Because of its shape and its multitudes of sharp spikes, the wolf fang cudgel was easier to shake blood off of than a regular flat sword. Its shape meant that if you gave it a good swing after smashing some people, it’d automatically whip a wide spray of blood. And that, of course, would probably look pretty damn ghastly. On top of that, I gave their vague fears a clear shape: that they might be next.
“Uwahhh, waahhhhhhhhhh?!”
“E-Eeeeeeek!”
When one soldier screamed and started running, that set off another one, and then another one, as the soldiers chased after him with faltering footsteps. They were all like the “bandit” group we’d busted before: At heart, none of them were ready to die. The only difference here was that they had only vague concerns about things based on their own observations of how the battle was progressing. When I slammed the clear fear of death in front of them, most of their hearts broke like a twig.
“Wh-What?! Fools, how dare you run?! Protect me! Protect me, or it’ll be your heads!”
Balthazar was panicking, trying to stop the soldiers, but they weren’t gonna stop just for that. If they stopped, they’d die—that was most likely the prominent thought in half their heads. Most of the other half probably gathered that the prince and his lackeys likely wouldn’t be able to catch them, if they did run fearing for their lives. And then there were probably a handful of them who thought this: If the Black Wolf killed Balthazar, then no one would chase them at all.
Those destined for leadership should discipline and hone themselves so that they would never inspire those kinds of thoughts in their subordinates. But it was Balthazar’s contempt for that theory that I was currently taking advantage of.
“Now, best resign yourself to these next few moments, Your Highness!”
I’d given our volunteer militia the easy job of chasing down the soldiers who ran, so we were surrounded by chaos. Because of that, when I shouted at him, he just shook, unable to ride his horse away due to his lack of skill. He’d already looked pretty damn sickly, but now, he was way past regular pale and deep into being as white as a sheet.
His toady knights were still there, but they couldn’t handle their panicking horses and hadn’t managed to draw their swords. It pissed me off a bit, honestly; it only took this little bit to get them rattled like this?
“S-Stop! I’m... Just who do you think you’re threatening?! The noble blood of Sylvario’s royal family runs through my veins, and I will be the kingdom’s next king...”
I ignored Balthazar as he started to babble, stepping forward. Two knights on horseback moved forward to shield him. But that just made them easier targets.
“Out of the way!” I screamed as I swung my cudgel, slamming it into their horses with an awful, fleshy sound. The horses toppled to their sides, and the knights who fell with him must have fallen wrong, because they twitched a few times before they stopped moving.
I felt bad for the horses, but this was war, and we were on a battlefield. I hoped they’d understand if I gave them a proper burial later.
“Prepare yourself!” I exclaimed.
“E-E-Eeeeeek!”
I charged forward at him with a shout, and he screeched as he leaned backwards. But that wasn’t a good thing to do. Whether he’d messed up pulling at the reins or the horse was afraid of me, his horse cried and reared itself up on its hind legs, going wild.
“Uwah, ahhh, ahhhhh?!”
Balthazar, of course, had no skills to calm it with, so he just ended up falling off. When he hit the ground, he must’ve hit something wrong, because he went completely still. His steed didn’t give him even the slightest glance, running away.
“Damn. Did he die? Nah, he’s not dead maybe?”
I gave the prince a good once-over. His neck was fine, and wasn’t bent at a weird angle. There was, of course, still a chance he’d hit his head wrong and was gone, but I probably didn’t need to check right now.
“Tie Balthazar up! And lower all of Sylvario’s flags! We’ll show them that we’ve won!”
When I gave the order, one of the Special Battalion knights started binding Balthazar up with a practiced hand. Beyond them, the volunteer militia surrounded and pinned down the Sylvarian flag bearers who’d held on through the whole mess.
Looks like even the very bottom members of the Sylvarian army are properly trained soldiers. My current position reminded me again of the importance of competent leadership—of how so much depended on having a good leader in charge. But this wasn’t the time to moon about that sort of stuff, so I threw out some more orders.
“Shout out our victory! We have won!”
“Yeahhhhhhhhhhh!!!”
“Woooooooooooh?!”
After the Special Battalion knights showed them an example of what to do, the volunteer militia raised their voices too. At first, they were timid. But as they continued shouting, their voices got more and more assured. And those voices spread to every bit of the battlefield.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Wha? Wh-Why are the flags being lowered?” a single mercenary muttered, stunned.
He was located near the back of Sylvario’s army, in a relatively safe spot. Which was why he saw it: the leading camp lowering its flags. But since the man couldn’t see it very well, it was understandable that he was confused.
A lowering of the flags would mean either that the leader of the army—in this case, Balthazar—had been killed or captured, or that they were retreating, which meant that the army would inevitably dissolve. It was crucial in such circumstances for the flag bearers to hold out until the very end, and precisely why Ark had made targeting them his group’s sole concrete goal.
And now, those flags were gone. They’d been lowered. And the mercenaries were fast on their feet at the sight.
“What do we do now?!”
“What else would you think we’d do?!”
One of the mercenaries had been asked that question by another shocked one, and he pulled his stiff face into something like a smile in response.
“WE RUNNNNN!!!”
As soon as one had sped off with a scream, the other mercenaries scrambled to flee.
In the first place, not only had they crossed the sea to get there and were totally unfamiliar with the area, they had also fallen ill to a local endemic and were so exhausted they had to almost literally drag themselves along, and they were in enemy territory with an opponent who’d essentially knocked out their boss in one blow. They were in a pretty hopeless situation.
“Dammit, I never should have come to this country!”
But despite their screams, it was far too late.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I never thought he would finish things so cleanly...”
Having given the order to pursue the stampeding Sylvarian forces, Count Farlon couldn’t help but lament. The Black Wolf hadn’t let the perfect opportunity that had arisen during the battle slip by, and he had ended things with a single bite.
“He moved as if he’d read the entire battlefield’s flow and breathing,” he murmured. “So this is the man known as the Black Wolf’s sense of smell...”
Count Farlon—a seasoned knight used to the stench of blood—shuddered at the thought.
Those fangs would probably never be pointed his way. But still, he couldn’t shake the chill that ran down his spine.