WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 160
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Many people have pondered it. Many still do. How does one win a fight?
Some of them wrote down their thoughts. Do this and that to win. But when you read those writings, they say things that are absurdly obvious.
When attacking, have at least three times as many troops as the enemy. Use your strengths to strike the enemy’s weaknesses. Things like that.
Wouldn’t about half the people reading think, Who doesn’t know that? Is that why we’re struggling?
That half falls away. Then they go around pretending to know things. They act as if it is nothing, though they know nothing.
But the other half is different. They think about why that person said such things. Of them, half find the answer, while the other half do not.
Those who find it finally understand. Ah. Everyone knows it, but when an actual battle begins, they forget it completely.
In the end, you only learn by facing it yourself. When you stake your life and fight, countless things come across through feeling alone.
Only a few survive and grasp the essence of victory.
Then, if you ask them to put that realization into words, they have little to say. In the end, they too can only say obvious things.
And then people ask again to be told the secret to success. Don’t you already know? Why ask when you know? If you are looking for an easy way, there is only one thing to say.
There is no such thing.
Ricart had read books on strategy, tactics, and military theory now and then. All he had thought after reading them was, So this is the kind of battle this person fought.
Some emphasized momentum, while others emphasized meticulous planning. They were all right. They were simply explaining things based on what they had experienced.
Ricart respected every author of those books. But that was all. He respected them, but did not particularly follow what they said. There might be similarities, but he did not care much about them.
Ricart trusted what he had experienced himself, along with the skills and realizations that had steadily become more refined. That trust had never betrayed him.
So if someone asked Ricart how to win, he had only one answer.
“Observe first. Set up camp here and let the soldiers rest. The knights should inspect upstream and downstream.”
Ricart spoke as he walked the riverbank with the knights. Thick brush grew beside the river. Under ordinary circumstances, it was not a place anyone would step into while sober.
The enemy stood on the other side. Beyond the brush, they had driven stakes into the ground and set up a long line of obstacles to prevent a crossing.
The enemy watched Ricart’s side from across the river.
“Are we crossing the river?” Raimund asked.
“If we want to win, we have to cross it, don’t we?”
“The water reaches the chest. More than half our men will be swept away while crossing, and they’ll be showered with arrows.”
“I’m not reckless enough to cross without a plan. I’m not telling you to cross here. Still, it would be good if the enemy believed that we would.”
Raimund nodded as if understanding. There was no need for many words. The knights had extensive experience. They understood one another at once.
First, they dug trenches, drove in stakes, and pitched tents to establish camp. The soldiers lay down to rest their march-weary bodies, seemingly unconcerned about the enemy across the river.
They knew that if this side could not cross, the other side could not cross either.
Still, Ricart did not have a good plan right away. Crossing the bridge was out of the question, and crossing the river was even less feasible.
Yet he was not frustrated. Observation always gave an answer.
If he watched the enemy carefully and observed himself as well, the answer would naturally rise from within.
So he simply watched. He strolled along the riverbank as though taking a walk, looking at the sky, then the grass, then the flowing river, then gazing quietly at the enemy.
Naturally, the enemy watched them too. They simply watched one another. There was nothing to hide, their intentions were plain, and everything was visible.
They spent two days that way. Whenever they scouted upstream and downstream along the riverbank, the enemy followed along the opposite bank as though drawn by a magnet.
Then, after three days had passed, Ricart noticed a change. Each day, the enemy reinforced the bridge and riverbank more heavily. They also arranged their troops with greater care, leaving no gaps.
Their determination to prevent a crossing at any cost came through clearly. Ricart found a clue in that.
“How long do you think it would take them to take all that down?”
“Pardon?”
“They’ll have to clear all that away if they want to move.”
“I’m not sure. It would take quite a while. Maybe half a day?”
Raimund looked across the river while answering. Half a day meant six hours.
“Ray, you think too highly of the enemy. That estimate is based on our standards.”
“Then how long do you think it would take, Commander?”
“They couldn’t do it even if they worked all day.”
