Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 59

Even as the twin moons chased away the sun, the makeshift city walls had yet to fall. The Highserk soldiers, barely recovering from the chaos, continued their bloody struggle alongside Walm. Even corpses were treated as valuable materials here.

Still, the massive reserve forces and disciplined unit operations had been lost, and to maintain numbers, civilians with no military experience were being thrown onto the ramparts. They fought the monsters valiantly with long spears from a distance, but managing to face one monster with three people was considered a good outcome. Naturally, the citizen soldiers were also being rapidly depleted.

“An Owlbear!”

“Thrust the spears from the distance, don’t let it get close!”

An Owlbear, its thick hide and feathers making spears slide off, leaped into the fray, slashing calves with its claws and biting through throats. The remaining citizen soldiers, with screams and shouts, thrust their spears into its torso, but a spear thrust without proper footing and strength could not deal a fatal blow.

“U-aaahh?!”

The Owlbear, tilting its head at a 90-degree angle, reached out with its blood-stained arm towards the culprit, but a Highserk soldier sneaked up from its blind spot and sliced off its hind leg with a war axe.

“Over here. It’s a half-dead one!”

The Owlbear, losing its posture, twisted its neck back to confront the Highserk soldiers, but the citizen soldiers kept stabbing their assorted sword points into the Owlbear’s torso.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!”

“Aah, aaahh!”

“Good, raise your voices! Stab it repeatedly!”

The Highserk soldiers continued to smash their war axes into the convulsing Owlbear. The blood-soaked citizens were adopting the Highserk style.

On-the-job training was something the Highserk soldiers excelled at. Turning innocent civilians into blood-crazed soldiers. This was the reality of the makeshift walls, where both soldiers and civilians confronted the monsters together.

The only surviving battalion commander had taken over the command within the castle and seemed to have reorganized the troops, but with a third of the personnel lost, a chronic shortage of manpower was unavoidable.

Walm swung down his halberd from above, splitting an armored orc’s helmet. Due to fatigue, he couldn’t split it fully, but the orc fell silenty, its innards exposed.

Walm sensed a change in the atmosphere at the front. A wraith was gathering magical power and shot an “Ice Spear.” Walm instantly breathed out flames, melting it.

The “Demon Fire” reached the wraith without diminishing, engulfing its entire body. The screaming wraith didn’t last long.

For other monsters, more firepower would be needed to kill, but against the undead, “Demon Fire” had a tremendous effect, comparable in power to the holy attribute “Purification.”

Ideally, Walm didn’t want to use up his magical power. Due to the continuous battle since morning, his magical power was depleted, and even “Strong Strike” was unreliable.

Between battles, he barely had time to swallow portable food and gulp down water – a luxurious time. Naturally, the recovery of his magical power was slow, and except for crucial moments, he had to fight without using magic, just like in his new soldier days.

Walm thrust his halberd into a kobold’s eye socket and snatched away the sword of a lizardman next to it with his side claw.

Holding the floating sword, Walm extended it into the mouth of the lunging lizardman. The teeth scraped, slicing through the spine and piercing the throat.

“Who wants to die next?!”

A one-eyed giant, a Cyclops, answered Walm’s intimidation. It swung a crude weapon made from a tree, at him.

Catching the view of the approaching wood, Walm barely dodged in time. A poor kobold caught in the path spewed bodily fluids.

The Cyclops lifted its giant club to check its kills, but realizing it only crushed a kobold, it swung the tree back with a great force.

It would surely be a sideways sweep. Walm, certain of this, pondered his options with his nearly depleted magical power.

“Demon Fire” was out of the question. Only wind magic, which consumed less energy, was viable. As Walm braced himself, an arrow, like a shooting star, whistled through the air and pierced the Cyclops’s single eye.

The wielder of the “Strong Bow” was a rarity in this place, and the only one present with such a fate was Amy, an adventurer. Nevertheless, her assistance was valuable, and Walm raised his hand in gratitude.

The eyeless giant Cyclops, transformed into a screaming terror, shook the air with its roar, its flailing limbs causing the ground to tremble. The Cyclops, now beneficial in dealing with the surrounding monsters, emitted a suspicious steam from its crushed eye.

The Cyclops, known for its extraordinary regenerative abilities, attempted to regenerate its eye by pulling out the arrow. Walm took a run-up and used wind attribute magic.

Floating as if gliding, Walm kicked up the swinging arms and, at the highest point, slammed his halberd down.

The blade, penetrating the head, sliced through the sturdy skull, scattering brain matter. It reached down to the lower jaw and throat before stopping. The one-eyed giant collapsed, sliding to its knees.

“He has slain the giant with a halberd!”

“We have not lost. We are not defeated!”

The giant’s body and trees became part of a new rampart. The morale boost, including the crushed monsters, made the Cyclops a particularly favorable monster for Walm.

Walm shook off the sticky liquid clinging to his halberd and faced forward, as comrades called out to him. Turning around, he saw four platoon leaders of the Highserk Empire’s army waiting.

“Walm, the ‘Wartime’ Battalion Commander.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

Hearing this unfamiliar and foolish-sounding rank, Walm let out a dispirited voice despite being on the battlefield.

“Justus, the Wartime Brigade Commander, has appointed you, the Guardian Chief Walm, a Wartime Battalion Commander.”

Walm’s thoughts were dulled by fatigue. He understood that the rank would revert after the war, which was not a problem. But why a battalion?

“Battalion Commander?”

As a Guardian Chief, he would at most command an augmented platoon or, at a stretch, a company. But jumping from platoon to battalion commander was incomprehensible.

“How absurd! Do you think I can command 2,000 men?”

Walm, forgetting his position and location, spoke his mind. However, the platoon leaders only tilted their heads in wonder.

“What are you saying? You are admirably good in command.”

Walm had merely gathered dazed Highserk soldiers with shouts and momentum, supplemented the ranks with Mayard soldiers and civilians, stripped gear from corpses, and used adventurous spirits with bargaining power to bolster and hold positions that seemed to crumble.

He had longed for a commanding general and a battalion. Yet these platoon leaders now declared this ragtag group a battalion with Walm as its commander.

They must be insane.

“Ha… hahaha, this is the Highserk Empire’s battalion? Half of the core members aren’t even regular soldiers.”

“From Brigade Commander Justus, although it is an assembly of various units, I am in charge of a company-sized regular force.”

“As Wartime Brigade Commander Justus has instructed, we have gathered a company-sized unit of regular troops, although it is more of an assembly of various units.”

Walm had desperately desired such a force, seasoned Highserk soldiers. But reaching for it meant accepting the role of commanding this diverse battalion, thus gloriously making Walm their commander.

Walm knew his limits. He could manage a platoon. His essence shone in leading small groups at the forefront.

But commanding and operating 2,000 men while on the front lines was no joke. He’d die of overwork before dying in battle.

“I have no knowledge of leading a battalion.”

“If it were a constant operation of a battalion, it would be extremely difficult, but this is merely a defensive battle to hold the position. The hurdle is significantly lower compared to traditional battalion operations. We will also assist you to the best of our abilities.”

“I have no choice but to accept, do I?”

“Yes, you have no choice.”

The pitiful brigade commander wanted his kind, and Walm was chosen.

“Alright, I humbly accept the position of Wartime Battalion Commander. But be prepared, you all, even if you vomit blood or your guts are exposed, I will work you to death until the end. If you’re fine with that, follow me.”

With these curse-like words, Walm welcomed the four platoon leaders and the soldiers.