I Became the Commander in a Trash Game Who Copies Skills

Chapter 5. Burken Fortress (5)

Let’s review the situation.

The more urgent it gets, the more I need to think and act.

After creating gaps in the wall with [Infernal Meteor] bombardments, the vampires feigned attacks on those gaps to disperse our defenses.

When the battle was at its peak, they focused their strength on breaking through the gate—that was their strategy.

A simple plan, but highly effective.

The gate, the fortress' symbol, was shattered.

“Terren, take command.”

“Yes, sir!”

I entrusted command to my lieutenant and immediately broke away from the front line, sprinting toward the gate.

At the same time, I mentally simulated the situation at the gate.

I had fought over a hundred battles at Burken Fortress.

The scenario of the gate being breached was easy to visualize.

‘The gate was broken by one of two things: a battering ram or necro ogres.’

If it was the former, it’d be easy to deal with.

If the latter, things would get tricky.

In such cases, the solution was simple.

Assume the worst-case scenario.

‘On Hell difficulty, it’d be one or two necro ogres. Since it’s Inferno difficulty, there could be more.’

Imagine it.

Three-meter-tall monstrosities made of stitched corpses smashing the gate, followed by hundreds of skeletons and zombies rushing in.

Skeletons and zombies could be held back somehow.

The gate would have at least six tightly packed infantry units, trained rigorously by the empire.

‘But necro ogres…’

They couldn’t be stopped.

Those massive corpse heaps would charge recklessly inward after breaking the gate.

No matter if there were ten or a hundred spearmen, stopping that overwhelming mass was impossible.

Knights might try, but junior knights commanding units wouldn’t stand a chance.

Necro ogres were undead equivalent to mid-tier knights.

And Burken Fortress had exactly two mid-tier knights.

The problem? Both were holed up in the inner castle as the baron’s personal guards.

‘Fucking pig bastard.’

I inwardly cursed the absent baron.

Of course, cursing didn’t change the reality in front of me…

‘No, worse than a pig.’

At least it made me feel better.

And feeling better made it easier to find a breakthrough.

‘If he was a real pig, he’d listen. Lure it with food, and it’d follow… Lure? Lure and then concentrated bombardment?’

See?

Feeling better sparked an idea right away.

As I keep saying, every crisis is an opportunity.

Recalling my past, I had won defensive battles against undead even when the inner gate was smashed.

Though rare, and not at Burken Fortress…

By the time I thought that far, the gate came into view.

“Hold! Hold the line!”

“Aaaah!”

The situation was as expected.

Inside the broken gate, eight units of swordsmen and spearmen were holding back the enemy.

Hundreds of undead tried to breach the defensive line, but the desperate defenders were somehow holding on.

The two formations clashed fiercely, and no battering ram was in sight.

Roar! Growl!

Instead, I saw giant necro ogres, stitched from entrails, bones, and skin.

Four of them.

Three were down.

Only one remained standing.

Rooaar!

“Urgh…!”

And that one was swinging its fist at the knight who had taken down its three kin.

At Senior Knight Olif, the fortress' chief of staff and only high-tier knight, the ‘Honest White-Haired Mentor.’

Boom—!

Struck by the necro ogre’s fist, Olif flew past me like a flash and crashed into a building wall behind.

“Ughhh…”

The knight, embedded in the crumbled plaster, groaned.

His condition didn’t look good, to put it mildly.

His armor was crumpled, his white hair matted with blood.

It was obvious how he ended up like this.

Knowing the fortress would fall if the gate was lost, he must have taken command and descended from the wall the moment it was breached.

“Cough! Hack!”

“…….”

But Olif had a critical weakness.

Due to his innate constitution, he consumed mana excessively.

A proper high-tier knight could have taken down all four necro ogres by stalling.

But facing four at once was practically suicide for him.

“Chief.”

“…Mercenary.”

“Chief, recover first.”

Yet he descended without hesitation.

His will to protect the fortress outweighed his desire to survive.

It was the same in the game.

When playing as a vampire hero, leading a monster unit to breach the gate, the first to charge was always Chief Olif.

“Regeneration… potion?”

“Open your mouth. Here, take the rest yourself.”

And that was exactly why I had to save him.

I needed someone to hold the gate and buy time.

I poured a regeneration potion into the chief’s mouth and handed him the rest, along with a mana potion.

