Chapter 50

It feels as if my field of vision has narrowed, like I’ve wandered into a cave where I can’t see ahead. My breathing is ragged, my heartbeat is unbearably loud, and the clamor of battle disrupts my thoughts. Despite the enemy I need to focus on right in front of me, my role as a commander doesn’t allow for such simple concentration. In a battlefield where situations are intricately entangled, a narrow perspective is out of the question. Having lost the comfort of the terrain and the protection of the guardians, the dire situation is pressing on Moaiz’s mind.

"Maintain the proper distance with your neighbors, be aware of your shoulder width!"

The training squadron, though no longer combat virgins, is still a unit with low training. The parents, who are supposed to guide them, are preoccupied with the knights and their squires of Rehazen. The guardian who was filling the gaps in the defensive line is now engaged in a fierce battle with the enemy’s formidable general, a scene that resembles a duel.

In battle, a perfect one-on-one fight is impossible. Naturally, both sides try to interfere and intervene. The result is the scattered flesh around them. Those who step into their battlefield end up as corpses, regardless of whether they are friend or foe. Those who want to actively intervene in their world have disappeared. Rather, it might be more effective to help indirectly by focusing on the enemy in front of them.

"Push the enemy back at the boundary between the flat ground and the earthwork. Don’t let your comrades be stabbed in the back!!"

The enemy, having broken through the allied squad, now controls the left wing of the earthwork. The vanguard squad, which has collapsed, is being captured and killed one by one with blades and blunt weapons. If Moaiz were to rush to their aid, his conscience might be somewhat relieved, but the end result of the chaos would be mutual destruction. If that happens, the front line would easily collapse. In front of him, a Myard soldier is slashed from shoulder to waist, and another is impaled by a spear and collapses.

"Move through the gaps in the formation and fall back to the rear!!!"

Frustrated, Moaiz shouted. It’s uncertain how many of the fleeing soldiers, driven by the enemy’s blades, understood his words. Nevertheless, they instinctively avoided the raised spears and the line. On the other side, the Ferius soldiers, who had been pursuing the enemy in a frenzy, disappeared into the crowd and finally realized their dire situation.

"Ugh, fall back—gah!"

The spear tips, swung down in unison, pummeled the Ferius soldiers, deforming their armor and grinding their bones. Those who withstood the first blow were struck repeatedly, pinned to the ground, and never rose again.

Indeed, such reckless individuals were few, and the majority of the remaining enemies did not create a salient. Instead, they formed a wall of spears and shields, like a wall of iron, descending the earthwork. Their movements felt slow and sluggish. Adding the remnants of the vanguard, Moaiz’s command consists of about seventy men. This number must hold the left wing.

"Move in unison and thrust your spears. Coordinate with your neighbors, this is different from the individual strikes you’ve practiced!!"

Forming a spear wall on the flat ground in actual combat was something new for everyone in Moaiz’s squad. The formation was awkward and far from the ideal array they had envisioned.

"Strike!!!"

The two groups collided as if melting into each other. The iron spikes entangled like thorns, and the spear tips clashed with a grating noise. Moaiz was no exception. In this dire situation, as a commander, he had to lead from the front to make the soldiers move. The spears he swung met and repelled each other.

A spear tip that slipped through the iron thorns caught an enemy soldier’s shoulder. Despite the armor, the flesh beneath it transmitted a sensation through his hand. The image of a Cluest soldier, gasping in pain and dropping his spear, burned into his mind. The young face, the rigid expression, and the fear that permeated through his eyes were transmitted through his vision.

"Ugh—"

Moaiz was not as innocent as to not know what would happen if he thrust his spear into the unprotected throat. The memory of an accident from his childhood tightened around his brain, on the verge of bursting. He gritted his teeth so hard they might shatter. On either side, the soldiers, Gaston and Evrek, swung their spears, dirty and exhausted. They had shared meals and knew each other from their origins to their food preferences. The same was true for the other squad members. The more he hesitated, the more his comrades, who had shared hardships with him, died.

"Ugh, aaaaah!!!"

With a roar that seemed to split his throat, Moaiz thrust his spear. The sensation transmitted through the handle was more repulsive and rejecting than the psychological trauma etched in his childhood. Yet, he did not look away. He watched the soldier, who could not even gasp in pain, drown in blood with a breath mixed with moisture. Moaiz had overcome his past memories. Or rather, he had simply covered them with even more stimulation.

"Phew, hah, aahh..."

His forehead was hot, and his sense of front and back was unstable. His body, floating, was drowning in the battlefield. Struggling, Moaiz smashed the side of a soldier’s head with the tip of his spear, who had just replaced the one in the second row. The eyes, which had been full of hostility a moment ago, lost their color and spun wildly. More soldiers jumped in, pushing through the overlapping shadows of two bodies.

"Shiiiineee!"

The thrust from a blind spot did not allow Moaiz any evasive action. His breath was momentarily cut off, and a dull pain shot through his ribs. The spear that had been thrust into his torso slid to his side, scraping off his armor.

"Ugh—"

The Cluest soldier, confused, had missed the vital point due to the poor footing. Before he could think, his feet moved. Moaiz thrust his spear, throwing his body into it. The spear blade, entering from the lower jaw, slid in smoothly and stopped at the rock-hard skull. Instantly, splinters flew into the air. It was not an external attack. The spear broke at the root of the tip, the ferrule, due to the rough and forceful handling.

Moaiz threw the splintered handle and drew his longsword. He barely deflected a sword that was about to strike from above. Against the enemy soldier who covered himself with a shield, he swung his sword from above, splitting the shield and tearing the flesh. The sensation was similar to cleanly splitting firewood. Unconsciously, he fell into a rhythm, swinging his sword at anyone in sight, over and over, countless times.

"Stop that one, now!"

"Don’t break the line, fill the gaps!!"

"Ugh, aah—"

A particularly loud death cry acted as a trigger, and Moaiz, who had been overly focused, regained his senses. His magical barrier had weakened, and blood seeped from cuts on his skin, which he had not noticed, running down his forearms and cheeks. He steadied his ragged breath and looked at the sword, now dyed red. He couldn’t remember how many people’s blood it had tasted. Then he realized that the trembling and stiffness that had plagued him so much were gone. He had been so engrossed in the killing he despised and avoided. If he told the imperial knights, they might give a wry smile.

"Follow the squad leader!!!"

"Don’t let anyone get isolated!!!"

Hastily checking the formation at the urging of Gaston and Evrek’s fierce voices, he found that he had been pushing the enemy back from his position. Despite his earlier command to maintain coordination with the neighbors, he had acted on his own. Still, Moaiz was a commander. He couldn’t afford to lose his tenuous leadership and let the enemy’s disordered formation regroup.

"The enemy’s main force is being dealt with by the guardian!! Don’t lose to the numbers!!"

His voice, strained from lack of oxygen, was commendable for not trembling. This was all pretense, mere bravado. Still, the commander’s bluff could serve as a wake-up call for the soldiers under his command. Like defying a torrent, Moaiz took a step forward.