What do the enemies in front of me possess?
Some soldiers were deeply immersed in thrusting.
Others were skilled at wielding their spears like clubs, gripping them by the middle.
Another soldier's spear-wielding strength was lacking, but he was sharp enough to find openings.
It was instinct. A matter of natural talent.
But they seemed to lack proper training.
Their endurance was insufficient, and their strength was even more so.
Their reaction times weren't bad, but that was all.
Each soldier had something they had learned and trained—something they carried, wielded, and used in combat.
Even though they all underwent the same training, what they developed was different.
They all wielded spears, but the way they used them was entirely different.
Enkrid observed it all with his eyes.
The swaying spear tips, the wavering eyes.
The habit of stepping forward with the left foot.
Some had learned the Valen-style mercenary sword techniques, even feigning missteps to deceive their opponents.
Among them, many showed the marks of constant training.
It's a sudden realization, but if there's anything more frightening than overwhelming talent,
Crack.
An enemy charging with clenched teeth, even as their fingers were severed.
Their courage and resolve were different; the burning determination in their eyes was evident.
Enkrid never approached any moment half-heartedly. He never took his enemies lightly.
Hiding his skills was one thing, but wielding his sword with full intent was another matter.
As the spear came toward him, he adjusted his stance, and the enemy, abandoning their spear, rushed toward him, attempting to overpower him with raw strength.
Enkrid, remembering the battlefield where he had acquired the heart of the beast, bent his knees and met the attack with his back.
He used his strength to toss the enemy soldier over his shoulder.
With a thud, the soldier flew, landing on his shoulder and rolling across the ground.
'The heart of the beast.'
Those with unshakable hearts are fiercer than those with exceptional talent.
Enkrid reminded himself of how important the heart of a beast was.
He had never forgotten.
By repeating everything he had learned daily, how could he forget?
Stuck in the 'today,' he constantly reaffirmed everything he possessed.
Afterward, he continued to watch the movements of the soldiers.
'A strike with the body twisted around the left foot.'
It resembled a one-handed thrust with a sword, but by extending the spear forward and releasing it, some soldiers threw their spears like a javelin.
It was an unexpected strike and a creative attack.
But it wasn't threatening. Their timing was simply different.
The heart of a beast, focused concentration, the sense of evasion, and the technique of isolation formed his body.
It was an amazing technique, but it was something he could evade.
His body reacted the moment he saw it.
The reflection was complete. Now it was a matter of incorporating their techniques and efforts into his own body.
From here, time was needed.
As he withdrew and looked back, no large black smoke rose above his head.
Although he had set fire to things, it quickly had been suppressed.
Thus, the supply base hadn't received a heavy blow. However, the sense of having been beaten while remaining on alert would linger.
And even if there wasn't much damage, the fact that the supply base had caught fire in itself was a blow.
Escaping wasn't difficult.
"Grrawr."
Esther walked lightly beside him as she had never done before.
The leopard hadn't come to him for cuddles, except when sleeping.
As he ran, he noticed Esther looking up. Her eyes were bright and large.
No, her eyes seemed even larger than before.
"Meow."
It seemed like the leopard was asking what he was staring at.
If this leopard were a person, it would have a temper as bad as Rem's.
"Nothing."
Enkrid responded nonchalantly, just as he would with Rem.
"Over there!"
As they emerged from the bushes, a shout came from behind. It was a group of soldiers chasing him.
Enkrid listened to the soldiers' voices and roughly gauged the distance.
It was a technique Jaxen had taught him: how to judge distances by hearing.
Using his sharp senses, he calculated the location and distance of those pursuing him and concluded that shaking them off wouldn't be hard.
He was relaxed. At the same time, he had another thought.
Observing the Enemy's Habits
As Enkrid observed the enemy, he noticed something interesting.
One of the squad leaders, despite the chaotic situation, used his head.
"Bring the net!"
He shouted, trying to trap both Esther and himself at the same time.
He said it while retreating, keeping a distance.
If he truly intended to kill them, it might not have been impossible, but Enkrid felt no need to engage and simply watched.
