Tower of Karma
Vol. 1 - Ch. 22 - The Battle of the Flanders (3): The Black Mercenary Unit

It was a subtle disturbance. Gregor, who was at the forefront, was the first to notice it. He was not particularly intelligent, but he was not stupid either. Eager to push forward, his troops had extended too far. The mountains had few passageways, making it difficult to advance in a wide formation. This resulted in a linear march.

And then—

"That's strange. The rear is too quiet."

And therein lay the vulnerability.

"Could it be... that we've been isolated?!"

There were no friendly forces behind them, and the area they now stood in was already the enemy's territory. Gregor realized this quickly. Had he been any later—

"Fall back!"

If they had pushed further—

"Tch! For someone so bulky, you're rather clever!"

They were completely surrounded, about to be engulfed by a rain of arrows. Soldiers clad in blue emerged from the shadows of the trees and bushes. Gregor, having started his retreat before seeing them, had indeed proven to be capable. But even so,

"Ta-da! Make way for the 'Black Mercenary Unit (Noir Garou).’"

The 'Black Mercenary Unit' had swiftly and silently blocked their retreat from behind. A group of about ten black-clad figures stood in Gregor's path of retreat. Escaping a mere ten or so would have been easy, but Gregor did not even need to think before charging through.

"Haha. Did you think you could get through? How naive."

The woman, who looked like a man, readied a massive spear. It was a size that a woman would typically struggle to wield, and even for a man, its use on the battlefield would give one pause. Seeing this mismatch, Gregor's subordinates couldn't help but smile.

But there was one person who did not smile— Gregor. Gregor alone understood what the man and woman in front of him were capable of.

"Alright, here we go!"

It was only the ever-vigilant Gregor who managed to evade their sudden attack. The two behind him were cleanly bisected. The slender arms of the woman had cleanly cut through the armored men.

"What the—?!"

The man and woman were not simply overpowering the spear with brute strength. By fully utilizing their supple bodies and their naturally wide range of motion, they could wield the massive spear with almost no added force, yet with tremendous destructive power.

And it was not a single decisive strike, but a continuous flow of attacks.

"Gah?! Such sharpness!"

Realizing he could not evade, Gregor braced himself with his sword against the incoming strike. Swoosh. The powerful blow lightly cracked Gregor's large sword.

"Tch, so you don't die from that. You're tougher than you look."

Gregor could not afford to waste time on his current opponents. The ambushers meant to surround them were closing in from behind.

"I shall swiftly cut through! I am Gregor von Thundar, Captain of the 2nd Army of Arcadia!"

Gregor raised his sword threateningly, and his subordinates readied themselves for battle.

Seeing this, the man and woman smirked.

"A parting gift to the underworld. Your opponent will be Lady Nika, the vice-captain of the 'Black Mercenary Unit'. Remember it as you die."

The man and woman, Vice-Captain Nika, twisted their bodies, gathering their strength. The black mercenaries behind them also moved to engage Gregor's forces.

༺༻

The cautious 100-man unit led by Anselm. Perhaps sensing something, the movements of the 100-man unit led by Carl were sluggish. And only the 100-man unit led by Gilbert, the farthest from the main battlefield, was able to respond to the enemy's counterattack. However, the other armies, being more aggressive, had received a heavy backlash.

Even Anselm, who was supposed to have maneuvered well—

"Gah?!"

He was being pushed quite hard.

Reacting effectively to the enemy's counterattack and taking up a favorable position was a good choice. In fact, he had completely dealt with the enemies in front of him and was making good use of the 'high ground' advantage. And yet,

"Impossible. The tactical advantage is still on our side. So why?!"

The absurdity of being pushed back.

"As the military treatise says, you are still just thinking about war on paper."

With those words, an arrow flew past Anselm, grazing his cheek. At the origin of the arrow's trajectory stood a handsome man. A man with a feminine appearance. His armor was light and predominantly black, unlike the blue-clad Nederkus forces.

