Marcus felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.
Cold sweat trickled down his face, quickly soaking his forehead.
"These bastards..."
The cunning tactics of the enemy army left his mouth dry.
But standing idly by wasn’t an option. After all, he was the commander of the current infantry battalion.
The reinforcements had joined, swelling the battalion to two full units.
"Turtle Company, hold position at the rear! The rest, focus on stopping the Giant! Do not break formation! Any man retreating gets an arrow in the back!"
Hearing his orders, the deputy repeated them for clarity.
The messengers then darted in all directions, shouting a condensed version of the orders.
"Block it! Just block it! Retreat and you die!"
It was a dire situation. Sacrificing soldiers would inevitably crush morale, and once the army began to retreat, regaining the advantage on the battlefield would become a distant dream.
Still, there was no other choice.
He needed time to reorganize the forces.
The sound of war horns echoed repeatedly.
Bwoooooo!
Marcus stared into the thick, damp fog obscuring his vision.
"Damn this cursed battlefield."
Hadn’t the last battle nearly ended in disaster because of this damned fog?
Back then, the fog was caused by sorcery.
And how had they dealt with it then?
The ingenuity and strategy of the previous battalion commander?
"What a load of nonsense."
Marcus knew the kind of man the former battalion commander was—a noble-born officer who loved bribes more than strategy.
A fool whose greed outpaced his abilities.
The destruction of the sorcery had been someone else’s doing, no doubt.
Though the details were kept under wraps, the nickname “Sorcery Breaker” was whispered within the battalion, referring to a certain platoon leader.
A soldier said to have the luck of someone who had spent the night with the goddess of fortune herself.
A soldier who had solved issues in the Cross Guard unit after being transferred there.
For some reason, at this moment, Marcus thought of that soldier.
The soldier he had called upon to bring the lunatic platoon under control.
The soldier whose name stood out so clearly in his mind:
Enkrid.
As the thought settled in his mind, movement stirred beyond the slowly thinning fog.
What emerged was a figure several heads taller than any human.
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"What the hell..."
A Giant.
The enemy commander had gone all in.
Rather than fighting piecemeal, they had consolidated their strength to launch a decisive assault on the main army.
If this were a gamble, it was akin to betting everything on one hand.
"In the middle of all this chaos, they pull something like that?"
From the beginning, the enemy’s strategy had been audacious.
Challenging soldiers to duels to crush morale.
Striking at the rear.
And now, unleashing a Giant to flip the entire battlefield in one move.
Was this the work of a strategic genius?
Or was it a reckless strategy that had simply fallen into place by chance?
Marcus didn’t know.
Battlefields spoke only in results.
Victories and achievements were the sole currency.
And if he lost here, it would be his failure, plain and simple.
As anxiety gnawed at his chest, Marcus found himself laughing.
It wasn’t for nothing that he had earned the nickname “War Maniac.”
In moments like this, he felt his primal instincts and desires ignite, his blood pounding like a war drum.
"Just a small shift in momentum, that’s all we need."
Marcus wasn’t the type to analyze every situation meticulously. He was a gambler at heart.
Strategy was the job of his subordinates.
"We must retreat. A single Giant will cost us at least a full platoon’s worth of soldiers."
"We need to acknowledge that their prepared strategy is devastating."
"We should regroup and engage with archers instead of relying on Turtle Heavy Infantry—"
Before his advisors could finish their recommendations, another report came in.
"To the left flank! Fairies and assassins are slaughtering commanders indiscriminately!"
What the hell?
"On the right flank! A squad of elite mercenaries, above top-class, is wreaking havoc!"
It was chaos. Absolute chaos.
And yet, Marcus’s heart didn’t falter.
"I don’t think this is the end."
Ignoring the pleading eyes of his advisors, Marcus said nothing.
He waited for change—any change, however small.
If the wind shifted direction, even slightly...
Marcus swallowed hard, waiting. And if the winds of change didn’t come?
"No, there’s still a chance."
In every group of people, there are always those who stand out. Surely, even within the infantry battalion, such individuals existed.
All it took was a small gesture to break the oppressive waves of the enemy.
Marcus believed that moment would come.
"Commander!"
One of the deputies shouted, almost defiantly, driven by urgency. But amidst the commotion, a messenger came running.
From afar, his voice bellowed as he relayed the battlefield’s latest development.
The veins on his neck bulged as he shouted, so loud it seemed he might collapse.
"Urgent report! Urgent report! The Giant has been killed!"
Change. The very change Marcus had been waiting for, relying entirely on instinct.
Who had done it didn’t matter.
"All troops, reverse charge!"
Marcus roared. It was the moment for the army’s counterattack to begin.
He demonstrated his brilliance as a commander.
He was every bit as capable as his reputation suggested.
