73 — 8 (3)

‘Damn bastard.’ Since taking command of the heavy cavalry, Otomar had not once suffered such humiliation. True, heavy cavalry ruled over barbarians like absolute reapers of death, but the real difference here came from Anok, the man commanding over there. That did nothing to mend Otomar’s wounded pride, and he spoke decisively.

“Lance Charge.”

Heavy cavalry did not always rush headlong. When a formation was too strong, turning aside to look for another chance was also a virtue of tactics. Even so, Otomar wanted that strutting brute to taste true power. Imagining himself pressing his boot down hard on that wretch’s neck as he whimpered on the ground, Otomar increased his warhorse’s speed.

With Otomar accelerating at the front, the rest of the riders had no room for hesitation. In the meantime, another thrown spear snatched away one precious heavy cavalryman’s life. Praying the next spear would not be meant for them, the riders matched Otomar’s pace and sped up. They steeled themselves to smash through the formation by force — a Lance Charge.

“Captain— looks like they’re riled up?”

“Of course they are. If you’ve got a pair, you ought to get a little heated.”

After hurling four iron spears, Anok rolled his neck and loosened up.

“Now I’m warmed up,” he muttered.

His next task would be to take up his beloved weapon and stop them.

Anok yanked his favored spear from the ground and called out to those around him.

“You lot! If we break, Lord Fred is finished here! And our families will be bled dry like dogs by Marquis Gangpireu. Any objections?”

A ringing “None, sir!” rolled out to his satisfaction.

“Then fight till you’re bleeding.”

His final words carried a lethal edge that matched the current tide of battle. As the heavy cavalry drew close, soldiers swallowed hard… and the very first vanguard suddenly hit the boundary. Hiiinng! A chorus of horses’ screams burst forth. The weakness of heavy cavalry lay in the warhorses’ vulnerability to traps during a charge. Time had been short, so the pits were crude, but even so, warhorses with snapped joints began to pile up. Like ants pouring out, others leaped the traps or swung wide and at last came thundering toward the formation.

The second hammer-blow of the heavy cavalry was about to fall. If even ordinary folk could sense a Sword Expert’s aura, then Sword Experts could hardly miss each other — and Otomar, like an enraged bull, picked Anok out.

One soldier shouted, “They’re coming!!!” and at last Otomar plunged into the formation. Anok vaulted a well-laid iron barrier in a single bound. Seeing pikemen thrusting their iron spears at him, he gave a short, derisive snort. A clean halberd strike followed. With the warhorse’s heavy landing adding force to his blow, his first target’s shoulder was crushed and an arm went flying; the second, ducking too low, had his head smashed. The halberd might have snagged on the skull, but the foe was a mana user.

Skung! Thud-thud! With a single crisp strike, blood splattered everywhere. One surrounding soldier collapsed in fear; another froze. A brand-new recruit, his face drenched in blood, screamed and lunged. Thunk. By some miracle he jabbed Otomar on horseback, but his thrust struck heavy plate and only left his own hand aching. Otomar glanced at the recruit with a murderous look — perhaps finding the boy’s courage commendable — and simply charged on. From the impact with the horse, the rookie dropped to the ground, touched his neck and muttered, “I’m dead,” only to find his neck still intact.

When the recruit turned to see what was happening, Otomar was already rushing, full of ferocity, straight toward Anok — who stood behind, grinning viciously.

‘By now, Brother Fred and Marquis Gangpireu should be deciding the battle.’

As soon as he had taken adequate rest, Louis set his soldiers marching on Kayani. This time it was a siege, not a field battle, which meant patience mattered more than brilliance. Kayani was a city that had to be taken — and had to belong to Louis. In short, he could not overdo the assault.

The port city of Kayani was the prize Louis coveted most. Even the small amount of salt produced nearby brought in hefty profits, and as a coastal city, it had decent access to maritime trade. Of course, as a frontier hub it was nothing compared to famous ports — a mere drop in the bucket — but still valuable. With a single port city, multiple locked buildings would become available, each one giving Kayani major developmental boosts.

Trade would also make it easier to supply slaves, which would help activate the Colosseum. After this war, Louis planned to build a Colosseum in each city to manage the steep drop in satisfaction that came with rebellious unrest.

Louis looked behind him. Siege engines rumbled up in a line, wheels thudding dully. They bore the touch of Enneu, the master smith; the trials were done, and they were equipment he could trust.

