WeTried Translations

Translator: Nemui

Editor: Nemui

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 149: Decisive Battle (9)
Battle in the Forest (2)

──────

Even Friedrich was honestly surprised that around ten enemy rangers had slipped through the attacks of two allied battalions and reached headquarters.

When he looked back that way, the one leading the enemy ranger group was that same commander, the man with abnormal skill. If the men following him were elites capable of keeping up with him, then they certainly might make it this far. On the commander's breastplate was a design that looked like a family crest, one that had not been there in their previous battle. Had his achievements until now raised him from mercenary to Arelian noble?

Without Friedrich needing to give an order, Gregor and the headquarters direct guard knights, including Yurika, immediately moved to intercept. In addition, perhaps unable to simply watch, one platoon from the very rear of the first infantry battalion, which was waiting at the front in preparation for the charge, came to assist.

A fierce battle unfolded.

As expected of elites who had reached this far, each enemy ranger was skilled. Leaving aside the direct guard knights, the infantry platoon, which included recruits, was slightly lacking in strength. Casualties appeared one after another. It was a fight between a little over thirty and a little over ten, and yet in melee combat on poor footing in the forest, they could not fully overwhelm the enemy even though the enemy should have been outnumbered.

The most troublesome one was, as expected, the enemy commander. At first he collided with Gregor, but when two of his subordinates attacked Gregor together and began checking him, the enemy commander used that chance to leave the side of that powerful opponent and try to approach Friedrich. The infantry tried to half surround him and stop him, but even several men together seemed barely able to hold him in place.

Since missing the timing would weaken the effect of their flank attack on the enemy main force, Friedrich did not want to disturb the charge posture of the first infantry battalion facing forward too much. But if he, the regimental commander, had his head taken before the charge, there would be no point. Should he send another platoon or so to assist?

In the few moments Friedrich spent hesitating over that decision, the battle moved. With a terrifying assault, the enemy commander scattered the infantry surrounding him and broke through the half encirclement.

Then he came toward Friedrich.

Friedrich, who had been looking back, now turned his whole body around. In his hand was a loaded crossbow.

Holding it beside his face so his line of sight and the tip of the crossbow aligned, he took aim at the enemy commander charging straight toward him.

He pulled the trigger.

In that instant, the enemy commander twisted his upper body. By the time Friedrich recognized the motion, his finger on the trigger had already moved.

The released bolt grazed the enemy commander's breastplate, its path changed, and it flew diagonally upward.

It missed.

All of that happened in an instant. Relying probably on nothing but instinct, the enemy commander had twisted his body at the same moment Friedrich fired, and in the end avoided the high-speed crossbow bolt.

It was an almost inhuman feat.

Friedrich clicked his tongue and threw the crossbow away. There was no chance he could reload in time.

Then he drew his sword. The sword his late father had given him at the same time he was knighted.

The enemy commander was a monster-like expert, skilled enough to fight Gregor and Yurika at the same time. Against him stood Friedrich, who had trained steadily until now, but whose skill as a knight was still below average.

Could he endure even one strike, even one second, against this enemy?

Strength gathered in the hand gripping his sword, and his expression naturally sharpened.

The enemy commander raised his mountain blade and was about to cut him down.

From behind him, Yurika leapt, half turned in the air, and unleashed a tremendous slash with the momentum of that rotation.

Her long hair spread with the spin like black flower petals. Through the gaps, eyes gleaming ferociously appeared. Like a beast, she was savage, terrifying, and beautiful.

The enemy commander, who seemed to have fixed his aim on Friedrich and focused his awareness there, sensed her presence just before Yurika's slash reached his neck and dropped low. The sharp strike, so fast that Friedrich could hear it cut the air, only sliced the tips of the enemy commander's hair.

But the enemy commander's attack against Friedrich failed, and as a result Friedrich was saved.

To Friedrich's eyes, Yurika looked like a guardian angel.

His own black guardian angel.

......

Then Yurika faced the commander of the enemy ranger unit.

As expected, the enemy commander was terrifyingly strong. Each of his attacks was sharp, and the shock when sword and mountain blade collided was tremendous. On top of that, he used irregular and heretical attacks, such as sweeping at her legs from an extremely low posture and leaping while kicking off tree trunks.

Yurika confronted him with an equally heretical fighting style. Moving with catlike suppleness, she attacked the enemy's vital points with strikes that had almost no preparatory motion, aiming for a decisive blow.

But the enemy commander displayed extraordinary instinct and blocked all of them. The next moment, he moved again into a frighteningly sharp attack. The time she spent attacking was clearly shorter than the time she spent forced entirely onto defense.

Even Yurika, praised as a genius in melee combat, felt that if she did not concentrate every nerve, she would not even be able to buy time. If her focus lapsed for even an instant, she would lose. She truly thought that.

Even so.

"...!"

When she thrust through the small gap between his fierce attacks, the enemy commander turned to defense. She did not miss those few moments and piled on more attacks.

She had no intention of losing.

Behind her was the person she had to protect, the person she loved.

Friedrich. My Friedrich.

