The Rural Officer Who Was Once a General

Part 1, Chapter 23

Whoosh!

As a small-framed Imperial officer slashed his sword fiercely, an assassin spewed blood and fell from his horse.

“They’re rangers from the Khanate!”

As the officer shouted, four nearby assassins simultaneously drew their swords and charged.

The mounted daggers—more like short spears, with hilts longer than their blades—rapidly closed the distance toward the officer.

“Hrgh!”

When the officer brought his sword down, one assassin’s head split open.

But the remaining three, without sparing a thought for their fallen comrade, rushed at the officer.

“You bastards!”

The one who came to the officer’s aid was junior officer Daos.

Daos extended his blade to block the daggers’ trajectories, and the officer used that moment to retrieve his sword.

“I’ll take two.”

With confidence in his voice, Daos swung his sword.

One assassin, slashed by the blade, rolled across the ground, while another barely dodged and widened his eyes, reaching toward his waist.

‘He’s going to throw a hidden weapon!’

Daos’s judgment was swift, and his movement was no less so.

With a flash, his longsword sliced the assassin’s neck.

“Haah!”

Alongside Daos, the sound of metal and a battle cry rang out.

The assassin and the small-framed officer exchanged blows, draining each other’s stamina.

“It’s over.”

Daos immediately drove his sword into the assassin’s thigh.

As the assassin lost his balance, the officer’s blade pierced his heart.

“Just as Centurion Fade predicted, it looks like they’re planning a skirmish at the ‘hole’ in the forest.”

Catching his breath, Daos sheathed his sword.

Having dealt with the assassins in one swift motion, his arms trembled from the strain.

‘Just ahead.’

According to the map, a ten-minute march from here would bring them to the forest hole.

The fact that the rangers had come this far likely meant they’d already been spotted.

Perhaps among all the birdcalls they were hearing now, one was the sound of the assassins’ whistle.

Whatever the case, it seemed certain that they would soon encounter the enemy.

And that enemy would likely outnumber them and consist of high-quality troops.

***

The beginning of war is led by civil officials—those commonly called ink-slingers on the battlefield.

Outwardly, they speak of causes and justifications, while inwardly, they calculate gain and loss, victory and defeat.

A few words they speak, or a few lines they scribble, become the trigger of war.

Then what about what follows—that is, the battles fought on the battlefield?

Those are led by the military officers.

Each general starts a battle in a different way, but broadly, their methods can be grouped into a few categories.

Some form ranks and wait for the enemy, preparing for a counterattack. Others charge all at once to open the fight with a bang.

If it's a clash between warriors, the battle may begin with a duel, known as a single combat, where the combatants test their martial skills.

Rakula, who arrived first at the forest hole, chose a mix of the first and second approaches—moving in with an attacking force and prepared to charge the moment the enemy was spotted.

On the other hand, Tryaev was a thorough warrior.

He was the kind of man who preferred starting battles with a duel against the enemy commander.

But since the enemy commander wasn’t a warrior, and because he was in a situation of clear numerical inferiority, Tryaev had to take a different approach.

‘Direct charge—break through the front line.’

It was Turg who took the vanguard.

Fighting the entirety of Rakula’s army might be too much, but the advance force led by Turg seemed like something he could handle.

Perhaps he might even face Turg in single combat.

Of course, there was no guarantee of winning, but if he did, their morale would soar while the enemy's would plummet—a dramatic effect.

Shff shff shff.

In a clearing of the forest, where a chilling tension filled the air, Rakula's army and Tryaev's centurion unit faced each other.

“Charge!”

Tryaev’s strategy was simple, and precisely because of that, he could strike first without hesitation.

As officers and cavalry mixed together and charged at full speed with Tryaev, the infantry followed in a terrifying rush.

“Warriors of Raman Khanate, sons of the steppe!”

Turg shouted in a voice that echoed through the forest.

“Let us return these Imperial fools to the embrace of nature!"

Thoom!

A hundred armored heavy cavalry kicked off the ground at once, and the earth shook.

“Don’t be scared! Khanate bastards are worse than local bandits!”

“Waaaaah!”

Everyone knew that wasn’t true—but in the face of what stood before them, they needed that belief just to charge forward.

“You brave sons of the Empire! Sweep away those damned colts!”

“You heroes of the steppe! Crush the Imperial dogs beneath your heels!”

At terrifying speed, the vanguards of the two forces crashed into each other.

Claaang!

Tryaev’s dual swords and Turg’s axe clashed several times in midair and withdrew, creating a grating metallic screech.

Since both units were charging at high speed, the encounter between the two leaders was brief.

They had to immediately deal with the cavalry surging up behind them.

Slice! Slash! Shreeeek!

The dual swords, like they belonged to different masters, swung freely, slicing through heavy armor and cutting down cavalry.

Ughk!

Some didn’t die in one blow, spitting blood as they barely clung to life, but Tryaev left them to the ones behind.

Shing!

Daos quickly followed behind Tryaev, finishing off the survivors.

Compared to Fade’s training, finishing off the heavily wounded and gasping was a trivial task.

That said, it wasn’t as if the Imperial army was dominating the battlefield.

Turg, for one, collected the heads of five cavalrymen as easily as a child gathering pretty stones in a stream.

Whoosh!

The next opponent was a large-framed officer.