Militarily he was overwhelming now, leaving his second brother with only one option: shut himself in the city and have the ragged survivors shoot arrows. The second brother did not even have cavalry. Which meant that once the gates opened, Louis could unleash heavy cavalry and turn the streets into a wasteland in an instant.

Crunch. Louis bit into a taut, crisp apple and savored the taste of assured victory. When the downpour had fallen not long ago, even a small mistake could have doomed everything — but things had turned out remarkably well. He had suffered minimal troop losses, and he had also recycled the second brother’s heavy armor to upgrade his infantry equipment to serve as a shield wall on the front.

‘Marquis Gangpireu or Brother Fred — which winner benefits me most?’

Even after taking Kayani, the war would not be over. The eldest brother had to die for Louis to inherit fully. With the first or the second, the chances were slim but not impossible that they might merely exile the illegitimate Louis instead of killing him. But for Louis — whose mother’s origins were obscure — there was only one choice.

Cruel as it was, this was reality. He tossed the apple core aside.

‘Fred winning is best.’

Certainty, first and foremost. Rather than hearing ill tidings secondhand, Louis needed to see it with his own eyes. Second, he had no intention of letting Marquis Gangpireu go. The marquis was surely tied to Father’s sudden death; Louis would have his revenge. Brothers might die — but the family could not be insulted. Even as a half-blood, Louis belonged to the Pontina clan to his marrow.

While Louis maneuvered his army, back in the furnace of battle — behind Fred’s infantry anvil — Sword Expert clashed with Sword Expert at last. Otomar, the heavy-cavalry captain under Marquis Gangpireu, and Anok, Fred’s chiliarch. Anok watched with interest as a fully armored heavy cavalryman charged straight at him. The blue aura of a mana user streamed off the man’s body, leaving a long tail behind as speed tore at it.

Clenching the iron spear in his grip, Anok struggled to contain the blaze surging within. If he killed that man, Fred — whom he sincerely respected — would praise him. Anok truly revered Fred, and he was ashamed of all the times he had failed to rein in his temper and disappointed him. The perfect chance to wipe that shame away was rushing toward him now. He gritted his teeth, detonated mana through his whole body — and, astonishingly, sprang forward.

It looked laughable at a glance, but it was not a foolish response. Anok, nearly two meters tall, planted his foot and leaped, taking the higher ground over the oncoming Otomar. The timing was animalistic; Otomar, startled, swung his halberd.

A halberd traced a spiral, whereas a spear needed only a straight, stabbing line — and Anok’s spear seemed specially made, longer than normal. With that extra handspan of reach, the spear drove for Otomar’s skull.

‘What a brainless ape. Is your brain made of muscle too?’

A bead of cold sweat ran down Otomar’s temple at the absurd strike. Even if he was attacked first, a Sword Expert’s blow — aimed at neck or skull — left no surviving that trajectory. In Otomar’s eyes, this giant monkey was attempting mutual destruction.

“God— damn it!”

There was no time left to weigh options. Either die together or do something else. It stung his pride, but Otomar had no intention of dying here; he threw his torso back.

The blue-gleaming spearpoint caught on the rim of his helm just as he arched backward. Late or timely — it was on the edge — but enough to survive. The helmet split and flew; Otomar, off balance, pitched backward into the air.

That did not mean Anok was safe. His own helmet was splitting under the diverted halberd’s path; it had been deflected hard, but the margin was razor-thin for Anok as well.

Damn it, missed! Anok realized that a clean beheading blow from the halberd would end him and regretted it — but this was his nature. Luckily, the halberd merely scraped over the top of his helm, and when he looked back, he saw the charging warhorse slam into the already-falling Otomar.

Thud!

A fully armored horse struck a man — yet an eerie sound rang out, and the warhorse’s neck snapped, burying it in the earth. Anok was not fine either; he tumbled across the ground, seeing stars. To clear his head, he bit his tongue. A dizzying pain shot down his spine to his toes, and the salty taste of blood slid down his throat.

‘I’ll wreck you.’
Managing to rise first, Anok staggered, then sprinted to finish Otomar in one go. Otomar was sprawled on the ground as well, his head ringing — and worse, the stench of blood poured from him. The source was the tip of his nose.

He had thought he’d avoided the savage strike completely — he was wrong. The tip of his nose had been sliced off. Pain surged in full. In heavy armor, a fall alone could knock a man out, but he was a Sword Expert sheathed in mana. The bastard’s coming. Feeling that the “monkey” had risen first, Otomar lunged for his halberd, stuck in the ground at an angle.