Your Majesty's money, why don't you engrave my name on it?

"Three hundred light cavalrymen couldn't even keep three people under control. Are you Easterners all useless?!"

"As far as I know, that's what everyone in the industry calls us," the middle-aged man shrugged, showing no sign of shame. "We may indeed be lacking in capabilities, but correspondingly, our prices are lower than other teams, and we have two contracts—"

"One guarantees that I won't be backstabbed, and the other guarantees that I won't be backstabbed tomorrow," the black-haired noble said, his mouth twitching. "But now I doubt you have the ability to do that! That wasn't even a fight, not a fight! I just asked you to keep an eye on three people and prevent them from running around!"

"You guys can even mess up something as trivial as this?!"

"Marquis Marek, please allow me to remind you of the identities of these 'three individuals'," the leader of the Horseshoe Mercenary Group, a mercenary group primarily composed of Matt Light Cavalry, said, spreading his hands. "The best way to ensure they don't leave is to kill them."

"Or, do you have a way to reproduce your previous clever rhetoric and calm them down?"

"No matter how clever your rhetoric, you still need to be able to see the person," Marquis Marek sighed heavily and long. "Have you sent anyone to look for him?"

"Fifty cavalrymen. At the same time, I've relaxed my supervision of my men. The commotion caused by those old comrades will distract others from the fact that their numbers have decreased." The man nodded. "We'll get them back, unless they can fly..."

Marek glared at the other man deeply, and the captain, who was always known for his loyalty rather than bravery, fell silent: they all knew a fact, that is, the objects they mentioned repeatedly in their conversation... they could indeed fly.

"At least the people on Queeg's side can't fly like us," Marek rubbed his cheeks vigorously and sighed again. "Now we can only be thankful for this. They have the strength to escape from the battle group, which means they won't fall easily into Queeg's hands."

"Sir, do you think that Lord Queeg will also send people to look for those three?"

"There's no doubt about it. Although we can't capture them, I'm certain our position is as thoroughly infiltrated as the other side. They'll definitely find out and take action," Marek replied firmly. "That will become a crucial bargaining chip in their hands. If they truly get there first, I'm afraid even Your Majesty will be forced to give in."

"What if what they want is not your Majesty's concession?"

"What did you say?"

The black-haired young man subconsciously opened his mouth to scold the other party for talking nonsense and not understanding politics, but that thought was like a key to open the door to purgatory, making him think of all kinds of ominous clues.

"You mean... that's why they want to fight us—"

"Fifty riders, sir," the loyal mercenary leader said slowly. "I admit that our cavalry's position on the battlefield is very delicate, but even fifty donkeys driven into the chaos of the battlefield are not a force to be easily ignored."

"We were evenly matched with the other side before, and it would be better to pretend than to lose both sides, but now, they are the stronger side."

Marek let out a bitter laugh. "Yes, yes. Originally, we relied on the numerical advantage of our cavalry to intimidate them, but now even that can be ignored."

"Is it too late to call them back now?" the Marquis asked with the last glimmer of hope.

"It would take fifty men to find three of them, and at least another fifty to retrieve the fifty we've sent out," the mercenary leader replied. "Then we'd have no cavalry left."

"And I'm not sure which is worse, letting those three go or facing failure."

"Why not? Both are equally terrible. They will ruin my future and the future of my entire family—wait!" The Marquis rushed forward and grabbed the other man's arms. "What did you say last time?"

"We'll need at least fifty more people..."

"later!"

"We have no cavalry?"

"Yes! That's it!" Marquis Marek excitedly shook the middle-aged man who hadn't reacted yet. "How can we prevent them from noticing that we're missing cavalry?"

"Just don't let them see it!"

This was the scene they saw when the mercenaries, including Reslaufer, gathered the next day.

"I remember we had cavalry, didn't we?"

The double-paid mercenary looked at the leading elf with some confusion. He raised his hand to adjust the large armor plates beneath his dark brown robe, causing the chainmail beneath it to rustle. In his other hand, he supported a massive sword with a blade measuring sixty feet long. A double-edged rapier, half that length, known as a "combat sword," hung at his waist, swaying restlessly in its scabbard.

Cavalry is cavalry after all. Having it or not having it are two completely different concepts, especially when the opponent also has it.

"I only heard a few whispers about last night's emergency deployment," Amantha, also wearing armor, replied calmly, holding her straight sword, forged by her hometown elven craftsmen, with one hand. "Don't worry, everything else remains normal. Your work hasn't been affected."

"That's good."