Feeding him more would speed recovery, but the necro ogre was closing in fast.

Growl. Roaar!

…Up close, it’s fucking huge.

Three meters isn’t that tall for a building, but the necro ogre’s presence was overwhelming.

Probably because it was alive and moving.

The only consolation was that its tendons and bones were torn and cracked in places.

“Cough! Urgh… Mage.”

“Recover first, I said.”

I gave him all my precious potions.

Calming my breath, I drew the sword at my waist.

Steadying my breathing, I held the staff in my left hand and the sword in my right, stepping in front of the necro ogre.

Chanting the shield spell, a translucent blue shield formed above my staff.

“Mage, that’s… reckless…”

Sure, it looked reckless.

A mage with only [Lightning Arrow] and [Shield] facing a necro ogre head-on was probably just another way of saying ‘I want to die.’

But I wasn’t doing this thoughtlessly.

Ever since I saw the knights fighting at the gate…

[Deploying [Warrior’s Insight].]

[Skill acquired.]

[Imperial Knight Swordsmanship (Level 2)]

A welcome message appeared before my eyes.

[Deploying [Imperial Knight Swordsmanship].]

[Deploying [Lord’s Unyielding Mind].]

Time to see how broken a mage-knight with both swordsmanship and spells could be.

***

‘Ughhh…’

The bitter regeneration potion flowing into my stomach began to heal my body.

As my fading consciousness slowly returned, Olif could finally clearly grasp his situation.

And Olif…

“…….”

Couldn’t understand it at all.

‘How?’

He thought the man was a fraud.

An unregistered mercenary mage.

A swindler who sweet-talked the terrified baron to siphon off troops.

A mercenary obsessed with glory despite the fortress' imminent fall.

But somehow, he had defended the wall gap more successfully than anyone.

‘Why?’

That’s why Olif couldn’t comprehend it.

Why was someone with such ability lingering in a backwater fortress as a mere mercenary?

Why, the moment the gate was breached, did he abandon his troops to rush to this battlefield alone?

And why…

‘Why risk his life to save me, who placed him in the death trap of the collapsed wall?’

Growl!

Boom!

A heavy impact cut through Olif’s wandering thoughts.

Dust rose, clouding his vision as dirt was churned up.

A flat would’ve turned an ordinary soldier to mush.

Even a knight would have broken a few bones.

Growl! Roar!

But the mercenary mage didn’t die.

He even counterattacked successfully.

Dodging the fist by a hair’s breadth, he swung his sword, cleanly severing the monster’s wrist.

Olif was stunned again.

The movements were familiar.

‘…Imperial Knight Swordsmanship.’

No mistaking it.

The way he dodged the fist.

The shape of his sword hand and foot positioning.

The arc of the counterattacking slash, returning to a ready stance.

It was textbook Imperial Knight Swordsmanship.

Though a technique taught to junior knights, few mastered it so perfectly.

At least a mid-tier knight hiding his skill. Or…

“[Lightning Arrow]!”

Crackle!

The mercenary’s lightning spell struck the monster’s face directly.

The necro ogre, its eyes burst, began flailing wildly.

It looked more ferocious, but the mercenary dodged with greater ease and counterattacked.

Watching this, Olif finally understood.

Or rather, he became certain of the mercenary mage’s true identity.

‘The rumors were true…’

Mastering swordsmanship only imperial knights could learn so skillfully.

Casting spells with short incantations, with a proficiency as refined as his swordsmanship.

Neither was a common talent.

What did it mean to possess both?

‘The secret imperial knight order that learns both magic and swordsmanship.’

It fit perfectly.

Even as a high-tier knight, he only knew of it through rumors.

A member of the knight order that appeared only in national crises had been right before him all along.

He recalled rumors that the emperor, crowned years ago, had begun gathering talent across the empire.

Olif felt dizzy.

Perhaps what he was witnessing was the start of the emperor’s grand reform.

Thud!

Not long after, the necro ogre fell.

Its eyes and face burned, the sword piercing the gap between neck and jaw, destroying the core inside.

The mercenary, not allowing a single counterattack, perfectly dispatched the massive monster.

Breathing heavily, he finally turned to Olif.

“Phew, you’re, huff, still alive. Good.”

“…Thanks to you. Thank you.”

“No need. But I have a favor to ask.”

