Chapter 123: Was Your Mother a Ghoul?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 123: Was Your Mother a Ghoul?
What the hell were they doing?
The two armies faced each other across a clattering field of fine gravel, a river flanking their left and a backdrop of looming mountains and dense forests.
They were well within bowshot. Archers on both sides were already drawing beads on their targets, fingers itching for the signal to fire.
Amidst the pale, suffocating tension, they should have been charging through a rain of arrows to thrust spears into necks, swing swords, or cave in skulls with maces. Instead, the opening of this battle was… what would you even call it?
A provocation?
"Aww, look at you lot! You're going to die without ever getting to use that thing between your legs! What a waste!"
Three men stepped forward from the enemy lines and screamed, their voices booming across the field. Their pronunciation was crystal clear.
The distance between the lines was well over three hundred paces, yet the insults pierced their ears perfectly. Just how much mana were they pumping into their lungs?
It seemed like a trivial, foolish stunt, but…
Is it actually working?
It was. Morale was already at rock bottom, and having to stand there and endure such mockery was stifling.
But what if they just loosed their arrows and charged? With no significant difference in numbers, starting a battle with depleted morale meant they had already lost before the first drop of blood was spilled.
So…
Watching and waiting is the right move, but…
Would waiting solve anything?
They either needed to employ extraordinary tactics or shake things up with an elite vanguard. Even someone with no eye for strategy could tell they needed to act immediately.
Still, Encrid was more relaxed than the others. At the very least, he didn't feel like he was going to die here—minor injuries notwithstanding, and regardless of whether his platoon members were by his side.
It was pure intuition. Looking back, he had grown leaps and bounds. In the past, he would have been frantically brainstorming every possible way to survive; now, he was calmly analyzing the battlefield.
‘Have I grown complacent?’
He shook off the idle thought. At least for now, this wasn't Encrid's problem to solve. If he were leading an entire army, or if the lives of hundreds depended on him, such worries would be natural, but…
Encrid still questioned whether he was truly "leading" the Mad Platoon. They simply followed him because they chose to. For now, he had to deal with the most pressing matter at hand.
"Andrew, don't let them get to you."
Encrid raised a hand, resting it on Andrew’s chest.
"Huh?"
"There is no shame in being a virgin."
By repeating it, he gently twisted the knife in Andrew's wounded heart.
How had Andrew been before? They had met while serving together in a scout squad, and the loud-mouthed enemy had just used the exact same insult Encrid had used to provoke him back then. He had to help Andrew steady his mind so he wouldn't lose his temper.
"…I feel like you're mocking me," Andrew muttered, the corners of his eyes drooping.
No, it was a misunderstanding. Encrid spoke again.
"Hold it in for now. The time to unleash your wrath will come."
The newly arrived battalion commander was named Marcus, right? Unless a regiment commander or someone from the knighthood arrived, Marcus would retain command of the unit. Unless Marcus's head was filled with nothing but flowers, he wouldn't just sit back and take this.
"Channel all the anger you feel right now and save it for the fight."
"I'm not angry, and I didn't even think that had anything to do with me!"
"I told you, not yet. Hold it in."
Encrid continued to "console" Andrew, who was clearly just putting up a front. He went so far as to pat Andrew's shoulder and gently push him back. Andrew took a powerless step backward.
"Ahem."
Enri, listening from the side, cleared his throat.
Mac wore a troubled expression.
As for the rest of the platoon…
"Pfft."
Rem was the first to start snickering. Even the expressionless Sachsen glanced at Andrew and let out a faint smile.
"Brother, it is alright. Devote yourself to God," Audin suggested, practically advising him to take the vows of a monk.
Ragna glanced at Andrew and nodded solemnly.
"It's fine. There will be opportunities."
What opportunities? No, it wasn't like he hadn't done it because he lacked the ability!
"Why are you all doing this to me?!"
Andrew really hadn't been thinking about it. In fact, he had completely forgotten what Encrid had said to provoke him back then. If Encrid hadn't brought it up now, it might have slipped his mind forever.
He had to train his sword.
He had to revive his family.
Anything else was a luxury. He was a diligent worker, faithfully building his life.
So why were they teasing him about this?
"They said it's fine, kid," Rem said, lightly punching Andrew's shoulder.
Andrew felt deeply wronged, and a sudden surge of anger—which hadn't existed a moment ago—boiled up inside him.
