“We need to move the forward base. Leaving it as is won’t do. Let’s secure the forest zone and strike their rear.”

“What nonsense! If we push forward recklessly, how will we retreat? Do you even know how many rear guard units Azpen has?”

“So, are you saying we should let that guerrilla unit rampage unchecked?”

“Leaving them alone is already demoralizing our troops.”

It was a strategy meeting. A group of captains and their aides gathered around a table with a map spread out in the center, voices clashing in debate.

The 1st Company Captain, Graham, supported the idea of pushing forward.

Paltor presented a different approach. The 3rd Company Captain, Rayon, had been killed by an elven assassin in the last battle, leaving his position vacant. The gap was hastily filled by the 1st Platoon Leader of the 3rd Company, who now sat silently, offering no input.

The remaining seats were filled by Marcus’s aides.

Suggestions were brought forward, confirmed, and cross-verified. Watching this unfold, the Elven Company Captain thought it all pointless.

The problem was clear:

“There’s someone on the enemy’s side who’s clever.”

And there wasn’t anyone like that on their side.

Major Marcus’s nickname was the "War Maniac."

Contrary to his moniker, he wasn’t stupid. His interactions with Enkrid made that evident.

He knew how to elevate his subordinates, manage morale, and read the atmosphere.

Compared to the previous battalion commander, Marcus was a saint.

However, Marcus wasn’t a commander who relied on cunning strategies.

When turning the tide of battle, Marcus didn’t rely on exceptional tactics but instead acted directly or deployed powerful armed forces.

The previous battle was proof enough.

What were the two blades Marcus had drawn?

One was the 1st Company’s heavily armored unit.

The other was his direct command, the Borderland Defense Corps.

Marcus’s leadership emphasized brute force above all else.

The enemy, on the other hand…

“Clearly, they’re the cerebral type.”

The Elven Captain had lived a long life, rich in experience.

In situations like this, an inexperienced ally’s reaction would often lead straight into a trap.

What if this apparent opening was a lure?

What if their main forces advanced deeper, only to find an ambush waiting?

Even gathering information was challenging, as they were essentially in the enemy’s backyard.

Sending a recon unit deeper would result in a cat-and-mouse chase along the ridges.

Ignoring the guerrilla unit and striking the enemy’s rear? Not a terrible option, but not without risks.

Moving west led to Cross Guard.

Moving northeast meant encountering the enemy’s main force.

The army had yet to decide its direction.

When lost, holding ground was often the best course.

This unit, by its presence alone, was already a threat to the main force.

Ignoring the enemy’s petty tactics was a valid option.

Boom.

Marcus slammed his fist onto the table where the strategic map lay.

Several game pieces and pins toppled over.

“Let’s keep it short and simple: doesn’t this mean we can neither advance nor retreat? Can someone tell me what we can do?”

His frustration was evident.

This was a battle where the main force should have already routed the enemy and regrouped. Instead, it had dragged on.

And now, the guerrilla unit’s constant harassment was a thorn in their side. Attempts to devise a plan to deal with them had only resulted in unproductive chatter.

In the end, the strategy meeting concluded inconclusively.

No viable ideas had emerged.

After leaving the meeting, the Elven Company Captain was returning to her quarters when she encountered someone blocking her path.

It was a platoon leader with an unusual dual-sword setup strapped to his hips. He pressed one hand on his sword and bowed slightly in a formal military salute.

“Platoon Leader Enkrid requests permission to present a tactical proposal and temporary operational command.”

The elf scrutinized Enkrid, noting his sharp, handsome features. Her expression conveyed her curiosity about what kind of plan this human had.

From her perspective, Enkrid wasn’t the type to devise elaborate strategies. He was more of a straightforward fighter.

“If you’ve come to propose marriage, now’s not the time, Platoon Leader,” she quipped nonchalantly.

Having grown accustomed to such jokes, Enkrid replied just as calmly.

“This is a matter of military strategy.”

Could a platoon leader’s suggestion be dismissed outright? No, it couldn’t.

Regardless of her personal feelings, Enkrid had proven himself repeatedly in battle.

