WeTried Translations x Flame Comics
Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 151: Waiting for Winter (5)
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* * *
“Your Majesty! Enemy forces have appeared to the rear!”
“The rear? Where did they come from? How? Who are they?”
“They bear no banners, so it is difficult to identify them...”
“No banners? How many are there that they would charge without banners?”
At Count Etouan’s question, the adjutant hesitated. Reporting the appearance of enemy troops was only proper, but the number was rather embarrassing to explain.
“Sixty... All cavalry, and the observers say they are knights.”
“Sixty? Did you say sixty, not six hundred or six thousand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Ha, hahaha, ahahahaha!!”
Etouan slapped his knee and burst out laughing. Either Guillaume had failed, or Jean Beltua had.
Somewhere beyond the route he had taken, a handful of nobles must have noticed Saint Matilene was in danger and rushed here with only their cavalry.
Fools. What could such a small force possibly accomplish?
They must have planned to boast before the royal family once the battle ended and the rebellion was suppressed. A clever little scheme. A pathetic attempt to gain influence in central politics. They were probably no more than country barons.
But lowly provincial nobles remained in such positions because they could not read the tide of the times. Etouan laughed.
“Come. Let us go see them ourselves.”
Etouan left the command tent and mounted his horse. His adjutant and knights formed an escort around him.
Far away, cavalry charged toward them with the first light of dawn at their backs. Countless soldiers stood between them, gripping spears and swords.
“This is good. I can use this to weed out the disloyal men who oppose my royal authority. Give them a proper funeral. Is this not the end of those old-fashioned patriots?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
At the adjutant’s nod, the cavalry waiting in the rear rode out. There were a little over two hundred of them. Those sixty attackers were insignificant things, bound to vanish in a single clash.
The vermin clinging to the old royal family and its order would gutter out like candles, and his reign would rise like the sun.
Etouan watched with delight as the last vermin in this country made their final wriggles.
Then the leader of those vermin finally collided with his knights.
* * *
A skilled cavalryman was said to become one with their warhorse. When the rider’s movements and the horse’s responses perfectly matched, the time needed to accelerate into a gallop was drastically reduced.
The horse moved in the intended direction and ran as its rider wished. Before the rider could even give an order, an intelligent horse would often act first.
A sufficiently skilled rider knew how to persuade a horse. The one on your back is the strongest being in this world, so you can run wild without fear. You are safe.
These timid animals were frightened by nothing more than charging toward enemy lines, so the process was essential.
But the Annihilation Unit did not persuade.
Ivan preferred to prove it through action.
-Crunch!!
There was not even time to scream. The collision of two cavalrymen galloping at full speed toward each other lasted only an instant.
Even if there had been more time, the outcome would not have changed. The impact was too great for human flesh and organs to endure. The rider’s lungs burst before a breath could escape, and death came silently.
-Clang!!
Whenever a sword flashed in the sunlight, a cavalryman tumbled violently across the ground. Fallen riders tangled with the cavalry charging behind them and collided again. Amid it all, people and horses were becoming neatly minced piles of meat.
Ivan trampled over all of it as he rode on.
“Run.”
He whispered into his horse’s ear. Ivan leaned low, gripping the saddle with only the strength of his legs as he swung both arms.
To his left, he caught the shaft of a charging knight’s lance and wrenched it away by sheer force. His horse staggered, nearly twisting a leg under the tremendous strain.
But it did not stop.
It trusted its rider completely. One could even say it feared him.
Ivan’s left hand gripped the lance shaft and tore the opposing rider from the saddle. The knight rose into the air with a blank expression.
A muscular adult man in full armor easily weighed over a hundred and fifty kilograms. Add the speed of the charge, and an even greater force had been concentrated at a single point.
Ivan endured it with one hand and pulled the knight from the horse. In that unreal moment of suspension, the nameless knight was flung away with a horrified expression.
-Crunch!!
The fallen knight was crushed beneath the hooves of the cavalry following behind. Ivan did not spare a glance as he swung his left arm.
-Clang, thump!!
