Chapter 148: Intelligence Out of Control

Hudi felt certain that today had become a nightmare.

The kind he least wanted to face in his entire life.

As the illegitimate son of a minor noble, life in the provincial capital of Mandez City had never been pleasant for him. So when news spread that something major had happened within the province, he had practically been overjoyed.

Some unknown band of rebels had killed Baron Haus, the archduke’s youngest son. Enraged, the archduke had ordered his trusted subordinate, Sir Pascal, to personally lead a campaign to suppress them.

To Hudi, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

One of his gambling companions happened to be a distant relative of Sir Pascal. Relying on that connection, along with three gold coins’ worth of “lubrication,” Hudi had successfully slipped into the scout division of Pascal’s allied army.

In his eyes, it was the perfect assignment.

Scout pay was admittedly terrible. Even after an entire year, he probably would not earn back the three gold coins he had spent to get in. But he had heard that anyone who fought in battle and participated in victories could rise through the military ranks.

Then, with a little help from his gambling friend, maybe he could even become an officer someday and finally escape the humiliating status of being a bastard child.

Better yet, scouts rarely fought on the front lines.

Sure, scouting sounded dangerous on paper, since it meant operating ahead of the army. But who was the enemy? A bunch of bandits and rural rebels hiding out in the countryside, people who probably did not even possess a proper military structure.

Wasn’t this basically the ideal job for coasting through a war while collecting military merit?

At least, that was how it was supposed to be.

Hudi clung desperately to his horse, flattened against its back as wind roared past his ears and his heart pounded wildly. He did not dare look behind him. The sharp clicks of crossbow mechanisms and the humming twang of bowstrings echoed endlessly in his mind. Every time those sounds replayed in his memory, someone died. Each repetition sent fresh terror through his body.

The squad leader leading this mission had been a peak Bronze-rank expert, a respected figure even within the Scout Division itself. Rumor said he had powerful connections higher up, which explained why he normally carried himself with such arrogant pride.

And yet?

In the blink of an eye, a single crossbow bolt had dropped him from his horse before he could even leave behind a final word.

When the squad leader’s corpse collapsed beside him, warm blood had splashed across Hudi’s stirrup. In that instant, every romantic fantasy he had ever held about aristocratic warfare—and the pitiful sense of security he had built through money and social connections—shattered completely.

So this… this was what a battlefield really looked like.

Weren’t those people just rebel peasants? How could their aim possibly be that terrifyingly accurate?

Hudi lashed his horse madly, the whip cracking through the air with shrill desperation. His mount had already been wounded during the first volley and now limped unevenly as it ran, but he no longer cared about anything else.

Run.

Run as far away from those devil-like sharpshooters as possible.

He had no idea how long he fled before realizing he was still alive.

The enemy… had stopped chasing him?

The thought surfaced in his mind, but what followed was even greater fear.

No.

What if they wanted to capture him alive? What if they planned to pry intelligence about the allied army out of him?

He became even more terrified of turning around. In his imagination, the moment he looked back, he would see several warhorses relentlessly pursuing him and the cold, merciless faces of their riders.

He had already begun frantically rehearsing what he would say if captured.

“I’m just a common soldier! I really don’t know anything! Please spare me! I… I still have twenty gold coins! That’s my entire savings! I’ll pay for my freedom… please, I’m begging you!”

Twenty gold coins represented years of savings, but for the sake of surviving, he was willing to give up anything.

Lost in his panicked thoughts, Hudi felt as though his body were about to fall apart from the horse’s violent galloping. In the past, he had always thought horseback riding looked dashing and romantic when trying to impress girls. Now he only wanted the nightmare to end.

He did not know how much time had passed before flickering lights finally appeared on the distant horizon.

The allied camp.

He was saved.

Overwhelming ecstasy crushed his fear. Gathering every ounce of strength left in his body, he let out a hoarse scream, “Open the gates! Quickly! Fourth Scout Battalion! Urgent military intelligence!”