The knight order had spent a long time gaining experience as a single army, but the enemy consisted of levied troops. People from different regions had gathered under one commander, and their capabilities varied greatly.
By combat ability, Ricart did not mean only wielding weapons. It meant an army’s overall ability to establish camp, break camp, march, and everything else.
Ricart could see it now. What lay beyond what was visible.
And as always, it held the truth. A truth visible only to those who watched patiently and closely.
“One more question. If we broke camp and the entire force moved upstream to the place we inspected yesterday, how long would it take?”
“We could arrive around evening.”
“If we force-marched?”
“Half a day.”
Raimund answered at once, without even needing to think. It was not a rough mental estimate, but the natural conclusion of having done it countless times.
But did the enemy know the limits of their own ability? Ricart did not think so.
From the outside, their troop placements and obstacles looked meticulous and sturdy. But they had reached that point only by taking their time and doing things bit by bit.
Then all he had to do was disrupt it. Ricart felt that was the key to victory. The thought soon became certainty.
Once he saw the road to victory, the plan that followed came together in an instant.
“Here is what we will do. We have enough food for seven days. For the next four days, break camp every morning and form attack formations. Then set up camp again around evening and sleep.”
“Is this training?”
“In a way. But tell the soldiers that we are truly going to attack. On the fifth day, we move upstream. The decisive battle will be there.”
Raimund thought silently for a moment, then nodded. Ricart’s intention became clear at once.
“...It seems like a good plan. Though the soldiers will suffer for it.”
“Better to tire their bodies if it means saving even one more life.”
Ricart spoke while looking at the enemy, positioned perfectly across the river without a single opening.
The plan began the next day. From early morning, the soldiers broke camp and formed attack formations.
They were brave, but they knew better than anyone how reckless and dangerous it would be to cross the bridge and attack.
So even as they followed Ricart’s orders, they could not stop their hearts from pounding. Some accepted their deaths early.
Meanwhile, when the knight order moved as though it would attack, the enemy panicked far more than expected and stumbled about in confusion. Defending was much easier than attacking, yet they seemed mentally unprepared.
But around evening, orders spread through the knight order that the attack had been canceled. The soldiers sighed in relief, made camp again, and went to sleep.
Then the same thing happened the next day. And the day after that. After about three days of this, the soldiers began to think that Ricart’s resolve was wavering.
There were times when a battle had to be fought even at the cost of casualties. Perhaps that was why, but the soldiers asked Ricart to give the order to attack.
Of course, Ricart had no intention of doing so. Still, he was somewhat moved. He realized again just how far they were willing to follow him.
The enemy, on the other hand, began to grow irritated at this absurd behavior. When they thought about it, attacking across the bridge made no sense. They concluded that Ricart’s force was playing with them.
From the fourth day onward, they barely reacted even when the knight order formed attack formations. And as expected, that day’s attack was canceled as well.
Then the fifth day dawned.
The sun had not yet appeared. The world was dark, slowly turning blue. Autumn had already come, and the air was fairly cold.
Perhaps because they had repeated it every day, the soldiers broke camp in an instant. Before an order was even given, they took their positions and prepared to form ranks.
But this time was different.
“Form marching columns.”
They were puzzled, but it was much easier than forming attack formations. By the time the sun slowly raised its head, the knight order’s entire force had begun moving upstream along the river, leaving the enemy across the water behind.
The enemy blinked as they watched. The soldiers were the first to realize that something unusual was happening, but they hesitated over whether to wake their commanders to report it. As a result, the report was delayed by about an hour.
“Why are you only telling me now, you lunatic!”
Before, they had cursed them for waking them over nothing. Now they cursed them for not telling them sooner. The commander hurriedly reported to the high command.
Second Prince Lotharius was enjoying a banquet with wine early in the morning when he spoke as if it were nothing.
“If they move, then we move too.”
“That is true. But we should hurry. The enemy began moving about an hour ago.”
“It is fine. Do not make a fuss. Military theory says that when a commander is anxious, the soldiers become anxious too. The fact remains that they must cross the river. Tell the units that are ready to move upstream first.”