"Who are you?"

To Anselm's question, the man smiled faintly and shook his head.

"Information is a weapon. To carelessly expose it is the act of a fool. Nika may have introduced herself, but I won't say a word. Ah, but let me at least give you your tactical target."

This gentle, kind-looking man—

"It's the spot you're standing on."

—showed a wolf-like, cruel grin. His appearance was truly that of a wolf.

"This one... Tighten your ranks, all units! This man is strong!"

Anselm's exhortation rang out. His subordinates focused their attention on the man before them.

Seeing this, the man chuckled.

"You still don't see it. The fact that you're talking about my strength or weakness means you've failed. War is not something one person does alone... The wolves are not just a lone wolf, you sheltered little lamb."

Before Anselm could grasp the meaning of his words, ambushers attacked the weakest point of Anselm's position, taking advantage of the terrain. The swiftness of the surprise attack left Anselm stunned.

"We are a pack of wolves. Swift, strong, and wise. The black wolf pack knows no defeat."

The fangs of the wolves sank deep into Anselm.

༺༻

William was dumbfounded. He had imagined something would move. To not move would be the height of foolishness. That's why he had intended to function as a balancer, ready to respond to any movement. That's why he had slowed the pace of the advance. He had been thorough, or so he thought.

"What is happening here?"

The landscape viewed from the vantage point showed white being driven out by blue. Until yesterday, the opposite scene had unfolded. Today, everything had suddenly reversed. The positions, the precision of movement—

"William! What should we do?"

Carl's desperate voice conveyed the severity of the situation.

"My apologies. Let me think for a moment. Just give me a little time."

Behind his mask, William closed his eyes. What he needed was a little time and to delve deeply into the sea of knowledge he had amassed. He would ponder this situation using all the resources at his disposal.

First, it cannot be considered that the Nederkus forces were holding back until yesterday. They have no reason to do so, and I didn't detect any such signs. This is not playing dead. This is a fundamental premise.

The Nederkus are extremely afraid of mistakes. Due to their conservative national character, they detest losing or suffering harm to their careers. They fear mistakes, but they also desperately want to win. They fear straying from the path as much as they fear mistakes. This national trait has also permeated the military.

With that in mind, why has their movement changed so suddenly today? This reckless charge is far too effective. They have perfectly read our deployment and are relentlessly pursuing the "unpleasant spots" that inevitably appear during the advance. The fact that they have Gregor and Anselm pinned down means they have identified the critical points and are focused on crushing them. From this, I can state with certainty that "the head" has changed. Someone other than Anatole is commanding this army.

The enemy forces unfolding before William's eyes were completely different from the previous day. They did not seem like the same opponent, the same army, or even the same nation.

But how can this army move in such a way? They are so far removed from the Nederkus forces' usual movements. Had they been training this intensely all along? Then their crushing defeat until yesterday would be impossible. I don't understand. This change in their movements... is incomprehensible.

It was only on the battlefield that William was struck by a nameless fear. The opponents he had faced until now, including Stracles, had not deviated from their tactics, and while their power had been astonishing, there was nothing incomprehensible about them. But this new adversary possessed that quality.

"I don't like being in the dark about this."

William muttered under his breath and opened his eyes that had been closed.

"Carl. We're moving."

The battlefield demanded speed. Until yesterday, they had exceeded that. But that advantage had now been reversed.

Concentrating their forces on the flanks is undoubtedly a bluff. Anselm and Gregor are not easy opponents to break through. The fact that they are also directing troops towards the composed Anselm is evidence. That is a holding action, the real target is—

William's gaze went to where his own main force was positioned. And from there, a line extended. Concentrating their forces on the flanks, leaving a gap in the middle. It was a subtle vulnerability that only William, with his complete understanding of the terrain, could discern.

You've really gone and done it. I'll take that head of yours!

Enraged at being outmaneuvered, William's white mask sprang into action.

