The Immortal Genius Spearman

“One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!”

A sound that had never echoed through Makstri before—prisoners running in unison, shouted at by their squad leaders.

“Keep your steps and counts in sync! Every time you mess up, I get beaten up, you bastards!”

The leaders, who were also fumbling along, yelled at their squad members, barking orders as they stumbled themselves.

Damian watched quietly.

‘If you try to change too much at once, it’ll just cause backlash.’

Damian’s initial goal was to get the prisoners used to movement, starting with basic formations.

For the next month, they would drill formations and practice marching as preparation for the assault to reclaim the gold mine.

“Huff… huff… huff… how much longer… Do we have to run?”

“I don’t know, just keep running! If you stop, you might die!”

They had only run a few laps around the base, but some of the men were already gasping for breath, barely holding on.

Damian raised his hand, signaling them.

“Finish up and head inside!”

“We’re saved!”

“Hey, hey! Keep your steps and counts together!”

It was a noisy and chaotic first run, but they managed to get through it somehow.

Damian called over the squad leaders.

“Eat a light breakfast and rest. Training will continue in the afternoon, so don’t waste time and make sure to get some rest.”

“C-Commander!”

“What is it?”

Squad Leader 1 raised his hand, and Damian turned to him.

“What’s the training… in the afternoon?”

The large muscular man looked anxious, almost cowering, and it was both amusing and a little pitiful to see.

“We’re going to train for the operation to reclaim the gold mine base.”

Damian gave a short reply and walked towards the entrance of the base.

It should be arriving any moment now…

As Damian stared at the entrance, he heard a distant clattering sound.

Clatter, clatter.

Soon, a cart pulled by a wagon entered the base, and Damian’s smile widened.

“They’re here.”

When the cart was fully inside, the man who had brought it approached Damian.

“Phew, managed to gather just enough.”

“Thank you for your hard work.”

“It’s nothing, but… this matter shouldn’t get out. Make sure it stays quiet.”

The man, wearing the insignia of the 6th Legion, 3rd Division of the Baroque Kingdom, spoke cautiously. He was a higher-up in the army.

Damian nodded.

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep it completely under wraps. And…”

Damian pulled a small pouch from his coat and handed it to the officer.

Clink.

The officer’s smile grew as he felt the heavy weight of the pouch.

“Hehehe, if you ever need help, just let me know. I’ll support you as much as I can.”

“Your words alone are reassuring.”

Damian checked the contents of the cart.

“…The equipment is in good shape.”

Inside the cart were shields, breastplates, and spears used by the kingdom’s soldiers.

‘…They can’t even supply proper equipment here.’

The prisoners in Makstri had been using discarded armor and weapons left over from battlefields.

Official support from the kingdom didn’t exist. They were expected to scavenge their own gear, making it the worst possible scenario.

To fix this, Damian had bribed the officer stationed at the outskirts, asking for armor and weapon supplies.

‘I thought about buying from a forge, but…’

Procuring equipment for over 150 people on short notice was impossible.

The best solution was to secure the equipment directly from the military.

Thankfully, it worked.

‘It’s inevitable for outposts like this to develop some shady dealings.’

Spending long periods in isolated posts often led to bending the rules.

Being a long-serving bureaucrat, the officer naturally turned a blind eye to these practices.

After inspecting the gear, Damian bowed.

“Thank you. Please head back safely.”

“Heh, drop by the base later. Let’s have a drink.”

“I’ll do that.”

The officer, clearly satisfied with his reward, waved as he left.

Damian sighed quietly and then called out.

“Hemus!”

“Yes, sir!”

Hemus ran up quickly, and Damian gave his orders.

“Gather the resting men and distribute this equipment. Clean and store what they’re currently using; we might need it later.”

“Yes, sir! I’ll spread the word immediately!”

Hemus sprinted off to relay the orders to the squad leaders.

Soon, the entire unit, all seven squads, rushed out to receive the new gear.

The men looked amazed, marveling at the new equipment.

Squad Leader 3, who had his long bangs covering the left side of his face, approached Damian.

“…Commander.”

“Hm?”

Damian looked at him with a curious expression; it was the first time he had heard this particular leader’s voice.

‘He didn’t even scream when he got beaten on the first day.’

It had left a lasting impression.

He hadn’t come forward voluntarily; his subordinates had pushed him out.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, it’s just… are we really allowed to use this equipment?”

“Yes. If a soldier goes into battle, they should at least be equipped with proper weapons and armor. How else can you fight?”

It was a simple truth.

The basics of the basics.

But in Makstri, even these basics were ignored.

