Chapter 104: Delivering Letsha's Message
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 104: Delivering Letsha's Message
"Damn it," Finn hissed, biting her lip.
Her dismayed voice was barely audible to Encrid and Torres, who were following close behind.
The three of them had barely turned back before they spotted a group of soldiers. Leaning her shoulder against a gentle bend in the tunnel, Finn peeked around the corner and tossed her torch backward.
As the flying light source vanished with a soft whoosh, the only light left was the faint glow of torches ahead. Everything around them plunged into darkness.
Torres lowered his stance and peered ahead. Although he lacked the ability to see through pitch-black darkness, his training for situations like this allowed him to roughly gauge the enemy's numbers and equipment.
Fuck, there’s a lot of them.
Even at a glance, there were over twenty. Moreover, their gear was formidable. They all carried crossbows as standard, with shortswords at their waists, and their equipment was uniform.
What did this mean?
They're a trained unit.
The real problem was that they weren't some ragtag band of mercenaries. A group of trained soldiers was far more dangerous than most packs of demonic beasts or monsters—especially when they were armed with crossbows inside a narrow tunnel like this.
We're dead meat.
While Torres assessed the enemy, Finn weighed her options. Should they turn back and head toward Cross Guard instead? Had they only blocked the retreat? Or was there something waiting on their original path as well?
Just as Finn and Torres fell into a mild panic, racking their brains in silence for fear of being overheard, Encrid acted.
"Messenger! I'm a messenger from Captain Roger!"
Encrid dashed out, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
Torres was stunned. Finn was even more shocked. She was too terrified to even reach out or make a sound.
That crazy bastard.
It was practically suicide. If even three or four of the crossbowmen fired, he would be turned into a human skewer. Yet, despite knowing this, Encrid ran without a shred of hesitation.
It was only natural. Roger was the name of the pike unit's commander. By throwing out a name that would throw them off, he had made them hesitate.
"If you don't see an opening, you make one. A fair fight? Does that keep you alive?"
Those were Sachsen's words.
Deceiving the enemy? Why wouldn't he do it if it was necessary? Just because he dreamed of becoming a knight didn't mean he had to be an idiot who only fought in formal duels. He would act honorably if the situation demanded it, but...
Besides, they already set a trap, had a mage pull tricks, and even brought in werewolves. What honor is there to speak of?
But he hadn't spent today just to pull off a simple deception. As the tension left his shoulders, his vision expanded. That widened perspective showed Encrid what he could do and what he could gain.
Past experiences and recent experiences. The repeating today. What should he hope for and gain from this loop? There was no reason to struggle just to escape today.
Fighting against multiple opponents.
Combat experience against elite soldiers wasn't something easily come by, let alone in a situation where they were trapped with nowhere to run. This was different from the tall grass field. Back then, he could have just avoided it.
Pikes and arrows, commanders' orders, a front blocked by shields, and a rain of arrows pouring from behind. A split second where a single misstep meant death. He could dodge one or two incoming arrows if he focused, but how could he dodge a downpour of them? It wasn't as if he could clumsily mimic a knight and deflect every single arrow with his sword.
In other words, there was no time to practice swordsmanship in a confrontation with elite soldiers. It was a battle that would end in an instant. A single moment of carelessness meant immediate death.
What should he do in a moment like this? What should he use as his weapon?
The line connecting point to point. Seeing the points was instantaneous, and connecting them was instantaneous. He realized one thing.
Instantaneous judgment.
The rapid decision-making required to seize a split-second opening. Even if they stayed here, the pike unit would descend upon them in less time than it took for half a candle to burn. Therefore, what he had to do right now was slit the throat of that bastard crossbow commander and run wild.
Because unless he neutralized those crossbows, he couldn't look forward to tomorrow.
"Captain Roger? A messenger?"
This was a tunnel. It was hard to identify a face without bringing a torch close. It was even harder to distinguish the uniform of the Azpen army. And even if someone had sharp eyes, how could they examine the details of Encrid's body as he dashed toward them?
"The territory! The territory!" Encrid threw out random words—anything that would make the enemy misunderstand. "Fuck! The monsters!"
The commander’s eyes wavered. Encrid didn’t need to see it to know. He had closed the distance, and since they were holding torches, he had already identified the commander's face. Crucially, Encrid already knew who the commander was.
He lunged forward.
"Huh? Hey, stop!"
One of the soldiers in the front rank finally spoke up, but his reaction was far too late. Hadn't he babbled all that nonsense just to seize this brief window? He covered dozens of paces in a single breath, with no time to catch it.
