The Rural Officer Who Was Once a General

Part 1, Chapter 15

"Ah, you've arrived?"

Fade waved toward the newly arrived soldiers.

The first to arrive was a squad of Rangers, the personnel Fade had assigned to his centurion unit.

"Ranger squad! All transferred to Centurion Fade's unit without exception!"

The ranger who looked the oldest among them stepped forward and reported.

Perhaps because they’d been dispatched to a unit that had just seen battle, they showed visible tension, but they were composed enough not to let it show too obviously.

‘Not quite on the level of the Wardens of the Swamp, but these guys should be useful enough.’

Rangers needed not just skill but also discernment, and being able to suppress their nerves meant they were already halfway qualified.

"Well done. This is Hughes, the soldier who'll be serving with you. He just recently became a ranger of the great Hecate Empire."

"Uh, excuse me, may I ask something?"

"Hm? Speak freely."

"Why is that Hughes fellow crawling on the ground?"

"Ah, him? The ranger training's been a bit rough. He’s having a hard time adjusting. But now that he’s got comrades, he’ll be able to push through."

"I… I see…"

One of the rangers widened his eyes.

No matter how hard ranger training was, even after a lifetime of it, he could count on one hand the times he'd seen someone struggle that much.

Especially from just training alone.

Sure, Hughes did look a bit scrawny, but that kind of build was common among rangers.

‘What kind of training could leave him in that state?’

"Well then, shall we continue training?"

Fade smiled and brought over some swift-looking horses.

"Eh? Ah, yes."

Training right from the first meeting was a bit abrupt, but the rangers quietly mounted their horses. They’d heard this was a critical post, and they figured this Centurion had to be skilled enough to earn General Pippin’s approval—so it was a sound judgment.

"Right. The training's simple. While switching between crossbows, javelins, and throwing knives, keep hitting those targets."

"Wh-while riding?"

Even sticking to just one of those weapons, it’d be tough to hit all the targets, now they were supposed to rotate through them?

"Alright, Hughes, you too!"

Fade picked Hughes up and tossed him onto his horse. Hughes let out a wheeze and loaded a bolt into his crossbow.

"Begin!"

At Fade’s signal, all eleven rangers, including Hughes, spurred their horses into a gallop.

Whirr!

As expected of elite soldiers, every first bolt hit its mark.

A few even struck dead center.

"Switch to javelins!"

At Fade’s shout, the rangers slung their crossbows to their sides and grabbed their javelins.

With perfectly synchronized arm motions, the javelins flew all at once through the air.

Thud thud thud!

The short spears, barely two handspans long, embedded themselves in the targets.

Some barely made it to the edge, but once again, all hit their marks.

"Next, throwing knives!"

The rangers pulled out throwing knives from the pouches strapped to their thighs and locked their eyes on the next set of targets.

This time, the targets were positioned in front of them, not to the side.

"Hit the target and change direction!"

No shout of ‘Yes, sir!’ followed.

That meant all eleven were focused.

Whoosh!

With the sound of air being split, the throwing knives flew and embedded themselves in the targets ahead.

Another perfect round of hits.

And what came into their view as they changed direction again was...

"Alright, now repeat endlessly!"

More targets followed—an insidious setup that circled back to the starting point after a few changes in direction.

Thwack! Thud! Swoosh!

After dozens of laps over the course of about an hour, the horses began to slow one by one. Soon, all eleven came to a halt—not even walking, just standing still.

"Uuuuugh…!"

The rangers all groaned in unison.

"My arms… damn it, my arms hurt!"

"My fingers won't straighten out!"

"My shoulders are stiff!"

"Argh, my back…!"

Grabbing at various parts of their bodies, the rangers dismounted.

From loading bolts while riding, their fingers ached.

Constantly throwing spears made their shoulders feel like they were being crushed.

Flicking their wrists to throw knives left their joints burning.

And swapping weapons while on horseback had wrecked their backs.

But above all, their arms had gone numb.

The joints no longer functioned properly and drooped uselessly, while their muscles kept screaming in pain.

"Alright, let's take a break. It’s almost dinnertime."

"Ugh!"

At once, the rangers collapsed where they stood, letting the grass poking through the dirt cradle their exhausted bodies.

"Ah, Hughes?"

"Wh-what is it now, why…"

"Congratulations. You’ve finally earned the Empire’s ranger’s luck. Training's going to be easier from now on."

At those words, the rangers turned to look at Hughes.

Or more precisely—at his clothing.

They hadn’t noticed it during the grueling training right after arrival, but Hughes' outfit was noticeably different from theirs.

Its dark color made it look similar at first glance, but as veteran rangers, they immediately picked up on the irregularities.

The strap holding his crossbow was crudely made from woven cloth. His throwing knife pouch was actually a leather axe sheath. The javelin? Simply tied to his thigh.

To put it bluntly—it was shabby and makeshift.

In other words, this rookie in ragged clothes had endured the training better than the veteran rangers wearing gear specially made for field operations.

