Chapter 111: Puffed Cheeks
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 111: Puffed Cheeks
'I can't just abandon him.'
It was unexpected. The Elf Company Commander had taken the entire troublemaker squad—now his official platoon—with her when she marched out.
Encrid himself wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen the empty quarters with his own eyes. Krais, who had been away from the barracks for days, naturally had no way of knowing. That was undoubtedly why he had sent word asking for Ragna.
'Somehow, he managed to avoid being dragged along when the main force moved.'
Had Krais used the excuse of joining up later since Encrid was staying behind? Or had the Elf Company Commander left him as a courtesy? Whatever the reason, Krais was still here, but the rest of the squad was gone.
It meant Encrid had to save him alone.
He couldn't exactly recall the squad members who were already deployed to the battlefield. And mobilizing the standing army for the internal affairs of the Gilpin guild?
'Out of the question.'
They wouldn't help. It might be different if there was someone he could truly rely on, like the Elf Company Commander, but even if she were here, it would be a gamble.
What about Torres? It would be difficult for him to move as a Border Guard platoon leader, but perhaps he could have helped as an individual.
'But they said almost the entire Border Guard was marching out immediately.'
The unit had granted Encrid a single day of rest after his return as a sign of consideration. Did that mean the gains from this mission were that significant?
Encrid shook his head lightly. Stray thoughts were cluttering his mind. He just needed to do what had to be done.
"We're going to save Krais. Yes, the one with the big eyes."
He spoke softly, stroking Esther as she snuggled against his chest. Sensing the panther cub’s puzzled glance, he repeated that they were going for his big-eyed friend. It was a goal he voiced aloud for no real reason other than to steady himself.
Esther stared intently at Encrid with eyes like blue lakes. Encrid looked back into those identical depths.
"What?"
There was no way Esther would answer. What response could a panther give? And yet, her gaze seemed to speak. She seemed to be asking if he was truly going to save him—and if that was his only reason for going.
"A bit of both," Encrid admitted, revealing a sliver of his inner thoughts.
The werewolf, Azpen's Gray Dog unit, and even the mage—on his way back, after seeing Torres and Finn, he had felt a desperate urge to test his own skills. The desire boiled within him.
Where do I stand now? What is my condition? How far can my sword reach?
'How much have I improved?'
He didn't know. He couldn't grasp it at all. That was how it always was. One had to know what to look for to see progress, but Encrid's days were always new. He was an explorer discovering uncharted territory every day. A pathfinder forging new trails. A mountaineer scaling a peak for the first time; a hunter in an unfamiliar forest.
He moved forward by following signposts, but he never knew exactly where he stood on the map.
That was why, upon hearing that a Frok had appeared, he had calmly checked his physical condition, rested for a full day, and set out. He realized this opponent could serve as a benchmark to verify his position.
'Will my sword work?'
The last time he faced a Frok, a single blow had left his ribs screaming in agony. How about this time? Though not all Froks were equal, there could be no better opponent to measure himself against.
If he failed, the Frok would become a wall blocking "today," but that was fine. It was a situation that wouldn't have happened if even one of his squad members had been here. Because of that, it was something Encrid had to face alone.
Was it coincidence? Good luck? Or perhaps the bad luck that always followed him? Bad luck was like a shadow, never far behind. Overcoming it was the duty of one swimming through the river of misfortune.
As his thoughts drifted to Rem and the others, Encrid realized anew just how narrow his view of the world had been.
'How ridiculous.'
He had once thought of his squad members as intermediate soldiers or slightly higher. Intermediate? It was a laughable notion. None of them were the type to be bound by a simple grading system. He knew that now. In truth, if even one of them were here, there would be no reason to fear a mere Frok.
'But right now, I am alone.'
He couldn't abandon Krais. And since he had no intention of backing down, he took a step with his left foot, recalling the days spent facing Rem.
With his right foot, he reflected on Sachsen’s lessons.
With his left, Audin.
With his right, Ragna.
With every step, he retraced his training. The countless instructors he had met, the repeated cycles of "today." He wasn't afraid of the Frok. Was this the influence of the Beast's Heart? Beyond composure and audacity, a fierce competitive spirit bloomed within him.
Encrid's pupils flickered like flames.
Thump.
Esther tapped his chest with her forepaw. It was as if she were telling him: Not yet.
"I know."
Encrid kept walking and soon arrived at the mansion. The bald Gilpin was waiting for him.
"Where?"