"Fire!"
In an unexpected move, the squad leader did something remarkable.
While preparing the net, arrows suddenly flew.
The moment the command was given, the enemy soldiers surrounding them immediately retreated.
It was a prearranged maneuver. Most notably, the trust in their squad leader was clear from the soldiers' swift response to his orders.
The net was a decoy, and the real plan was to fire arrows, which, of course, didn't catch Enkrid off guard.
Instead, having avoided the trap, he now had room to think.
It reminded him of a day when it was snowing, back when he was still leading a troublesome squad— the time when they were about to deal with the Gilpin Guild.
"Order us, and those who can, will do it."
Ragna had said that.
Enkrid observed the squad leader's actions, his tactical thinking, and his squad's combat style, and realized that this wasn't his area of expertise.
But he knew something was missing.
The current battle was the same. Defending alone wasn't going to cut it. Striking at the supply lines with just this was out of the question.
This was like trying to piss in the snow—useless.
So, what should be done?
'If I push Krais…'
An answer would come.
Wasn't it something he learned that winter day? If he couldn't do it, he should put someone capable in charge.
Leading a squad wasn't an easy task.
'I can't be a battalion commander.'
It was a fleeting thought.
At any rate, all that mattered now was getting back.
He didn't have time to learn strategies or tactics. He couldn't keep fighting like this while holding the title of company commander.
'Step by step, I'll learn.'
To issue orders, you need to understand what they mean.
When someone speaks, you need to grasp their intent; only then can you be a true commander.
A knight is someone who walks ahead, but sometimes, they are also the commander responsible for the soldiers.
And even if that's not the case…
'If I let all my men die under my command…'
Especially if it happens because I was lazy in my learning, Enkrid couldn't possibly stand by and watch such a thing
***
"Again?"
Olf didn't get angry blindly. His eyes were still sharp.
He wasn't a dull man, no matter what anyone said.
'This feels off.'
It wasn't a significant blow. It wasn't even one of the main supply lines, just the one near the furnace supply base that was disturbed.
It was literally just a disruption. It wasn't a fatal strike.
This wouldn't shake the entire battlefield.
But the fact that they kept being hit like this was starting to irritate him.
"What about him?"
Olf asked. At the commander's question, Greg wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead as he answered.
"We missed him."
Greg, the assault commander.
Beyond his individual strength, his unit specialized in chasing down retreating enemies. Even if a battle broke out, he wasn't someone who would easily be overpowered.
Before Enkrid's reputation spread widely, he was already a warrior with the fame of wiping out two colonies by himself.
When it came to fame, anyone who could handle towns, cities, or continents was considered someone of great renown.
If someone in Greg's command was better, they would probably only number one or two.
"Missed him?"
Even more shocking was that Greg, known for charging, running, and striking as his specialties, had failed to catch the enemy.
'Marcus, you crazy bastard. What kind of scheme are you pulling?'
Olf wondered to himself. He didn't know the enemy's intentions, but there was definitely something going on.
The unease was building in his chest. Still, it wasn't the time to get angry.
"It's just a sloppy trick. Moreover, the troops I brought haven't even shown their full strength. If we just tighten the pressure and keep pushing, they won't be able to do anything!"
The de facto commander of the Bentra Baronet's forces spoke up. Olf could tell from the way the man reacted to the name "Enkrid" that he had a deep disdain for him.
The relatively young face was a mix of confidence and arrogance.
The expression said it all.
He thought he was better, that he could handle it.
'Insecurity?'
It didn't seem like it. After all, he was a noble commander. There were even rumors that he was an illegitimate child of a noble.
In contrast, the enemy was a soldier who had risen from the streets.
Whatever the case, the unease lingered.
Olf hadn't just blindly brought troops along.
Of course, he had prepared a few secret weapons as well.
For instance, some of the soldiers who had joined after erasing their family crests were hiding something, something meant for show.
There were things hidden, so maintaining the status quo on the battlefield wouldn't be a bad idea.