While the veterans' throws started falling short halfway through, Hughes kept going with decent consistency.

Even though he’d already been worn out by the earlier training.

Could even elite rangers like them endure that kind of training under such conditions?

They couldn’t confidently say yes.

‘What the hell is this guy?’

That Centurion was already something else, but this Hughes guy didn’t seem normal either.

"Ughhh…"

But that thought was fleeting. The numbness and soreness across their bodies soon stole away all capacity for further thinking.

***

"The enemy's main camp is right ahead! Charge!"

Edward, the Imperial Army’s vanguard commander, drew his greatsword and cut down several cavalrymen of the Khanate as he charged toward Rakula.

"You think we’ll go down so easily?!"

Turg, the vanguard commander of Rakula’s forces, blocked Edward’s path with a company of heavy cavalry.

"Hah, the Witch’s Axe who lost an arm to a brat is now trying to stop me?"

Edward let out a snide chuckle.

"General Techinye, just get lost. I’d hate to tarnish my name by defeating some washed-up idiot."

"Heh… now even brainless fools dare look down on me."

"If you won’t get out of the way, then stay right there. I’ll make you a one-armed corpse."

"You're spouting nonsense."

Turg ground his teeth, tossing the axe in his left hand into the air and catching it again.

‘Still feels a bit off.’

Switching from a two-handed axe to a one-handed one, and using only his left hand, which wasn’t his dominant hand—

Everything felt wrong.

‘It’s that damned low-ranking officer’s fault.’

Because of that brat, Lady Rakula’s name had been stained. And now, he was being looked down on by some rookie.

"That bastard, I'd like to grind him into a paste for this mess."

Turg’s eyes glinted as he kicked his horse’s flank.

"The old one-armed man is coming! Kill him if you can!"

Edward also spurred his horse, and the soldiers on both sides followed behind. What resulted was a head-on cavalry charge.

"Haaaah!"

Edward roared as he swung his greatsword horizontally with force.

‘Whether I sever his waist or cleave his horse, this blow will kill that fool.’

That was Edward’s judgment, and he was already beginning to plan for the next phase of the battle.

Clang!

The axe blade slid along the flat of the greatsword, twisting its trajectory before it could land.

‘What the hell kind of strength is this?!’

One hand—his left, no less—had pushed back a greatsword?

Thunk!

The greatsword slammed against the hard ground as Edward’s horse lost its balance.

‘It’s fine. Turg still won’t be able to swing that axe—’

Crack!

Turg’s steel-plated boot slammed into the neck of Edward’s horse.

Neigh!

The already unstable horse reeled, nearly throwing Edward off.

“Damn it!”

Edward let go of his greatsword.

A heavy weapon like that was no use in this situation—and there was no need to engage in a test of strength against Turg.

Shring.

He drew the arming sword from his waist.

“I see now, no need to go easy on you just because you're missing an arm.”

“Hah. Who said I needed anyone to go easy on me?”

Turg swung his axe at Edward, a menacing aura radiating from him.

It was a fast, precise strike—unbelievable for an attack from his left hand.

Clang!

Edward’s arming sword struck down hard, slowing the axe’s momentum, but not enough to fully block the blow.

“Hrrmph!”

Edward leaned his upper body back to avoid the strike, but couldn’t prevent a long cut from forming across his forehead.

“Grrrh...”

Wiping the blood from his face to clear his vision, Edward glared at Turg.

“Tsk. Still awkward. If I were at full strength, that swing would’ve taken your head.”

"Tch, just a bastard with brute strength!"

Edward kicked off his stirrup and saddle, lunging at Turg.

He aimed to close in and drive his arming sword into Turg’s heart.

“Where do you think you're going?!”

With a light flick of his wrist, Turg hurled his axe.

Crunch!

The axe split Edward’s skull as he charged, and his body crumpled.

“Hah. Something about killing fools tarnishing your reputation, was it?”

Turg yanked the axe free and slammed it into the neck of a nearby Imperial cavalryman.

“You think this Turg’s bite dulls so easily?!”

Clang!

The axe cleaved through two more Imperial cavalrymen charging at him, tracing a sharp, perfect arc.

Flutter!

Both the blue and red flags flew simultaneously.

It was Rakula’s signal.

“All troops charge! Today, we drive the Imperial vermin from this land!”

Waaaaah!

The Khanate’s cavalry—its pride and glory—charged en masse at the Imperial army.

The infantry couldn’t withstand the impact and were trampled to death, and even the Imperial cavalry couldn’t match the Khanate riders in mounted combat.

Bwooooo!

A low horn echoed across the battlefield, signaling the Imperial troops to regroup and retreat.

"Damn Witch's Army bastards, just you wait!"

“Filthy savages! This isn’t over!”

“I swear I’ll scatter your blood and guts across this steppe!”

The soldiers and officers hurled curses as they retreated toward their main camp.

“General, shall we pursue those filthy Imperial dogs and finish them off?”

“……”

Turg Techinye silently turned around.

The yellow and blue flags were waving in the air.

“…Enough. Regroup the army.”