Leslaufer no longer had any questions. He kept silent and listened quietly to the dark-haired noble lord in front of him giving an impassioned pre-war speech. When others began to move, he remained in his position, looking almost indistinguishable from the other marching soldiers around him.

On the distant horizon, the battle group that had been fighting for several years once again appeared in everyone's sight, but this time, the opponent seemed to be much taller than them as a whole.

"What's going on?" The old lord, with white hair and beard, sat upright on his horse, the plate armor on half of his body reflecting the dazzling sunlight. "Vilveti, is my eyesight blurring? Why do they look so short?"

"Their cavalry is gone, Lord Queeg. It's quite different from what we expected." The middle-aged man with short dark brown hair and a sculptured face answered on the chestnut horse beside Queeg. He stared at his opponent who stopped not far away and began to form a battle formation.

He is Velveti, the new generation leader of the famous "September" mercenary group centuries ago, and the commander-in-chief on this front whose power is second only to the Marquis Queeg who is beside him.

It was he who had come up with the idea of turning this "fierce battle" into a showdown. Although the news inevitably leaked, Velveti knew that mercenaries were not so easy to command on the battlefield, so his tactics would still work.

"A big difference? Why? Didn't you judge that they would send some riders to chase people?" The two mustaches on Queeg's lips trembled.

"'Part' is a very subtle concept, sir," Velvet said. "A careless general will ignore the difference, while an excellent commander will exploit it to gain victory."

"But one thing is for sure: 'part' definitely does not mean 'all'. Any rational commander on the other side would not allow three hundred cavalrymen to be deployed simultaneously during a battle and then continue to fight us under such circumstances."

Chapter 5 Doppler

"You mean..." Queeg looked at the mercenary leader. He was from the western frontier of the empire, but even if he was from a remote area, he was still an imperial man, not a barbarian. His opinion needed to be taken seriously.

"Either they are all crazy, or this is a trap." Velveti stood up and looked at the surrounding wilderness. There was almost no shelter nearby. The only place where the troops could hide was a small forest far away on their side, but it had been explored this morning and there was no trace of the enemy.

"We need to consider the location, environment, season, and time..." the man muttered softly. He turned his face to the side, facing the direction of the sunlight. His vision was greatly affected, and it was even difficult to open his eyes. "Is that so?"

"Velveti, what did you come up with?"

"They've hidden themselves in broad daylight," Velveti sneered. "Please give the order, my lord, that the cavalry remain in place. Since they won't deploy their cavalry, we'll crush them with our infantry."

Lord Queeg nodded without further question. Having lived for over seventy years, the old marquis had long since realized he had no talent on the battlefield, so he contentedly served as a messenger. The cavalry quickly split into two groups, while the infantry advanced steadily, pressing towards the soldiers of the "Emperor's Army."

Arrows from both sides streaked overhead and around them, pelting the ground, shields, and bodies. Reslaufer walked in the front, his greatsword held before him as a shield, occasionally resonating with the jolt of arrows hitting him. He mentally calculated the time it would take for both sides to launch their charge. When that number reached zero and the clatter of bowstrings faded, he suddenly raised his greatsword and charged towards his soldiers!

"attack!"

Amantha's roar rang out beside him at the same time. Spears and shields from different camps were raised in front of and behind Reslaufer. But before they collided with each other, Reslaufer had already smashed the opposite shield wall!

Several spearheads were chopped off, and the mercenary whose shield had been struck head-on stumbled backward. But that very step back cost his companion half his head a sudden blow from the sweeping mighty sword. A few nimble spearmen and shieldbearers quickly drew their swords to block the blow, but how could such a weapon of that size reach Reslaufer? Even more deadly than a double-paid mercenary disrupting their formation was the overwhelming pressure of the Emperor's spears and shields!

Under the attack of Reslaufer and several other veterans, the disordered Imperial regiment was immediately torn open, and even the entire regiment's line was broken!

The story of a country being destroyed by a nail is not entirely a folk song. Leslough himself and people like him are such nails!

He dodged the incoming earthen sword, his frail neck slamming into his chest and easily breaking. A spear lodged in the gaps between Reslaufer's mail from behind, the stinging pain bringing a furious roar from the mercenary. He swung his greatsword, turning around and plowing a bone-deep dent in the enemy's armor.

There were also mercenaries sent by the Empire who tried to come up and besiege them, but when another brave guy had his helmet smashed through by the straight-shaped guard on the giant sword, a small open space appeared around Leslaufer.

"They've collapsed!" someone shouted. "They've dropped all their weapons!"

