Chapter 11: Frok
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 11: Frok
"Fucking hell."
Rem spat on the ground and spun his axe with the practiced ease of a showman.
He had just lost that bastard—whatever his name was, Hawk's Claw or Hawk's Eye. It left a foul, lingering aftertaste, like taking a shit and not being able to wipe.
I can't even remember the last time I failed a hunt.
The archer had been quick-witted and fast on his feet. The moment he sensed Rem's presence, he’d bolted. The arrows he fired while retreating had been fierce, too.
Rem brushed his hand over his left flank where an arrow had grazed him. There was no wound; he had simply failed to dodge it perfectly, which annoyed him to no end.
But a bad taste was a bad taste.
He had charged in, slicing diagonally through the enemy lines. Now, Rem pulled back and began carving his way back toward the main force.
"Who the hell is this guy?"
"Kill him!"
There were barely any allies around. He had pushed a bit too deep. Not that it bothered him in the slightest.
Instead of grunting, swearing, or shouting a battle cry, Rem simply swung the axes in both hands. The axe in his right hand was a discarded enemy weapon he'd picked up along the way, so its balance was terrible. But that didn't matter either.
If it was useless, he could just throw it.
Whoosh, squelch!
With a single stroke of the axe in his left hand, he ripped through the jaw and throat of the man blocking his path. Dark, viscous blood welled up before erupting into a violent fountain.
Dodging the spray, Rem swung his right arm with all his might. The axe in his hand sliced through the air.
Whoosh—
Though it wasn't balanced for throwing, the axe flew straight and true, striking its target.
Thwack!
The blade embedded itself deep, splitting the enemy's skull in half. Rem continued his charge, throwing the enemy lines into disarray before finally slipping back to his own side.
I wonder if our squad leader is still breathing.
He wasn't the type to die easily. In all his years, Rem had never seen anyone with that kind of sheer, stubborn grit.
Even back in my tribe, there was no one like him.
He was probably keeping his head down and managing to survive somehow. He was too good of a man to die here, even if the battlefield didn't suit him at all.
If he could just master the Beast’s Heart, he’d be fine, but his utter lack of talent is a damn shame.
Rem had found him so painful to watch that he'd even taught him a few of his tribe's secrets. Not that he was trying to play the master. It was just... some people were like that. The kind of person you just didn't want to see die right in front of you.
If he died out of sight, well, nothing could be done about that.
It was after he returned to the main unit that he heard the voice.
"Running around like a madman and you've got nothing to show for it."
It was Sachsen.
This was one of the defining traits of the 444th Squad: none of them got along, with the sole exception of their squad leader, Encrid. Seeing how such a squad managed to function, perhaps the squad leader truly possessed some inexplicable, magnetic charm.
"Huh? Are you talking to me because you want to die? Want me to split your skull open?"
"Because you let that archer go, the battlefield is a mess."
He was definitely picking a fight. But even without looking at the battlefield as a whole, one could feel the shift in the air. This wasn't because of the archer; it was because of the Frok.
A Frok warrior had appeared out of nowhere and was tearing through the lines. Whether by good luck or bad, they hadn't crossed paths with Rem yet.
"Cut the bullshit. Don't talk to me if you want to keep breathing."
"Crazy barbarian."
The two immediately turned away from each other. It was just a chance encounter; trading insults was their daily routine.
The 444th Squad didn't bother maintaining a formation. They fought as individuals. Even without staying close, they were all too prominent to miss.
Except for that Big-Eyes bastard.
Rem himself had drawn plenty of attention by tearing through the enemy lines. Sachsen, on the other hand, specialized in appearing out of nowhere without a sound.
In the distance, Rem could see a few other squad members. All of them were holding their own. One was swinging his sword with a lazy, languid air. Another was beating people to death with stiff, rigid movements. Not a single one of them was normal.
Of course, the crown jewel of them all was the squad leader. Just look at him—struggling tooth and nail to survive with below-average talent. Who could possibly call that "ordinary"?
Just in case.
Rem decided to find the squad leader and watch his back. He planned to quietly keep an eye on him without letting him notice. He still felt the man was too precious to die.
Besides, he's the first person on this continent to learn my secret technique.
