212. A Delightful Dish
The moment the tide of the battlefield shifted, Marcus didn't focus on tightening the encirclement but instead chose to retreat.
With the flag signaling the retreat and the trumpets blowing according to the set signals, the Border Guard troops, who had been wildly charging forward, came to a halt.
"Enough, this is it!"
As the turtle-like heavy infantry unit pulled back, Rem grumbled.
"We were just getting started."
Blood dripped from the edge of Rem's axe.
Seeing him speak with a smile in such a situation, a few of the allied soldiers, who had been ready to cheer, glanced away.
Even though Enkrid's presence was formidable, no one expected him to be crazy enough to swing his axe at his own troops.
"He might swing his fists, though."
Just a passing thought.
Even knights, called knights for their prowess, built up fatigue during long battles.
Rem was no different.
His axe swings had begun to lose their sharpness, becoming slightly duller.
He had hacked down not just five, but dozens—no, more than a hundred enemies.
And it hadn't taken long at all.
Anyone who had witnessed this battle would never forget the names of the five standing in the middle of the battlefield.
After Enkrid spoke his name, the enemy hesitated. They were struck by fear. They were intimidated. The morale shattered.
Marcus had created an opening for the retreat.
Marcus noticed Enkrid and his group in the distance and turned his gaze elsewhere.
He saw a blue flag rising high.
It was the signal from the eastern flank defense unit.
"We've caught the special forces too."
Looking at the damage inflicted on the front lines, it almost seemed ridiculous to call it a great victory.
The enemy had been defeated by just five men.
Politics had won the day. Strategy had won the day.
It was the victory of the commander who had kept Enkrid hidden.
"Are we not pursuing them?" asked the commander of the second unit, panting as he approached.
Marcus shook his head.
"Let them go. Even a rat, when cornered, will bite a cat. And even a ghoul, when trapped, will use its brain."
Krais, who had quietly positioned himself at what he thought was the safest spot in the command area, overheard the captain's words and thought about them.
"So they're letting them go."
It was a life-and-death battle, but were they really all that concerned about being within the same kingdom?
"It's disappointing though."
It was the commander's decision. Krais had no reason to argue.
Even without the madman of a unit, the heavy infantry or the eastern flank could have easily captured the enemy commander, but they let him go.
It seemed like they never intended to capture the enemy commander in the first place.
Perhaps they intended to showcase the strength of the Border Guard instead.
Still, it was disappointing.
"If we had captured the enemy commander, we could have gotten a lot in return later."
By capturing and releasing the enemy commander, they could secure many things from Martai.
"Control of the trade routes."
The Border Guard was ready to be officially recognized as one of the key trade cities.
Securing trade routes, especially through Martai, would become a significant matter.
Capturing the enemy commander and leveraging him could have been the easiest way to gain this advantage.
But was that all? No.
"The bounty."
The general, or whatever he called himself, probably had considerable wealth.
When a noble was captured, it was normal for them to be ransomed, often in exchange for a considerable sum, like Krona.
This was a common practice, even when fighting a hostile nation.
And Martai's market master, or the general, wasn't just anyone. Externally, he was an ally.
Martai had earned the nickname "Mercenary City," and Krais knew how it worked with its accumulation of Krona.
So yes, it was disappointing.
"He must have earned a fortune in Krona."
At this point, Marcus seemed either foolish or uninterested in wealth.
"I don't think he's stupid."
Krais scratched his chin.
Looking at what had been done so far—hiding Enkrid and deliberately drawing the enemy in with a well-executed strategy—this wasn't something a fool could pull off.
To entrust the entire battlefield's glory and defeat to just one person was no small risk.
"Has his ambition grown too large for his own good?"
It was a bold strategy, almost to the point of madness, but it worked.
And now, the roar of victory echoed into the clear sky.
"Uwaaa!"
"Enkrid!"
"Come at us!"
With a spear raised high, they shouted.
"You'll die!"
The spear slammed into the ground as it was thrust forward.
The morale of the surviving allies was higher than ever.
And that was what made it even more frustrating.
Had they pursued the retreating enemy, it would have been the most efficient battle they could have fought.
After all, it's usually when enemies are on the run that they suffer the most.
