The Rural Officer Who Was Once a General

Part 1, Chapter 11

“Ugh!”

Karun’s bastard sword deeply slashed the neck of an enemy heavy infantryman.

“Gather here!”

The Khanate infantry, holding up their shields, began regrouping one by one.

“Kuh!”

Karun gritted his teeth and glared at them.

The Imperial army was still at a numerical disadvantage.

If the enemy held firm and withstood the Imperial attack with a solid formation, victory would be hard to guarantee.

But no opening had yet revealed itself.

Whizz!

A few arrows flew out in a surprise attack through the tall reeds, piercing the Khanate infantry’s skin and collapsing the formation they were trying to build.

“Well done! You archers could make the cut!”

Karun didn’t miss the opportunity as the enemy infantry faltered, and hurled himself forward.

Slice!

Karun dove into the twisted formation and swung his sword.

The formation, which had tried to hold out back-to-back, now seemed to welcome Karun’s blade instead.

With a clean strike, the infantry who had gathered to form the line fell to the ground all at once.

“You!”

A soldier, likely the commander of the Turg unit, raised his mace and charged at Karun.

“Hmph!”

Karun struck upward with the flat of his sword, deflecting the still-unfinished swing of the mace.

With both weapons thrown off course, the enemy commander chose to recover his mace, while Karun chose hand-to-hand combat.

Karun’s steel-plated boot slammed into the back of the commander’s knee.

Crunch!

A sickening sound of bone shattering echoed through the reed field.

“Guhhh!”

As the commander screamed from the pain shooting up his grotesquely bent leg, Karun readied his next strike.

Stepping forward, he forcefully twisted his waist, spun his body, and swung the bastard sword held in a short grip.

Slice.

The blade cut through muscle and grazed the vertebrae of the commander’s neck.

Gurgle.

The Khanate commander collapsed, vomiting blood.

“Hyah!”

Karun then drove his longsword into the waist of a nearby enemy light infantryman.

“Hraaa!”

Even as he panted heavily, Karun glared at the enemy soldiers with murderous eyes.

“……”

The hearts of the Khanate soldiers began to waver.

Surely the number of enemy troops was only twenty, thirty at most.

And yet, their own forces?

One hundred fifty.

Including a fair number of cavalry.

Yet it was clear they were the ones being pushed back.

More than ten had fallen in the surprise attack at the very start of the battle, and in less than a minute, that number had doubled.

The cavalry the Khanate was so proud of had all been thrown from their horses, while the Imperial’s cavalry slaughtered Khanate troops from the ridge.

What in the world had gone wrong?

They were not meant to think in the first place.

The general thinks, the officers command, and the soldiers obey.

But now, as the soldiers began sensing the tide of battle and started thinking, their momentum began to slip further.

But Karun could not sense this shift in morale.

He was just a soldier in action—and unlike them, he was faithfully carrying out his assigned task.

At the very least, in the sense that he ‘did not think,’ Karun was the perfect soldier.

“Now’s the time! Press the attack!”

That’s why Tryaev stepped forward.

‘It’s happening!’

His battlefield experience and the theory of command—everything pointed to one fact: they had the upper hand, and now was the perfect moment to strike.

His command cut through the reeds and reached Karun’s ears loud and clear.

“Let’s goooo!”

Karun shouted as he launched himself forward.

Despite wearing heavy armor, he moved at a speed comparable to the light infantry.

Clang!

His forceful swing with the bastard sword split the enemy formation.

“Ghh!”

Soldiers either stumbled back or were cut down, groaning in pain.

“Wipe them out!”

Karun shouted after slicing off the head of a hesitant infantryman.

Then, soldiers wielding longswords and spears charged in from all directions.

They numbered no more than a dozen, but it was enough to strike fear into the hearts of the Khanate soldiers.

“Haaaah!”

With a powerful strike from Ted, who had somehow joined the fight, three soldiers were flung into the air, their spines bent at impossible angles.

“Clear a path!”

At Tryaev’s shout, the soldiers opened a route and surged forward.

From that cleared direction, Tryaev, leading the officers, Niss, and Hughes, maintained their downhill momentum and slammed into the Khanate soldiers.

“Gahk!”

The overwhelming force sent soldiers flying in all directions, and those who survived were forced to test firsthand how sharp the Imperial’s blades and spears really were.

“It’s over.”

Tryaev’s dual swords crossed and sliced off the final enemy soldier’s neck.

It was a dazzling display, like watching a pair of scissors at work.

“We did iiiit!”

Karun raised his bastard sword high into the sky and roared.

‘Huh, the kid’s not bad.’

Tryaev, catching his breath, looked at Karun.

He’d already heard about Karun’s combat skills.

Even shortly after enlisting, Karun had quickly become one of the top fighters in the unit. Even before Fade’s arrival, he’d outclassed most officers and even members of Tryaev’s own squad in raw strength.

'I thought his lack of experience and overly arrogant personality were the problems.'

But Fade had turned him into a real asset.

His wild personality had been tempered by Fade’s insane martial prowess, and his lack of experience had been filled in with real combat and tactical guidance.

And the result? A jackpot.

