The Rural Officer Who Was Once a General

Part 1, Chapter 22

Clop, clop!

With hooves pounding rougher than usual, Tryaev’s centurion unit rode through the forest.

‘Blathyun, you damn bastard…’

Tryaev ground his teeth.

He'd laughed so boldly, saying to leave it to him—only to die already. What a pathetic sight.

In truth, he had somewhat expected it.

Rakula’s army numbered in the thousands, and the watchers barely numbered ten combined.

If they fought head-on, it was a certain defeat, and even if they ran, only one or two would survive.

There was no guarantee Blathyun would be among them, nor did anyone truly know how ruthless Rakula could be.

Still, hearing so suddenly of a comrade’s death stirred something in his heart.

No—on the contrary, it calmed him.

The heart that always trembled with rivalry was now still.

“Ghmm…”

Tryaev shut his eyes tightly.

He knew well how common death was on the battlefield.

He had originally belonged to one of the hundreds of centurion units under Pipin’s command.

Back in his day, it was rare to become an officer through recommendation or exams, so he and his comrades began their careers as mere soldiers.

He hadn’t wielded dual swords out of arrogance from the start.

It was simply that their centurion had been skilled with dual swords, and after months of relentless fighting, he taught that swordsmanship to Tryaev and Blathyun.

Their centurion unit, originally filled with new recruits, had dwindled to just over ten soldiers within a year—a tragedy that left the survivors with hardened skill and battle-worn experience.

That didn’t mean they became officers right away.

Proof wasn’t in skill, but in results earned with that skill.

So they kept fighting, racking up achievements again and again.

And with every achievement came someone’s death.

The death of the comrade who had fought at his back, the death of the junior who always fumbled in front of him, the death of the senior who had protected him, the death of the superior who only ever cracked bad jokes...

Each new honor was built atop a mountain of corpses.

Some of those were the enemy’s, and some were their own.

Even their centurion became part of that pile—struck in the belly by a stray arrow.

In the end, only four soldiers survived, including Tryaev.

By then, the vague ambition they’d held as recruits was gone, replaced only by a grim bloodlust.

The ones with the courage to die had all died—only those who lacked it and swung their blades out of a will to live remained.

Among them, Blathyun had been one who cared least about his own life, but this time too, the gods had handed down death without mercy or warning.

Tryaev muttered the motto of their old centurion unit:

“Stack up merit, and you stack up lives. Once lives are stacked, stack up more merit.”

He adjusted the reins he’d been roughly tugging and loosening.

“Yeah… that’s how it should be.”

He would do what he always did.

Now that lives had been stacked, it was time to stack up merit.

***

Taaah!

The ranger, carrying the surviving watcher behind him, kept kicking the horse’s flank, but the utterly exhausted horse could no longer pick up speed.

“It’s over!”

Three mounted archers, relentlessly chasing them, nocked arrows to their strings.

“Damn it!”

The ranger urgently turned his horse to the side, then quickly redirected it back to the original course.

“Whoa!”

One of the mounted archers, who had been steering with his thighs, hastily tried to correct his course and ended up crashing into a tree and tumbling down.

“Damn, that guy’s dead for sure.”

The watcher, who had been gulping water like mad on the back of the horse, muttered in a hoarse voice.

Swish.

He quickly reached out and grabbed a short spear, but no matter how he looked at it, the chasing archers would loose their arrows first.

Thunk!

At that moment, short spears came flying from the side and struck two of the mounted archers squarely in the neck.

“Nice cover!”

The watcher let out a dry chuckle and tied the short spear back to his thigh.

Even so, his eyes wavered.

‘Who the hell are these guys?’

All those deployed as watchers were elite rangers.

Yet these guys—just regular rangers—were better than them at throwing short spears.

‘If it’s underfoot, I might have the edge, but on horseback, it’s a whole different story.’

The precision with which they struck while riding, the perfect timing of their sudden appearance—it was unbelievable.

It wasn’t because those guys were especially talented.

If they were, they’d already be elite soldiers, flaunting it.

Sure, as rangers, they could hold their heads a little higher than other corps, but among rangers, these guys were just average.

So then?

‘It must be our centurion’s doing.’

Didn’t Captain Blathyun always say it? That Centurion Fade was brilliant not just in combat, but in strategy too.

If someone like that trained them, it wouldn’t be surprising for them to gain an extra ounce of talent.

Thinking that, and finishing off the rest of his water, his gaze caught sight of Hughes charging at the pursuing force—a mix of mounted archers and guards.

From the enemies’ angle, Hughes likely hadn’t come into view yet.

‘That guy definitely used to be stationed in Aide—’

Thud! Thud! Slice! Shick!

The moment Hughes clashed with the pursuers, the watcher’s eyes went wide.

‘What did I just see?’

Hughes pulled out a dagger and launched a surprise attack on the mounted archers.

He stabbed the dagger into the hearts of two mounted archers, pulled it out, and swiftly drew another dagger.

It was long enough to be close to an arming sword, and looked like a high-quality weapon.

