NoveLight ™
After donning the villagers’ clothing, Enkrid headed straight outside.
“Hey, where are you going?”
A soldier assisting the retreating villagers shouted from the wall. Enkrid lifted the wide-brimmed, tattered hat covering his face, revealing his blue, piercing eyes, and the soldier’s expression changed instantly.
“Enkrid, Commander?”
Lately, it was rare to find anyone in the city who didn’t recognize Enkrid’s face.
“Shh.”
Enkrid pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and walked out of the gates.
He left Kraiss behind—the man wasn’t much use in direct combat, after all.
Moving in the opposite direction of the flowing crowd of villagers made him stand out a bit, like a fish swimming upstream.
But Enkrid didn’t care.
What did it matter if the allied forces saw him?
What mattered was ensuring the enemy didn’t. At this point, they were still out of the enemy scouts’ line of sight. This was the perfect window to move and conceal themselves.
“Let’s go,” Enkrid said, breaking into a run.
“Ambush?”
Finn, who had quietly fallen into step beside him, asked.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t argue or ask what the point was of setting up an ambush with fewer than ten people.
She understood.
Her time spent with Audin had taught her enough.
The entire Mad Company, Enkrid included, were monsters.
***
Marcus stood atop the gallery of the city wall, stroking his beard as his lieutenant, who had accompanied him from the capital, spoke.
“Will this be all right?”
The lieutenant wasn’t doubting Enkrid’s strength—he trusted the man. However, trust didn’t eliminate the precariousness of the situation. No matter how much faith he had, things looked risky from the outside.
That was why Marcus had prepared contingencies.
“I don’t know,” Marcus admitted.
“Then why are you smiling?”
The lieutenant could read neither worry nor concern on Marcus’s face, which he found strangely intriguing.
He had never seen Marcus speak with such fervor or smile so genuinely.
‘Well, maybe I’ve seen it a few times.’
Like that time Marcus discovered a rare batch of tea leaves and jumped into an auction to secure them.
It was the kind of smile one wore after finding something precious, eager to savor the moment.
“Well, whatever happens, it’ll definitely be interesting.”
Marcus wasn’t someone who viewed battlefields as entertainment. If he said this, there had to be a reason.
The lieutenant realized that Marcus’s expectations of Enkrid, the independent company commander, were far from ordinary.
No, it wasn’t even just expectation—it felt like Marcus was genuinely enjoying himself.
“The unidentified troops must belong to Viscount Bentra,” the lieutenant said. “It’s also possible Count Molsen sent reinforcements.”
Molsen, known as the “Collector of Talent,” was infamous for gathering exceptional subordinates. His forces were filled with capable individuals.
Marcus had already considered this possibility. The troops’ lack of insignias meant they couldn’t openly aid their allies. It was a sign that they, too, wanted a piece of the Border Guard—Molsen included.
It was a headache, a sign that a larger predator had joined the fray.
And with someone as cunning as Molsen involved, there was no telling what tricks might be in store.
Still, Marcus didn’t concern himself with things beyond his reach. He couldn’t rely on help from the capital, and if this was a gamble, it made sense to bet everything on his strongest card.
In truth, Marcus didn’t even see this as a gamble. If he had, there would be nothing left to say.
“So, why isn’t the independent company commander up here?” Marcus asked, noting that every other commander had gathered on the gallery while Enkrid was conspicuously absent.
“There,” said the keen-eyed Fairy Company Commander, pointing with her finger.
Down below, villagers who worked in agriculture or other auxiliary tasks outside the walls were streaming back into the city. Among them, moving against the flow, were a group of figures.
No matter how much they tried to blend in, it was hard to miss Audin’s hulking frame.
Of course, the Fairy Company Commander had recognized Enkrid.
“He’s heading out,” she confirmed.
No orders had been given yet. Marcus had only granted Enkrid authority.
“...Huh.”
Marcus let out a quiet exclamation, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He had a rough idea of what Enkrid was trying to do.
And if it worked, the enemy’s head would be spinning from the very beginning.
The smile lingered. He couldn’t help himself.
***
The commander of Martai’s forces was named Olf.
He preferred to be addressed as “General,” and he had the credentials to justify it. His personal combat skills were formidable, and he had earned accolades as a battlefield commander.
All his lieutenants called him “General.”
If the Border Guard’s leader was referred to as “Battalion Commander,” then the leader of Martai was dubbed “General.”
Ultimately, people could call themselves whatever they wanted—it wasn’t anyone else’s concern.
“General, preparations are complete.”