The blade stung Reslaufer's nerves through his gauntlet, keeping him somewhat lucid. He paused to search for his achievements, then looked forward, holding the greatsword he was using as a war hammer upside down. Sure enough, he saw that the enemy on this side of the battle line had begun to retreat, with large shields and spears thrown everywhere. On the Emperor's side, some soldiers, unable to contain themselves, had already begun to celebrate and went to pick up the spoils.

"Come back, no chasing! No picking!"

Amantha held her sword and shouted loudly, but in the chaotic battlefield, her reputation could only intimidate her direct subordinates. Others simply did not listen. The originally victorious army almost seamlessly turned into a group of loosely disciplined bandits, and most of them were fighting even harder than in the previous battle.

Leslaufer and several other veterans walked into the chaotic crowd and began to help maintain discipline, which was the responsibility that came with their extra pay. However, such efforts were obviously in vain. More veterans even began to pursue the enemy themselves. No one obeyed the order at all.

In the chaos, the surrounding imperial soldiers began to slowly gain the upper hand. They pushed back the imperial army from other teams and began to surround this side.

"Leslough!" Amantha had to start calling out to those acquaintances she trusted. When Leslough was called, he immediately stopped what he was doing, waved his hand and led ten infantrymen under Amantha's command, and took those who were still conscious to rush to the side.

Without the shield wall in front of them, as crossbows and bows rained down upon them amidst the throng, Reslaufer faced a completely different kind of pressure. But as the first flanking enemy was pinned to the ground by the greatsword, the Imperial soldiers finally understood the true weight of ninety-six gold coins.

"Your Majesty!"

The hands holding the giant sword smashed down diagonally from top to bottom on the enemy's chest, and the plate armor that looked quite sophisticated immediately dented inside. Although the space reserved in it was enough to prevent the mercenary who looked like a captain from breaking his ribs, the huge impact force forced him to kneel on the ground.

Reslaufer's companions caught up and dealt the man a final blow, but Reslaufer was also surrounded by more imperial soldiers. Even he inevitably began to suffer wounds. However, no one could hear his pain. When the soldiers who injured him were knocked down one by one, the only sound in this corner of the battlefield was the creepy laughter of the double-paid mercenaries.

"Come on! Come on! Hehe, hahahaha!" The pain was no longer enough to keep him awake. Leslough gradually stopped calculating his own strength. Everyone could notice that he was becoming dull, and every corpse in his hands became more and more fragmented. The scene was so disgusting that even the captains did not dare to step forward. The words that drove their men to attack became pale and powerless.

"Now, go ahead! Kill him!"

Another mercenary belonging to the Imperial faction fell in front of Reslaufer, blood gushing from the section of his severed thigh. At the end of his life, this man shouted out with all his strength.

"Can't you see his pause?!"

Chapter 6: Warlike Intent

Reslaufer could no longer see his teammates. Were they dead? Or had they escaped? That was not a question he needed to consider, and he could not think about it now.

The giant sword, which had become heavy, forced back another shield. The full-strength swing gave the enemy the opportunity. Taking advantage of the fact that he had lost all his strength, three soldiers pounced on him from all sides. The metal parts of the spears and swords in their hands flashed a cold and threatening light in the sunlight that had already passed over their heads.

Reslaufer's eyes reflected these lights, and the exaggerated smile on his face almost tore the corners of his mouth. His heart was beating more violently than ever, and it was getting more and more turbulent, and the heartbeat gradually became a surging tide!

Come on, come on, come on.

"Come on!" Just when everyone had concluded that the mercenary was doomed to die, the giant sword in Reslaufer's hand, which was supposed to fall away from him, suddenly stopped in mid-air, and then slashed towards the three soldiers at an even faster speed!

Just like when he was in his prime!

The blood of the two men and other filth splattered all over Leslaufer. The spearman was more agile and narrowly avoided the attack, but a straight sword full of elven style pierced his left chest from behind, causing him and his companion to fall down almost at the same time.

"Amantha," Raslough's ice-blue eyes, now stained red, were rarely able to recognize anyone, "what are you doing here?"

He remembered that she seemed to be in charge of the other side.

"Their encirclement plan has failed, everyone is retreating!" The elf gritted his teeth and looked at the imperial soldiers around him. The remaining survivors were frightened by the sudden attack of Reslaufer. When the elf, also covered in blood, appeared, none of them dared to move forward.

"You too, get out of here, unless you want to be trampled to death by September's cavalry!" The elf suddenly stamped forward, ignoring the mercenaries who were fleeing as if they had been pardoned. He raised his hand to support the shaky Reslaufer. "The 'War Spirit' (Elven) isn't meant for you here. Do you want to die so badly?"

