Chapter 105: A Gamble That Knows How to Win
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 105: A Gamble That Knows How to Win
"Get them!"
The enemy soldiers' shouts erupted, and they began to give chase like madmen.
Encrid glanced back, subtly veering off to the side.
Patter.
A spray of dirt fell right where he was about to pass. It wasn't a sign of a cave-in—just a stroke of bad luck.
No, actually, is my luck on the better side today?
Since a crossbow bolt had only grazed his head, it could indeed be considered a good day.
The tips of the long spears, held diagonally forward, scraped against the ceiling of the tunnel. The enemy soldiers began to run at a terrifying pace. They had already fought one battle, but...
It wasn't enough to drain my stamina.
If there was a problem, it was the lack of light.
Finn was a ranger and a former Pathfinder—someone said to have eyes on the soles of her feet to read the path. There was no way she would trip because of the darkness.
The same went for Encrid. He had been mimicking Finn's gait all this time. While not perfect, he could roughly sense the contours of the ground through his soles. Besides, how many times had he traveled this path? If he still tripped and broke his nose, it wouldn't be a question of talent, but proof that his head was nothing more than a rack for his helmet.
Because Encrid possessed an exceptionally sharp memory, both he and Finn were able to sprint through the darkness without trouble.
"Shit."
Only Torres was having a hard time. He stumbled every time his foot dipped into a hollow. Still, possessing remarkable reflexes, he quickly regained his balance and kept running.
Whoosh.
The sound of torches.
Screeech.
The occasional sound of spearheads scraping against the tunnel ceiling.
Huff, puff!
Other than that, the chase was filled only with the sound of ragged breathing.
Finn and Torres were the lightest on their feet, but not to the point where they could accelerate and completely shake off their pursuers. It felt as though they could be caught at any moment.
As they ran, moonlight began to filter in from ahead. It was the exit—the mouth of the dog hole.
Finn scrambled up the slope first and tossed her crossbow backward. Rather than letting it go to waste, Encrid caught it and hurled it back with all his might, treating it like a heavy throwing weapon.
The man hot on their heels saw it coming and brought his shield, which had been held to his side, to the front.
Crack!
Perhaps because it wasn't made of sturdy material, the crossbow shattered and bounced off, sending splinters flying into the air. It slowed the pursuit slightly, but not significantly. Encrid had only thrown it to help Torres, whose pace was lagging.
Seeing this, Torres nodded at Encrid—a silent gesture of gratitude.
Exchanging pleasantries at a time like this...
Finn scrambled out first. Encrid placed his hands on the edge of the exit at the top of the slope, pulling himself up. As loose dirt showered down, Torres ducked his head.
"Wait," Torres suddenly said. Drawing a dagger with his left hand, he drove it into the dirt slope of the tunnel and twisted his body backward.
Oh, this is new.
Leaning against the semi-sloped wall, he freed his other hand. Since he couldn't support himself with just his feet, he anchored himself with the dagger to maintain his balance—and threw another blade.
I've never seen him do this before.
It was a sight Encrid hadn't witnessed in any of his previous loops of "today." Since the regressing day was never exactly the same, it wasn't particularly surprising.
With a sharp whoosh, the dagger flew backward.
Thud! Thud!
Despite having discarded their torches, the enemy soldiers deftly blocked the incoming daggers with their shields.
"These bastards," the two soldiers who blocked the daggers spat. Their eyes gleamed coldly; it was clear they wouldn't grant a merciful death if they caught them.
Of course, Encrid had been caught before. Being captured never led to a pleasant end. He had been skewered on spearheads, had blades driven through his skull... indeed, no form of death was ever particularly welcoming.
"Crazy bastards," Torres muttered, shaking his head at the blocked daggers. Even with the torches and moonlight, it was pitch black down there. And they blocked that? You couldn't produce soldiers like that with ordinary training.
Seeing the enemy block his daggers, Torres was certain.
They're on par with the Border Guard.
Which meant if they got caught, they were dead. Even though Encrid was right beside him, reaching out a hand to help...
No, we can't fight them.
"How many do you think we can take?" Torres asked as he grabbed Encrid's hand.
"If we fought them one-on-one, I could handle all of them. But when they come grouped up like that, well..." Even Encrid didn't have an answer. Yet, strangely, there was barely any tension on Encrid's face.