"The drawing room."
Encrid followed Gilpin’s guidance and stopped in front of the door.
'Am I rushing in here prepared to die?'
Or had he simply gone mad with the drive to win? He didn't know. The answer lay beyond the door.
Esther slipped from his chest and bounded lightly to the side. Watching her, Encrid wondered: 'Is he someone I can reason with?'
Considering the Frok had kept Krais alive, it seemed likely. He would be open to talk. But regardless, subduing him was the priority. If you came to fight, you fought. What was the point of talking to an enemy?
Taking a short breath, Encrid decided to skip the conversation and speak through action.
Bam!
Kicking the door open, he rolled forward and flung his right hand out. The Whistle Dagger flew, cutting through the air at a terrifying speed.
Screeech!
The sound trailed closely behind the blade. As if expecting it, the Frok's arm moved like a flash of light.
*
Is this guy insane?
First a presence, then a surge of fighting spirit. Following the skin-pricking intent was an immediate attack. There was no hesitation. It was a movement planned before he even reached the door.
The Frok saw the arm of the intruder move the moment the door swung open. He drew his weapon and deflected the flying blade in one fluid motion. A feat that would be a miracle for an ordinary human was second nature to a Frok.
Whoosh, swish. Clang!
He deflected the dagger with the flat of his blade. The Whistle Dagger thudded into a leather decoration on the wall. The man who threw it didn't stop, rushing in and drawing his sword.
Shring!
The blade swept down in a magnificent arc. The Frok curled his fingers, hooking them into the loop attached to the side of his sword's hilt.
A Frok's slippery skin made it difficult to transmit grip strength to a weapon. Because of this, they crafted weapons with a specific feature: the Loop. When it took the form of a sword, it was a Loop Sword.
Hooking his fingers into the loop, the Frok’s three round fingertips pressed firmly against his palm. All he had to do was swing.
Whoosh, clang!
Steel met steel. The blades began to dance, conducting a chaotic orchestra.
Cl-cl-cl-clang!
Sparks flew as a barrage of strikes connected at ferocious speed. The Frok was inwardly impressed by his opponent, who blocked over thirty attacks and even managed to counter.
'This bastard is interesting.'
Krais sat in a corner. His hands and feet weren't bound, but he couldn't escape. Though it had only been two days, the Frok possessed absurd stamina. He only closed his eyes for brief moments, always keeping watch. Krais was allowed to eat and move, but running was out of the question.
'What happens if I run?'
They would all die. Every remaining guild member. If he were caught, he would end up as a lump of meat next to his dead comrades. The Frok was more than capable of it.
Krais had been counting on something. If even one or two of the squad members came—Rem, Audin, Sachsen, or Ragna—they could manage.
'Not the squad leader!'
When the door opened, Krais had felt a surge of hope. When he recognized Encrid, he was crushed. But now, his jaw hung slack in shock.
'What the hell is this?'
Cl-cl-cl-cl-clang!
A continuous din threatened to tear the room apart. All Krais could see were overlapping arcs of light—a web woven of blades and flying sparks.
The man who entered was definitely the squad leader, but that squad leader...
'...is fighting toe-to-toe with a Frok?'
He didn't even seem to be losing.
Encrid watched the opponent's weapon, which seemed to bend with every strike, and angled his sword.
Clang!
The shock traveled up his forearm. Trying to endure it with raw strength was amateurish. He deflected the force, blending in the Soft Sword Style. A feat that would have been impossible before was now within his grasp.
Screeech!
Flicking the blade aside, he immediately thrust forward. The blade sliced through the air with a sharp whoosh. The Frok brought his sword down again.
Clang-clang!
Block. Block again, deflect, and evade.
How was this possible? It was the experience of fighting the mage's thorn vines. The countless repetitions allowed the current Encrid to swing, evade, and block with instinct. The foundation was defense.
The opponent's weapon was like a broad-bladed hunting knife—the standard form of a Loop Sword. Its weight was extraordinary, yet the Frok wielded it like a rapier, utilizing his superior physical strength.
Encrid lost himself in the duel. The opponent's sword and his own. Lines connecting point to point, lines that bent and transformed into falling lightning. That was what the Frok's weapon felt like.
Encrid met the lightning with his own steel. Unable to deflect the weight completely, his knees buckled. Keeping them bent, he smoothly transitioned into a downward strike. The Frok took a half-step back and thrust.