“What about the mangonels?”
“We have eight in total. No issues.”
Mangonels were mobile stone-throwers, operated by teams of six soldiers.
Unlike trebuchets, mangonels didn’t require setup, making them easier to use.
Although they lacked the raw power of trebuchets, their mobility made them invaluable as wheeled siege engines.
Olf considered eight mangonels more than enough.
Added to that was the support of the unidentified troops.
The commander of those troops approached.
“We shouldn’t draw this out,” the man said curtly.
Olf didn’t know the man’s name or much about him. He had brown eyes and an unkempt mustache, and he looked no older than thirty.
Although the man displayed a degree of courtesy, he didn’t appear to respect Olf.
No matter. He wouldn’t have come here unless he had something to rely on.
Olf didn’t let it bother him.
The man was one of the commanders of Viscount Bentra’s forces. He seemed uninterested in leading, but that wasn’t Olf’s problem.
Better to focus on the battlefield than to waste time worrying about such trivial matters.
Olf turned his attention to analyzing the enemy’s forces.
Fortunately, there were two commanders in Bentra’s forces.
The other one, at least, was easier to work with. In fact, most of the control over Bentra’s troops rested with this second commander.
The second commander had commented earlier:
“Enkrid? That guy? Half his reputation is just bluster. He boasts of ridiculous accomplishments. If I meet him on the battlefield, I’ll put a hole in his throat.”
The estoc hanging at the man’s hip seemed to reinforce his words.
Olf had nodded in agreement. After all, they were fighting on the same side.
Still, both of Bentra’s commanders were unusual in their own ways.
The first one, with his perpetually bored expression, simply followed the second around, occasionally muttering about speeding things up.
“Whatever the case…”
Olf was confident that victory was assured and that he would be the one to claim the glory.
The Border Guard would be devoured, establishing Martai as the new eastern foothold.
His grand ambitions soared to the heavens.
Around that time, light raindrops began to fall.
Rain from a clear sky—a whimsical prank from the Summer God.
Olf sat astride his horse at the rear of the battlefield.
Ahead, just beyond the walls of Border Guard, a few empty houses stood in view.
The villagers had evacuated, leaving the homes devoid of life.
The mangonels moved steadily along the well-trodden path, navigating through the gaps between houses.
The sight of the siege engines rolling in formation filled Olf with confidence.
The rain was beginning to turn the ground slick, but it wasn’t yet an obstacle.
“Move faster,” Olf ordered.
At his command, the soldiers quickened their pace, eager to press forward before the light rain turned into something worse.
***
The phrase “the Summer God’s whim” refers to rain falling from a clear sky—a superstition more than anything.
No deity embodies the seasons, after all.
Different regions had their own interpretations. In the West, they called it a shaman’s mistake.
Enkrid had once heard Rem describe it that way during a similar rainstorm.
But Enkrid wasn’t particularly tense. He simply focused on what he needed to do.
That didn’t mean he intended to approach things carelessly.
“Is the Summer God lending a hand?”
The rain provided a small advantage. The reduced visibility worked in favor of those hiding.
Predicting the path the enemy would take wasn’t difficult, either.
Experience told him that siege engines like mangonels would naturally take well-cleared paths, threading between houses.
And his prediction was correct. Wheels needed solid ground to roll on, after all.
The Ambush
Rumble.
The creak of wheels reached his ears.
Enkrid crouched behind a door made of a mix of mud and wood, using it as cover.
Audin hid inside the house itself, his size making it impossible to conceal himself behind anything smaller.
On the opposite side, behind another door, were Rem, Ragna, and Dunbakel.
Enkrid, Jaxon, and Audin were positioned on one side, while Finn remained further back.
“Destroy the siege engines and retreat.”
Enkrid relied on lessons from past battles. There was no need to burn everything in one fight.
Victory would come through gradual attrition.
It wasn’t sophisticated strategy or textbook tactics—just a practical application of what he’d learned battling gnolls.
“Not bad,” Kraiss had said, nodding in approval.
That was all the validation Enkrid needed.
Enkrid watched from behind the door as a mangonel rolled past.
“Damn this rain,” one of the enemy soldiers muttered irritably as he pushed the siege engine forward—only to lock eyes with Enkrid.
Enkrid spoke calmly.
“Audin, destroy it.”
The soldier’s eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened to scream—
Whoosh. Thud!
A knife flew from Jaxon’s hand, embedding itself squarely in the man’s forehead.
The soldier collapsed backward, slamming against the siege engine before crumpling to the ground like a discarded wooden puppet.
