I Became the Commander in a Trash Game Who Copies Skills

Chapter 19. Clouds of War (4)

In battle, numbers matter.

Some argue otherwise.

They say the quality of troops, their morale, and the command’s tactics are more important.

Well, that’s half true, half false.

No matter how high the morale or how brilliant the tactics, overcoming a tenfold difference in numbers is nearly impossible.

A miracle of a thousand holding off ten thousand is just that—a miracle.

Historical events recorded as such always have their reasons.

One-sided victories or defeats are described in just a line or two.

“Let’s see… eleven veterans, thirty-one regulars, twelve apprentices. As you requested, thirty spearmen and twenty crossbowmen.”

Recruitment took a week.

The mercenary band now totaled 114 members.

The organization was adjusted too.

Infantry split into spearmen and swordsmen.

Archers became crossbowmen.

“Per Imperial Army standards, a full spearman or swordsman unit is forty. Crossbowmen, thirty. We’ve got the bare minimum.”

The reason for aligning with this structure was simple.

To train based on Imperial Army doctrine.

Since we’d be operating alongside them for a while, matching their rhythm would be best.

“Of course, I’d have based it on Imperial doctrine regardless.”

The Imperial doctrine was among the best for human-based strategies.

The neighboring Theocracy relied on expendable serf soldiers and superhuman knights running rampant.

The northern Duchy’s barbarians… well, it’s like, “Real men get it done!”

You couldn’t exactly adopt the elves’ century-long swordplay tactics or the dwarves’ brute strength approach either.

Anyway.

“Olif.”

“Yes.”

“Know any good forges?”

While the two lieutenants handled recruitment, Olif and I placed orders at a forge.

Mimicking Imperial organization meant matching their equipment too.

Spearmen got spears and shields.

Swordsmen got swords and shields.

Crossbowmen got personal crossbows and daggers as standard gear.

“What about their personal armaments?”

“Anyone who used similar weapons?”

“I mean the ones who used completely different types—like maces, axes, or bows.”

“Tell them to switch—all of them, except the veterans. And even the veterans should only keep their original weapons as secondaries.”

It wasn’t about disregarding individual skills.

Those used to maces or bows would naturally perform better with them.

But on a battlefield, not an arena, unified equipment was priority for efficient tactics.

Veterans were an exception—they could carry their preferred weapons as secondaries.

A perk for their skill.

We arrived at the forge while talking.

A half-gray-haired old man greeted us.

“Let’s see… fifty gold coins for everything.”

What?

Fifty gold coins?

***

The game and reality are different.

The crude jokes mercenaries tell in taverns or the fact that you need to relieve yourself after eating prove it.

It’s natural in a living world, but…

Sometimes, things make you clutch your neck.

Elements that crank up the already brutal difficulty.

Today’s culprit: inflation.

“Steel prices have gone up because of the war.”

Damn it.

Fifty florins?

We didn’t even order for all 110 members, reusing existing gear as much as possible.

“Look at the bill. It’s calculated precisely. Spears, one silver each. Crossbows, five silver. Shields, twelve silver.”

“…Shields are expensive.”

“Because of steel costs. If you want oiled wood instead of Imperial standard, I’ll take three silver.”

No way.

I chose the costly Imperial-standard kite shields for their high defense.

Wooden shields might do for local patrols, but their reliability plummeted in real battles.

I couldn’t trade the spearmen’s survival rate for a few silver coins.

“Retail price is usually twenty silver. Twelve is a discount for Baronet Olif.”

“…Please, a bit more off.”

“Hmph, I’m practically losing money… Fine, for the baronet, forty-eight gold coins.”

“Thank you.”

Thanks to Olif, we got the maximum discount.

Forty-eight florins still hurt…

But it’s an investment in the future.

Mercenary trust comes from the wallet.

***

“Spears! Up…”

[The spearmen activated Spear Wall.]

With the roster filled, we dove into tactical training.

“Quick march!”

“Quick march!”

Walking. Quick marching. Running.

“Thirty paces left!”

“Thirty paces left!”

Moving in formation—forward, backward, left, right.

“Crossfire!”

“Crossfire!”

“Crescent formation!”

“Crescent!”

Basic tactics for each unit, including situational formations.

“Rest!”

“Phew…”

“Ugh…”

The members’ faces turned haggard in days.

They didn’t sign up for the army, so daily morning drills were exhausting.

But it couldn’t be helped.

As a formally hired mercenary band, participating in war was different from being conscripted through a recruiter.

Conscripted mercenaries were slotted into existing command structures.

Formally hired bands had some tactical autonomy.

On a battlefield where hundreds or thousands moved as one,

having independent command meant high expectations.

“Even if this contract was a reward for saving his granddaughter…”

There were still expectations.

Hence the advance payment nearly double the equipment cost.

Nobles didn’t act lightly.

Meeting or betraying those expectations was up to me.

Crash!

“Get up! If you fall, run back to formation!”

“Ugh…”

A mercenary fell.

Even after a week of training, it happened dozens of times daily.

The training wasn’t easy by any stretch.

Moving as a unit made even walking difficult.

“Want to get your comrades killed?! Your mistake could cost lives!”

“Damn it! Get over here!”

“Mr. Hanson!!”

The enemy wouldn’t care about their circumstances.

Training had to be like real combat.

As Olif and the lieutenants shouted, veins bulging, the band slowly took shape.

After training, I bought lunch for the exhausted mercenaries.