Nothing he said was wrong. The question was whether it suited the current situation.
Though they had gathered under Lotharius, they were not an army linked together as one whole.
Some units finished preparing to march relatively quickly, while others looked as though they could not manage it even in a day. Some deliberately dragged their feet.
Following their orders, the first units to prepare set out. There were only a few hundred of them.
Yet no matter how far upstream they went, the knight order, which should have been on the other side of the river, was nowhere to be seen. It had begun moving quickly early that morning and, unlike usual, was force-marching.
Only after riding for a long while did the mounted knights finally spot the knight order far ahead.
They realized it first.
Something was wrong.
This was bad.
But there was a difference between what people felt on the field and what the high command sensed and judged. Those at the scene had realized long ago that there was a problem, but the commanders had not.
“Even if the enemy crosses the river, it will take them a long time to form ranks. It is already known that we have more than ten thousand troops, while the enemy has six thousand. While the enemy is wet and confused from crossing the river, we can form our ranks and win easily.”
Lotharius was always right. Nothing he said was incorrect. He simply thought only on his own level, overlooking the fact that reality was not a problem to be solved.
From that point on, cracks began to form in Lotharius’s army. The subordinate units reached different conclusions.
Some insisted they must hurry upstream and fight the enemy at once, while others insisted they should move together. But none of it was properly reported, and they acted as they pleased.
While they floundered, Ricart led the knight order’s entire force onward in a forced march. After walking for roughly six hours, they reached the upper river in one push.
The water only reached their calves, and the opposite bank was completely empty. The enemy had failed to follow them more thoroughly than expected.
Unlike the enemy, Ricart made an immediate decision on the spot.
“Knights cross first. The soldiers will cross afterward, form attack formations, then come down slowly. Two hundred knights will protect the flank. The rest will follow me and make a wide sweep around the enemy.”
Ricart crossed the river at the head of the force, and hundreds of knights followed behind on heavy warhorses. The river splashed so fiercely that the riverbed showed through for a moment.
Having crossed without facing any meaningful resistance, Ricart led the knights downstream. Before long, they spotted a small number of enemies rushing upstream.
Unlike the knight order, which moved as one commander, one order, and one army, the enemy was divided in every way before the battle had even begun. Many commanders, many orders, many units.
When the knights charged with lances in hand, there was no need for Ricart to distinguish himself. The terrified enemy threw down their weapons and fled, while the knights pursued them and slaughtered them one-sidedly.
Thud, thud, thud. The sound of the ground trembling mingled with the enemies’ screams. After crushing the enemy several times, they moved inland rather than continuing downstream, beginning a wide encirclement.
Lotharius did not even know what was happening. Only around afternoon did he leisurely ride upstream, surrounded by nothing but flattering followers.
“If you capture the knight commander, Your Highness’s fame will spread across the Empire. More forces will gather to you, and you will be able to make your younger brother submit without even fighting.”
“That is what I find so regrettable. Since we have raised our banners, we should settle who is stronger at least once...”
“Once you take the throne, you must embrace all subjects. You should not spill blood unnecessarily. Show mercy.”
“That is true. Our imperial family has always taken pride in protecting the weak. I cannot put my personal desires first.”
Lotharius said it with his eyes gently shut, as if enduring something. He seemed somewhat intoxicated with himself.
But before they had gone far, they spotted allies running toward them, panting desperately. Hundreds were rushing forward all at once with their weapons discarded, making for a strange sight.
“What is happening?”
Lotharius asked, but even those at his side who did nothing but flatter him did not know the situation. The truth came from a nameless knight who had barely survived the battlefield.
“Th-the enemy crossed the river. They have already formed attack formations and are coming downstream.”
Lotharius and his flattering followers all frowned deeply.
What was that supposed to mean? That was impossible.
Yet even as they stood there, routed soldiers came rushing toward them. Every face looked as though they had met the Reaper.
Then a mighty shout began to carry faintly from afar.
“Knights, rise! Raise a storm!”
Hearing it, everyone stood still with frozen expressions, as if time had stopped.
Then someone suddenly said, “We should form ranks now and fight.”
