"Send the Chimera unit."
At Count Molsen's command, Lierbart raised the banner. The messenger, seeing the small flag in his hand, ran while shouting.
"Advance! Advance!"
Following the messenger's cry, the second wave of the Count's army began to charge.
The Count had sent a group of lycanthropes to the Border Guard. These were true lycanthropes, humans who had turned into monsters. Of course, that wasn't all he had sent to the Border Guard.
The main force was still here.
The cavalry was being pushed back, the mounted archers had been captured by the Squires led by Asia, and the infantry was losing in formation combat.
It was all due to a force beyond expectation, or more precisely, because of a single clueless swordsman who often got lost.
Lierbart also witnessed this but remained calm.
Considering their forces, the battle could only be described as pathetic. They were being relentlessly overwhelmed.
No, they were actually being pushed back.
Yet the Count merely observed, as if it didn't concern him.
The Count's forces were sustaining increasing losses due to the decisions of the Commanders under his command.
In short, people were dying. Amidst this, the Chimera unit charged.
It seemed like a reasonable decision. When you're losing, deploying another force is a basic tactic, isn't it?
Most of them were clad in tattered leather clothes and cloaks full of holes.
A group dressed in outfits that didn't fit the battlefield began to run forward. If you looked closely, you would notice their dull eyes, devoid of reason. They were a mob following the simple command to advance.
At some point, they started running and then transformed.
Feathers sprouted from their bodies, thick mane-like fur grew, and their frames expanded.
Their claws sharpened, and their once blurry eyes filled with murderous intent.
Thus, they became monsters born solely for the purpose of slaughter.
Owlbears, lycanthropes, and werebears.
These were the three types of monsters that transformed, charging forward with savage cries.
"Hooooo!"
"Awooo!"
"Graaagh!"
It was a howl that, for any normal person, would cause chills just from hearing it, triggering primal fear.
With these howls, the monsters aimed at the right flank of the Royal Army. The group of more than a hundred beasts was enough to instill despair and frustration in those on the other side.
Then, it happened.
A shout came from one side, directed at the beastly horde. It was undoubtedly a human voice, but there was something different, something more primal in it.
"Orolorororol!"
It was a cry that rolled from the tongue, spreading widely with diaphragmatic breathing.
"Chase the wolves!"
"Beasts, beasts, you've lost your way!"
"Orolorororol!"
The shout and cry mixed together. From one side of the plain appeared a group of people, running at a speed unbelievable for infantry.
They were so fast that it looked nearly comparable to a cavalry charge.
In other words, they weren't falling behind even when compared to the charging monsters.
Each of them wielded long staffs or spears, and they wore dark brown leather cloaks.
There could be no more than one group like this.
They were the Shepherds of the Wilderness.
People who lived by herding sheep while roaming the wilderness.
They hailed from the northernmost part of the continent, dealing with the 'thick-horned mountain goats' in the mountains and the fierce herbivores known as 'gaunt sheep' on the plains of the so-called wilderness.
Their numbers were fewer than twenty, but they were a group comparable to Knights.
They charged and clashed with the monsters.
Fewer than twenty against over two hundred beasts. At a glance, it seemed like mass suicide, but the outcome was different.
"Die and nourish the fertile ground."
At the front of the group was a man named Pel.
He wielded a sword known as the Idol Slayer, which housed the soul of a demon.
If struck, you died.
It was like the sword was coated in lethal poison. It didn't kill the body but rather cut down the soul.
He had been told not to use it carelessly, as continual use could awaken the demon within the sword, but against monsters like these, using it without hesitation was the right move.
Once, he and Encrid had wielded this sword to endlessly repeat a day.
Pel thrust the sword into the Owlbear's eye. There was no need to pierce the head. A light stab and a quick withdrawal were sufficient. A reasonable wound would suffice.
Of course, to most, gouging out an eye wouldn't be considered a 'reasonable wound'.
Only the Shepherds would consider such a wound reasonable.
"Uuuuuuu!"
The stabbed Owlbear shrieked, enduring instead of dying. Willpower? No, it was thanks to the monster's demonic nature.
The sword trembled, sending a brief vibration. It was a sign that the demon sword was dissatisfied with the strike. It was saying Pel could swing as much as he wanted.
It meant he could use its power without offering up souls to the demon.
Of course, against beings without real souls, he would have to cut and stab more often than when fighting true souls.
Regardless, if once wasn't enough, then twice would suffice.
Pel quickly advanced again and stabbed the other eye.
With a swipe of its clawed hand, the Owlbear lashed out, but Pel dodged by ducking as he withdrew his sword. His eyes gleamed brightly.
He instinctively absorbed and understood all the information flooding in from every direction. Pel started moving even more wildly.