Why is this guy so relaxed? Torres wondered as he scrambled up.
From behind, one of the spearmen showed off a trick similar to Torres's.
Whoosh.
He threw a shortsword as if it were a throwing knife.
Impressive skill, Encrid thought as he drew his sword and deflected it. The shortsword's blade caught near the middle of his own sword.
Clang! Thud!
The deflected shortsword plunged deep into the ground nearby. Its cold blade reflected the moonlight and the torches rising from below, gleaming red and blue.
"Hurry," Encrid said simply after deflecting the blade. Torres moved even faster.
"Get out!" cried Finn, who had emerged first. In the meantime, she had cranked the pulley of their last remaining crossbow, locking the string in place.
As Encrid and Torres dodged to either side, Finn pulled the trigger. With a sharp twang, a single quarrel vanished into the dark hole where shadows flickered from the torchlight.
Since it wasn't a repeating crossbow, one shot was all she could manage. They heard a dull thud, but there was no time to check whether it had pierced a skull or hit a shield.
"Run," Finn said, taking the lead once more. Encrid and Torres followed close behind. Torres was in the middle, and Encrid brought up the rear.
They headed toward the campsite where their main force had originally been stationed. As she ran, Finn's mind raced.
Where should we go?
Toward the main force? What if this was a deliberate trap? But if they headed toward the riverbank, wouldn't there be rangers from Azpen waiting?
No, in the first place, making this much noise while moving would make them prime targets for demonic beasts and monsters. They could handle a dozen or so ghouls, but what if they had the misfortune of running into a colony?
Facing a colony of demonic beasts or monsters with such a small force was suicide. Stray beasts roaming around were entirely different from an organized group known as a colony. As a ranger, she knew the ecology of demonic beasts and monsters all too well.
What's the worst-case scenario here?
Getting caught. The beasts and monsters would have to be dealt with later.
"To the campsite," Encrid said, putting an end to Finn's dilemma.
She glanced back. Encrid was bringing up the rear. Though all three of them were panting, his eyes and the set of his mouth looked strangely relaxed.
Why? Why did he look so calm?
Ah, his mouth was closed. He wasn't gasping for air even while running like this, whereas she was already starting to lose her breath. Wasn't his gear heavier than hers? He even had a longsword strapped to his waist, yet he looked so composed while running.
Finn didn't have the breath to ask why he was choosing that direction. She just had to make a decision.
Encrid didn't interfere further with Finn's decision. He knew that no matter where they went right now, she would feel like they were doomed.
She'll figure it out.
She would likely follow his suggestion and head toward the campsite. And she would do so by retracing their steps as much as possible. It was a ranger's instinct to retrace a path they had already deemed safe. He knew this because he had already lived through "today" several times.
As they ran back, Encrid's hands began to move busily. Unbuckling his sword—scabbard and all—from his belt, he began to swing it left and right as he ran. To be precise, he jabbed the scabbard toward the ground and scooped upward.
Thud, whoosh, thud, whoosh.
Flat stones flew into the air, swept up by his sheathed sword. Using the scabbard like a bat, Encrid batted them backward.
"Hmph!"
More than five spearmen were hot on their heels. They were the fastest runners in their unit. The one leading the pack snorted in derision. It was laughable that they were trying to block his path with mere flat stones. Without even raising his shield, he thrust his spear shaft forward. There was no need to dodge. He intended to swat them aside without losing momentum.
Clack.
The spearman thought everything had gone according to plan. And it would have, if not for the long shadow that traced a bizarre arc in the air as the stone was deflected.
Hiss!
"Argh!"
It was a snake. A snake had been clinging tightly to the underside of the flat stone.
"Son of a bitch!"
The spearman hastily drew his shortsword and slashed.
Slash!
The snake's body was severed. It wasn't a demonic beast, but it was venomous.
One of the spearmen was particularly unfortunate. The viper had flown off the stone, wrapped itself around his shin, and slipped into the gap between his boot and armor, biting down hard on his leg.
Though not highly lethal, a sharp pain and a numbing sensation spread through his leg. The bitten spearman drew his dagger and stabbed the head of the snake clamped onto his leg.
Squelch.
Blood and a yellowish fluid oozed from the dead serpent's mouth.
