Chapter 205 - Thwack-thwack, Sometimes Thud-thud (2)
"Bake the bread!"
General Olf of Martai had no intention of providing his troops with pathetic black bread, sour wine-mixed water, or musty jerky and fruit just because it was a supply situation. Under his command were several battalion commanders of outstanding talent, and one of them had mobilized the unit he had personally raised. They were called the Oven Unit.
"Stack the stones, and plaster the gaps with mud."
The Oven Unit. The name was literal. They were men who, after setting up a supply base, would build ovens and bake bread. In a way, it was a half-mad endeavor, but General Olf knew well that eating was more important than anything else. And the current battlefield was perfect for using the Oven Unit, as the conditions for its use were limited. It was completely useless in short-term battles and meaningless in an advancing war. But the moment a siege, especially a long-term one, began, the Oven Unit was bound to shine.
More than anything, wasn't it a given that a well-fed soldier fights well? It was something famous military strategists all said in unison. Olf faithfully followed those words.
And so, Martai's Oven Unit began to raise smoke. They fed firewood into the ovens and began to knead dough by mixing water with the flour they had brought. In less than a full day, a savory aroma spread in all directions.
"Now, eat well! A few mangonels? We don't need such things!"
Olf personally walked among the soldiers, encouraging them.
"Who are we!"
"The Lions of the East!"
The soldiers' response was loud. Martai's morale was not broken. It was partly thanks to the commander's direct actions, but the important thing was the bread. Some of the soldiers baking the bread were famous in Martai for their good taste. Many of them would continue to run bakeries when they returned to the city.
Martai had a wide wheat field to the east of the city, and the quality of Martai's wheat was considered among the best. The rainfall was moderate, and more than anything, Martai's wheat field was a place that had been called the Field of Blood decades ago—that is, a place where numerous battles had taken place. It was said that the land had become fertile because of the many dead bodies and animals buried beneath it. Of course, it was a place that had been changed by the touch of someone who had once been engrossed in agriculture, but there was no change in the fact that it was a land with a history stretching back to the past.
Martai, which had cultivated wheat on that fertile land for a long time, had always had delicious bread, and various foods using flour were also well-developed. There's a saying that what you eat determines your status, and in the central continent, white bread was a symbol of wealth. But Martai was different. The abundant wheat production had made white bread a daily food item. That history spanned over 30 years, so it was only natural that some of the bakers were called artisans. Some of them had even gone to the central capital to open bakeries.
That was the kind of bread it was. A food that was one of Martai's points of pride.
Olf had returned to the main camp and was reviewing his future plans when he received an urgent message. It was bad news.
"The supply base has been hit."
"Hit?"
From Martai's perspective, the most important thing right now was, of course, supplies. What was the use of surrounding the enemy if they themselves starved? Naturally, the commander-in-chief of Martai, known as the General, had assigned the man he trusted most to the supply unit. Three battalion commanders, plus the commander of the honor guard, for a total of four, were men whom General Olf trusted the most and who were nothing short of brilliant or fierce commanders. Olf had entrusted the supply unit to the 2nd Battalion Commander, the one with the quickest mind and sharpest intuition among them. He was not a man who would do anything carelessly.
The messenger was sweating profusely.
"Explain in detail!" Olf said fiercely. The messenger swallowed hard and continued.
"A black panther and two enemy soldiers approached, stole the bread baked in the ovens, and set fire to a few tents."
"Those fucking idiots?"
Olf's anger flared up as much as the fire in the tents. And why not? He knew the supply lines were important, and hadn't he diverted some of his forces for it? Moreover, the enemy was trapped. How great could the men who escaped from there and charged in be? The ones who broke the mangonels? He would have welcomed them if they had come out.
At the fire that erupted in the commander's eyes from the night's raid, the messenger could not continue speaking.
'That bastard Zimmer, he wasn't caught off guard, was he?'
The 2nd Battalion Commander's name was Zimmer. He was a meticulous subordinate with a good head, quick intuition, and who did not easily make mistakes. So why hadn't he come to report in person?
"Zimmer?"
The messenger, hearing the name of the 2nd Battalion Commander, answered immediately. "He said he was in pursuit of the raiders."
At the messenger's words, Olf let out a few deep breaths and said, "Strengthen the guard! I will not forgive another hit."