By the time the guards dragged him stumbling into the command tent, his entire body was still trembling uncontrollably.

The tent blazed with light. Sir Pascal and several senior officers stood around a massive sand-table map, discussing plans for the offensive.

“Sir Pascal,” a bodyguard reported with one hand over his chest, “a scout has returned with urgent intelligence.”

Every eye inside the tent instantly focused on Hudi.

Sir Pascal was an aging soldier with graying hair and a composed face. His uniform was immaculate, the hunting hound crest of House Demont embroidered neatly upon the collar. Simply standing there, he exuded an invisible pressure that blanketed the entire tent.

This was the first time Hudi had ever stood so close to the commander of the allied army.

The moment Pascal’s sharp eyes settled upon him, panic overwhelmed him completely.

What should he say?

How could he possibly tell them the truth—that their eight-man scout squad had been nearly annihilated in a single encounter by a mere five-man rebel patrol? That even their peak Bronze-rank captain had died before understanding what happened, while Hudi himself had only survived because he ran fast enough?

No.

Absolutely not.

If he admitted that, forget ever earning respect in the army. He would probably be executed as a deserter on the spot.

Seeing Hudi standing there timidly, his lips trembling too hard to form words, Pascal frowned. “Speak, soldier. What did the scout team discover?”

The cold demand struck Hudi like a whip. His whole body jolted as he instinctively straightened and shouted, “R-reporting, sir!” His voice cracked sharply from nerves. “The scout squad encountered a rebel main force ambush near the Somme River!”

The moment he said it, Hudi realized he was no longer stammering. On the contrary, his thoughts suddenly became clear.

Yes. Exactly like this. 

It wasn’t that they were weak. The enemy had simply been too cunning.

Seeing the expressions of the officers around him instantly turn grim, his courage grew. “The enemy… the enemy numbered at least fifty men! They were all heavily equipped and hidden atop elevated ground, where they launched a surprise attack against us with heavy crossbows!” He deliberately paused, forcing a look of grief and fury onto his face. “We fought desperately, but we were hopelessly outnumbered! The captain and the others all… all died heroically covering my retreat!”

By the end, his voice even choked with emotion. That part, at least, was genuine. Poor Hudi truly had been terrified out of his mind.

“I… I barely managed to carve a path through their lines and return alive to report the enemy situation to you, sir!”

Silence filled the entire command tent.

Kneeling on the ground, Hudi’s heart pounded violently. He dared not raise his head and could only steal glances at the officers through the corner of his eyes.

A living coward could damage enemy morale far more effectively than eight corpses ever could. At this moment, Vivi’s judgment was proven perfectly correct. The destruction of an eight-man scout squad meant almost nothing to an army numbering nearly ten thousand soldiers. It would barely attract the attention of the high command.

But a survivor returning with a blood-soaked firsthand account was a completely different matter.

Fifty heavily equipped ambushers.

Heavy crossbows.

A carefully planned ambush.

Combined together, those details no longer painted the image of a ragtag rebel mob. Instead, they suggested a disciplined, highly trained regular army with formidable tactical capability.

“Fifty men…” one bearded general muttered darkly while stroking his chin. “Where did they even get that many troops? And how did they know to set up an ambush directly along our scouting route?”

“That means our marching route has already been leaked,” another officer added.

“And heavy crossbows…” a third officer said grimly. “Those things aren’t cheap. An entire force equipped with them? Even among the royal army in the capital, not every unit could manage that.”

The officers began discussing the matter among themselves.

Originally, they had assumed this campaign would be little more than an easy military parade. Now, it suddenly seemed far more complicated.

Throughout the entire discussion, Sir Pascal never spoke. He simply stared at Hudi kneeling on the floor.

Under that gaze, Hudi felt as though his body were being pierced through. Cold sweat slid down his temples and soaked into his collar.

Had he… been found out?

Just as Hudi was on the verge of collapse, Pascal finally spoke. “What is your name, soldier?”

“H-Hudi, sir.”