“Speak.”

Enkrid kept his words concise.

“Grant me temporary command to disrupt the enemy’s positions.”

“And?”

“Provide one soldier skilled in navigation to assist.”

“That’s all?”

“And I suggest the main force begins carving a path westward.”

The elf tilted her head to the side, pondering his words.

Enkrid explained further, detailing the unit’s current position, how their movements would impact the enemy, and the potential outcomes.

Observation and prediction.

“What if things deviate from expectations?” she asked.

“Then we retreat.”

Retreating would be the fallback plan. In fact, this entire strategy centered around retreat as a contingency. The Elven Captain wasn’t foolish; the plan clicked in her mind immediately.

“Not bad.”

No, it wasn’t just “not bad”—it might actually be the best option given the circumstances.

Though the elements of the plan seemed minor, when combined, they could produce significant results.

If luck was on their side.

And if Enkrid personally led his platoon.

“You’re taking this on yourself?” she asked.

“No,” Enkrid shook his head. He wasn’t about to claim credit for someone else’s idea.

“This was Corporal Kraiss’s suggestion.”

Kraiss had proposed it on a whim, not wanting to invite danger but hoping the leadership might consider it useful.

It turned out to be exactly what was needed.

“Fine,” the elf said curtly before turning on her heel and heading toward Marcus’s tent.

Afterward, the army’s movements shifted. They began preparing to leave their position and march.

Meanwhile, Enkrid had armed his platoon and was briefing them.

“Rem,” he called out.

“Yeah?” Rem’s tone was casual.

“Shall we go hunt that archer?”

Rem’s eyebrow twitched—a satisfied gesture.

“Sounds good.”

The smile on Rem’s face was bloodthirsty.

“Anyone want to sit this one out?” Enkrid asked, addressing the rest of the platoon, meeting their gazes one by one—Ragna, Audin, Jaxon, Andrew, and Mack.

There were no volunteers.

“Joining us today is Finn,” Enkrid added.

“Glad to be here,” Finn replied.

Finn, a ranger from the light-armored archery unit, had been reassigned to the platoon. Though her rank was technically downgraded to a squad leader, it suited her purpose of staying close to Enkrid.

She had personal reasons for wanting to be here—and ambitions to see both Enkrid and Audin up close.

Finn shook hands with Audin, sizing him up with a gleam of curiosity.

The platoon was ready. Finn led the way, tracking the enemy’s movements. Their target was set.

The target wasn’t the guerrilla unit anymore but the enemy’s main force.

Finding it was no challenge for this group.

“Hah, if there’s a knight among them, won’t that stir up some trouble?” Andrew remarked, breaking the silence.

The soldier with the weakest combat skills in the unit, Kraiss, answered without missing a beat.

“We won’t find any.”

“Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

“If there were knights, we’d just probe and retreat accordingly. And honestly, if the enemy had spare forces to deploy knights or other units to the rear, they wouldn’t bother running a guerrilla unit in the first place. From what I see, that guerrilla unit is just a distraction. The reason is…”

“That’s enough,” Andrew interrupted. He knew Kraiss had a habit of rambling when he got onto topics like this.

Half the words would be incomprehensible anyway, so what was the point of listening?

Kraiss found it a bit frustrating. It seemed no one cared to pay attention to what he had to say.

Well, except for the platoon leader, Enkrid. At least he listened carefully, showing genuine interest and sincerity. That was satisfying enough for Kraiss, who felt a mix of unease about his own analysis and reassurance from Enkrid’s attentiveness.

Walking quickly to Enkrid’s side, Kraiss spoke again.

“Captain, I believe that guerrilla unit is just a diversion. So, why draw our attention? It’s simple—they’re saying, ‘Don’t move, stay here, don’t go elsewhere. If you do, there’s a trap waiting.’ That’s the message. Which means we just need to move in a way they don’t expect.”

He continued to elaborate on his strategy.

Enkrid listened attentively before asking, “Why are you repeating this again?”

They’d already discussed this twice before. This was the third time.