At his command, the soldiers of Naurillia surged forward like a charging turtle.
It was a circular assault formation centered around the Turtle Heavy Infantry.
This was Marcus’s specialty—large-scale group combat in which he excelled.
***
The death of the Giant was the turning point.
The winds of change began to blow fiercely across the battlefield, like a hurricane marking the transition from summer to autumn.
“Chaaaarge!”
The voice of a soldier, promoted to messenger for his booming voice, echoed near the company commanders.
Bwooooooo!
The horn sounded the order to advance.
“Attack!”
“Waaaaaah!”
“Crush them all!”
“Die, you bastards!”
Bell joined the fray. Watching Rem take down the Giant and witnessing the heroic efforts of his allies filled his chest with fire.
For the first time, it felt like this battlefield wasn’t a losing fight. He felt hope.
Pababak.
Infantry wielding spears charged forward, their weapons piercing the enemy like thorns.
Thwack!
The pierced formation held firm. Azpen’s soldiers were solid, armed with shields, armor, and counter-thrusting spears.
“Break them!”
The shout erupted from the rear of the allied spearmen.
So what? Were they as solid as us?
The Turtle Heavy Infantry Company moved.
First Company of the 4th Battalion, 4th Regiment of the Cypress Division.
An elite force even among the units bearing the names of knights.
Not an independent reserve unit, but a core combat force.
They advanced.
Their tactics were simple, their strategy even simpler:
“Advance, break, and destroy.”
The Turtle Heavy Infantry wasn’t there for defense but for assault.
Their steps were slow but heavy.
If the vanguard spearmen were like thorns, these soldiers were hammers.
Hammers built to smash through shields and armor.
Instead of their usual long spears, the heavy infantry had equipped blunt weapons specifically for this purpose.
The soldiers wore layers of protection: padded undergarments, gambesons, chainmail, and steel gauntlets and greaves. Together, they moved as one.
As the heavy infantry advanced, it felt like a mass of steel was bearing down on the enemy.
The ten heavy infantrymen at the front raised their weapons vertically above their heads.
Their extended maces cast shadows over the blood-soaked ground.
“Oh shit...”
One of the enemy soldiers muttered.
The front line of the heavy infantry brought their maces crashing down simultaneously.
The sound of the air splitting was followed by a cacophony of impacts.
Boom! Crack! Clang! Crunch!
The first assault landed.
None of the enemy soldiers died in this initial strike. It was a clash of formations.
But the real problem came next.
The tightly packed formations of both sides began to overlap.
Like the sun and moon colliding before dawn.
Soldiers on both sides struggled to maintain their boundaries as chaos broke out.
Stationed in place, the heavy infantry demonstrated their devastating power.
Crunch!
On the second strike, a buckler shattered, sending splinters flying into the air.
The soldier holding the broken shield froze, his pupils shaking.
The mace came again, smashing through the gap left by the broken shield and slamming down on his helmet.
Thwack!
“Guhk!”
The leather helmet couldn’t absorb the blow. His skull caved in as he collapsed.
The heavy infantry marched forward over his fallen body.
Crunch. Squish.
Bones shattered, faces caved in, and blood splattered. Bodies crushed under the weight of their iron boots ceased to move.
For any soldier trampled underfoot, only death awaited.
“Advance! One step forward!”
The captain of the heavy infantry barked, ensuring his unit maintained its formation.
The slow, deliberate advance choked the enemy’s breath step by step.
It wasn’t fast enough to be called a charge, but neither side had room to retreat.
“Sweep them away.”
The captain was confident. Rightly so—momentum had shifted decisively.
If this battle had begun with a knight’s duel, things might have played out differently.
But the enemy hadn’t opted for such a fight.
They’d revealed their hidden blade, only to have it shattered by an even stronger one.
No one could have predicted that Rem, a self-proclaimed madman, would toy with and kill the Giant.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
A soldier’s triumphant roar pierced the air. The troops were ecstatic, their eyes bloodshot as they thrust their spears and swung their swords.
Some even grabbed axes and hurled them.
Amidst the chaos, Marcus’s military prowess shone again.
After breaking the enemy formation with the heavy infantry’s assault, he issued his next command.
“Fire! Fire! Shoot them all down!”
A detachment of light-armored archers flanked the enemy. These swift rangers, armed with shortbows, were led by a skilled commander who had recently joined the unit.
Her name was Pin.
She understood Marcus’s intentions immediately upon hearing his orders.
Arrows flew. Not many died from them, but the goal wasn’t mass slaughter.
It was to rain arrows without reserve.
“Surrender! Drop your weapons and press your heads to the ground! Surrender, and you will not be killed!”
Messengers with booming voices repeated the command across the battlefield.