You rose from an orphan of Volga to become the successor of a hero. The heavy responsibility you bear, the resolve you hold, I cannot accurately imagine or understand all of it. Surely I never will.

That is why, at least, I will be beside you where you stand, and I will do what you do with you. From now on, always.

You said it to me. That you wanted me to marry you. That you wanted me to become your wife. That you loved me.

So I will survive this decisive battle, live through it, and be joined with you. I will bear the same family name as you, stand beside you forever as your partner.

I will let no one interfere. I will cut down and kill everything that stands before you and me from here on. For that, I will become your sword. That alone is reason enough for me to fight.

The enemy standing before me now, aiming for you, will die too. No matter how strong he is, I will kill him with these hands.

"Tch!"

The enemy commander shook off Yurika's flurry of attacks as if annoyed, retreated several steps, and regained his posture. Instead of forcing herself to attack into that opening, Yurika also withdrew, falling back to right in front of Friedrich.

The distance between them opened briefly, and they glared at each other.

The enemy commander readied his mountain blade again, preparing for the next clash.

Yurika thought. Against her, who fought with desperate resolve, the enemy commander still had room to spare. In both ability and stamina, she was inferior. At this rate, nothing would change.

Was there a move that could break the situation? In the space of one breath, she cast her eyes around the area. What rose in her mind was something from long ago, before she had been knighted, when she had received daily training from Squire Captain Gregor. A lesson Gregor had given her.

Throwing your sword is the last resort when you are truly cornered and desperate.

In other words, when the time came, she could throw her sword.

With almost no preparatory motion, as usual, Yurika sharply threw the sword she held.

"!?"

The enemy commander had likely prepared only for another exchange of blades. Faced with a sword flying beyond the range he had expected, he did seem surprised.

In that instant of opening, Yurika moved again. She drew the dagger that served as her spare weapon, gripped it in a reverse hold, and ran. As if chasing after the sword, she closed on the enemy commander.

Then she leapt.

......

What a reckless move.

Ivar felt astonishment and exasperation at the ridiculous attack from the young knight before him, an enemy he had crossed blades with twice before.

It was true that he had not expected a sword to be thrown at him here. He had been caught off guard.

But however sharply it flew, it was still a sword thrown by human hands. Compared to avoiding an arrow by relying on instinct, blocking it was easy.

Using beastlike reflexes, he swung his mountain blade and calmly knocked the sword away. Then he waited calmly for the enemy knight who leapt at him with her hair disheveled and a dagger held in reverse grip. He held his blade facing straight ahead.

Once she leapt, the enemy knight could no longer change her path. It was as if she were throwing herself onto his blade. Ivar had the advantage in weapon reach and arm length. Before the enemy knight's dagger reached him, his beloved blade would pierce her heart through her leather armor.

He won.

The instant he became certain of that, Ivar's right arm was blown away.

Without thinking, he lowered his eyes to his hand. His right arm had vanished from the elbow down, severed along with the mountain blade he had been holding and flying through the air. Blood sprayed from the cut. A sword had bitten into his left arm as well, its blade stopped after cutting through more than half of flesh and bone.

It took him an instant to realize that another sword had been thrown at him from the blind spot at his side.

Ivar looked to his right. There stood the middle-aged knight who served as Count Hosenfeld's close aide. He had no sword in his hand, and from his posture, Ivar understood that he was the one who had just thrown it.

Then he faced forward again.

That young knight was reaching him now.

He had no mountain blade. No right arm. His left arm would not move. There was no way to block the enemy's attack.

"Haaaaaaaaaaah!"

With a beastlike scream, the young knight leapt at him, and her dagger caught Ivar's neck. The blade sank in to the base, then was pulled out.

He understood from the heat that blood was spraying.

The young knight leapt away, and Ivar collapsed to his knees.

His body tilted, and his surroundings entered his vision. Perhaps because they were outnumbered, or perhaps because the battle had taken too much time and stripped away the momentum of their charge, the rangers he had brought this far had stalled and could no longer advance.

And he, their commander, was about to die.

Taking Count Hosenfeld was no longer possible.

He saw Acht turn toward him, his face changing color. With his eyes and a small motion of his neck, Ivar told him to retreat.

Acht was an excellent warrior as well. He immediately understood that his lord could no longer return. With a frustrated expression, he nodded and shouted to their comrades. He was likely ordering retreat, but Ivar could no longer hear what he was saying.

Life drained from his body.

All sound receded, and his vision hazed white.

"..."

Well done.

Though he had lost the homeland his ancestors had held for generations, he had gained a new homeland on this western continent. He had given the Velec tribe a land where they could live in peace, and left his family a title and wealth. Until his young son grew, Acht and the other trusted subordinates would surely support him.

He was curious about the course of the decisive battle. It would be a lie to say he was not worried about what would become of the Kingdom of Arelia after the war, and what would become of the Barony of Velec and all its people.

But if he began wishing for more, there would be no end.

At the very least, from a situation where he had lost everything, he had led everyone this far. Surely he could be forgiven for thinking that was enough.

His long, painful, and proud duty had ended.

Wrapped in relief, Ivar's consciousness vanished forever.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried