“Kill them all!”

The First Company Commander roared like a tiger.

It was said that he had lost a comrade during the Martai Rebellion, someone who had fought alongside him since his conscription.

“We’ll do just that,” replied the Battalion Commander, before issuing instructions for an extremely defensive formation.

The allied forces consisted of six companies of infantry. Originally a full battalion, two companies had been sent as reinforcements from the Green Pearl Plains.

Even that decision had been risky.

If Green Pearl were left completely undefended, who knew what Azpen might attempt?

“If they come through the southern gate, we can hold them off. But we can’t avoid a decisive battle on the plains,” the Second Company Commander noted.

“How many cavalry do they have?”

“Fifty riders.”

Fifty cavalry. Enkrid didn’t think that number was small.

Warhorses consumed a fortune in gold—not just to rear, but to maintain. They needed iron armor, and their riders required extensive training.

Cavalry on the plains, backed by that kind of investment, was a terrifying force.

Even a single lance charge from fifty riders could chew through hundreds of infantry.

The total allied force numbered approximately 1,200 soldiers.

‘Fifty cavalry could be a major variable,’ Enkrid concluded.

Yet Marcus remained composed, almost impressed.

“They’ve been raising such a force in secret? Impressive.”

His tone was one of admiration rather than concern.

“The enemy also has a significant number of archers,” someone added.

Another troubling piece of news.

To Enkrid, this confirmed that the enemy was thoroughly prepared.

“Urgent report!”

The dramatic announcement came from a scout bursting into the room. Blood dripped from the man’s left arm as he staggered into the meeting hall.

This scout had barely survived a reconnaissance mission deep into enemy territory.

Through gritted teeth, the scout reported:

“A force with concealed emblems has joined the enemy.”

Martai’s original forces had already been considerable: one battalion of infantry, a partial cavalry unit, and an archer company.

Though slightly inferior in quality to Border Guard’s forces, their numerical advantage had always been clear.

Even so, Border Guard had won multiple skirmishes against Martai, securing victory each time.

But now?

“This isn’t good,” someone muttered.

The speaker was from the Frontier Defense Corps, an elite unit composed entirely of top-tier soldiers. Their combat prowess was indisputable.

But even they couldn’t be certain of success, given the news they’d just received.

One ominous report after another had dampened spirits before the battle even began.

“Independent Company Commander.”

Marcus spoke after organizing the situation.

It took Enkrid a moment to realize he was the one being addressed.

“…Yes?”

“Do you know the full extent of an independent company commander’s authority?”

Was there such a thing?

Marcus continued:

“As a company commander, you have the authority to requisition forces from other companies. Whether it’s a squad or a platoon, you can pull from them at will.”

‘Is this man sane?’

Outwardly calm, Enkrid silently questioned Marcus’s mental state.

This essentially meant the Independent Company could act as a superior force to other companies.

In practice, it would look something like:

“Hey, hand over your platoon. I’ll use them and maybe return them—half-dead.”

Who would accept such an order?

Enkrid glanced at the other company commanders.

None of them seemed particularly soft or accommodating. These were hardened veterans, leaders who’d earned their rank on the battlefield.

Even if the battalion commander issued such an order, it was hard to imagine any of them agreeing to it.

“You could be given even more authority than that,” someone said.

It was the Fairy Company Commander. Coming from her, such a statement wasn’t surprising.

“If the Frontier Defense Corps is needed, so be it,” added the Frontier Defense Commander.

Perhaps he felt indebted after recent events.

“The First Company is united, but even if split, we’ll still pull our weight,” said the First Company Commander.

Why? Wasn’t this man considered a prime candidate for the next battalion commander?

Even if the Frontier Defense Commander was influential, the First Company Commander wasn’t a lightweight.

“What, are we all joining the Mad Company? I could throw in my entire company,” joked the Second Company Commander.

Had he always been so spineless? Enkrid recalled the man foaming at the mouth whenever his troops were requisitioned, earning him the nickname “Rabid Palto.”