In battle, a commander who loses can be forgiven, but a commander who is lax in security cannot.
Enkrid had easily raided the supply base. Literally 'easily.'
"Shall we go?"
"Let's."
There was nothing difficult about it. They were raising smoke above their heads, showing what they were doing, and there were rows of tents. The number of guards was large, and there were no careless gaps, but that was not a problem.
"Grrr."
Esther went first. The panther dashed forward, and Enkrid and Rem followed behind. Esther's body seemed lighter than usual. With one swipe of her foreleg, she half-severed an enemy soldier's shin, and with a flick of her tail, she struck another's head. The enemy's eyes spun at the swift movements.
"Ambush!"
There was no need to drag it out. Enkrid ran in and slit the throats of a couple of men who charged at him, and then, amidst the smell of blood, a savory aroma pricked his nose. In fact, a savory aroma had been stimulating his sense of smell for a while now.
In the gap while the enemy was flustered, Jaxen set fire to a few tents, and Enkrid, along with Rem, grabbed a few loaves of bread and made a run for it. On the way back, they deliberately came through the forest. If the enemy chased them on horseback, they would be done for, but shaking off those who chased them on foot was no trouble at all. There was a significant difference in their stamina from the start. After running for several hours without rest, the pursuers were no longer visible.
"We should have just sliced them all up and come back," Rem said, clicking his tongue in disappointment.
Enkrid shook his head at those words. "This is enough."
And so they returned and shared the bread.
"He said it's fine to report tomorrow," the guard on duty said as they returned. Marcus, the Battalion Commander, had shown them consideration.
Enkrid, Rem, and Jaxen slept soundly and woke up well-rested. It was the third day of the battle, a morning with a very hot and bright sun. The summer sun rose very early, so Enkrid finished his morning training under the sunlight, washed up, and came inside.
"This bread tastes amazing," Krais marveled anew. Well, it was delicious.
"Eat in moderation," Enkrid said, lightly tapping the back of Krais's head before going to find the Battalion Commander to report.
Below the city wall, he could see them boiling something in a pot. All the commanders were gathered around the bubbling stew. Since they hadn't fought a single battle yet, their armor was clean. In contrast, Enkrid's armor was stained with blood. He had wiped it, but the stains remained.
"So, you've checked the supply base?" Marcus asked, sitting on a backless wooden stool.
"I also set some fires while I was there."
"I see."
Marcus just nodded, and the elf company commander next to him muttered, "Is it a hobby or a specialty?" She was talking about setting fires. Enkrid had been thinking that setting fires was becoming a habit, but what could be better than setting fires to damage a supply base?
"Want a bowl?" the 1st Company Commander offered, holding up a stew ladle. It smelled quite good.
"Who cooked it?"
As Enkrid spoke, the commander of the Border Guard personally brought him a chair. It was a backless wooden stool, the same as the Battalion Commander's. As he sat and smelled the stew, it seemed it would be twice as delicious if he dipped bread in it.
"Just a moment."
Enkrid went and brought the bread he had stolen. It was a baguette, hard on the outside and soft on the inside. It was well-baked, savory, and crispy.
"This."
He broke the baguette he had brought and dipped it in the stew.
"Hmm, excellent," the 1st Company Commander said, his cheeks unusually flushed. Had he said this man enjoyed eating? He seemed to recall Krais saying something like that.
Enkrid also had a taste. It was delicious.
Crunch.
He had thought the crust of the bread was hard, but it crumbled softly the moment he bit into it, and the white inside mixed with his saliva and wrapped around his tongue. In between, the rich stew broth swirled in his mouth. It was a truly excellent taste.
"So, were they preparing in earnest?"
"They're fully intent on drying us out after the siege. They've even built ovens and are baking bread."
"That bastard Olf must think my reputation as a warmonger is a joke," Marcus said, the corners of his mouth rising. It was a look of complete confidence. The enemy's strength was still superior. Cavalry, and even the leisure to set up ovens. And yet, Marcus did not lose his composure. Enkrid now knew what Marcus was trusting in.
It was strange to call it repaying his trust, but he intended to do what he had to do. If he didn't step up, he wouldn't be able to protect the seasoned jerky or the orange marmalade. Eating is important, after all. That's why everyone was silently gobbling down their food right now.
As they were eating, two nobles approached. Their clothes were so clean. As clean as the commanders' armor.