There’s a saying that the one who buys food is the good guy.

One day, on the way out, Brol called me aside.

“Captain, uh… your wallet’s okay? I’m really worried…”

Sounds familiar.

“If it’s not, you gonna chip in?”

“Uh, well, haha! Look at the time! Gotta go! Good adults go to bed early!”

“Who said that?”

“Acolyte Alina!”

Brol bolted down the alley.

He wasn’t wrong, though.

Expanding the band pushed me to the brink of bankruptcy again.

Before expansion, my balance was 91 florins.

Ten florins from the Archduke’s reward after distribution.

One florin and two shillings from the necromancer’s hideout.

Eighty florins as an advance for three months’ formal employment.

Half of it was gone instantly.

Five florins for new recruits.

Forty-eight for weapons.

Considering monthly salaries and pre-deployment supplies, I’d be broke in months.

…Startups are like that.

“Dismissed! Same time tomorrow!”

After meals, I stopped by the tavern to gather info.

Afternoons were spent training to acquire missing traits.

After washing and dinner, the sun was setting.

I left the inn for the church.

Not to pray…

The employer’s granddaughter wanted to see me.

***

“You’re here.”

The meeting place was an abandoned farmhouse on the village outskirts.

A ten-minute walk from the church.

Long abandoned, it was in poor shape.

Knee-high weeds covered the fence, and vines clung to the walls.

It looked like a place for shady deals…

I swear, I had no ulterior motives.

She chose this spot, not me.

“Noble… I mean, Noble One. Did you have a blessed day?”

Since being rescued and returned to the village,

Alina went back to the church.

She’d considered joining the band, as she got along well with the members and had faced bullying before…

But she wanted to stay with the church for now.

It was her choice, so I supported it.

Faith was hard to understand, but okay.

“It’s not bad for me either. She wouldn’t be much help in a fight anyway.”

Alina was just an acolyte.

Her miracles were limited to healing and blessings, with significant range and power constraints.

On a battlefield, she’d be lucky not to be a burden.

Staying at the church to learn more miracles was the right call.

Something like [Divine Punishment] would be a big asset if she joined later.

“Even if she doesn’t join, it’s fine. A church connection is valuable.”

As a necromancy user, I had to be wary of the church.

Having Alina’s favor could grant me the church’s protection—a top-tier scenario.

The lamp’s shadow is the darkest, as they say.

Plus, she knew I used necromancy and still followed me.

She’d do her best to keep it secret.

“…They seem to find me uncomfortable. They don’t pile chores on me like before, but…”

That’s why I was secretly meeting a noble’s daughter at night.

Alina was Pewin’s only kin, a church figure with absolute favor toward me, and a potential vampire hero.

Her heroic potential was still there, even if her fate had changed.

It made me curious.

What impact would a changed hero have on this world?

“…Sir Tember keeps acting friendly. He was the one who led the bullying against me.”

She was far from a hero now.

Chattering about priests intimidated by her noble status or paladins hitting on her, it was hard to see her as heroic.

She spent her free time reading books all day.

Lacking someone to talk to, she probably picked me.

What a choice, picking a necromancer.

Talk about bad taste.

“…So, Martenburg IV said Luark’s will isn’t just for humans, but all races…”

“I see.”

“The story’s not over. Are you bored?”

“Huh? No, I was listening.”

Alina fell silent.

Did I offend her by cutting in?

“Ahem, ahem—”

Good, not upset.

Her swinging legs as she sat on a rock suggested otherwise.

Humming softly, she leaned against the neglected fence, which creaked in protest.

“It’s nice.”

She said.

“Peaceful.”

Is it?

The chirping crickets were peaceful.

To me, it felt like the calm before a storm.

Lately, similar days had repeated.

Unit training. Info gathering. Personal training. Secret meetings with Alina.

They say routine softens the heart…

But my tension only grew.

“This game doesn’t just throw bad events on the battlefield.”

In Warlord Conquest, incidents could erupt in villages or cities.

Sometimes, city events were worse than battles due to bad probability rolls.

This was the “Inferno difficulty” reality.

The more peaceful it seemed, the more I worried about what disaster awaited.

“Hey, you. The guy stalking Acolyte Alina?”

Damn it.

Speak of the devil.

I turned to see a paladin in armor standing by the crumbling farmhouse.

His face was shadowed against the moonlight…

But I didn’t need to see it.

His gleaming eyes screamed trouble.

“She told me some scoundrel was following her…”

“Sir Tember! Did you follow me…?”

“It’s a paladin’s duty to protect church priests. Stalking Acolyte Alina? In Luark’s name, I won’t forgive you.”

…The stalker seemed to be him.

Before Alina could stop him, he drew his sword and strode forward.

“Lafen, Kael. Escort the acolyte.”

“What are you doing? Let go!”

Two squires grabbed Alina’s arms, pulling her away.

I could’ve stopped them…

But I didn’t.

“Stay back, Lady Alina. I’ll deal with this mercenary scum.”

The longsword he pointed at me glowed with a white, fiery aura.

[I activated Warrior’s Insight.]

[Skill acquired.]

[Miracle: Holy Aura (2nd-level)]

For reference, Holy Aura was a skill, unlike a knight’s sword aura.

[Achievement Unlocked! Acquired a miracle for the first time!]

[Acquired a fixed trait.]

[Faint Divine Power (Luark Church)]

[A faint blessing from Luark, the god of the Imperial Church.]

…I was now a necromancer blessed by divine power.

It worked.