“Should we not withdraw first and rally the soldiers?”
“Only a small vanguard has been destroyed. The main force is still intact. The knight order numbers only six thousand in total, while we have ten thousand. If we flee without fighting, it will not only be dishonorable, but make us the laughingstock of the entire Empire.”
“Defeat would be a far greater disgrace!”
“Will you speak of defeat before we have even fought?”
“The battle has already begun!”
Only moments ago, they had laughed cheerfully and flattered Lotharius. Now that true danger had arrived, they began fighting among themselves over their differing opinions.
At a time like this, the supreme commander had to make a decision. But Lotharius only stood with his mouth hanging open, blankly staring.
When his retainers turned to him as though urging him to decide, Lotharius stammered.
“I, I, I commanded properly. Y-you, you lot, and those foolish soldiers failed to carry it out properly.”
For a moment, the retainers stared blankly as if they could not believe what they had heard. To say that now was almost impossible to believe.
What was he saying? He was avoiding responsibility? Now?
Meanwhile, the knights’ shout grew louder.
“Knights, rise! Raise a storm!”
Lotharius flinched.
The main force, which had not yet fought, had already lost its morale.
Then the enemy came into view. Though they had force-marched from morning until now without rest, defeating enemies as they came downstream, the knight order’s ranks looked as solid as iron.
Their hedge of lances was aligned as precisely as if measured by a ruler. Their footfalls sounded like those of a single person walking.
Step! Step! Step! Step! Step! Step!
Not one person was idle. From the commanders to the lowest soldier, they moved as one body.
Then something truly serious happened. Eight hundred knights split into two columns and struck Lotharius’s army from behind and from the flank, before it could even properly form ranks.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!
Nearly a thousand warhorses kicked off the earth. The thick cloud of dust left in their wake made their force look even greater.
It was a sight that made one want to deny reality until the very end.
But it happened.
Thud! Crunch! Wham! Crack! Thud!
Like turtles without shells, Lotharius’s army had no preparation for battle. It was trampled and swept aside. Soldiers were pierced, crushed beneath hooves, and killed in droves.
From that point, Lotharius lost his memory.
Not because the enemy attacked him, but because his mind went completely blank and he threw himself into the river. Many people threw themselves into the water. There was nowhere else to run.
Even amid that chaos, those who remained loyal, waist-deep in the water, seized the reins of the horse the Second Prince rode and led it away.
The water was not deep enough for a person to drown from falling in. But the scene was so chaotic that many drowned. More than ten thousand people threw themselves into the river at once.
It was quite a sight.
After some time, their positions had reversed. The knights did not pursue them across the river.
Having achieved their goal, they stopped there exactly. Cleanly. Like a terrifyingly sharp blade. It was hard to believe that not one person, but six thousand people, had accomplished it.
Lotharius barely made it across the river and looked back. Soaked from head to toe, he cut a miserable figure, like a drowned rat.
He did not need to search. The figure stood out at a glance.
A person riding a bright red horse beneath the late afternoon sun.
Ricart was staring directly at Lotharius. They were close enough that a shout would carry, but Ricart merely gave a short, mocking laugh and turned his horse.
He was heading not for Adelorne, but for the supplies Lotharius had stockpiled for battle. Vast quantities of gold, silver, treasure, and food were all there.
In that single clash, around three thousand people died that day. Not casualties. Deaths alone. The wounded were none of the knight order’s concern. They were certainly unable to fight.
Ricart kept his word. It had indeed been a painful lesson.
But whether the student could understand that lesson and make it their own was up to the student.
Lotharius did not know why he had lost. He thought he had commanded well, and that his retainers and soldiers had simply failed to understand him properly.
In the end, he was one of those people who thought military theory was nothing much, merely a collection of obvious statements.
On top of that, he mistakenly believed he understood it quickly because he was clever. In truth, he knew nothing, and did not even recognize that he knew nothing.
From Ricart’s perspective, Lotharius had failed to observe the enemy, and failed to observe himself as well.
It was regrettable.
For himself, and for those who followed him.
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