Rationalizing his actions with various excuses, Rem moved. Soon, Encrid came into view.
Hm?
While his attention was momentarily diverted, an enemy soldier lunged at him. Reflexively, Rem tripped the rushing soldier and slammed the shaft of his axe upward into the man's jaw.
The soldier spat out broken teeth. Rem spun halfway around and drove his elbow horizontally into the man's head.
Crack!
Striking the helmet produced a sound like a thick log snapping. The man's neck broke in a single blow.
Rem rotated his right arm, but his gaze remained fixed. In fact, even while dealing with his attacker, his eyes had been locked on the squad leader the entire time.
He's... skilled?
It was a sight he had never seen before. That sheer competence made Rem stay back and watch instead of rushing in to help. It didn't look like he would lose. In fact, that intuition was rapidly becoming reality. He was fighting a fairly capable enemy soldier, yet he displayed an unprecedented level of calm and composure.
How? How can a person change like this overnight?
"I find it strange, too."
Beside him, it was Sachsen again. Rem wondered why their paths kept crossing, but then it clicked.
Did this bastard come to watch the squad leader's back, too?
"I've been watching him all day," Sachsen said. "While you were off fooling around."
"And?"
"I thought he was sharing a bed with the Goddess of Fortune."
"What?"
"I thought he was just lucky."
Just luck? You couldn't attribute what he was showing now to mere luck.
"But his skills have improved beyond recognition," Sachsen added.
Sachsen got along cheerfully with other squads, but his relationship with Rem was terrible. Well, that was true for almost everyone in the 444th. In fact, the exchange they just had was the longest normal conversation they'd shared since joining the unit.
That was how shocked they both were.
Rem was just as surprised as Sachsen. On top of that, Rem witnessed two even more shocking things after that.
First was Encrid dodging an enemy's thrust and lunging forward with his sword in a near-perfect stance.
"Nice!" Rem blurted out without realizing it.
Sachsen also gave a slight nod.
Relentless effort. Knowing how much blood, sweat, and tears the squad leader had poured into simply gripping his sword, Rem couldn't help but root for him.
Talent is a funny thing. Sometimes, it allows a person to leap several steps in a single bound. Since both Rem and Sachsen had experienced this themselves, they didn't find the squad leader's sudden growth jarring. To them, it simply looked like he had finally made that leap.
He won.
The opponent had been no pushover. Of course, if Rem had fought him, a few swings of his axe would have sufficed. But for the squad leader, it was an opponent he would have lost to ten times out of ten.
Yet, he won. It didn't look like an easy victory, though. Minor wounds littered his body. The shield in his left hand was reduced to a splintered piece of junk. Furthermore, the leather guards on the back of his hands and knees were torn to shreds.
Judging by his heavy panting, his stamina was completely shot.
The Beast’s Heart.
Rem assessed the squad leader's condition at a glance. His boldness and composure—the foundation of it all must have been the secret technique Rem had taught him.
He's mastered it to this extent?
His mastery was astonishing. Rem was about to step out and crack a joke when a cry rang out.
"Frok!"
It was another soldier standing right behind the squad leader. What was his name? Bell? It had stuck in Rem's mind because it sounded similar to his own.
Just as he shouted, a Frok charged forward like a black shadow.
Frok—they were frog-men. Their faces resembled frogs, as did their skin. Their hides were slick, as if coated in oil, causing both blades and blunt weapons to slide right off.
To kill them, one had to pierce their heart or burn them with magic. That was no easy task, for the Frok were a natural-born warrior race, possessing physical strength and combat instincts far superior to humans. They were a species specialized for battle, capable of mastering any weapon within a matter of days.
The Frok leaped, flying almost parallel to the ground, and kicked the squad leader in the flank with the sole of its foot. It didn't seem intent on ending it with just that single blow. Watching the squad leader fly sideways from the kick, the Frok landed with a thud and took a stance.
It reached back, and a spear shaft appeared in its hand.
If left alone, he would die. He would definitely die.
The moment Rem saw the black shadow, he kicked off the ground.
Boom!
The ground gouged open with an explosive sound. Thanks to the force of his stomp, the dirt erupted like a small geyser. In that brief instant, Rem reached the Frok's side.