Without slowing, he drove the lance forward like a beam of light. One approaching knight was crushed when the shaft pierced the visor of the helmet. The skull, reduced to scraps of flesh, burst apart as if struck by a bomb.
At the same time, Ivan swung the sword in his right hand at another knight’s shoulder guard. The straps were cleanly severed, and the collarbone, acromion, and humerus beneath shattered in a single blow.
The arm was torn away by the impact. The rider had likely died without pain, losing balance and falling from the horse the moment the reins slipped free.
“Trust me.”
Ivan shook his foggy head, forcing his scattered focus back together as he whispered without pause. The horse ran on without answering, foam spilling from its mouth.
What you should fear is not the spears and swords ahead, nor the cavalry, nor those countless soldiers.
It is only the person riding on your back right now.
He carved that truth into the animal’s small mind. He whispered that it was completely safe under his protection.
Then he proved it through action alone.
* * *
“What...?”
Etouan’s expression stiffened as he watched the knights charge in a wedge formation. His cavalry was being smashed apart.
They might have been stationed in the rear, but that did not make them any less knights. Every one of them was a lesser noble, a weapon honed on the battlefield.
They were knights of Tilles. Demons of the plains, renowned throughout the Allied Kingdoms.
And they were breaking. Literally being crushed.
The charge of roughly sixty cavalrymen was nothing more than a futile struggle that could never reach him, yet...
A chilling fear pierced his heart like an arrow.
The final death rattle of this country had loosed an arrow at him. It flew straight toward him in the shape of a small wedge, mounted on horseback.
“Stop them. Stop them!! Cavalry! Intercept them!”
“Steady yourself, Your Majesty! They are only a handful of soldiers!”
The adjutant appeared calmer. The distance was great, and countless soldiers stood between them, but the adjutant’s prowess also fell short of Count Etouan’s.
The adjutant could not see the face of the knight charging at them head-on. It was too far away to make out. It must have looked like nothing more than a cloud of dust.
Etouan could see it clearly.
He could see the knight butchering his knights as he charged forward. Even the fierce blue light burning beneath the helmet.
The helmet.
He had to open that helmet. He had to see that face.
“Gilles Ver de Etakrikh... He was alive...!?”
“Your Majesty, compose yourself! If that man were Gilles Ver, there would be no reason for him to lead a detached force here! Those following behind him are not the Eastern Knights!”
“Open your eyes and look properly! Who else in this country fights like that?”
* * *
The cavalry scattered, and the plains came into view again. All Ivan could hear was the harsh pounding of his crazily overheated heart.
He could hear neither the soldiers’ shouts nor the horses’ ragged breaths. Darkness crept in at the edge of his vision. Only the front remained clear.
The senses that had once read every current of wind against the finest hairs had already dulled. All he could feel was the cumbersome weight of his armor.
He was tired.
He was certainly on the verge of collapse. Everything he had eaten and drunk, the mana he had left, even the endurance of his nervous system, were all pitifully low. If he closed his eyes, he would faint and sleep for ten full days.
Then he simply would not close his eyes.
Ivan rode on, staring straight ahead with bloodshot eyes.
‘How many are left?’
It was difficult to know how many of those who had followed him survived. He had no time to turn his head, even for a moment. Still, he expected half had died in that last collision.
Even he, who had faced the heaviest assault, had not escaped injury.
‘It’s in the way.’
He broke the lance shaft that had pierced his abdomen at an angle with the edge of his hand. He could not pull it out. He did not know how badly his organs had been damaged, but he might die from blood loss.
At this point, even a single drop of blood was precious. The calories and mana contained in that blood might let him swing his arm one more time.
Every injury reduced one’s ability to continue fighting by a measurable amount. It was unforgivable. So he had to take only the wounds that were absolutely necessary and charge within a precisely calculated battle situation.
His vision blurred.
-Crunch.
He bit the inside of his cheek, then quickly raised his arm and took a mouthful of healing potion. A sharp pain filled his mouth. It cleared his head for a moment. Not a bad emergency measure.
As long as he was not dead yet, there was no reason to stop.
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Footnotes:
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