The Third Company Commander, who had replaced Rayon after his death, and the visiting Green Pearl Company Commander, both responded similarly.

“The Independent Company can be trusted,” the Third Commander said.

Even the Green Pearl Commander, whom Enkrid was meeting for the first time, nodded with a look of faith and trust.

“When did this authority come into existence?” Enkrid asked, his tone even.

“Right now!” Marcus declared, grinning broadly.

‘Is this man cursed?’

Or had he eaten something bad? Maybe the heat was getting to him—it was growing hotter by the day.

Enkrid kept his face carefully neutral. Acting wasn’t his forte, but masking his emotions was second nature.

“I’m not particularly imaginative,” Marcus continued, meeting Enkrid’s gaze.

“Outside of strategy and tactics, what could you accomplish if you were allowed to act freely? Could you neutralize the enemy cavalry? Could you intercept the enemy at every turn?”

There was no hint of performance in Marcus’s heated voice. This was genuine.

It reminded Enkrid of a speech by Krang, whose commanding presence had once captivated an audience with a mix of gestures, tone, and charisma.

Marcus, in contrast, exuded raw passion.

“From reconnaissance to disrupting enemy cities, from battlefield heroics to delivering victory to our forces—your exploits are proof of your capability!” Marcus declared.

Bang!

Marcus struck the table with his palm, scattering more pins across the map.

No one averted their gaze. Everyone was fixed on Marcus, enthralled by his words.

“Surviving alone among a thousand gnolls, solidifying your position as an uncontrollable force—your skill and merit are undeniable! So I ask: if granted unlimited authority, what could you achieve in this battle?”

What did Marcus believe in?

Why was he so unfazed by the looming threats?

Why did no one object to accepting a former Black Blade bandit?

Why did the other commanders remain indifferent to losing their own troops?

The answer lay in their unwavering faith.

“These are the things I’ve accomplished.”

Knighthood was built on skill and achievements.

Enkrid felt a rare sense of validation, as if everything he had done was finally acknowledged.

Satisfaction? No, it was more profound than that.

A long-forgotten dream felt within reach, like it had become part of reality.

And with that, Enkrid found his purpose.

He had been asked a question—so now he would answer.

“Elite forces.”

In this world, the balance of the battlefield often hinged on the presence of knights or knight-level combatants.

When a knight entered the fray, and the enemy had no equivalent, a massacre was inevitable.

But when knights clashed, the outcome was often a duel, with strategy sometimes turning the tide.

Neither Martai nor the enemy knew what Enkrid was capable of, nor the strength of the Mad Company.

Marcus had crafted this mystery.

A highly unpredictable elite force, equipped with knight-level strength.

Acknowledging the difference in his current self, Enkrid finally spoke:

“I don’t know. But I’ll do everything I can.”

It was a simple answer, but Marcus seemed satisfied, smiling broadly.

“Good.”

If given authority, he would use it.

With a pounding heart, Enkrid stepped outside.

Bwooo!

The faint sound of horns and the distant thud of drums drifted from beyond the walls.

The enemy had arrived.

“All troops, assemble!”

After leaving the meeting room, Marcus shouted orders, and Enkrid moved at a near sprint.

The battlefield awaited, one where he and the core members of his company would fight. But, as always, just gathering them was its own challenge.

It had been that way since their days as a troublemaking squad.

As Enkrid headed toward the barracks, he spotted company members already armed and ready.

“Heading out, aren’t we? Marcus must’ve gone all in on you, probably asking you to wipe out the cavalry or something?”

Kraiss, his leather helmet crookedly perched on his head, spoke up.

‘He figured it out.’

Enkrid had suspected as much.

“No.”

“Then what? Did he tell you to take the enemy commander’s head? That’s a bit much.”

“No.”

“Hmm? Then what did he tell you?”

“He asked.”

Without elaborating, Enkrid took the lead.

As he and Kraiss talked, Rem chimed in.