Whoosh!
Without a word, he swung his axe in a wide arc. It curved downward like a whip, transferring power from his shoulder and arm all the way to the blade.
But instead of throwing the spear, the Frok pulled off an incredible feat. From its throwing posture, it slid its right foot to the side and whipped the spear shaft upward as if snapping a twig. Shifting its stance and swinging the spear happened in a single breath.
Clang!
Axe met spear. A ringing shockwave rippled outward from the point of impact.
"Grrr, an interloper? You ugly human?"
"Listen here, you fucking frog. That guy is our squad leader."
"...Is it normal for a squad leader to be weaker than his squad members?"
The Frok recognized Rem's skill instantly—his dash, his axe-work, his judgment. The Frok were a warrior race, and if there was one thing as outstanding as their combat ability, it was their eye for talent. Their bulging, rolling eyes could gauge an opponent's skill at a single glance. They were born Talent Readers.
The Frok rolled its eyes and quickly stepped back.
"Fine. My excitement has cooled down anyway."
"What did you say, you bastard?"
"Ugly human, that man pierced the 'thing' of a human I know. That's why I got excited for a moment. He was a guy I trained, after all. Tsk. Anyway, I'm done. It's not worth risking my life to fight here."
A Frok's eye wasn't limited to reading talent; their combat instincts allowed them to assess advantages and disadvantages in an instant. Rem didn't think the Frok was necessarily at a disadvantage, but if they could avoid a fight, all the better.
Fighting a Frok for a measly soldier's pay? That was a losing proposition. He fully understood what the creature was saying.
Froks could regenerate their limbs as long as their hearts weren't pierced. Perhaps because of this, they were incredibly sensitive to the word "heart." They didn't even utter the word. Seeing someone die from a pierced heart could make them lose their minds.
A Frok turned berserker unleashed a truly terrifying aura. In the first place, a Frok who hadn't undergone rigorous training wouldn't even stand on a human battlefield.
Rem mulled over what he knew. Damn, I guess I've gotten too used to this place. Reciting information about Froks so easily meant life on this continent had thoroughly seeped into his bones.
The Frok tapped its Heart Armor—a piece of plate meant solely to protect the heart. Seeing it wear that, it was clearly a Frok who had gone through official channels. It was said that the Frok territory would rather break an unrefined blade than send it out. The Heart Armor was their identification tag.
"See you around, ugly human."
Why did this bastard keep calling him ugly?
Froks loved gems and possessed a unique sense of aesthetics. They preferred handsome humans.
"Though his face was too good to kill," the Frok said, flicking its tongue. Its long tongue shot out as if catching a fly, then snapped back in. That was probably its way of smiling.
She—yes, she, not he—glanced toward the squad leader as she spoke, slowly backing away.
Females liked handsome males, and males liked pretty females. It was a characteristic of the Frok. Though he heard their standards for mating among themselves were completely different from how they viewed humans, they simply liked "pretty" humans.
Well, that was none of Rem's business.
"Is he alive?"
He saw Sachsen holding the squad leader.
"A single blow to the flank cracked his ribs. But in that split second..."
"Yeah, he brought his arm in to block it."
Impressive. Enough to make teaching him feel worthwhile. Keeping his wits about him and blocking at the moment of impact must have been thanks to the Beast’s Heart. Rem felt a strange sense of pride.
"The impact seems to have rattled his brain. He won't die, but if we leave him like this, he might."
"The heat of battle has died down a bit anyway," Rem said. "Carry him on your back. Let's get him out of here."
"You carry him. I'll clear the path."
"...One of these days, I'm seriously going to bury my axe in your skull."
"You'd better watch out for a dagger in your back, too."
Rem snorted, but he didn't push for a fight. The squad leader had done his part. That was enough.
Rem hoisted Encrid onto his back. Sachsen walked ahead, casually clearing a path with his sword and shield. To an untrained eye, his skills might not have seemed particularly outstanding, but a closer look revealed the truth: he was clearing the path without showing even a fraction of his true ability.
Sly, alley-cat bastard.
Rem cursed Sachsen in his mind as he walked. The squad leader on his back merely breathed in soft, even rasps, as if fast asleep.