WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Abood

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◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 10: Bandits Invasion (2)

"Alright! We’ve cut off the tail of those bandit bastards! Total success!"

"Idiot! Don’t stop now! Keep throwing!"

Just beside the southern gate, on the second floor of an inn facing the main road, a group of local men shouted as they looked down at the bandits through the windows.

It wasn’t just this inn. Every building lining the main road had a handful of men stationed on rooftops or second-story balconies.

Among them were women too. They could’ve stayed hidden with the children, the elderly or even the sick, but they’d stepped forward, choosing to stand and fight.

"Okay, it’s lit! Throw it now!"

A fearless middle-aged woman, holding a lamp to ignite the fuse, gave the call. Her husband, a farmer, hurled a bottle from the window.

The bottle was filled with liquor, not just any wine or beer. This was expensive high-proof distilled spirit. A cloth wick stuck out from the neck, its tip already lit with flame.

The bottle flew in an arc and landed right in the center of the bandits' formation. Trapped with no way out, they had nowhere to run. It struck one of them square on the head and shattered. In the next instant, flames burst outward.

The unlucky bandit, engulfed in fire from head to toe, let out a blood-curdling scream and writhed on the ground. Others nearby, splashed by the spreading flames, shrieked in terror.

Bottle after bottle flew into the long stretch of the bandits' line. With each one, more fire was born.

"Ha ha ha! That’s it, keep going! Look at them burn!"

"That’s the steward’s precious stash of distilled liquor for you!"

"One shot costs hundreds of Slone. What a luxurious way to strike. Take that!"

The source of the expensive spirits was none other than the cellar beneath Steward Hermann’s manor, abandoned when he fled Volga.

Even the cheapest bottle of that liquor was worth a laborer’s week of wages. Hermann had been collecting it since the days of his father, the previous steward. It wasn’t for drinking. The collection itself had become his hobby.

Friedrich, who had occasionally worked under Hermann and spoken with him often, knew about the stash. He also knew from books that distilled spirits burned well and that they could be used as weapons.

The collection, built over decades by Hermann and his father, held more than 150 bottles. Now, they were nothing more than firebombs. Bottle after bottle flew from windows and rooftops, bursting into flame across the street below.

"Tch, that’s both of mine gone already."

"Doesn’t mean you get to rest. No bottles left? Then throw stones."

Each resident had only one or two bottles. Once they were spent, people grabbed chunks of stone torn from the plaza’s paving and hurled those instead.

・・・・・・

"Boss! What do we do? They're up high, we can't even fight back properly!"

"If this keeps up, we’re all dead!"

...Move forward. We’ll charge straight through the main road!"

Their retreat was already cut off, flames from the firebombs sealing the way back. The only option left was to push ahead toward the central plaza and take down whoever was waiting there. In close quarters, against civilians, their odds were still good.

With that judgment, Georgk gave the order. His men sprinted all at once. These were hardened mercenaries, veterans of countless battles. Once an order was given, they moved without hesitation.

"Goddamn it... What is this place..."

At the head of the charge, Georgk cursed under his breath.

He couldn’t say he had been caught completely off guard, but expecting this level of resistance from a backwater city’s residents was beyond reason.

This was supposed to be a small, rural town. Any potential fighters should have already been wiped out. The steward wasn’t known to be the kind of man who could rally people in a crisis either. So why were they prepared with such effective tactics and vicious weapons?

To organize untrained civilians with no military experience or education, to issue clear commands in a short amount of time, to prepare for battle and execute a plan like this, it would take someone with solid knowledge of warfare, sharp decision-making, and an almost unnatural ability to persuade the people.

Was there a battle-hardened noble staying here? Nothing else would explain this situation.

Georgk pushed forward, weaving through the rain of attacks while turning over unanswerable thoughts in his mind. There was no time to look back. All he could do was hope that as many of his men as possible would make it through the main road.

Before long, he broke past the assault raining down from the roadside buildings and stepped into the plaza.

The plaza was likely the only place in the city where the ground had been completely paved with stone. More than half of it had been torn up, likely to use the stones as throwing weapons.

And waiting in that plaza was a semicircular formation. Around fifty men stood in a half-ring, weapons in hand, ready for them.

Some still held firebombs, while others gripped makeshift spears made by tying knives to wooden poles. There were also farming tools like hoes and spades repurposed as weapons. Many of the men holding them clearly showed signs of fear or anxiety. Some had legs that were visibly shaking.

They weren’t real soldiers. Georgk could see that immediately. These men had never known true battle. He turned back to check behind him. Around thirty of his men had survived. Their numbers had dropped, but it would be enough.

If they broke through at the right spot and collapsed the formation, dragging them into close combat, these trembling weaklings would fall like flies. If it came to that, victory was theirs.

“Heh. Quite a few of you made it through.”

As Georgk pondered his next move, someone stepped out from the center of the semicircle formation.

It was a young man. He had striking crimson hair, and even his eyes were red. He looked like he was still in his teens. In his right hand, he held a lit firebomb. At his side stood a young woman gripping a sword.

"...So you're the one in charge?"

Who was this? Far too young to be the steward of this city. His clothes didn't resemble those of a noble either. Maybe the son of one of the knights who led the original suppression force?