“A favor?”

“One, I need more potions. And the other…”

Pausing to catch his breath, he continued.

“Let’s cut to the chase. I have a plan to end this battle. It’ll sound crazy, but let me explain…”

“I believe you.”

“What?”

Olif nodded resolutely.

“In this battlefield, I’ll believe anything you say.”

***

“…What’s up with that stiff guy? Didn’t expect him to believe me right away.”

I muttered to myself.

It seemed foolish, but there was a rational reason.

When doing exhausting manual labor, talking to yourself makes it a bit easier.

Especially effective when carrying heavy loads up stairs.

“Maybe because I saved his life? Phew, but he’s a hardcore emperor loyalist, immune to persuasion.”

In that sense, the stairs I was climbing were inside a wall spire.

Stairs with no regard for user convenience, uneven in height and incline.

They’d be effective for defending if undead tried to seize the tower.

…Does that mean my body’s as frail as those half-dead bastards?

“Frail, sure. I almost died earlier. Phew, if I hadn’t memorized every sync-kill motion, swordsmanship or not, one punch would’ve flattened me.”

Damn it, I should stop.

This makes me sound like a schizophrenic talking to myself.

Luckily, the stairs were almost over.

There was a reason I rushed to the spire right after saving Olif.

‘This spire has the best view of the gate.’

It was the closest wall spire to the gate.

Considering angle, height, and position, it was ideal.

From here, I could see both inside the gate and the undead army outside.

For reference, Olif was holding the gate.

I asked him to.

“Soldiers! We fight to the end! We defend this fortress with our lives! For the empire! For His Majesty!”

Rooooar!

Even now, I could hear Olif and the soldiers’ cheers through the narrow arrow slits in the spire wall.

My request was simple.

Gather as many troops as possible from the inner castle to hold the gate.

Obviously, it wasn’t a strategically sound decision.

Even if the inner castle was a sandcastle, pulling all defenders to a gate that was not just opened but obliterated was madness.

The textbook move would be to defend moderately, forcing a war of attrition with ranged units.

Meanwhile, reorganize the front lines inside for urban or defensive warfare.

But I knew.

Burken Fortress had never succeeded in defense that way. Not once.

Clunk!

Phew, I’m alive.

Opening the spire’s upper door, a cool breeze greeted me.

The open view was top-notch, except for the fact it was a battlefield.

Enjoying it could wait.

I carefully set down my load and began unpacking.

Clink.

My load was potions.

Nearly a hundred regeneration and mana potions combined.

These were supplies scraped together from the inner castle.

Items Olif grabbed, ignoring the baron’s threats of treason.

Clink. Click.

Careful not to break them.

Regeneration potions on the left, mana potions on the right, arranged for easy grabbing.

Meanwhile, I mentally rehearsed the core of my plan, like image training.

It was one of the few battles where I defeated undead in a defensive war with a broken gate.

‘The fiercer the battle, the more ferocious undead become, drawn to places with many living.’

An instinct of the dead even necromancers struggled to control.

Usually, it was advantageous, so they didn’t bother.

In one battle as the empire, I exploited this instinct, luring all undead to a plaza.

Then I bombarded them with stockpiled mortars, anti-monster cannons, and dwarven artillery.

‘There was a massive sacrifice… but it succeeded.’

That was the basis of this plan.

Two differences this time.

One, Burken Fortress' artillery was less than a tenth of what I had then.

Two, I planned to avoid such heavy casualties.

“Phew.”

After a deep breath, I chugged a mana potion.

Downing five in a row, I started to feel a reaction.

By the tenth, mana boiled inside, feeling like it was crushing my guts.

At the same time, my vision cleared, and my mind sharpened.

[The hero has entered a mana overload state.]

If this were the game, such a message would’ve appeared.

Preparations were complete.

All remaining mana and regeneration potions had their caps off.

Holding my staff high, I endured the nauseating pain and opened my mouth.

“Urgh. Ugh…”

Based on the trait’s description and my experience so far.

Skills acquired through [Warrior’s Insight] reached maximum proficiency upon acquisition.

Thus, the long chants typical of high-level spells weren’t needed.

Only one thing was required.

The spell’s name.

“…[Infernal Meteor].”

As I softly uttered the word, my head spun.

Rumble rumble rumble…And soon, a dark red star loomed over the gate.