Chapter 103: Is This Love?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 103: Is This Love?
'I’m starting to think the Goddess of Fortune has cursed me.'
As a new day began, Encrid looked up at the sky.
A blue-tinted moon filled his vision. It was still well before dawn. Having woken up early, he found himself staring at the same moon he had seen before falling asleep.
It was incredibly bright.
'Come to think of it, isn't it obvious?'
The Ferryman in his dreams kept prattling on about "walls" and other nonsense, but regardless of the reason, Encrid just kept dying in the most absurdly unlucky ways.
This loop was no exception.
He had tried to exploit gaps in the enemy's formations multiple times, but each time, his luck was utterly atrocious.
He’d lunged for an opening, stomping on a pikeman’s foot to drive inside, only for a section of the ceiling to suddenly cave in on his head.
Why did the ceiling have to collapse at that exact moment?
And why did the falling dirt have to get right in his eyes?
It was the same afterward.
He had sprinted along the castle wall to target a mage, only for a section of the stone—which had stood perfectly sturdy until then—to crumble right under his foot, robbing him of his balance.
Similar bouts of misfortune continued to plague him.
Once, he faced a variant whose werewolf heart was on the right side instead of the left.
Another time, in the heat of battle, he leaned against a tree to catch his breath, only for the trunk to be rotten to the core. It snapped under his weight, causing him to stumble into a blade.
Well, it wasn't like running out of luck was a rare occurrence for him.
In fact, his total lack of natural talent was a form of bad luck in itself.
'Are you really playing tricks on me, Goddess?'
He still wanted to ask her.
Of course, there was no answer.
Not that he expected one. It was merely a ritual to mark the memory of this new day.
Today, he would start his morning by greeting the Goddess.
He stood up and began training his body with the Isolation Technique.
He moved in a low gait, bending one knee until the opposite knee almost brushed the ground, maintaining a grueling posture.
As he immersed himself in the training, the others began to stir and wake.
Timing it with their rising, Encrid grabbed one of the scouts.
"Can you make one of these? I want to use it as an emergency pouch."
Encrid provided a few details. It was a cloth pouch, but he wanted it designed to fit discreetly inside his sleeve. He also mentioned it would be better if it could be secured firmly in place.
Since these were the kind of people who made ham just because they had spare time, they possessed all sorts of tools. He didn't even need to provide the materials.
"Huh? Well, I can whip that up quickly. But aren't you leaving first thing in the morning?"
"I'd like it done before then."
At Encrid's request, the scout blinked, then nodded.
"Sure, will do. Hey, someone cover my watch!"
The scout was easygoing. Encrid patted his shoulder in gratitude.
After finishing the rest of his training, Finn approached him.
"Are you putting on a show for us first thing in the morning?" she asked, watching him swing his sword while shirtless.
"Do you know how to use a crossbow?"
"Is that even a question? It's basic ranger training."
If he just said "I see," she would inevitably ask why he even bothered to inquire. Since he already knew the answer, Encrid cut to the point.
"Just asking."
"...Now I don't even know what to say."
"What do you put under your boots to muffle your footsteps like that?"
"Ah, this? There are a lot of sensitive demonic beasts around here."
Finn raised her left hand, pointed to her ear, and continued.
"So we layer several pieces of cloth on the soles and stuff cotton inside the boots."
Naturally, he hadn't asked because he didn't know.
"That sounds great. I'd like to do that to my boots too."
"It's not hard."
"Torres?"
"You want me to do it too?"
"She said there are a lot of demonic beasts."
"Though the chances of actually encountering those beasts are pretty slim," Finn added, but it wasn't a big deal.
Two of the scouts got to work modifying their boots.
"These boots are incredibly well-made. You can tell a lot of care went into them."
"Is that so?"
One of the scouts remarked as he examined Encrid's footwear. It meant the shoemaker he had met in the sewers—thanks to the corpse collector—had truly poured his heart into the craft. It was pleasant to hear.
Layering the cloth on the boots and stuffing them with cotton took barely any time at all.
Training was finished, and silent boots were ready.
"Here."
The pouch he had requested earlier that morning was also delivered.