Naturally, that anger was directed forward.
If he unleashed his rage on his own side, he wouldn't live to see tomorrow's sunrise. His instincts swiftly redirected his wrath.
‘It's all because of those crazy, ghoul-like bastards.’
The bastards shouting about his "tool" were the problem. He wanted to rip the tongues out of those enemy soldiers.
Insults continued to fly back and forth.
A few men from their side stepped up to shout back, but they were clearly outmatched.
A shouting match.
It seemed ridiculous, but the enemy's strategy was crystal clear: they wanted to drag morale down to the dirt. Seeing how much the atmosphere on their side soured from just a few words, it was definitely working.
However…
A warm, lighthearted atmosphere lingered around Encrid.
Though it was a negligible change when looking at the entire battlefield…
"Uh, well, when we get back to the territory, I'll introduce you to a good salon."
"Don't lose your first time in the red-light district, though."
"An experienced older woman is best for the first time. I know one of my aunts, how about her?"
The surrounding soldiers began to chime in with thick, playful banter.
"Shut the hell up!" Andrew glared fiercely in all directions.
Thanks to his sacrifice, the mood in their immediate vicinity had completely shifted. The best way to deal with an enemy's insults was to ignore them.
"You have quite a knack for this," Krais remarked, having read Encrid's intentions.
It was a moment that desperately needed a change of pace. After all, everything started with the small things.
Krais was currently pondering what he would do if he were the commander. Normally, he would have been idling in the rear, waiting for the battle to end, but now he stood on the front lines. Naturally, he began to think of ways to survive—or rather, what was needed to win.
The first of those was shifting the atmosphere.
And Encrid had just initiated that.
"A knack? I did it because I was genuinely worried. We were ordered not to step forward and fight first, after all."
It was clearly a joke.
Had he planned all of this? No, that didn't seem likely. He had probably acted on pure sensation and instinct.
‘He really is a strange man.’
Yet, this was also part of Encrid's charm. Even while living such a fierce life, he never forgot how to joke, and he never tolerated a gloomy atmosphere. Though Andrew's face was beet red from the teasing, the mood around the Mad Independent Platoon had shifted.
So what? Let's just fight.
That kind of vibe, that specific temperament, began to emanate from them.
Since the platoon was made up of people who shared that exact mindset, Rem, whose body was starting to itch for action, spoke up.
"But how long are we just going to watch?"
It would be much more satisfying to just have a good brawl.
Both armies remained tense, neither making the first move. It was like holding a fully drawn bowstring with an arrow notched, waiting indefinitely. It was said that those with sensitive nerves couldn't even sleep properly and were throwing up from the stress. This atmosphere had persisted for days now. Even Rem and the others were starting to get annoyed.
Fortunately, the three newcomers—Andrew, Mac, and Enri—looked to be in good spirits. They stood guard together, and as they banded together against the teasing of Rem and the other platoon members, they had grown close. Though Enri kept a slight distance, surviving the antics of the Mad Platoon was no ordinary feat.
As a result, they weren't swept up in the defeatism that pervaded the rest of the army. They were too busy being tormented and standing guard to have time for idle thoughts.
"Want to go run your mouth a bit?" Krais suddenly suggested.
Their army's stance was clear: they were waiting for the enemy to attack. Krais used that to make a proposal to Encrid.
Even Rem, who possessed a notoriously foul tongue, and the rest of the platoon acknowledged Encrid. His ideas and words were more than enough to turn the enemy's stomachs.
"I don't really have anything to say."
No matter how eloquent he might be, what could he possibly say in an atmosphere like this? Encrid was being sincere, but Krais pressed him again.
"Just to change the mood."
Should he?
It didn't seem particularly difficult.
The two armies were currently fighting with tongues rather than swords and spears. Encrid quietly moved. The Independent Platoon didn't have a designated position anyway.
As they moved, a path naturally opened up. A few familiar soldiers asked where they were going as they passed. Encrid replied in a calm tone:
"Just going to chip in a word or two."
Until then, he hadn't thought much of it. The enemy was busy making a fuss about "tools" and loudly shouting about what the Queen's male prostitutes could possibly do. As Encrid reached the very front, Vengeance was standing there.
"Back from the rear and straight to the front lines?"
"Our unit is the one that has maintained its combat strength the best."