When five severed heads were thrown before him, he quickly waved them out of sight—but he failed to react to the axe flying in from behind.

Thunk.

The axe dug deep into his shoulder.

“Guh!”

The large-framed officer lost his balance, and Turg didn’t miss the opportunity—he shot out his fist and struck the officer’s wrist.

As the officer dropped his sword in pain, Turg snatched it in reverse grip and decorated the officer’s belly with it.

Turg yanked out his axe and searched for the next opponent.

The cavalry were all already fighting in the rear, and ahead of him, infantry stood waiting, with no intention of stopping him.

“Hyah!”

Turg kicked his heels into the horse’s flank, picking up speed.

“The enemy is coming!”

The infantry swiftly raised their spears, pointing them at Turg.

“Hrrrgh!”

Turg swung his axe in a slightly awkward position.

With one hand—and his left, at that—it took quite a bit of effort to sweep low.

“This damn body is the problem…”

After cutting down five infantry in one blow, Turg quickly changed direction.

Looking back, he saw Imperial cavalry mostly fallen, and a few officers barely holding on.

‘Hrrgh, to think I’m already getting tired from just this.’

Aside from Tryaev, he hadn’t even fought any skilled opponents. Just slashing down around ten enemies had already made his body send warning signs.

‘I don’t think it used to be like this before.’

Maybe it was his arm. Maybe it was his age. Probably both.

Well, they didn’t need his efforts anymore anyway.

Now was the time for the light cavalry and mounted archers.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The mounted archers loosed their arrows at the remaining cavalry.

The range was awkward, so half the arrows didn’t even reach, and those that did failed to produce any meaningful results.

After a volley of arrows rained down, Tryaev nodded and shouted,

"Tsk, retreat!"

“Waaaah!”

“W-What?”

The first to move were the infantry.

They quickly leapt back and disappeared into the forest.

“How the hell are those guys in heavy armor that fast?”

“Wait, are they not actually wearing heavy armor?”

Unfamiliar with Fade’s training, Turg barely managed to calm his surprise and gave orders to his men.

“Half of you come with me and chase down those infantry bastards fleeing with their tails between their legs! The rest, block the cavalry! Don’t let a single Imperial bastard get away!”

“Yes, sir!”

The heavy cavalry followed Turg’s command and each turned their horses in a different direction.

“Pah, you fools! You think running that fast is going to change anything?”

Turg clicked his tongue and entered the underbrush.

There, something felt familiar.

Yes, something like what he’d sensed in the reed field before triggered his instincts.

“Wait, it’s a trap—”

Before he could finish his sentence, ten cavalry at the front suddenly tumbled through the forest all at once.

“Damn ropes again!”

Turg angrily swung his axe and cut the taut rope beneath him.

“Assassins! Stop them!”

“Yes, sir!”

The voices echoed from all directions as the cavalry surged forward, closing in on the infantry.

Even crude traps posed little threat to elite assassins—they could assess most by sight alone.

Some of the less-trained assassins stumbled, got caught, and fell, but about twenty rangers who could be considered elite managed to close in on the rear of the infantry.

It looked like they'd soon be able to turn the enemy into a pincushion.

Clack!

That is, until the infantry drew their crossbows and turned around.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Dozens of bolts zipped through the trees, impaling the rangers.

“Kh!”

Those who survived dropped from their mounts, preparing for close combat.

“Aaaargh!”

But there was little they could do against the heavy infantry.

The infantry, trusting in their reinforced armor, surged forward and swung their weapons.

The weapons differed in form, but all led to the same conclusion: death.

Crunch!

A ranger struck by a mace had his head caved in, watering the grass with blood.

Slice!

Another, slashed by a sword, spilled bright red entrails and became mulch for the forest.

Thud!

One pierced by a spear turned ghostly pale and collapsed on the hard ground.

The rangers tried to respond with crossbows, daggers, and throwing knives—but none of them proved effective against heavy infantry in close quarters.

Those who had rushed past the bolts had no time to reload. Throwing knives either stuck harmlessly in thick plate or bounced off with a pathetic clatter.

Even their dazzling dagger skills weren’t enough—they couldn’t pierce plate, nor could they strike faster than a long weapon’s reach.

This skirmish proved a costly lesson: when rangers engage heavily armored infantry in a head-on fight without surprise on their side, the price is their lives.

And that was quite the steep price—one could only argue about it if the corpses got up and spoke.

The infantry, having dispatched the rangers, calmly reloaded their crossbows.

Thunk. Crash. Snap!

One by one, traps were triggered—betraying the movements of the heavy cavalry.

“Fire!”

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The moment the cavalry emerged into view, a new volley of bolts greeted them.

Their armor—both personal and that of their mounts—was sturdy enough to withstand arrows.

But their speed dropped all the same.

Those unlucky enough to take hits in unarmored spots collapsed with agonized cries.

Others had their horses shot in the legs, sending them crashing to the ground at full gallop.

And in terrain full of rocks and roots, a fall from horseback often meant death.

With the cavalry's momentum broken, the moment now belonged to the infantry.

“Crush those damned colts!”

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*Ink-slingers - People who write a lot, such as scholars, scribes, or officials, are often mocked or looked down on by soldiers.

*Colts - are young male horses, but when used to describe people — especially in war — it becomes an insult. It’s a way to mock the enemy for being too young or too stupid to know what they’re doing.