Thrusting with such a broad blade was unorthodox, yet Encrid felt the strike as if it were a sharp awl. His senses danced upon the edge of the blade. His perception, already keen, had grown sharper than ever under Sachsen's tutelage.
The world narrowed until only the sword, himself, and his opponent remained. He lost track of time. Block, and block again. Thrust, strike, and slash whenever an opening appeared. He mixed in techniques from the Valen-style Mercenary Sword—feinting a slash, stopping mid-motion, and thrusting.
The Frok brushed off most of it with sheer strength and reflexes far beyond human limits.
Clang-clang! Swish! Thud!
A blade grazed his cheek, and the Frok slammed a fist against Encrid's armor. Taking the punch, Encrid thrust for the heart, but the Frok spun away.
"Grrr!"
A bubbling sound escaped the Frok's throat. Encrid remained silent. Total focus.
'Do not scatter it.'
Gather and focus. Instead of watching the sword to evade, he relied on the sensation of the air, dodging by instinct. As those moments stretched on, Encrid entered a new world.
The Frok's fingers in the loop. The shifting of his broad soles. The violent movement of muscles beneath slippery skin. In response, Encrid’s own hands moved, his arms extended. He twisted his torso.
Concentration piled upon concentration. He forgot the points and the lines. Encrid saw an inch ahead into the flow of battle. It wasn't just a mental image; he truly perceived it. He knew his chance of victory lay there.
Until now, he had aimed only for the Frok's heart. This thrust was no different. It tore through space like a flash of light. The Frok stepped back to evade.
Ping. Screeech.
The blade grazed the heart armor. Seeing this, the Frok's cheeks puffed up.
Bulge!
Aiming for the heart again? The Frok's blade fell toward Encrid's neck, faster than before. A strike like lightning. An opening that lasted only a split second.
Encrid pulled back the sword he had thrust.
Clang!
The two swords locked in midair.
"Are you trying to match my strength? Foolish human," the Frok growled.
Instead of answering, Encrid executed the scene he had envisioned.
'If I do this...'
Ting.
From a standstill, he bent his knees to create fluidity. Absorbing the force, he blended the Soft Sword and Orthodox Sword. The Frok's blade, backed by absolute confidence, seemed poised to split Encrid in two.
"Holy shit, Captain!" Krais shouted, but both combatants ignored him.
Encrid exerted force for a split second, sliding his sword powerfully forward along the flat of the Frok's blade. For a brief moment, he pushed back.
Shhh-ring!
Encrid's sword raced along the opponent's steel. The Frok's posture, which relied on pressing down with raw power, faltered. Reflexively, the Frok blocked his chest with his sword arm. If Encrid aimed for the heart, it would be another futile strike.
Therefore... Encrid's sword drew a smooth arc.
Slice.
His target was the Frok's left arm.
The Frok evaded, but blood sprayed with a wet splurt. The arm wasn't severed, but the blade had sliced deep through the slippery skin.
The Frok, his cheeks puffed to their limit, counterattacked. He drove the broad blade back down. Encrid raised his right hand to block. The blade fell upon the gauntlet he had taken from the mage.
Crack! Crunch.
With a sickening sound, he deflected the blade. The surface of the gauntlet was mangled, but his wrist remained intact. It was a harmony of Audin’s deflecting technique and the artifact’s durability.
"You really are a crazy bastard," the Frok said.
His left arm dangled. Even with regenerative abilities, the wound was severe. Blood dripped steadily, but the Frok’s eyes were terrifying.
'Ah.'
Encrid sensed the end of "today." He had lost his grip on his sword because his right wrist had gone numb. Though he caught the hilt with his left hand... how many more exchanges could he last?
He didn't know. But he was satisfied with that last strike. A strike that had created an opening by feinting for the heart. It was excellent.
The Frok were a race that could read talent. He felt a deep sense of revulsion looking at Encrid. Not because his talent was overwhelming, but because he was a type the Frok had never seen before.
This human had to die.
He clearly looked like a man at his limit, yet he had pulled off such a feat. Using the weight of the downward strike, feinting repeatedly, and then...
'...taking my arm like that?'
In that instant, the human had absorbed the weight with his knees and slid his foot forward as if scraping the ground. He had staked everything on a single move.
What if his opponent's right wrist had been healthy? Would the Frok have lost?
The Frok's cheeks puffed further. He had to kill him. His blade rose high for a final, crushing blow.
Encrid remained calm. The Frok despised that composure most of all.