The pursuers are always in the most advantageous position.
"Are there even any cavalry left?"
Marcus's voice sounded again. Krais perked up his ears.
"Yes, we've captured them all. Some of the cavalry had already been pulled back from the start," his aide replied.
"If we hadn't opened the retreat, those bastards would have dashed in and taken Olf away," Marcus muttered.
That was possible.
Krais nodded inwardly.
It was unexpected. But still, it might have been worth trying.
For a while after that, Marcus remained silent as the enemy retreated, kicking up clouds of dust.
The battlefield, full of humans, didn't have any lurking monsters or beasts prowling about.
In a battle of this scale, even brainless ghouls would have fled.
As the silence stretched on, the aide, seemingly frustrated, spoke up first.
"Shall we retreat?"
After regrouping and celebrating the victory, it would be time to call it an end.
Opening a bottle of wine to wet their lips and enjoying some food would also be a pleasant way to finish.
But Krais found that idea inefficient.
"What did we gain from this battle?"
For Krais, who viewed everything through the lens of Krona, there was nothing to gain from this battlefield.
The joy of surviving? The satisfaction of smashing the attacking enemy?
What use was that if it didn't turn into Krona?
Well, perhaps it would become Krona later, but there was no immediate reward. That was what bothered him.
Just as Krais thought the battle was over and it was time to head back, Marcus finally spoke, after a long silence following the aide's question.
"Advance the entire army."
"…?"
Advance?
Krais tilted his head. He couldn't hide his surprise this time. Fortunately, only Finn, who was standing nearby as a guard, noticed his reaction.
"What?" Finn asked.
"He said to advance?" Krais whispered. But where were they advancing to?
The aide, standing near Marcus, was equally surprised.
"Where are we advancing to?"
"Where do you think?"
At that moment, Krais could see Marcus's face.
It wasn't the face of a commander drunk on victory.
It was the expression of a politician or merchant pleased that things had gone according to plan.
In other words, it meant the battle wasn't over yet.
"Let's go."
Marcus showed his teeth as he spoke, his smile gleaming in the clear sunlight. Krais understood his intent in that moment. His teeth reflected the light.
Shine.
"Ah."
It dawned on Krais—Marcus had never planned to end the battle without gaining something.
A brief realization struck Krais's mind like a thunderbolt. It wasn't quite like a lightning strike, but it was a similar jolt of clarity.
Krais had learned something new.
"Let them go and pursue."
The enemy would return to their homes.
A rat, cornered, might bite a cat, but if it is freed, it will return to its lair filled with treasures.
It was an opportunity to gain wealth.
Krais's mind advanced another step.
He understood Marcus's intention.
Was this just pressure? A threat to stop attacking the Border Guard from now on?
"No way."
It couldn't be.
If Martaï cooperated, they could secure trade routes and various benefits.
But what if they took the city?
Then the story would change. The game would shift. The trade routes wouldn't matter anymore.
The Border Guard, as a trade city, would be elevated to another level.
Martaï had a reputation as a mercenary city in the East.
Its military strength, position, and everything about it were useful.
If they could eat it, if they could digest it...
"It's truly a delicacy."
Krais muttered to himself.
Whether Marcus heard him or not, he once again showed his teeth and spoke.
His teeth still gleamed in the light.
Shine.
"We are going to take Martaï."
Marcus ordered, and the command spread through the ranks via his aide.
The same command reached Enkrid at the front.
"Advance here?"
For a brief moment, Enkrid ran through several scenarios in his mind—what Krais had said, the current state, the morale and strength of their forces, and the issues with advancing.
There were no issues.
Well, one nagging thought remained.
The five hidden enemy mages were nowhere to be seen.
Was that their trump card, or had they simply withdrawn when they saw the tide of battle turning?
Enkrid didn't ponder it long. He understood Marcus's intent purely on instinct.
"Take the city."
What would happen if the growing Border Guard consumed Martaï?
"It would be great."
The aftermath wasn't for him to worry about. Enkrid did what he was supposed to do in the situation he was given.
"If you're tired, you can fall back."
His gentle words addressed the other four.
"Are you crazy?"
"My name is Ragna. I can still fight."
"Heh, Commander, let's go."
