I’ll Be the Boss Myself
Copyright© 2026 by lucifer_nov
Chapter 5: Rosenberg’s Defense
The cold iron rings pressed against warm skin, sending a shiver down the spine.
Nolan fastened the thick, well-oiled leather straps with practiced ease. Though it was still nothing more than basic gear, the sense of security it provided far surpassed the tattered militia armor he had worn before.
【Guard Chainmail】
【Defense: 5–7】
All the remaining members, whether fresh recruits or seasoned veterans, donned their armor and took up their weapons under the captain’s roar, assembling swiftly on the training grounds according to the formations arranged in advance.
Watching the scene before him, Nolan gave a quiet nod. Though they were only a third-rate local garrison within the kingdom’s military structure, barely qualifying as quasi–first-tier troops, under Hank’s tempering as a battle-hardened veteran, they at least carried something of a real army’s bearing.
Hank stood at the very front of the formation, saying nothing as his gaze swept from the left flank to the right. Every guardsman instinctively straightened under his scrutiny.
Nolan’s attention, however, fell on the man standing behind him, Klose.
He hadn’t run.
As if sensing Nolan’s gaze, Klose’s body stiffened noticeably. Yet he did not look away. Instead, he tightened his grip on the faintly gleaming longsword at his waist, once little more than decoration in his eyes. Forcing the muscles of his face into place, he adopted a stern expression and stared straight ahead.
“For Elfin!”
Hank needed no lengthy speech. A single line was enough to set every heart ablaze.
“For Rosenberg!”
Two hundred and eighty soldiers roared in unison with all their strength.
“Move out!”
The formation began to advance, heavy footsteps merging into a single rhythm as they marched toward the southern gate.
“Mr. Nolan.” Little Donnie had come up beside him at some point, gripping his sword so tightly that sweat had already soaked the wrapping around the hilt. “I ... I feel a bit nervous. My legs are cramping.”
Nolan patted his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. If, on the battlefield, you feel fear or don’t know what to do ... Then stay close to me.”
Little Donnie froze for a moment. Then light flared in his still-boyish eyes, and he nodded firmly.
The column moved along Rosenberg’s main thoroughfare. On both sides of the road, crowds of townspeople had gathered after hearing the news. They did not dare make much noise. Instead, they watched in silence as this force marched out to fight for them. Fear and unease lingered in their eyes, but even more so, there was hope.
A gray-haired old woman pressed a hand-sewn charm into the arms of a passing young soldier, murmuring, “May Mother Goddess Sethis bless you.”
The blacksmith raised his arm high toward the formation and struck his chest in silent salute. His soot-darkened face, usually hardened by the forge, now showed a rare trace of supplication.
Yet whispers still drifted on the wind. “Meeting them outside the city ... can they really manage it?”
At the head of the formation, Hank couldn’t help but cast another sideways glance at Nolan.
This had been Nolan’s suggestion. The day before, Nolan had insisted against opposition that news of the undead advance and the plan to meet them outside the walls be made public, while deliberately downplaying the enemy’s threat.
In Nolan’s own words: “Give them a controlled truth. The people’s will is an invisible wall, sometimes stronger than stone. We need them to see hope, or the unknown and despair will cause greater panic.”
Hank didn’t know where this young man had learned such insight that cut straight to the heart of the matter. He only knew the decision had been right. The expectations of the people had instilled a sense of purpose into the guards, and their backs were visibly straighter as they marched.
When they reached the southern gate, a lookout atop the wall shouted with all his strength, “Captain Hank! Enemy sighted! Distance, fifteen hundred yards!”
A ripple of unrest ran through the ranks. Most of them had never truly seen battle. Their greatest achievements were little more than suppressing a few ragged bands of bandits or driving off the occasional stray skeleton.
“Steady!” Hank’s voice cracked like thunder, instantly silencing all noise. Without another word, he urged his horse forward, passing through the massive gate.
Two hundred and sixty soldiers followed close behind, while the remaining twenty heavy crossbowmen had already taken position.
At less than five hundred yards from the walls, they quickly formed a relatively loose defensive formation. Nolan, Hank, and Klose stood side by side at the very front.