Keeping things as they were could benefit their side.
"Let's observe for a few more days. We'll watch their reactions over the next two days and then make another push at the walls."
Time was on his side, Olfr judged.
This was a moment that called for calm, not anger.
After spending the night, the morning of the fourth battlefield dawned.
Olf had a hearty breakfast of well-baked bread, fresh cabbage, jerky, and dried fruits, followed by a sip of water mixed with wine.
The battle had been minimal, with just small units making light contact.
Had their forces suffered any significant losses? No.
With a calm judgment, Olf cleared the unease from his mind, wiped his face, and donned his armor.
"Commander!"
A messenger rushed into the command tent.
All the commanders who had gathered for breakfast turned their attention to the messenger.
"What is it?"
Greg, still on edge from the previous day's failure, spoke roughly without thinking.
"The enemy is coming out."
"...?"
Everyone blinked in confusion.
"Where are they coming from?"
Zimmer, the second battalion commander, asked.
"They've come out of the city."
"Why?"
It was so absurd that the words, which had been forming in his chest, slipped out without control.
"...What?"
How would the messenger know?
Zimmer was no different; he surely had the same question.
"What are they doing out there?"
Even Greg, who had been gruff, now blinked in confusion and spoke in a much softer tone.
"They are forming up their ranks."
The messenger reported exactly what he had seen and heard.
A river of silence swept through the command post. It felt as though a silent uproar was shaking the tent.
Why are they coming out?
Is everyone crazy?
Forming up their ranks? Are they asking for a full-scale fight?
For what reason? They're leaving the walls behind?
Even with the walls, the advantage is ours!
No, why are they coming out to die? What do they believe in?
"Interesting."
It was the one who had been standing there like a scarecrow. The hollow commander of the troops without a crest spoke his thoughts.
"It seems they'd rather fight than stay trapped."
The commander of the Bentra Baronet's forces also spoke.
There didn't seem to be any other reason for the enemy's actions.
Still, Olf could feel the uneasy discomfort he had pushed aside earlier slowly spreading, like a wine stain spilled onto a carpet.
But retreating now?
He'd be the subject of ridicule for the rest of his life.
If there were a bard around, they might give him the nickname "Cowardly General."
Sometimes, on the battlefield, even if the odds seem impossible, there are times when you must still act.
Right now, anyone could see that they held the upper hand.
But retreat?
It wasn't the time to back out just because of discomfort.
"I'll use the cavalry. Set them in a defensive line. If they want a full battle, we'll give it to them!"
Olf spoke with authority. The enemy had left the advantages of the walls behind, so if they could break their forces, that would settle things.
That would erase the discomfort, too.
'Did they request reinforcements?'
No, that was unlikely. As soon as they advanced, the city was surrounded, and even if they secretly sent someone to request reinforcements, who would send troops?
Count Molsen? That man had already sent in forces that had erased their family crests, tearing apart the Border Guards.
'From the center?'
That was even more impossible. The chances of the Central Army of Naurilia intervening were lower than the odds of a passing crow eating the eyes of a knight.
"Let's go."
At the general's command, all the commanders stood up.
"Let me take the lead."
Greg stepped forward.
"Of course."
Assault Commander Greg, a warrior who wouldn't easily be bested by anyone.
"I've made the supply lines more secure. We won't be caught off guard by any feints."
Second Battalion Commander Zimmer added. He was a meticulous and mistake-free commander.
Olf nodded in satisfaction.
Finally, there was the Third Battalion Commander, Retli, who led the cavalry and scouts.
His individual strength might not match Greg's, but when it came to exploiting gaps in the enemy's formation, he was more skilled than Olf.
"Retli?"
"Yes, ready."
But that wasn't the end of it.
"We're ready too. In fact, we were ready a while ago. I'll take care of that loudmouthed fool and end this pathetic rumor."
The Bentra Baronet's forces had secretly prepared their cavalry as well.
And the number was over fifty.
Now, who had the advantage in this fight?
Olf silently asked the enemy commander, Marcus, who wasn't even visible in the distance.