Hearing Damian’s words, the prisoners looked at him with a mix of awe and gratitude.

The supply distribution was completed.

Fortunately, the breastplates were made of leather with adjustable straps, making them suitable for almost everyone regardless of size. The most crucial part of the new equipment was the shields.

Damian addressed the unit of over a hundred men.

“There are exactly 26 days left.”

This was the time before the ownership of the gold mine would shift. And also…

“These 26 days are the days you have left to live.”

This referred to the plan of throwing all the prisoners into battle, after which the regular troops stationed on the outskirts would join in, proportional to the number of casualties.

The more prisoners that died, the stronger the allied forces would become—a grim and ironic reality.

Damian looked at his men and asked, “On the first day, I asked you all a question. Do you want to live?”

“Yes, we want to live!”

The desperate voices echoed back.

Damian nodded at their fervent cries.

“Starting today, you will train in formations—the method of fighting as a unit. Formations are critical because they amplify our strength and are essential for victory in battle.”

In war, formations are crucial, especially in large-scale combat.

The prisoners listened intently, their faces solemn and focused.

Damian picked up a shield and began demonstrating the tactical formations they would need to employ.

“The enemy is defending with their base as a shield. Naturally, they will fire a lot of arrows.”

Damian’s words brought back memories of their fallen comrades, shot down by enemy arrows before they could even approach the base.

Those with shields had fared better, but it was still difficult to advance.

“But once you master formations and tactics, we will become a single, solid shield, allowing us to approach the enemy base without unnecessary sacrifices.”

Damian called the squad leaders forward and arranged them in two rows, stepping into one of the front spots himself.

“Watch closely. The width of this shield is quite large. If you stand shoulder-to-shoulder…”

Clang!

Damian lifted his shield.

“With one shield, you can cover about one and a half men. This means that with two shields, you can protect three men.”

The men listened closely to Damian’s explanation, paying full attention to every detail.

If the soldiers stationed on the outskirts had witnessed this scene, they would have been shocked. Seeing these savage men learning like disciplined soldiers was astounding.

Damian continued his demonstration.

He positioned himself between the two men at the front row, making the front line consist of three men.

“When the men on the sides raise their shields like this, two shields can cover three people. And if the person in the middle tilts their shield sideways to cover overhead…”

The front and overhead were perfectly protected.

“It might seem vulnerable on the sides now, but as more people join in and fill the formation, the last man on each end will raise their shield to the side, completing the formation.”

“…Wow.”

“So this is what tactics are.”

It was a basic formation tactic, but it would be a game-changer for the Makstri unit.

The key was how well they could maintain the formation while moving.

If the formation broke or a gap formed, it could spell disaster.

“From today, we’ll train on forming this square formation and switching to an offensive formation in case of an emergency.”

Damian then issued a stern reminder.

“Remember, you have 26 days. If you fail to execute the planned training perfectly…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Everyone understood.

The Makstri unit members nodded silently.

—

“Hmm…”

There was a strange change in Makstri, where fierce battles were fought daily.

The Baroque Kingdom’s forces hadn’t made a move for over a week.

“Have they given up? Perhaps they finally realized these deaths are in vain?”

Goodwin, the commander of the Iren Kingdom forces, scoffed at his lieutenant’s question.

“That’s nonsense. You think those Baroque bastards would just leave this gold mine alone?”

“But there’s never been a week without fighting like this.”

“It means they’re preparing something.”

Goodwin was cautious and quick to assess situations.

He had successfully defended against attacks from the prisoner units and strategically retreated whenever the Baroque Kingdom’s regular army launched their three-month assault, conceding the base but minimizing their losses.

Their primary objective was to prevent the Baroque Kingdom from fully securing the mine. Any confrontation beyond that would only escalate casualties on their side.

‘Now is the time to bide our time.’

He knew that the power imbalance between his forces and the Baroque Kingdom was considerable.

Their goal was to mine as much gold as possible while they held control.

But…

‘What are they planning?’

The week-long silence was welcomed, but the unpredictability of it made him uneasy.

Goodwin’s face twisted with discomfort as he stared into the distance.

At the same time…

“Spread out!”

“Aaaaahhh!”

At Damian’s command, the formation split, resembling jaws ready to swallow the enemy whole.

Damian shouted at those sprinting to the flanks.

“Run faster! You’re falling behind!”

“Raaahhh!”

“Hyaaahh!”

They ran with every ounce of strength they had.

It had only been a week, but the once desperate men, who had merely struggled to survive, were now learning structured training.

And it was paying off.

Nineteen days remained.

“…We can do this.”

Damian watched as the Makstri unit ran with all their might, driven by the will to survive.