Then, two of his comrades approached. Older-looking Shepherds, one wearing a wolf-head hat, the other a bear-head hat.
"You crazy Pel, tone it down."
"You youngsters these days."
One wielded a long spear, the other a long staff.
The Shepherds of the Wilderness had long favored such polearms — spears and staffs.
Pel, however, stubbornly stuck to his sword among them.
"Can't you just leave me alone to do my thing?"
Pel kicked the dying Owlbear and said.
"You don't want to hear us nagging right now, huh?"
"You're rude because of your father, isn't that right?"
The noisy old men.
Despite what Pel thought, he spoke politely.
"Yes, I was wrong."
"You only say that, only with words."
"Kids these days, I swear."
The old man with the bear head always muttered about 'kids these days', as if it was a habit.
It was easy to ignore him.
Pel figured it would be more pleasant to have a conversation with the Owlbear at this point.
A conversation might include laughter, but Pel would be the only one laughing. The dead couldn't laugh, and there was no way he'd let a monster have that kind of luxury.
The two old shepherds followed behind Pel, almost as if they were assisting him.
Two more joined them, making a group of five moving as one.
This was the Shepherds' basic formation.
Five would become one. A diamond-shaped spearhead, a staff reinforced with metal at the tip, and Pel's sword relentlessly killed the monstrous test subjects.
The Count's Chimera army ultimately failed to achieve any of its objectives.
So how did the Shepherds of the Wilderness end up here?
It was Krang's doing.
While wandering across the continent, he had formed a bond with the Shepherds by chance, and when he asked for their help, they came to repay the favor.
To be honest, several years had passed since they arrived.
They hadn't come just to wait for this day.
They came because they had something they desired as well.
Of course, Krang knew this, and he fully exploited it.
Using what your opponents desire to set the stage is a basic political move, isn't it?
That's exactly what Krang did, and as a result, twenty Shepherds of the Wilderness were here.
Their numbers couldn't be underestimated.
To the soldiers, it felt like Encrid's Mad Company had been multiplied by two.
Some of the older Commanders thought it looked as if a group of Knights had split into three to tear through the enemy.
Asia and her group of Squires.
The Shepherds of the Wilderness.
And Encrid with the Mad Company.
Ironically, the most impressive among them was the Mad Company.
The Red Cape Knights' destructive power paled in comparison.
Though there were no Knights, it was still a rather absurd situation.
* * *
Count Molsen was like a boil.
Leave it alone, and it hurts. Touch it recklessly, and it becomes even more troublesome.
Such boils need to be cut out all at once.
That was why Krang made a seemingly absurd suggestion.
"We need a civil war."
The civil war he referred to was one that would gather every possible disease into the boil that was Count Molsen, cut it out, and burn it.
Thus, the current battle was more a result of Krang's intent than Count Molsen's.
Did Count Molsen not know Krang's intentions?
Whether or not the Count was a born politician, he was certainly an ambitious opportunist. He knew exactly what was going on. And he played along.
That brought them to this moment.
Marcus's mind was racing like never before.
Based on the intel from the scouts, he moved his troops accordingly.
Marcus needed to leave no openings and crush every tactic the enemy had prepared.
So far, things were going that way.
At the same time, Marcus mentally questioned the Count.
'You didn't expect it to go this far, did you?'
A completely different military force had been summoned, replacing the Knights. Naturally, he thought the enemy would be thrown into confusion.
He had heard that Krang had promised to grant the Shepherds of the Wilderness some land in return for their assistance.
The leader of the Shepherds would be granted a noble title in name only, and their land would become an autonomous region.
The Shepherds had lands not only in the north but scattered across the Kingdom and Empire, wherever they pleased.
However, they didn't govern those lands directly.
They employed tenant farmers and only took a portion of the crops.
There was no doubt that Marquis Octo had worked hard to make this happen.
It wouldn't have been possible without his skills.
Therefore, it must have been hard to predict.
'Let's see you stop it, you traitor.'
The sword, once used to herd sheep in the far northern continent, was now tearing through the Chimera forces sent by the enemy.
For some reason, Count Molsen pushed more forces toward them.
The Count's next move was unexpected.
'What the…?'
Marcus frowned. What on earth was he doing?
'Is he trying to overwhelm them with numbers?'
They were not well-trained soldiers. Through the path opened by the forces splitting left and right, the rear unit surged forward like a flood.
There were so many that they looked like waves crashing forward, but they were simply running without any semblance of formation.
'Militia?'
These were men who farmed the borderlands in peacetime but became soldiers during war.
Militia also received basic military training. Some advanced beyond that and became professional soldiers, while others, though less skilled, were still required to undergo training during peacetime.
So, these were not militia.
They had no formation and were busy recklessly charging forward.