While Fade had undoubtedly played the most active role in this battle, at least in infantry combat, Karun had dominated the field.

Not just in brute force—he had the ability to control the battlefield.

Like how he instantly charged in the moment Tryaev gave the order, or how he was now boosting morale by shouting with that much energy.

‘I guess that’s part of Officer Fade’s influence too…’

With a faint smile, Tryaev shook his dual swords in the air.

Blood splattered across the reed field, painting a gruesome and eerie scene.

“Alright, we’ll rest for about an hour! All officers, assess and report your unit’s casualties during that time!”

“Yes, sir!”

Tryaev, looking already worn out, slouched his shoulders and walked over to Fade.

"We succeeded. Again."

“What was the name of that commander I let go?”

“Ah, Turg—”

Tryaev widened his eyes and stared at Fade.

“You let someone go?”

“It’s all part of the plan. Don't you trust me?"

Fade shrugged.

“Hmm, and what exactly do we gain from letting this ‘Turg’ go…?”

“Turg, is that his name?”

“Yes. Turg Tetsinye, the Witch’s Axe. One of the top vanguard commanders of the Khanate. He became the right hand of Sub-General Rakula purely through skill and loyalty. In other words, capturing him would’ve brought a great deal of merit.”

“The Witch’s Axe, huh. So this Rakula is the witch?”

“That’s right, Rakula, the Witch of the Steppe. She commands Turg like her axe. A seasoned veteran and a tactician, known across many battlefields.”

“‘Witch of the Steppe,’ huh. Quite the grand title. But what exactly is a ‘Sub-General’?”

“You know how there are the Hundred Generals across the continent? We have four of them in our country too.”

“Of course, I know.”

Fade had once been one of those Hundred Generals himself.

Though, who knew how many among the current ones he would still recognize?

“Then you also know the Hundred Generals aren’t officially appointed—just called so by poets, the common people, and the officials.”

“Yes, I know that too.”

That’s why the list of the Hundred Generals usually hovered around seventy. The bottom thirty shifted depending on the region and who was doing the naming.

“Sub-Generals are what we call those who are on the fringes of that list—either seen as the lowest rank of the Hundred, or expected to join it soon.”

“Hmm… I get the general idea.”

‘Come on, if you're a General, then you're a General; if you're not, then you're not. Why bother giving titles to people like that?’

If they’ve got a problem with it, they should prove they belong, simple as that.

Kids these days... The world’s going soft, I tell ya!

"Haaaaa."

Fade let out a deep breath and turned to Tryaev.

“I’m going to catch that witch. The axe she lost? That’s just bait to hook a bigger catch.”

Fade picked up Turg’s abandoned axe from the ground.

“So, SirTryaev, come with me, we’re heading out.”

***

Crunch.

Rakula ground her teeth harshly.

“What did you just say?”

Her fierce, beastlike eyes bore into the young ranger.

The indistinct pupils seemed to crush him with pressure.

His mouth hesitated, but the ranger knew—hesitation would only fuel her fury.

“…General Turg’s detached unit was defeated. The cavalry was wiped out, the rangers were annihilated, and the infantry was destroyed.”

He gave a concise report and cautiously watched her face.

Clear emotion stirred in Rakula’s beast eyes.

Rage. Obvious, ferocious fury.

But she didn’t speak.

The ranger hurried to continue before that silence grew heavier.

“General Turg returned alive but lost his right arm. He’s currently undergoing treatment. The remaining rangers who survived also finished reporting and are being treated.”

As soon as he finished, his fine hairs stood on end.

The murderous aura Rakula exuded tickled the ranger’s throat like a blade.

“So…”

Rakula finally opened her mouth.

“What happened to that officer? That bastard?”

“…No specific report has been confirmed, but…”

His voice trailed off, and Rakula understood the implication.

“He survived. They say he’s the one who severed General Turg’s arm. A major feat. The kind of unimaginable achievements in that backwater.”

Crunch.

Rakula bit down hard on her lip.

A faint trace of blood welled on her upper tooth.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened.

‘The soldiers guarding the forest used to light fires at every mealtime. But no smoke had risen for a while. They were lying in ambush.’

Would she have seen through it if she had gone herself?

There was no way to know.

Nor did it matter.”

“That bastard... Hah. Was it me who made him? No… maybe even my axe coming back has something to do with this…

Rakula let out a bitter smile, her fingers scratching at the sheepskin draped over her chair.

“So you underestimated me… yeah. I guess that’s why I looked so easy to dismiss, huh?”

Grinding her teeth, Rakula leaned back into her chair.

The rough back of the crude seat was uncomfortable, but Rakula preferred it that way.

“So that’s how it is… Haa…”

Her blue eyes seemed to pour out her displeasure like a storm.

“Perhaps it’s time I looked away for a moment…”

She rose from her seat and walked over to the table, where a military map lay spread out.

Crunch.

Grinding her teeth again, Rakula silently began sketching over the map.

‘This isn’t retreat, you arrogant bastard.’

“It’s just part of a bigger picture.”

Rakula smiled faintly, satisfied.

‘In the end, I’m the one who will win.’

With that thought, Rakula shouted toward the ranger:

“Summon the war council!”