“It’s an ambush!”
More than ten men were pulling the mangonel, and it was impossible to silence them all.
Enkrid sprang into action, leaping from his cover.
His sword lashed out in a series of three precise thrusts:
Three thrusts, three casualties.
“Gah!”
“Urgh!”
“Keugh!”
The first thrust pierced through the inside of one soldier’s mouth, creating a gaping hole.
The second stabbed through another’s throat.
The third, with deliberate force, drove through leather armor and into the heart of a third soldier.
It was a display of both finesse and power.
Audin burst out of his hiding spot, crashing through the wall as if it were paper.
“W-what the hell?”
“Is that a monster?”
The enemy soldiers shouted in disbelief.
Audin strode to the mangonel, grabbed it with one hand, and pulled his fist back with the other.
His movements carried the distinct influence of the Balraf Method—a martial art emphasizing the rotation of the ankles, knees, and hips to generate overwhelming force.
Boom!
The sound of his punch echoed like a cannon blast amidst the Summer God’s whimsical rain.
The thick wooden frame of the mangonel splintered, shards flying in all directions as the siege engine crumbled under the sheer power of his strike.
Across the battlefield, a similar scene unfolded.
On the other side, Rem played Audin’s role, smashing the basket of another mangonel with his axe and severing the thick ropes that acted as its trigger.
Meanwhile, Ragna cut through approaching soldiers with methodical precision, walking calmly as he sliced, slashed, and stabbed.
“Regroup! Don’t engage recklessly!”
The commander among the enemy forces shouted, attempting to rally his troops.
They had already lost two siege engines, but he wasn’t ready to retreat just yet. He began to give orders—
“Grrrk?”
A shadow rose behind the commander.
It was Jaxon.
With a swift motion, he slit the commander’s throat from behind.
The commander collapsed, and Jaxon moved on, stabbing another soldier near the remaining siege engines.
Audin continued to focus solely on the siege engines, ignoring the enemy soldiers entirely.
Crash! Crash!
The sound of wood breaking echoed repeatedly as he destroyed one mangonel after another with his bare hands.
The enemy’s attention naturally turned toward him, and in the brief moment they looked away, Jaxon disappeared again, only to reappear moments later to claim another life.
“Argh!”
“Fall back! Fall back!”
The shouts of retreating soldiers were punctuated by Jaxon’s silent, efficient strikes.
Enkrid, meanwhile, moved with unrelenting determination, cutting down the soldiers in his path.
Dunbakel stayed close to Ragna, handling any enemies that got too close.
Finn, stationed further back, observed everything with a keen eye. Her role wasn’t to fight but to ensure she had a clear view of the entire battlefield.
By the time all eight mangonels were destroyed, less than fifteen minutes had passed.
The Summer God’s whim was fleeting, as was the brief but devastating ambush.
Martai’s forces had lost all their siege engines before the battle had even properly begun.
A sharp whistle pierced the air.
Finn’s signal indicated that the enemy main force was beginning to stir.
Enkrid motioned for his team to retreat, and they all moved quickly, with Dunbakel leading the charge back toward the city.
As they retreated, Enkrid suddenly stopped.
“What are you doing?” Rem asked, noticing his hesitation.
Enkrid didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned fully to face the enemy forces.
The enemy soldiers stood frozen—some stunned, others yelling to pursue, and still others lying lifeless on the ground.
A heat rose within Enkrid, starting from his gut and climbing to his throat.
“Are you coming or not?” Finn called, her voice sharp.
The others turned to look at their commander, wondering what he was doing.
Enkrid took a deep breath, then raised his voice—not a shout, but loud enough to carry.
“My name is Enkrid!”
The declaration rang out, clear and resolute.
“If you retreat now, you might live.”
His tone wasn’t one of rage or bravado—it was calm and steady, yet it resonated deeply.
Dozens, hundreds of enemy eyes focused on him.
Enkrid stood tall, radiating an audacious confidence.
It was a moment of defiance, a warning, and a declaration of his name all in one.
The enemy wavered, struck by the sheer boldness of the man who stood against them.
“Has he lost it?” Rem muttered, but among the soldiers of the Border Guard who witnessed the scene, something stirred.
A thrill coursed through them—a mixture of awe and exhilaration.
Cheers erupted.
“Wooooaaaahhh!”
To stand before thousands of enemies and shout his name—it was the kind of act that turned men into legends.
“Get a grip! Did you take something?” Rem continued grumbling, shaking his head at his commander’s antics.