"Come here. I'm just letting go of my anger. It's not that easy to die." Reslaufer gradually stopped smiling and began to breathe heavily. He pushed the giant sword in his hand into the elf's arms. "Help me hold it for a while. Let me catch my breath..."

The ability the elves called "waves of fighting will," or "waves of action," was one of Reslaufer's most valuable skills, allowing him to push past his limits in a short period of time. However, as far as he knew, this wasn't a unique talent; even among mercenaries, many possessed this ability.

Of course, among a group like mercenaries, the same ability may have eight hundred or even more names.

"It's not too late to go back and catch your breath." Amantha lifted the giant sword over her shoulder with one hand and pushed Leslaufer. "Don't stay here. The cavalry is coming—"

Before the elf finished speaking, his slender body took a step to the side, and the huge sword behind his head was horizontal. With a crisp "clang" sound, it just blocked the sword that was slashing from above.

"Hey guys, we found two stragglers!" A rider whistled past, followed by a laugh, not at all discouraged by the blocked sneak attack. "Let's have some fun with them!"

"Don't talk nonsense, they run faster than rabbits, don't make a mistake - wow!" A rider whose equipment was much better than the Emperor's Army's Matt Light Cavalry responded. He didn't believe his companions' shouts at first, but when he got closer, he also became excited.

"It's actually true! There's even a little captain here!"

"Are you trying to dress up as an elf, little girl?" Amantha's appearance at this moment was no longer enough for people who were not familiar with her to recognize her. "And you even put on a fake ear! Did you know that your left ear is missing?"

"The ear fell off, haha!" the rider who had just shouted echoed inappropriately, "Don't tell me someone took it as a military achievement!"

"It's funny, really." Leslaufer raised his head and looked at the two guys on horseback. His voice was hoarse, but his breathing had calmed down again. "What do you think?"

"I'll break your legs if you laugh," Amantha snorted. "You two idiots, if you're brave enough, come and grab my other ear, how about that?"

"You will know whether this is true or not."

"I heard that the elves in the east of the empire are a group of proud guys. They will announce their names before fighting. Why... don't you announce your names?!" The two horses circled around the two people. When one of the horses went behind them, the cavalryman on the horse suddenly clamped his legs together and rushed towards Amantha!

The giant sword was as flexible and easy to use as a straight sword in the elf's hands. The blade cut off a few strands of her gray-gold hair, but the warhorse under the rider's crotch lost its front legs and threw the rider off!

The rider rolled over, trying to gain momentum to climb to his feet, but the elf's boot, as if it had eyes, landed precisely on his chest. Struggling but unable to rise, the rider saw his own miserable reflection in those cold, brown eyes. Amantha flipped once more with one hand, heaving the greatsword over her shoulder. In her left hand, the tip of the elven straight sword pressed against the loser's throat.

"Reacquaint yourself with 'One Ear', Amantha Merriam."

Even the cavalrymen brought from the western frontier of the empire by the September Mercenary Group now understood that they had been straight for their entire lives.

The other cavalryman who did not take action turned his horse around and ran away, disappearing from sight in a flash.

"He ran away so fast," Leslaufer shook his head with some regret. He had thought that the other party would at least try this thing again. "If you don't kill him, what are you waiting for?"

The battlefield is still in chaos, and only this corner seems peaceful on the surface. Even if a living enemy gives up resistance, he is still a burden.

"I have something to ask him." Amantha thrust the tip of her sword forward a little further, and the rider's pale face, already resembling that of a northerner, suddenly turned even paler. "Tell me the truth. You don't have to die."

The rider wanted to nod in fear, but the tip of the sword was closer to him than death itself.

"Why didn't both sides send cavalry into the battlefield at the beginning?" Amantha was referring to both sides, because when she discovered that the other side's cavalry had entered the battlefield, her own light cavalry also rushed in from the side at the same time.

"I, how would I know that?" the rider said with a bitter face. "I'm just a small soldier. If the higher-ups don't tell us not to move, we won't move."

"Then why did it suddenly move again?"

"How would I know? I'm just a soldier... No, no, no, I just heard that it was already past some time when we were sent up here."

Time? Amansha looked up at the sun. The battle had lasted from morning to afternoon. Could it be related to this?

"Master, no sir, no... Miss Amantha, please let me go! You elves wouldn't bother to kill someone like me, right? Right?"

The cavalry struggled, but war was war, this was not a vendetta, and the only thing Amantha could gain by killing him here was merit.

At the last moment of his life, his mind was working rapidly. At this point, there was only one solution that was not a solution.

"Wait! Wait a minute! I might know the reason!"