In the wind, faint and unnatural sounds could already be heard. A moment later, at the far edge of the horizon, a dark line appeared.
It drew closer. Clearer. Row upon row of pallid skeleton warriors surged into view like a rising tide. No war drums. No horns. No command from any officer. Only the grinding of bone against bone, the clatter of weapons striking armor, merging into a single, relentless march of death.
So even silence could carry such suffocating weight.
Nolan could clearly hear it—the faint chattering of teeth from a young soldier not far from him. The man’s grip on his sword trembled like a leaf in the autumn wind.
Hank possessed the strength of the Silver rank. If it were a matter of charging into battle, he would not hesitate for a second. But faced with more than two hundred fear-stricken faces, the rigid discipline he upheld in the barracks felt pale and inadequate. He glanced at Nolan, signaling with his eyes: Now it’s your turn.
This had been arranged in advance.
“Brothers!”
Nolan’s voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly to every ear.
“I know what you’re afraid of. You’re afraid. You’re uncertain. And I won’t blame you, because I feel the same. Every time I step onto a battlefield, I treat it as my last. Only those who leave themselves no retreat can truly find life in the face of death.”
His gaze swept across the rows of faces—men who, not long ago, had been little more than an undisciplined rabble.
“I see confusion and anxiety in your eyes, and I won’t mock you for it. Remember this feeling. Turn your fear, your anger, into strength. Smash it down on those piles of bones. Give them the true rest they deserve! Each of you, hold the enemy in front of you. Don’t let your mind wander! Remember this—behind you stand your comrades. Keep your eyes forward. Your brothers will guard your back! And behind all of us lies Rosenberg ... and the countless people of the Elfin Kingdom!”
【Advanced Leadership activated】
At the thought of their families and friends, a surge of warmth rose from deep within every soldier, scattering the chill brought by the encroaching undead. The hands that had been trembling stilled. These men—young and old alike, most of them never having seen true battle—felt adrenaline surge through them after hearing those words. Nolan’s voice seemed to carry a strange power, uprooting their fear and planting the seeds of courage in its place.
Hank watched Nolan’s back, a flood of emotion rising within him. He himself was a blade, a hammer—strong in battle, yet clumsy with words. Perhaps this was what a true leader looked like. The makings of a genuine hero.
And the one most deeply affected was Klose. His hands trembled as well, but not from fear. It was shame—and something unfamiliar, like rising fire. What had he truly accomplished in his life? Shielded by the legacy of his ancestors, he had lived in comfort, never tasting hardship. And yet, why had his heart always felt so empty? His father had fled, abandoning the city, abandoning everyone. And this man before him—this commoner he had once looked down upon—had chosen to stand at the very front, using his own back to shield everything behind him.
In Nolan’s words—”Your brothers will guard your back”—something struck him for the first time. A sense of belonging, not as a baron’s son or the future lord of the city, but as one man among many in this battle line. The noble pride he had always flaunted suddenly seemed laughable, cheap. Looking back on more than twenty years of his life, perhaps only this moment could truly be called living.
When he lifted his head again and looked at Nolan’s back, his gaze had completely changed.
The undead army drew closer, just as Nolan had predicted. Four light infantry formations composed primarily of skeleton warriors. Two thousand skeletons stared with hollow eye sockets at the mere two hundred humans before them. The sheer visual impact pressed heavily on every guard’s nerves.
Behind the undead ranks, a great corpse-lich rode atop a skeletal warhorse, observing the battlefield through a mage’s eye. He was the lieutenant of the lich lord “Gangrene.”
“Heh. These human wretches actually saw through our intentions. Not entirely useless after all,” a dry, rasping chuckle escaped him. “But abandoning the advantage of the city walls to form ranks in open ground ... do they really think these pitiful two hundred can imitate a field formation of a main army? Oh ... trying to avoid being wiped out by a single spell? Commendable courage. But in the end, arrogance and foolishness.”
He raised the bone staff in his hand, carved from a spine, and swept it forward.
“Let these living sacrifices witness what real war looks like. My lord will enjoy this symphony of despair. Crush them.”