The disoriented enemy, already demoralized and retreating, encountered Pin’s rangers. At that moment, they had no choice but to drop their weapons and raise their hands.
“Don’t kill them! Don’t kill them!”
Pin made sure to spare those who surrendered.
The effect was immediate. One by one, soldiers began to kneel, pressing their foreheads to the ground.
The battlefield’s atmosphere shifted entirely.
Rem, having killed the Giant, dusted off his hands.
“That was fun.”
This was where his interest ended. What came next—chasing down and massacring the fleeing enemies—didn’t excite him.
It wasn’t out of any soft-hearted desire to avoid slaughter.
The battle was already won. Chasing them down was just tiresome.
He scanned the enemy ranks for any hidden surprises, like another Giant, but there were none.
The commotion at the enemy command post was the only thing of note.
“They’ll all scatter soon.”
“Unless they pull some sorcery.”
But there were no signs of that either.
The tide had turned, and the battle was over.
That was Rem’s judgment.
He turned to look for his platoon leader.
“What the hell?”
Where had that bastard gone? He’d told him to stay back and watch.
Not only was Enkrid nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the platoon, including the stray cats, had disappeared as well.
One of them must have dragged him off somewhere.
“Ugh.”
An uncomfortable feeling crept over him.
“Long live the Mad Platoon!”
“Glory to Rem!”
Soldiers around him were still cheering his name.
Everywhere he went, people praised him.
Their madman had slain the enemy’s mad Giant.
And his final moves?
Using the Giant’s massive warhammer, he’d shattered the Giant’s thigh with a kick, broken its fingers with his fists, and disarmed it.
Then, leaping into the air, he delivered a spinning kick to the Giant’s jaw.
It was a spectacular strike. Picking up a fallen spear, he’d turned the Giant’s shattered face into a masterpiece by driving it through its skull.
The fallen Giant looked like a sculpture, and Rem, standing before it, resembled a hero from legend.
The crowd’s cheers were inevitable.
“Shut up!”
Despite the praise, Rem roared, his voice so loud that everyone around him fell silent.
And just like that, his infamous nickname burned bright in their minds:
“Just a madman.”
A lunatic who lost his temper for no reason.
A madman who raged and swore unpredictably.
“Where’s our platoon leader?”
Someone pointed to the side.
There stood Enkrid, holding two axes.
He was already walking toward them, meeting Rem and Ragna along the way.
“I told you to watch—”
“Picked this up on the way.”
Enkrid cut him off, tossing the axes.
Rem caught them mid-air with a satisfying thunk.
“Hmm?”
The axes felt good in his hands.
Gripping them, he realized they were far better than his old weapons—well-balanced and forged from high-quality steel.
“You went to get these because my axes broke?”
Enkrid, knowing Rem well, nodded.
“Yeah.”
It had been a stroke of luck, but if it brought peace to this madman, it was worth it.
Rem’s killing intent eased, replaced by a faint calm.
“Did you watch?”
“I saw everything. Your axes against the Giant. Your strength overwhelming it.”
Rem looked into his platoon leader’s eyes.
The axes didn’t matter.
What mattered was the fire burning in Enkrid’s gaze—an unyielding desire to learn, grow, and carve his own path.
A pilgrim in search of his dreams.
That was enough for Rem.
It was why he liked Enkrid.
“Good.”
Rem smiled.
So did Enkrid.
Their smiles were different, yet similar.
From the side, Ragna muttered:
“Let’s put our swords away first.”
Behind him, Jaxon appeared, silent and unnoticed until now.
“Once your senses mature and your sixth sense awakens, the next step is detailed training. Breaking things down into components and refining your reactions. There’s much to teach.”
Enkrid glanced at Jaxon, meeting his gaze.
“And what exactly is all that?”
Jaxon didn’t answer.
“Next time.”
He seemed more suited to cutting things down than even Ragna.
“This guy?” Rem growled, narrowing his eyes.
Before the tension could escalate, Audin returned.
“Hah! Our side’s mad Giant is even stronger!”
His triumphant shout echoed.
He was a sight to behold—his entire body soaked in blood, smiling innocently as if it were nothing.
Blood dripped from his sleeves like rain.
“Do you know the essence of Balraf-style combat?”
He was no less insane.
Enkrid’s gaze shifted to the mad Giant, Audin.
Audin flashed a playful smile.
“Damn it, everyone’s jumping in.”
Rem growled.
The air grew tense as they all radiated killing intent.
Enkrid watched silently for a moment before intervening.
Amidst the chaos, their focus was on teaching Enkrid, even in the middle of a battlefield.
They were, without a doubt, the heroes of this battle.
Calming them down, Enkrid finally asked:
“What about the rest?”
Now that he thought about it, Andrew and the others were nowhere to be seen.
“They got swept up and pushed forward.”
Rem replied.