“That King Eyeball bastard said you’d be marching out, and it’s actually happening?”

Yes. But since when had Rem followed orders without complaint?

He used to grumble about how every battle began with him having to bash the allied commander’s skull first.

Well, considering Enkrid was the commander now, that had probably silenced some complaints.

Rem’s willingness wasn’t surprising—he thrived on the battlefield.

What was surprising came next.

“I heard Martai forces and unidentified troops have joined together,” Ragna said.

The man, who usually paid no attention to enemy forces, had somehow done his homework.

Enkrid briefly tilted his head upward to see if the sky was falling.

It wasn’t. The sky was clear, almost cloudless.

“Right,” Enkrid confirmed.

As he lowered his head, Audin laughed behind him.

“Brother, let’s go. Those destined for the Lord’s embrace await us outside.”

It wasn’t something one would expect from a priest, but then again, those who served the War God often behaved this way.

Jaxon simply nodded silently.

Kraiss’s summons rarely worked on these individuals.

So why had they all gathered so willingly now?

Enkrid realized again how his relationship with these people had changed.

From being a punching bag of a squad leader...
To a leader they found interesting...
To someone who didn’t create unnecessary trouble...

Now, he had become a platoon leader who knew things, who had taught them, and who had improved because of it.

And further still:

“If I lead them…”

He wasn’t just a squad leader anymore; he was a commander acknowledged by his men.

His heart raced. As if chasing a long-forgotten dream.

“So, what exactly did he ask you?” Kraiss pressed again.

“He asked what I could do,” Enkrid replied.

“…Wow, talk about shameless.”

Kraiss deduced the rest of the story from that single line.

Basically, Marcus had told Enkrid to prove his full potential.

“And what did you say?”

“I said I’d do everything I could.”

“You’re serious about this, huh?”

Kraiss’s words were met with a faint smile from Enkrid.

Am I confident? Or just foolish?

Was this arrogance or something else entirely?

The turmoil in his chest—was it merely the desire to fight?

Or was it the thrill of standing alongside his comrades, knowing he held a new position and responsibility?

He didn’t know.

Nor did he care to find out.

For now, he simply wanted to swing his sword. To show the enemy what he could do.

The fire inside him roared louder than ever—a mix of ambition, desire, and purpose.

As they marched, Enkrid noticed Dunbakel lagging slightly behind and turned to her.

“What’s with your eyes?”

“They’re fine. I can pull my weight,” she said.

Her eyes were ringed with blue, golden irises standing out against the bruised skin.

No need to ask who was responsible.

Only one person in the company could create such “art” without paint.

“Rem’s handiwork?”

“Just a little sparring demonstration. She asked to see how it felt to fight,” Rem said casually.

“Kids grow up through a few beatings,” Enkrid thought, dismissing the matter.

If she couldn’t handle getting hit, she wouldn’t have said things like “let me serve under you” in the first place.

Dong!

The bell from the watchtower tolled.

The enemy was in sight.

Farmers working outside the walls were hurrying back through the open gates. These were villagers, people who had tilled the land around the fortress.

Regardless of the enemy’s numbers, they would first attack the walls. Siege weapons would be essential.

“They’ve got mangonels, right?” Enkrid asked.

“Of course,” Kraiss replied.

“Grab some clothing from the villagers—something that fits our size. Right now.”

“…This is going to be one hell of a plan,” Kraiss remarked, immediately moving to carry out the order without further explanation.

Enkrid appreciated Kraiss’s quick understanding and moved toward the gates instead of joining the commanders on the wall.

Kraiss soon returned with clothes.

“No way anything fits Audin.”

“Brother, this humble one needs only a sack.”

Audin shrugged off the problem, tore down a nearby market stall’s tarp, and draped it over himself like a cloak. It suited him surprisingly well.

“So, what’s the plan?” Rem asked.

Enkrid considered whether detailed explanations were necessary.

Then he decided they weren’t.

“Follow me and see.”

With that, Enkrid and the Mad Company marched beyond the gates.