༺༻

Gilbert could not move. He understood the dire situation of his allies. From a local perspective, he should immediately rush to their aid and reinforce them. However, considering the bigger picture, it was unthinkable for Gilbert to take action.

This was the key point where the plains met the mountains. If Gilbert were to move and join the fray, he would create a vulnerability in this vital strategic position.

"Lord Gilbert."

"Say nothing. To move would be to be devoured. That is the kind of opponent we face."

If this position were to fall, it would effectively decide the defeat of the entire battlefield. Currently, they were facing each other across the river, engaging in minor skirmishes. But if this position were lost, they could advance towards the borders of Arcadia without much concern for the river. The natural stronghold of the mountains would no longer be a buffer zone, but a powerful tactical base for the enemy.

"Who is that? The one who has surpassed that cunning man?"

That cunning man was William Livius. While Gilbert did not like him, he had to admit that William's intellect was worthy of recognition. Including his use of Carl, Gilbert both evaluated and found him to be an incomprehensible existence.

And now, he had been surpassed.

"So he is making a move, is he? Whether he has read my intentions or not... that will reveal the enemy's strength."

Gilbert had detected William's movements. He understood the intent behind them and judged that by aligning with them, he could prevent a decisive blow. That's why he was resolute in defending this key position.

I shall witness whether the cunning man's power prevails or not.

Gilbert's decision was thoroughly sound. In fact, if he were to act rashly and leave this position, he would not have been entrusted with its defense in the first place.

However, the enemy had, of course, anticipated this as well.

༺༻

"My, my. The Arcadian army is indeed well-trained, aren't they?"

Racing across the battlefield was Volf, one of the "Black Wolves." Clad in black fur and light armor, he led a small, elite unit of the same dark color. Their numbers were few, but they prioritized speed. With this, they would pounce on the enemy's throat.

"And the white-masked one. The rumored skills and intellect are quite impressive, I must say."

Volf praised. He was still a lieutenant, but he had managed to utilize his own master well, infiltrating higher ranks through bribery and the like to put an entire army in motion. Could Volf do the same? He would adamantly deny that. Volf's nature was to be the lead actor, unable to tolerate being in the shadows. William's maneuvering demanded such a role, which was why Volf could not do it. He had no desire to do so.

"He's intelligent. Powerful. And young. The only difference between us is our looks. I'm drop-dead gorgeous, but he hides his face, so he must be ugly."

"I-I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Volf snorted at his subordinate's interjection.

"Being blessed with intelligence, strength, and good looks? That's only for chosen beings like myself. Well, I might not surpass him in strength or intellect, but this time, my victory will be overwhelming!"

Volf smiled as he looked in a certain direction.

"Alright. The white-masked one has begun to move. The confrontation will be at that location, huh? How truly infuriating."

The speed of comprehension, the promptness of his reaction. Indeed, he was no ordinary individual.

"I did say it would be an overwhelming victory, white-masked one. But the gap between you and me isn't that wide. Not yet, at least."

The subordinates' eyes widened in surprise. It was rare for Volf to compliment others. And to compare himself to them? That was unthinkable. For Volf to acknowledge someone else was a momentous event. Even his longtime comrades, who had fought alongside him, did not know this side of him. When comparing him to Stracles, Volf had declared that the only thing lacking was experience, nothing else.

"Similar level of intellect. Strength... well, I'm just a tad bit better, I suppose? In terms of looks, I utterly dominate, of course... Sorry about that, white-masked one. Can't be helped, right? The heavens don't give you three gifts. That's way too much. You've got two. As for me, I'm on the same level as the gods, so I've got three. Just can't be helped."

This was the opponent he had acknowledged. Observing Volf's previous and current movements, he judged the white-masked one to be on a similar level. Judging from the fact that he had drawn with Anatole, his power could be estimated. Yes, the gap between the two was not that wide. And with that, Volf was confident of victory in the current battle.