It was designed to loop around the wrist and tighten with a drawstring, slipping perfectly inside the sleeve and out of sight. The craftsmanship was far better than that of his alcohol-loving squad leader; the stitching was incredibly tight.
Of course, he had asked because he already knew the man was skilled. He had already made everyone try it in previous loops.
The time Finn did it was the absolute worst.
If she had no talent for it, she shouldn't have volunteered. The pouch she had sewn was too hideous to even be called a pouch, and it was so small not even a single finger could fit inside.
Naturally, it had ended up completely useless.
“Haha, it's been a while since I did any sewing.”
There had been a day like that. It was a truly rough start.
As Encrid reminisced, Finn—who in one of his past "todays" had gifted him that rough start with her sewing—approached and tapped his shoulder.
"Let's go."
Breakfast was over, and preparations were complete.
Once again, they were on their way to the Dog Hole.
'The seventy-ninth time.'
Recalling the number of times he had repeated this day, Encrid walked diligently. Having traversed this path countless times already, he did not hesitate.
Finn occasionally glanced back. Seeing Encrid's stride, she tilted her head and asked, "Did you work as a scout for a long time?"
"Me?" Torres asked back, then shifted his gaze to Encrid.
"No," Encrid replied as he walked.
"Really?"
Torres had no idea why she was asking that, but Encrid knew all too well. He already knew what Finn would say if pressed.
“Your stride is different. It's a ranger's stride.”
That would be her answer.
What else had he been doing while trailing behind Finn all this time? He had watched her gait and copied it. A ranger's stride—walking silently by utilizing the cloth layered under the boots.
Amidst their idle chatter, as they walked quietly along the dirt path dotted with occasional patches of grass, Encrid asked, "What if enemy forces are waiting for us at the Dog Hole?"
It was an abrupt question, but a valid concern.
"We fight," Torres answered first. As he spoke, he lightly kicked a pebble in front of him.
The pebble rolled with a click, struck a flat, yellowish-brown stone, and bounced away. Encrid watched the spot where Torres's pebble had struck and listened intently.
"The chances of that are low, but if they are, we just run," Finn answered right on cue.
"I see."
Encrid gave a half-hearted reply, and soon, the group arrived at a mound covered in thick bushes.
"Then, what if our retreat is cut off?" Encrid asked again.
Torres, who was just about to step onto the mound, stared at him, wondering what was wrong with him.
The mission was simple: go inside and check on the "cat" their allies had planted. If things went south, they were free to flee. But why was he constantly throwing cold water on things before they even started?
"We're taking precautions to make sure that doesn't happen, but..."
Since he had asked similar questions twice now, Finn also seemed bothered. Her tone grew stiff.
"How high and wide is that tunnel?"
"Huh?"
"If we're blocked from both front and back, are there any other side paths?"
They had barely taken a few steps onto the mound, yet the questions kept coming.
'What the hell is wrong with this guy?' Torres wondered.
Encrid had followed silently until now, so why was he acting like this here? It couldn't be out of fear. If he were someone scared of entering a mere dog hole, he wouldn't have charged into the middle of a pack of human-faced dogs, much less swung his sword against harpies swooping down from the sky.
"Why? Do you have a bad feeling?"
Torres didn't believe in superstitions, but he respected Encrid's intuition. There were similar guys in the Border Guard—men with strangely accurate gut feelings.
"It's not that."
They had to go in anyway. If he said he had a bad feeling, it would disrupt their plans. Encrid replied calmly.
Finn looked back at Encrid. Her expression made her thoughts clear: Is this bastard trying to pick a fight with me?
"Is there something you want to say?"
"I was just wondering what we should do if enemies show up."
Finn tilted her head to the side, then straightened it. She felt uneasy, though she didn't know why. Was it because this guy kept nitpicking?
"The Dog Hole is a major route for smugglers, not a path used by the cat or our side. So right now, it's one of the safest routes available," Finn explained, reminding herself of the reason she had chosen this path.
Torres nodded beside her. He wasn't at a ranger's level, but he was a veteran of all kinds of missions.
'This is safe enough.'
Finn was right.