Even as Georgk glared at him, the boy showed no sign of fear, at least not outwardly. He stared back straight and steady, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.

"That's right. After roasting you with all that fire, I figured you'd be wiped out by now. But you're tougher than I thought. Like cockroaches."

"You little...!"

They got played by a damn kid. The blood rushed to Georgk’s head. He could feel the surge of killing intent behind him as his men tensed up all at once.

"Kill that brat! Take him out and the rest of these townsfolk will fall apart!"

With that shout, Georgk led the charge himself. His men roared behind him and rushed in.

Sword in hand, he lunged straight for the red-haired commander, only to stumble midway.

"What the...?!"

More precisely, the ground gave way beneath him. The moment his foot landed on a section where the paving stones had been removed, the earth swallowed it, and he sank down past his knee.

A pitfall. Not very deep, but as his right foot struck the bottom, the full weight of the fall slammed down on it. Pain shot up his ankle like a bolt of lightning.

He pitched forward and crashed to the ground. His sword slipped from his grasp and skidded ahead of him. Then someone behind him, one of his own men, kicked him square in the back, unable to stop in time. That soldier tripped over Georgk and went down hard.

"Aaaagh!"

"Shit!"

"What the hell's going on?!"

Turning toward the sound, Georgk saw that his men were falling into traps one after another. Shallow pits had been dug in multiple places where the paving stones had been torn up.

The ground where the stones had been removed was rough and scattered with loose dirt. On top of that, Georgk and the others had charged forward with their blood boiling, so none of them noticed the traps.

The all-out rush to take down the red-haired commander had lost its momentum and come to a halt. Some had been caught in the pits. Others had tripped over their comrades. Some stopped suddenly to avoid the traps, only to be crashed into by the confused soldiers behind them. It was a complete mess.

"Throw it!"

The voice of the crimson-haired boy rang out as Georgk looked up.

The boy had a firebomb raised in his hand, staring directly at him.

"You bastard!!"

Georgk shouted just as the boy hurled the bottle.

・・・・・・

As Friedrich gave the order, he hurled the firebomb in his hand straight at the large man who appeared to be the leader of the bandits.

The moment the flames swallowed the leader from view, more than a dozen residents holding firebombs followed suit. One after another, they threw them into the chaos.

"Aaaagh!"

"Wait, stop! No—!"

"Somebody help me!"

The remaining bandits, frozen in place by confusion, were struck mid-movement. One by one, they were engulfed in fire. The stench of burning flesh and the screams of the dying spread through the square.

Some, by luck, weren't hit by the fire. Others managed to push through the wall of flame. But even they couldn’t put up much of a fight. Most of the bandits wielded swords, and facing a half-encirclement of spears and long-handled farm tools left them struggling to close the distance.

"Shit! Don’t come any closer!"

"Stay back! Stop! Don’t move from there!"

The men holding their weapons shouted with all they had, trying to keep the remaining bandits at bay. Among those holding the half-circle formation was Bruno, his face twisted in desperation.

Did we win? Friedrich glanced around, that thought just starting to take shape when it happened.

"Get back!"

Yurika lunged at him and pulled him backward by force.

"Uoooooooh!"

Almost at the same moment, the flames in front of them split apart, and the bandit leader came charging out, roaring like a beast.

"What, he’s still alive?"

Friedrich muttered with a stiffened expression. The bandit leader shot him a fierce glare. He slapped out the flames still burning on his right arm with his left hand, grabbed a sword lying nearby, and turned back toward Friedrich.

Yurika stepped forward, placing herself between them as Friedrich froze.

"...Girl, move. You'll die."

"Huh? Who do you think you’re talking to?"

Her voice was sharp with annoyance, and without a hint of warning, she moved.

“...!”

The way she moved made it clear to the bandit leader that she wasn't just some little girl. She launched a sharp, fast strike straight at him. His eyes widened in surprise, but he still managed to catch the blow. He blocked the next two as well, stopping Yurika’s raw, forceful attacks.

By the third exchange, Yurika instinctively realized he was protecting his right leg.

She dropped her posture and lunged to the side.

As she circled to his left, the leader hesitated. Moving with his right leg as the pivot would hurt. That moment of hesitation was all she needed.

He raised his sword to block, but his form was off. Yurika’s blade swept in and struck his right hand, sending his weapon flying along with several of his fingers.

"Shit! Wait, just—"

Before he could finish, Yurika shifted her stance and drove her sword forward. It pierced through his outstretched left hand and plunged deep into his chest. A fatal blow.

As she pulled the blade free, the leader collapsed to his knees.

Blood poured from his mouth. But he didn’t look at Yurika, the one who had struck him down. His eyes fixed on Friedrich standing behind her.

“...Kid. Who the hell are you?”

Friedrich said nothing at first. He stood over the fallen leader, looking down in silence.

After confirming that only Yurika and the leader were close enough to hear his voice, he finally spoke.

"Friedrich. A former orphan. Just a commoner."

The leader’s eyes widened in surprise. Then, a faint smile formed on his lips at the very end.

"What a hell of… a guy you are."

With that quiet murmur, his head slumped forward. He never moved again.

Footnotes:

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