Rem, Ragna, and Audin all spoke in turn, while Jaxen silently waved his sword through the air before discarding it.
Then, he swept the ground and picked up a somewhat intact Arming sword.
Staring at it, Jaxen muttered.
"The blade's been dulled."
Though it was called an advance, there was no rush.
Marcus, or rather the commander's intent, was clear.
They would maintain morale and move at a steady pace.
Enkrid, of course, was in the lead.
"Ragna, were you teasing me earlier?" Enkrid asked as he walked, and Ragna tilted his head before replying.
"I spoke with sincerity. My name is Ragna, the man who doesn't back down. That's who I am."
Hearing that, Rem added his own, "My name is Rem," and began to chuckle.
They were always abnormal, but now they were certainly starting to seem like madmen.
Enkrid thought as much and continued walking.
As he walked forward, the sunlight poured down on his back.
They were heading east, while the sun was setting in the west.
For a moment, the soldiers of the Border Guard who were watching his back thought Enkrid appeared to be glowing.
Of course, it was an illusion. It was like a mirage.
But the fact that he had earned enough merit to shine in that way was true.
A soldier, demonstrating his skill in composing lyrics on the spot, began to chant a song.
The lyrics were crude, and the melody was nothing special. It was a combination of familiar tunes, but when it came to the last verse, everyone joined in to shout together.
"Who is the flower of battle?"
"Infantry!"
"Who are the strongest in the Border Guard?"
"Madmen!"
It was a troublesome song. Enkrid, walking ahead, couldn't help but smile at it.
Only now, it truly hit him—his group had become the most powerful faction in the unit.
Cheers and applause followed, and the song continued with lines like "My name is Enkrid!" and other such trivial lyrics.
"Not bad, huh?"
Rem asked from beside him. His grinning face was a bit annoying, but Enkrid didn't bother pointing it out and replied instead.
"It's not bad."
Marcus didn't hurry.
There was no need to reveal themselves to the enemy.
General Olf had entered the city, and half a day had passed.
Quietly, without a sound, like a cougar, they began to set up camp just outside the city.
Olf didn't have the resources to send out scouts.
It was obvious. It was a defeat. A crushing defeat. The enemy had given them an opening, and they were lucky to have come back alive. There was no time to look back.
He returned with his shoulders slumped.
"Damn bastard."
Olf swore, vowing that the next chance he got, he would strangle Marcus with his own hands.
Bang!
In a fit of frustration, self-loathing, anger, and humiliation, he slammed his fist into the wall.
Some of the wood caved in.
"The bathwater's been heated."
The words of the chamberlain.
"I understand."
He disarmed himself, took a bath, and let go of the various emotions—fatigue, frustration, everything—that had built up inside him. It was time to rest.
Olf didn't even want to see his wife and daughter, so he headed straight for his office.
"I'll just sleep on the cot today. That would be better."
That was his thought as he entered the office, but sleep wouldn't come.
It wasn't long after.
"General!"
The office door flew open. The aide seemed to have run in with the messenger in tow, both in great haste.
Olf, in casual clothes, his silk shirt still on, propped himself up in bed.
"What is it?"
As soon as he asked, a chill ran down his spine. The tension gripped his heart painfully.
"We're surrounded!"
The aide said.
"Who?"
Had the Border Guard, after watching their defeat, decided to attack? Where from? Could it have been a plot orchestrated by Count Molsen?
"The Border Guard's standing army!"
The soldier's eyes were shaking uncontrollably.
The man was clearly in a panic.
But Olf, in his state of shock, couldn't confirm anything.
"...What?"
Olf asked in disbelief. Why would they come here? They had fought just a day ago and let them go. Why were they back now?
He silently asked the aide with his eyes, and the aide opened his mouth.
"What should we do?"
A pause.
Unconsciously, Olf let a drop of saliva fall from the corner of his mouth.
Things had truly taken a turn for the worse.
Defeat, lowered morale, fewer soldiers, having used up the noble's troops he knew personally, and even breaking the sword that Count Molsen had given him.
It was also his fault for misjudging the strength of the Border Guard.
Another drop of saliva fell from Olf's lips.
Neither the aide nor the messenger thought it was disgusting.
They, too, were in a state of panic.