Encrid nodded. Just as they stepped onto the slope inside the Dog Hole and walked three or four paces in, he spoke again.
"By any chance, if armed forces are waiting for us up ahead, are we as good as dead?"
And then, it happened.
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
In the end, a curse slipped from Finn's mouth. No matter how much they pretended not to be nervous, they were entering enemy territory. Why was he saying such things?
"Do you not want to do this? If you don't, then back out."
Hearing it repeatedly made her lose her temper. Seeing Finn flare up, Encrid shook his head.
"It's not that."
"What is wrong with him?"
The arrow of her frustration needlessly flew toward Torres. Even a good joke wears thin after a couple of times, but Encrid was choosing only the most irritating things to say. Was he always like this?
No, he wasn't. Torres had nothing to say either.
"Let's go."
When Finn stopped in irritation, Encrid actually took the lead.
Just as the annoyed Finn was about to say something more, she and Torres suddenly felt a strange sensation. Both of their eyes locked onto Encrid instinctively.
Why?
A heavy aura—a crushing weight—was radiating from Encrid.
Torres was an elite soldier, and Finn possessed skills that were second to none. Both of them felt the shift in the air.
"Just..." Encrid spoke, overwhelming them with his sheer presence. "...be careful, is what I'm saying."
At his measured words, Finn swallowed hard.
'What is with this guy?'
'He was being so annoying just a second ago, so why does he look so cool right now?'
A miracle occurred within Finn: her surging irritation vanished in an instant.
'Is this love?'
As all the members of her scout unit acknowledged, she was a woman who fell in love easily. Fortunately, she never neglected her duties because of it. Love was love, a man was a man, and work was work.
Finn admitted to herself that she had indeed let her guard down a bit. Even if the "cat" was caught, it wouldn't expose their whereabouts. Entering the territory was dangerous, but she was confident in her ability to slip away alone if needed. After all, she had decided to take the "path" she had been saving for just such an occasion.
"Fine," Finn conceded first. She immediately shifted her stance, beginning to take more cautious steps.
Torres did the same. Though he stared at Encrid with a strange look for a moment, he soon spoke and began to walk.
"Of course we should be careful."
'This should do.'
Encrid felt their attitudes shift. He hadn't nagged them for nothing. Unleashing his aura had been for the same reason. To slit the throats of the enemies waiting ahead and survive, he had to create an opening. Conversely, their side couldn't show even the slightest gap.
Elite soldiers armed with long spears and shields were setting a trap, with archers blocking the rear. Over forty of them in total. It was not a situation where they could afford a single mistake.
That was why he had acted that way—to make sure they braced themselves.
Sure enough, the caution of an ordinary soldier was entirely different from that of a focused ranger.
"Strange."
Throughout their walk by the light of the torch, Finn kept her head low. A ranger with skills that could put pathfinders and hunters to shame, she found a strange trace, just as she had said.
"The tracks are off," Finn said.
Yes, that was exactly why he had made such a fuss. The enemy had erased their tracks, but they couldn't completely evade the eyes of a ranger who was actively suspicious of her surroundings.
From the very beginning, Encrid had no intention of fighting head-on to break through. How many times had he repeated this day? He had learned a thing or two from those cycles. One of those lessons was that he didn't necessarily have to force his way through with a frontal assault.
"I have a bad feeling about our rear."
The moment Finn finished speaking, Encrid delivered his prepared line. He didn't need outstanding acting skills; he had done this multiple times already. Up to this point, it was a moment he had faced time and again. He simply did what needed to be done.
"It really feels like there's something up ahead," Finn said.
"Damn it, what are you guys talking about?" Torres, growing tense, began looking back and forth.
Deciding the timing was right, Encrid spoke up.
"Let's secure our retreat first."
In other words, he was suggesting they turn back and clear the path. Specifically, he meant they should take out the archers waiting in ambush behind them, though the other two had no way of knowing that yet.
Finn and Torres turned their gazes toward Encrid.
"If someone cuts off our retreat from behind..."
He didn't even need to finish the sentence.
"Got it. Let's go."
"Talk about a bad omen."
Torres and Finn spoke in turn as they spun around.