Shring.
Drawing his sword, he gripped it with both hands, pulled it to his right, and swung it horizontally in a High Horizontal Slash. The helmets and armor they wore did not protect their necks. Since the two on his left were of similar height:
Slash!
With a single stroke, he opened both of their throats.
Spurt!
Blood sprayed from the severed arteries.
"Wh-what! Holy shit!"
In the split second the panicked soldiers reacted, Encrid saw the commander stepping back. His right hand moved. Holding his sword in his left hand, he slapped his right hand against his waist and thrust it forward.
Screeech!
A Whistle Dagger—a blade far sharper and more dangerous than a normal throwing knife—pierced straight through the commander's leather helmet with a dull thud. If he could survive with more than half the blade buried in his skull... he wouldn't be human.
"Kill him!"
Three or four of the soldiers drew their shortswords with a sharp clang. Grateful that the tunnel was wide, Encrid unstrapped the buckler from his back and hurled it.
Crack!
The round shield sailed through the air and struck the head of a soldier holding a crossbow a few paces away.
"Argh!"
Having bought himself time by taking out the crossbowman aiming at him, Encrid pulled his sword close to his chest. He parried the incoming shortsword strikes by slightly tilting his blade as he pulled it back.
Clang! Clink! Clash!
It was a technique of deflecting blades using the flat of his sword. It couldn't even be called the Soft Sword Style; he had simply used his sword as a shield.
Next.
"Ha!"
He let out a sharp shout to startle his opponent. Then, noting the positions of the soldiers and the direction the crossbows were pointing, he threw himself forward.
Encrid didn't just roll. Rolling to the side, he grabbed a soldier's ankle and twisted it hard.
Crack.
As his opponent lost his balance and collapsed, Encrid rose, wrapping himself around the man like a snake. He hooked his left arm around the man's neck. With his right hand, he grabbed the man's right wrist and twisted it upward. The shortsword slipped from the enemy's hand and fell to the ground.
Thud.
The dirt floor absorbed the sound of the falling blade.
"Gack."
Killing the man outright would have been amateurish. He needed a shield to hold his ground. Crossbows were lethal when fired in groups from a distance, but once the gap was closed, they were manageable as long as one had a proper shield. And having thrown away his buckler, Encrid had picked up a meat shield instead.
This somehow reminds me of the first 'today.'
He had picked up and used shields back then too. This time was no different. The only difference was that the shield was made of flesh instead of wood.
As he backed against the wall and held his ground, the crossbowmen hesitated. The shortsword wielders did the same.
"I'm all alone! Come at me, all of you! Long live Captain Roger! You Azpen dogs! Do you even know how to shoot those crossbows, or are you just carrying them for show?!"
In the brief silence that followed, Encrid spouted nonsense. He kept going without a pause.
"I said, come at me! Can't you even handle one guy? Is that it? Is that how Captain Roger trained you?!"
They should be moving by now.
He wasn't just babbling for no reason. No matter how slow they were, it was time for them to act. And his expectations were met.
Swish.
Eilkaraz-style Martial Arts could subdue a person without letting even a single breath escape. Darkness, torches, commotion, nonsense—all of it served as temporary cover.
"Shoot him, that crazy bastard!"
"Hey, no, don't! Don't shoot!"
Some of the agitated soldiers and the man held by the neck shouted back and forth. This was perfect. The more time he dragged out, the better. Even now, Finn would be behind them, striking or choking the enemies' windpipes one by one using Eilkaraz-style martial arts. And Torres would be putting holes in their throats or heads with quiet thwips.
If they fought out in the open in a head-on clash, the two of them would be at a disadvantage. But with the situation changed like this, it was a completely different story. Now, who had the upper hand? Who was surrounding whom?
"The day breaks and darkness recedes, the sun shines and the moon fades! Rogeeer! Rogeeer!"
Encrid kept shouting to mask their presence. He even made up a song on the spot, humming to a rough beat.
The commander was dead with a blade buried in his skull. Two others had already gone down with screams. Everything that followed was pure chaos, and the culprit behind the commotion was still spouting gibberish. It was only natural for them to lose their minds.
Fuck, what are we supposed to do? one of the soldiers agonized. Wouldn't it be better to just shoot through their captured comrade's head? With the commander dead, there was no one to give orders.
Just as they were wondering what to do.
Twang!
The sound of a crossbow string snapping echoed.
Thunk!