"The difference between you and me lies in what's outside of us. That's where the light and shadow lie, my ugly-faced friend."

Volf charged forward, certain of his victory.

༺༻

William smiled, realizing that he had avoided a fatal blow thanks to the presence of the nearby unit. There was still a chance. Here, he could engage this unknown entity, and even if he couldn't take their head, everything could be carried over to tomorrow. Gilbert also understood the importance of his position and remained steadfast. Gregor and Anselm also did not appear to have been defeated. The tide could still be turned.

"Well... I ain't letting you get away, though!"

With the determination to behead this opponent and end the battle the next day, he charged across the battlefield. This was their hundredth encounter. The bud would be plucked early.

"Mr. William! The enemy forces are visible! The 'blue' ones!"

At that moment, William's smile grew wider. His speculation had turned to certainty.

"Haha! I've got that head now!"

The enemy's advance. He tore through their flank, cutting their formation to shreds, front and back. He showed no mercy to the opponent who had threatened his victory.

"I see. The 'Black Wolf' has indeed read this through."

A lament came from the bushes. At the last moment, William twisted his neck. The skin of his neck was peeled away, causing the head of the subordinate behind him to explode.

"No... way..."

William was more stunned by this situation than by the threat to his own life.

"It's been a while, 'White Mask.'"

There stood Anatole, the 'Weeping Spear,' the one William had fought so intensely on the first day. This was beyond William's expectations— that a legion commander-class would come to the front lines and engage in such a gritty march.

"Well, make yourself at home. Your opponent is me."

Hearing those words, William was startled. He had been read that thoroughly. And the fact that he was to be Anatole's target— it connected the dots, forming a clear picture.

"No way!"

William whirled around. He had finally understood the entirety of his opponent's movements.

"You're quite perceptive. But you mustn't let your guard down!"

The roar of the dying. Barely in time, William blocked Anatole's 'Weeping Spear' with his sword, his face pale even through the mask.

"I... was outmaneuvered?"

His pride that he had built up was crumbling. There had always been opponents he could overwhelm with sheer power. But he had never been outmatched tactically. This was a first, and the humiliation was burning him.

"Damn it... Get lost, you lowlifes!"

A swarm of the dead surged forth. There was none of the usual laughter. Scorched by the black flames of humiliation, the dead let out shrieks and howls. Seeing this, Anatole broke out in a sweat. Even when they had fought before, there was a certain composure. But now, the facade had been stripped away, revealing the hideous monstrosity. This was truly William's nature.

"But that's the same for me. Taste the 'Weeping Spear' to your heart's content!"

Rising battle spirit. Appearing was the Spear of Lamentation. Crossing countless deaths from the black abyss, this was Anatole's true, earnest form. One of only four legion commanders under Reinberk's command, Anatole and his 'Weeping Spear' had claimed countless lives.

"Get out of my way!"

"Come then!"

His movements were linear, a vertical formation, but it was an invitation based on a complete understanding. The blue unit was also fully prepared. The invincible Carl's hundred-man squad and Anatole's elite troops. The two armies clashed.

༺༻

"The only thing lacking is an absolute number of pieces. I won by having more movable pieces. Even for someone like him or myself, if we had surplus combat power and reliable subordinates, we wouldn't have had to clear this path. Naturally, we would have secured this place as well."

The place where Volf was firmly planting his feet was the same place where William and his forces had been. A location that William, a man of such caliber, had fortified. From here—

"Hmm, I must say I'm quite perfect. I'd like to get that 'boobs girl' too, and I'd love to take down the white-masked one, but it wouldn't mean anything if I lost. In a battle, winning is everything. You'd agree, wouldn't you?"

Volf addressed William, who was not present. Naturally, there was no response.

"Well then, let's go win."

In the direction of Volf's gaze was— the main force, now unobstructed by the obstacle that was William.

The black wolf charged forward. His prey was right before him.