Anyway, Hughes swung the dagger in a sweeping, curved arc.

Three of the cavalry caught in the arc took deep wounds to their arms and chests and staggered back. Hughes then pulled out a crossbow.

A bolt was already loaded—he steadied it with a flick of his wrist and pulled the trigger.

The bolt embedded itself in the neck of the only light cavalryman wielding a spear, and Hughes vanished back into the underbrush.

He had appeared like a ghost, killed three, injured two, and disappeared like the wind.

Sure, the ambush played a big role, but his movements were something even the most elite rangers would struggle to replicate.

On top of that, the enemy had been veteran soldiers.

But Hughes had swept through them like they were practice dummies.

‘That guy’s just…’

He’s just a cut above the rest, isn’t he?

***

Rakula sent several dozen mounted archers and a few light cavalry after the watchers, then scattered assassins to survey the terrain.

Though she had previously received a report from Zarbin, it hadn’t been nearly enough information to push forward—she had to gather it herself.

Still, with 200 troops deployed simultaneously, the intel came in quickly.

“So, mountains to the west, traps in the center, and an opening to the east, huh?”

Rakula curled her lips into a smirk.

It was as if the god of the steppe had exerted their power on the forest and gifted her a patch of meadow.

“We’re going east! But I’ll be forming a new unit primarily of cavalry.”

Bringing infantry along to move the forces?

It would take more than a full day just to reach the opening in the forest.

One might think that a day or two wouldn’t matter for this operation, but the signal kites had already gone off.

If the Imperial forces had any brains, they’d obviously be making their way to the open area in the forest as well.

If only a few cavalry arrive, they’ll be outnumbered. So they’ll mix in infantry. But if we lead with a cavalry unit, we can seize that ground first.

It wouldn’t be a bad thing to fight whoever was already guarding the place, but they’d had time to prepare—and they knew the forest well.

There was no reason to let them hold the key position.

“Cavalry will break the enemy at once; infantry will advance gradually! First, set up a temporary base in the west.”

Even if they won here in the forest, it wouldn’t be the end.

That bastard of an officer might have tricks up his sleeve, and Pippin wasn’t the kind of fool to just sit there and take a beating.

So they had to advance both swiftly and steadily.

Move too slow, and the Empire would prepare; move too fast, and the line would break.

They needed just enough preparation to stabilize rear supplies.

“This won’t be a one-day battle. It might be the final battle that ends a long war. We mustn’t rush recklessly.”

These words were meant for the soldiers, but also for Rakula herself.

The big picture is roughly drawn.

Now it was time to add color to that picture.

To do that, I need to deal with what’s in front of me first.

“Turg, will you lead the vanguard?”

“Heh, by all means, grant me that honor.”

“You must not lose a second time.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Good.”

Rakula nodded and mounted her prized steed.

“Turg and one hundred heavy cavalry will form the vanguard. Rangers will handle pathfinding and enemy detection.”

“Yes, General!”

Rangers and heavy cavalry shouted in unison.

“They’ll be followed by three hundred light cavalry and one hundred mounted archers. Another hundred heavy cavalry will bring up the rear.”

“Yes, General!”

Rakula briefly closed her eyes and envisioned the ideal tactics this unit could execute.

Turg and the brave heavy cavalry would smash through the enemy line with a first charge, and then the scattered and disorganized enemy would be finished off by the rushing light cavalry and archers.

If any enemy regrouped or created unpredictable resistance?

The heavy cavalry in the rear would sweep in like a storm and deliver a sentence of death—that would be more than enough to secure victory.

In fact, with such a difference in numbers, and with all of her forces being cavalry, losing would be the strange outcome.

That bastard won’t be able to do anything.

It wasn’t complacency or underestimation.

Even for him, there’d be no clever move in this situation.

What if he had the skill of a Hundred General?

Hmph... then maybe a few across the continent would qualify.

Most of them would be old men, and whether they could actually pull it off is another question.

Still... among the Hundred General level, there were a few who might have been able to try.

In fact, several decades ago, the barbarians were utterly crushed in the Southern Empire despite outnumbering their enemy ten to one. And considering some of the Ten Fingers were contenders for the strongest on the continent, cutting down a thousand enemies alone wasn’t beyond them.

Well, neither case was backed by proper historical records—only rumors.

The latter had practically become a figure of speech, and the former’s ultimate conclusion was that the barbarians still won, so the general’s tale might’ve just been exaggerated to save face.

In short, this is your end.

Unless he was the reincarnation of one of those legendary figures, there was no way he’d win.

The more she thought about it, the more only the outcome of victory came to mind. So Rakula set aside her distractions.

“Unit formation is complete. Troops, move out!”

When Rakula waved the command flag from atop her horse, seven hundred cavalry began to move in unison.

***

Clatter.

Fade picked up the knight-shaped piece and placed it beside the green flag, then dragged it to the 'Hole' location.

“They’ll only send cavalry. The numbers…”

He made a rough guess based on experience, saying whatever came to mind.

“Maybe around seven hundred?”

Well, could be wrong.