The flying bolt struck their captured ally right in the head.
Ah.
In the end, someone had fired.
"Kill him," the shooter muttered.
Since they were a properly trained unit, there was no disagreement that playing along with this nonsense any longer would lead to the worst possible outcome.
"Raise the torches! Behind us!"
And at that moment, Finn and Torres were spotted. They weren't first-rate assassins, after all. It was a natural consequence. However, in the meantime, the two of them had already taken out six of the crossbowmen.
Not bad.
Hadn't he repeated today countless times? Among those loops, there were very few days where they had managed to kill six.
Next.
Encrid shoved the meat shield forward. The corpse, twitching with a bolt embedded in its head, fell forward. And in the split second before the body hit the ground, Encrid drew and threw the Whistle Daggers tucked into his waist and sides.
Straightening his elbows, he flicked his fingertips. Skipping the motion of letting his arms drop, his hands moved in a blur. In the blink of an eye, six Whistle Daggers flew.
Screeech!
The noise.
Thud-thud-thud!
The impact.
After creating six more corpses like that, only one crossbowman and two shortsword-wielding soldiers in defensive stances remained. Everything had truly happened in an instant. From the enemies' perspective, it was a living nightmare.
And just as they were about to finish them off without even a confrontation:
"Forward."
A heavy voice echoed down the passage and struck their ears. Roger—the commander of the pike unit—announced his arrival. It was on the opposite side of the passage Encrid's group had just come through.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The synchronized footsteps shook the ground and vibrated through the air. The remaining soldiers of the crossbow unit huddled to one side. Roger and his unit appeared, illuminated by a dozen torches.
He was cold. Even after seeing his allies slaughtered, he merely scanned the surroundings with an indifferent expression. If the men tasked with blocking the retreat had been wiped out, shouldn't he be at least somewhat flustered?
These were thirty elite, trained pikemen. Roger's gaze swept over Encrid once before landing on Finn.
"You lucky wildcat of a girl."
"It's skill, not luck, asshole," Finn spat.
The two glared at each other with murderous intent.
Crackle.
The sound of burning torches filled the silent tunnel. Encrid had already learned from the first 'today' that there was a history between the two of them. He paid no attention to it. Instead, while Roger and the pike unit halted at a certain distance:
Whoosh.
He moved again. In a single bound, he threw himself in front of the three huddled crossbowmen. Thrusting his sword forward, he punched another hole in the neck of one of the enemies.
As he withdrew his sword with a wet squelch:
Twang! went a crossbow. Encrid quickly ducked his head.
Whiz! A bolt grazed his hair.
That was close.
He really had been lucky this time. He hadn't expected them to fire a bolt right then and there. At any rate, it had been a while since he'd had this kind of luck, so he made the most of it.
"I can see everything."
He spoke as if charging the soldier who had fired the crossbow, only to suddenly swerve to the side. He drove his sword down into another soldier's head.
Crack!
Retrieving his sword, which had split the skull halfway open, he pretended to retreat while staring wide-eyed behind the remaining soldier. Because the area had grown brighter thanks to the pike unit's torches, Encrid's expression and the look in his eyes were clearly visible.
Seeing Encrid's expression, the soldier assumed someone was sneaking up on him from behind. After all, hadn't more than a few of his comrades just been killed from the shadows?
But when the startled soldier spun around, there was only darkness. The darkness untouched by the torches, the passage, the tunnel, and the crumbling dirt. And the moment he turned his head back, he saw a light. The light reflected off a heavy, massive piece of iron.
Thrust.
The instant the soldier looked back, Encrid lunged forward again and stabbed him in the neck, killing him. This, too, happened in a flash.
Just as Roger lost his patience and was about to shout "Charge!":
"I bring a message from Letsha!"
Encrid pulled another trick. Roger couldn't help but freeze at those words. How could he not be shocked when the name of Letsha, the mage at the very center of this operation, was suddenly brought up?
"Run!" Encrid suddenly bellowed.
"What?" Torres asked back, but his body was already running on reflex.
Finn scooped up two crossbows without a word, but she, too, bolted after Encrid.
"Get them!" Roger's furious roar erupted behind them.
Since the pike unit wasn't a heavy infantry unit, pursuit wouldn't be impossible. If they angled their pikes and made it out of the tunnel, they would easily be able to run while holding them.
Encrid ran, his mind racing with various thoughts. Torres and Finn were the same. Though the two had countless questions about what was going on, they had neither the time nor the breath to ask.
Now was the time to run.