coming straight this way!"

"We cut off their scouts. They are likely approaching unaware our castle is ahead."

Urgent news flew in from light cavalry scouting widely around the castle. The Guard Captain clenched his fist tightly as if the time had finally come.

"Did you figure out what kind of bastards they are?"

"Apologies. I thought we might lose them while trying to capture the scouts alive, so we just shot them to death."

"It's fine. You have carried out your assigned duties sufficiently well."

The Guard Captain patted the shoulder of the scout who excellently carried out his mission.

"Issue the mobilization order!"

The mobilization order the residents were educated on under Eugene's rule was proclaimed for real combat for the first time.

"Mom."

"Everyone go into your rooms! Rachel! Look after your younger siblings well!"

Women who had retired as warriors and built families as mothers and wives.

They all grabbed the bows hung in their living rooms. Souvenirs and dowries brought along when retiring as warriors.

"I will fight too..."

"Don't act up you bitch!"

"Ouch."

An affectionate chop dropped onto the forehead of a girl in her mid-teens.

The appearances of the women gathering from everywhere differed according to their working fields. However, the point that they were all healthy beauties and gripped bows in their hands was identical.

It showed that every bow had been maintained steadily even after retirement seeing they were in excellent condition.

"Mother!"

"Do not think of stopping me. Because I can draw around 50 arrows without resting. Despite what I look like, I am no less than existing active duty soldiers."

A mother-in-law standing side-by-side with her daughter-in-law raising five children. Due to racial characteristics, the mother-in-law also lacked any feeling of aging and overflowed with mature middle-aged beauty.

Though slight nasolabial folds had formed, everywhere else remained firm and her back upright. Though somewhat faded, her abs remained in good health as well.

"Your back might give out doing that. No medicine works if you injure your back at that age."

"I ride the old man far more often than he climbs on top of me you wench!"

The married women's banter lacked hesitation.

"This is the secret to maintaining abs even at this age."

Laughter erupted from everywhere at the sight of her obscenely wiggling her waist.

There is no such thing as fear on the faces of the women wrapping quivers and short swords around their waists. Rather, the faint outline of the joy of combat they'll taste after a long time glimmered.

Dwarves previously engaged in tasks hither and thither also sprinted to the armory.

"Welcome, Seniors."

The guards resting on standby issued weapons and armors.

"I wonder if I'll pound heads instead of lumps of iron after a long time?"

"What did you come for when you're missing a leg? Stay out."

"Shut up. A prosthetic leg is sufficient if it's shooting a crossbow."

Dwarves themselves are innately sturdy and individuals who do many labor-intensive jobs. Though having stepped back from the front lines, they maintain physical conditions closest to active duty out of all the reserves.

Dark Elf men headed to the stables within the castle. It was their assembly point organized as reserve cavalry.

Equipment had already been moved there anticipating the mobilization order at the point of sending off to Sicily based on the mobilization plan.

The horse keepers blew whistles as soon as they heard the mobilization order proclaimed.

Hiiiiiing!

Pu-hing!

Warhorses resting hither and thither stood smartly and lined up just as trained.

"This way!"

Reserves entering the stables were guided by active duty soldiers on standby. Bows and arrows were already set on the handed-over armors and horse saddles.

"Everyone remembers the rules of engagement right?"

"Close combat is not permitted! Ranged support for the guards!"

As a one-eyed man shouted, everyone repeated the order while loading saddles onto the horses' backs.

A reserve cavalry unit comprised of Dark Elf men ostensibly ranging from their 30s to 60s was readied.

Though seniors and juniors possessing different times, different battlefields, and different experiences, they picked up weapons as equal brothers-in-arms for now at least.

"Matisse. You've grown this much while I wasn't looking."

Retired old soldiers stroked fully grown horses. It was the youngest daughter borne by the warhorse he rode in the past when he was active duty.

"I look forward to working with you."

Purruruk.

Matisse also rubbed its cheek against him. Because it remembered the owner's touch who stroked it together with its mother when it was young.

Compared to other laughing and chatting reserves, the horse archers generally wore stiff faces.

Even though the equipment brought when retiring was exactly the same, feeling the flow of time felt cruel upon seeing only the warhorses had changed.

Because the comrades sharing joys and sorrows roaming the battlefield together are dead and gone now.

It took a mere 20 minutes for the Moving Castle, which had only around 150 garrison troops remaining, to reorganize into a large-scale army handling one wing of the expeditionary force.

"Let's go! Let's go wrap the present we'll gift to the Lord!"

"Uwoooooh!"

At the Guard Captain's shout, everyone roared crashing their weapons and shields, and the gates opened.

However, not a single one among them could even imagine.

That the present delivering itself straight from the producer was the most precious treasure in this war. Its value was far higher than the totality of spoils the victoriously triumphing master acquired from the battle.

* * *

"Welcome, my Lord. I congratulate your great achievement!"

"You really caught them?"

Eugene, who marched his army back to the Moving Castle, let out a hollow laugh at the sight of nobles tied continuously like a string of dried corvinas.

A guard squad and old veterans with fierce glares were welcoming their master.

"We did lose a few nobles, but we captured the Count of Sicily alive."

"Excellent. You have done incredibly well."

Eugene praised the Guard Captain. He didn't expect the first mobilization order to be carried out flawlessly to this extent.

"Reward the scouts as well. If they had not cut off the enemy scouts, we couldn't have caught them this easily."

"Of course, my Lord."

As Eugene glanced over, the nobles of Sicily were halved into two groups.

Those lamenting with heads bowed deeply, and those carefully examining Eugene's complexion.

In the latter's case, it plainly revealed they were slowly contemplating standing under another flag.

They were mostly nobles originating from knights, and despite contemplating switching lords, not much subservience or self-preservation was visible.

Clench.

On their faces gripping their fists, a craving seemingly wanting conviction lingered. A concept such as a revelation, or the wind of destiny.

'Strong. A truly strong one.'

A Great Lord looking down mounted upon a monster-like warhorse.

'Who else on earth was there guiding those tenacious Dwarves and arrogant Dark Elves by harmonizing them like this?'

They had clearly seen him running rampant on the battlefield, and that valor was still vivid.

He looked far too contrasting with the greedy and weak Count of Sicily.

Flutter, flutter.

The figure holding a terrifyingly massive flail with a black Warg cloak fluttering.

Seeing that, they felt their blood boiling as warriors before being nobles. They were instinctively being drawn to true strength.

Suddenly, a severe hunger was felt. The desire to stand behind that knight and charge toward enemy lines slowly bloomed.