"It's a viper!"
The soldier tore off his dagger sheath, using it as a makeshift cord to tie off his calf. Naturally, he ground to a halt. And just as naturally, the others hesitated.
Fuck, a viper? What underhanded bastards.
The poisoned soldier gritted his teeth and glared ahead.
Meanwhile, Encrid was practically performing acrobatics, batting stones with his scabbard. The first had been a stone with a viper, but the ones that followed were just ordinary rocks. However, without the knowledge to tell them apart, the pursuers had no choice but to dodge or deflect every single one.
"That son of a bitch," the commander following behind growled, his eyes flashing with rage. They had been right on the verge of catching that wildcat of a girl.
"Raise your shields and run!"
His command was effective. Whether it was stones or snakes, they couldn't stop soldiers who kept their heads down and blocked with their shields.
Of course, Encrid had never dreamed of defeating them with mere vipers.
Learning all those random things from Enri is paying off.
He had once heard that vipers nested under flat, clay-colored stones. Since they happened to be passing through this path, he put that knowledge to use. It had worked beautifully. He had taken one man down and slowed the rest.
"Huff, puff... Why the campsite?"
Once the pursuers slowed down, Finn adjusted her pace to run alongside him and asked. Torres, equally curious, closed in as well.
Encrid glanced back and replied, "Whew... To face that many, we need allies of our own."
Finn's face contorted at his words. "Hah, hah... That place is already empty! My squad members relocated!"
Finn had misunderstood. Torres had too.
Encrid feigned surprise and said, "Even so, we can't change direction now. We'll loop around the campsite and decide our next move."
By now, he was naturally speaking informally and taking the lead. Finn and Torres knew they had no other choice. They had to keep going.
Their backs tingled with tension. Before they knew it, their pursuers had closed the distance again, their breath misting in the cold air.
How can they run in such perfect formation?
It was astonishing. Just how well-trained were these elites to pull that off? Only after seeing that did Finn realize the identity of the enemy unit.
"Shit, I think they're the Gray Dogs."
The Gray Dogs. But they were better known by another name: the Persistent Lovers. In many ways, Encrid shared a deep history with them. Mitch Hurier belonged to that unit, and they had even sent him a "gift" called the Whistle Dagger, packaged as a half-elf. This meant the enemy was an elite force on par with the Border Guard.
Though he already knew this, Encrid feigned surprise. "Oh, really?"
The only issue was that his tone still carried a strange trace of leisure, but neither of the other two had the mental capacity to notice.
The stronger the enemy, the better.
Encrid thought to himself.
Before this "today," there had been seventy-eight other "todays." What had Encrid been doing all that time? Against dozens of elite soldiers, he had honed his split-second decision-making. He had pried information out of a guy named Roger by asking seemingly idle questions. Now, he was pouring out everything he had learned.
All three of them began to pick up the pace. One look at the pursuers behind them was enough to put strength back into their legs.
"Huff! Huff! Whew!" Beside him, Torres ran while regulating his breathing.
"Persistent... huff... bastards!" Finn was the same. The fact that she was still cursing them under her breath showed just how much she detested them.
On the way to the campsite, Encrid purposely took a detour. Finn noticed, but she didn't say anything. There was even a saying that "rangers lead the way," making it only natural for her to take the lead in a situation like this. Yet, Encrid took the front with utter composure. He ran ahead. What else could she do but follow?
And so, they reached the campsite. The tunnel they had dug was now covered with dirt, its traces erased. A few trees stood lonely on one side, alongside a few small mounds. And on the far side, a sight they had never expected met their eyes.
Awooooo!
It was a pack of werewolves.
"Oh, shit!"
Monsters—and not just any monsters, but werewolves, creatures whose defeat couldn't be guaranteed even in peak condition—were gathered in a pack of over twenty. Judging by the one leading at the front, they had formed a full-fledged colony.
Ah, this is the absolute worst.
Finn nearly gave up on life at that moment. Torres's eyes darted frantically as he tried to grasp the situation.
Only Encrid—solely him—was catching his breath, preparing for what was to come.
This is the turning point.
It was half a gamble, but his repeated "todays" ensured that a gamble would not remain just a gamble. In other words, it was a gamble with a guaranteed win.
Encrid took a step forward to claim his victory.