The one with the noticeably wider forehead among the approaching nobles spoke. "Have you considered a peace treaty?"
After him, a relatively younger man also spoke. "The difference in strength is so great even at a glance, so if we could somehow resolve this with words…"
Usually, the noble scoundrels in the Border Guard were either those who had bought their titles or those who had lost their ancestors' status and remained as baronets. What high-ranking noble would come here for something to gain? But now, the situation had changed quite a bit. Once the country stabilized, a count or a viscount might try to get their hands on this place. Before that, Viscount Ventra and other nobles were trying to get a piece of the action.
Enkrid knew nothing of politics and didn't want to know, but thanks to Bug-Eyes Krais, he had a rough idea. That man's chatter was something else. In truth, he wondered if it was that important. It was a matter of just defeating them as they came.
Real battles, the sword, fighting, combat, the battlefield. Those things made Enkrid feel a strange thrill.
'I think I have a terrible taste, too.'
Why did his heart pound at battle and fighting? No, in the first place, he had wanted to become a knight because he had longed for and yearned for such things. He hadn't dreamed with some grand purpose. The beginning had been just that. Imagining himself galloping across a battlefield was the beginning.
After a brief moment of thought, Marcus looked at the two nobles and chuckled. "Why? Does the city show signs of growing, so you think you can become something too? So, rather than fighting Martai, you want to make a peace treaty and say you were at the center of it?"
Is that it? Enkrid let it slide. But it was something Krais would have nodded at if he had seen it. Marcus, if nothing else, had a rather sharp political sense. He had hit the nail on the head.
"Shut your mouths and get back inside. If you don't want to die, go offer your thanks to the hero who announced his name here."
He might be a company commander now, but he was originally a mere soldier. Moreover, he was from some country village and had joined the army to make a living with his sword. There was no way the nobles would bow their heads to Enkrid. The hero of the soldiers was not the hero of the nobles.
"Hmph, I've said my piece."
"It was a suggestion, a suggestion. A suggestion made because the enemy's strength looks dangerous."
The two nobles spouted nonsense, and Marcus waved his hand. After the two left, Marcus lifted his wooden bowl, slurped some stew, and then spoke.
"They're bastards I just want to slice up. Aren't they?" he said, looking at Enkrid.
"Murdering a noble is a grave crime," Enkrid replied.
Marcus continued with an indifferent attitude. "I think it would be fine to accidentally kill them in a duel."
"Who would accept the commander's duel request? They would just put up a proxy," the 1st Company Commander replied.
"I'm just saying."
Hearing those words, Enkrid brought up a question that had just occurred to him. "What's this about a hero who announced his name?"
"That was cool, Independent Company Commander." Marcus, instead of answering, gave a thumbs up. "I'm thinking of trying it myself later."
The 1st Company Commander chimed in from the side. The commander of the Border Guard just nodded. Enkrid felt no shame in what he had done out of a surge of bravado. He just thought that these people were a little, just a little, annoying.
"So, what are you planning to do next?" Marcus asked as they were finishing up their meal and about to get up.
"I plan to go out a few more times."
"A few more times?" The first time was an unexpected blow, but the second time would not be. They would be prepared. No matter how great Enkrid was, no matter how madly Rem raged with his axe, they could not survive if surrounded.
"There was something that felt off," Enkrid replied. It wasn't an empty statement. When he had hit the supply base, on his way back after setting fire to a few tents, Enkrid had felt something strange. It was in the realm of his sixth sense and intuition.
'It felt like Bug-Eyes hiding krona.'
A feeling like watching Krais when he was hiding a few copper coins. In other words, he saw that the opponent was hiding something more. He wanted to check that. He had even decided on an operation name for it. 'Operation Thwack-thwack, Thud-thud.' The gist of the operation was to 'thwack' and, if he saw an opportunity, 'thud.' Enkrid had made the basic framework, and Krais had supplemented the details.
After returning to the barracks, he discussed with Krais when to go and where to hit.
"Then let's go at sunrise this time," Krais said. His tone was impassive, but it was an opinion that anyone who knew even a little about military tactics would have called brilliant. But Enkrid thought it was plausible. Since they had attacked at night before, they would try it in broad daylight this time. It seemed fine.
"That sounds fun, brother," Audin replied, having heard the plan.
The key to this operation was the 'blockhead.'