“Well, uh, I just wanted to… Never mind,” Kraiss faltered, looking uneasy.

“Do you think talking about it will make your anxiety go away?” Enkrid asked, half-teasing.

“You wouldn’t understand, Captain.”

Kraiss thought of himself as an ordinary person. To him, someone like Enkrid was beyond comprehension.

From Kraiss’s perspective, Enkrid was abnormal.

If you lack talent, you quit—that’s the norm. Dreams? Chasing after something as intangible as a dream wasn’t normal.

But Enkrid pursued his dream relentlessly, repeating the same grueling training day after day. The sheer determination and relentless effort he displayed weren’t things Kraiss could understand.

It wasn’t normal. It couldn’t be.

Kraiss stopped talking. Just watching Enkrid gave him the sense that, no matter what happened, this man would somehow find a way to overcome it.

His anxiety eased a little.

Finn, a skilled ranger and pathfinder, led the way. Despite being unfamiliar with the terrain, she easily tracked the enemy’s movements.

The guerrilla unit had left traps and other deterrents to shake off pursuers. Some traps had already caused trouble for parts of the Border Defense Corps.

But the "Mad Platoon" wasn’t even bothering to look for traces of the guerrilla unit.

They were heading straight for the enemy’s rear.

Crossing through forests and over ridges, they eventually spotted the enemy’s rear guard.

“I’ll go first,” Rem growled. “And if anyone gets ahead of me, I’ll smash their skulls in, so stay out of my way.”

No one protested. No one cared to take the vanguard.

Kraiss observed the enemy’s formation.

From the tall grass to their position, the enemy was spread across a wide terrain.

“So, this is their rear and right flank?” Kraiss muttered, calculating based on the terrain they’d crossed over the past half day.

“Any knights among them?” Enkrid asked.

Jaxon, known for his sharp eyesight, scanned the enemy formation. “Nothing particularly threatening.”

Then it was time to begin.

Rem was the first to descend the ridge, with Enkrid following close behind.

Dust rose as they kicked their way down the slope.

The rest—Mack, Andrew, Finn, Audin, and Jaxon—remained in reserve, both to guard Kraiss and to serve as reinforcements if anything went wrong.

The ones who descended were Rem, Enkrid, and Ragna.

“I’ll be watching,” Ragna said as he walked beside Enkrid. His tone suggested he was evaluating Enkrid’s performance, particularly his use of dual swords.

“This is a test, isn’t it?” Enkrid muttered to himself.

For him, it was also an experiment—testing the dual-wielding technique he’d been refining.

“What’s that?” one of the enemy’s sentries muttered, noticing the three approaching figures.

Kicking up dust as they descended the slope, they made no effort to conceal themselves. The fertile plains below—land that would soon belong to the victors—offered no cover.

Rem waved a hand as he approached, as if greeting an old friend.

“Hey!” he called out nonchalantly.

The sentry tilted his head, confused. Were they enemies? Allies?

By the time the sentry decided to challenge them, Rem had already thrown his hand axe.

His movements were lightning-fast.

The axe spun through the air, tracing a long arc before embedding itself in the sentry’s skull.

Thud.

The sentry’s head snapped back, his body briefly suspended in the air before collapsing in a heap. His arms flailed once, then fell still.

Another sentry, who had been watching in shock, hurriedly raised a whistle to his lips. But before he could blow it, Rem was already upon him.

Rem’s explosive leg muscles propelled him forward like a missile.

Even Enkrid, who was familiar with Rem’s skills, was astonished. The speed and power reminded him of a knight’s charge—similar to the technique he’d seen when he himself was nearing knighthood.

“Rem…” Enkrid thought to himself.

This man had been hiding his true abilities.

Rem grabbed the sentry’s wrist and twisted it violently.

Crack.

“Gah!” The sentry let out a strangled cry.

In the same motion, Rem swung the axe in his other hand horizontally.

Thwack.

The sentry’s throat was partially severed, and he collapsed, gurgling. Blood poured from the wound, soaking the ground.

“Pathetic,” Rem muttered, standing between the two dead sentries. His voice carried a note of disdain.