They were ordinary civilians, more precisely, people from within the Count's territory who had been handed a spear and sent into battle.
Behind them, a group of archers had arrows nocked, ready to shoot.
They were led by officers called executioners, whose job was to ensure the men fought, even if it meant killing deserters.
Count Molsen had established an execution squad.
Retreat, and you die by an arrow. Advance, and you die by the enemy's sword.
Although there were promises of land and titles for those who survived, giving them a reason to fight, Marcus couldn't know that.
Marcus desperately racked his brain.
'Is he trying to exhaust us?'
Even knowing this, it was a difficult tactic to counter.
The Count wasn't a fool. He had been a prominent figure in his time.
In his younger days, he had even been called the protector of his territory.
As the human shields reached Marcus' forces, they were immediately cut down and torn apart. It was the obvious result. Behind them, the Count's trained army surged forward as well.
The battle continued without pause. Whatever the Count's intentions were, one thing was clear.
As much blood would flow as if a downpour had struck the land.
* * *
Ragna was in the thick of the fight, stabbing and slashing at enemies.
"Block it!"
"Kill him!"
Blood splattered. Bones broke. Heads exploded, spilling brains onto the ground. Severed limbs fell, and beside them lay the corpses of soldiers who died with their eyes still open.
Ragna showed no mercy with his sword. It was more accurate to say he didn't care much for the lives of those he killed.
Instead, he focused on honing his technique.
He treated the battlefield as a place of training.
And he could afford to.
He stabbed, slashed, and swung his sword while thinking, reviewing the fight, and gaining insight.
He did all of this at once.
In the process, he created a few new techniques.
As he did so, he naturally combined and refined what he had. He discarded what needed to be discarded and kept what was worth keeping.
'Interrupting momentum is a grappling technique.'
He had learned it from a Junior-Knight he had fought earlier, but upon reflection, he realized it was a technique not worth holding onto.
It was useful against weaker opponents but would be meaningless against those of equal skill.
It might cause brief confusion, but expecting more than that would be unrealistic.
Therefore, it wasn't necessary. Ragna discarded what he had learned and forgot about it.
There were a few other small insights.
'Stronger and faster.'
In general, he aimed to increase his strength and speed. He added power to his basic techniques of slashing and stabbing. The key was physical enhancement.
It went beyond regular training to a technique that relied on his will to enhance his body.
He didn't need to question whether this was the right path. He didn't need to ask anyone for guidance or look around to check his bearings.
That was his talent.
The genius that people called a gift from the heavens.
Ragna was in the midst of creating, refining, and repeating the techniques he needed to master.
In the midst of all this, a group of people who didn't even know how to fight reached him.
They were the so-called militia sent by the Count.
'They're annoying.'
Reason? There was no need to know. Without a second thought, Ragna moved. He pushed off the ground, looking for someone worthy of his sword — professional soldiers, at the very least.
It didn't take long before he found a group to fight.
As soon as Ragna approached, the formation opened up, forming a circle with an empty center as if inviting him in.
Ragna walked straight into the formation they had created. Once he was in the middle, the soldiers carrying large rectangular shields surrounded him in a ring.
It was clear these soldiers had trained for hunting beasts. Their movements gave it away.
"Now!"
The moment he stepped inside, a net flew over his head. Along with it, crossbow bolts and arrows shot at him from all directions, all aimed at him alone.
Ragna raised his sword and slashed through the net.
It wasn't difficult.
Slashing the net and avoiding the arrows wasn't much harder, either.
He moved fluidly, like water, swinging his sword horizontally at the shields. His intention was to cut through both the shields and the men behind them in one blow.
But.
Clang! Clang!
It was a first. His sword had been stopped. These weren't Knights or even Junior-Knights, and yet their shields had blocked him.
These were no ordinary shields. The soldiers holding them weren't ordinary either.
They were heavily armored infantry, clad head-to-toe in thick metal.
The shields they held were three-layered metal slabs, five times heavier than regular shields.
Even with the power of Severance, it was impossible for a sword to cut through something physically longer than its own blade.
That's exactly what had just happened.
The sword had bitten into the shield but couldn't cleave all the way through because it was too thick.
The soldiers behind the shields exhaled heavily, their eyes locked on Ragna.
Ragna glanced at his sword for a moment, then looked up.
Beyond the shields, he saw their cold, determined eyes staring back at him.
They were trained soldiers, taught to endure fear, to conquer it. Their eyes showed that they were afraid but wouldn't back down.
Ragna thought this would be a good opportunity to test the new techniques he had refined.
Faster.
Stronger.
Sharper cuts.
More precise thrusts.
These were the core of the new techniques Ragna had created.
It would be perfect practice to slice and thrust through those thick shields.