It appeared to be a platoon that had swapped out its few archers for full pikemen. Was this the 2nd Company, 3rd Platoon? In other words, Encrid had positioned himself at the front of the 2nd Company.
He glanced at Vengeance, then looked at the enemy standing in the distance. He thought he knew what to say. Encrid took a few more steps forward. Rem, Ragna, and Sachsen fell in beside him.
Even though they were well within bowshot—a distance where they could be turned into pincushions if the enemy decided to shoot—Encrid was bold. If they were going to fight with words anyway, and if low morale was the problem, why not show some audacity?
"Hey, you! Step out!"
He stepped forward and shouted. It was a provocation aimed at the enemy. We've stepped forward like this, so what are you going to do? It was a bold challenge.
How had the battles gone before? A shouting match, followed by a duel request from a soldier-rank combatant. They said the side that won the duel between non-commanders seized the initiative. Couldn't they do something similar here?
‘I’ll just do it.’
Instead of following him, Krais had only offered a few words, which sounded reasonable to Encrid's ears.
"You can take down about five in a row, right? That should do it."
The point was this: if Encrid stepped forward for a soldier-rank duel, even if the enemy complained about a commander stepping up, he would ignore them and crush them.
‘Overwhelmingly.’
By killing one opponent after another, he would demonstrate the sheer difference in skill. He would force the enemy commanders to step forward, only to break them as well.
Looking into Krais's large eyes, Encrid could tell the man had a plan. A scheme to achieve something by boosting morale. Encrid trusted Krais's intellect and his tricks, which was why he stepped onto the battlefield.
At his provocative advance, their own forces began to murmur.
"What is he doing?"
"Ah, it's the Mad Platoon Leader."
"Encrid?"
"The Sorcery Breaker?"
He was a familiar face to those in the know—a well-known figure within the unit. Above all, he had recently proven that his skills were second to none. The entire army couldn't help but feel a strange sensation. Even Vengeance, watching Encrid step forward, felt as though something was about to happen. The reason? He didn't know.
The atmosphere of the battlefield was like a sharp blade. Until now, that blade had seemed pointed at their own side, but now, they felt the wind beginning to blow in a different direction.
Krais believed his goal would be achieved.
‘Well, he'll manage somehow.’
He also had a rough idea of what their commander was waiting for. Having heard rumors about Battalion Commander Marcus, he had guessed his combat style. Marcus would definitely be preparing something. Krais decided to help kickstart it. If he had miscalculated, he could just quietly back off.
Either way, he had worked his brain to minimize losses and maximize gains.
As the atmosphere shifted with Encrid's advance, one of the loud-mouthed enemy soldiers stepped forward.
"I'm out here, you bastard!"
Encrid had stepped forward thinking he didn't really have anything to tease the opponent with, but hadn't he brushed past Vengeance on his way out? Why did Vengeance hate him again? In the end, wasn't it because of his face?
"What are you supposed to be? Why did you show up with a ghoul's head on your shoulders?"
The casual remark, carried by the wind, echoed faintly and reached the ears of both armies.
It wasn't anything profound. However, at a distance where they could faintly make out each other's features, the enemy soldier—the "ghoul head"—saw Encrid's face.
‘What the fuck?’
He was handsome. It was the kind of face that instantly provoked irritation for no good reason.
"What?"
"Was your mother a ghoul?"
Encrid genuinely wondered if the enemy soldier's mother belonged to a different species. Believing it to be a reasonable suspicion, he pointed a finger at the enemy's face.
"What did you say, you crazy son of a bitch?!"
The enemy soldier instantly erupted in rage. It was a miracle wrought by exchanging a mere two sentences.
Audin, hearing this, couldn't help but marvel.
‘Even God would punish those words.’
Rem burst out laughing.
And the others were no different.
Andrew, who had stubbornly followed behind despite Mac telling him not to, finally brightened up. Yes, how could someone with a face like that say anything? His features were far too unconventional.
He had a snub nose that looked like it could catch rainwater if it poured. And what was up with his eyes? They were so small that it was hard to even discern the color of his pupils without looking closely. On top of that, his face was covered in so many scabs and blemishes. It was entirely reasonable to mistake him for a ghoul.
"Hahaha!"
Andrew burst into a bright, cheerful laugh.
"Fuck! Let's see if your hands are as sharp as your tongue!"
The enemy soldier fell hook, line, and sinker for the provocation.
It began with tongues, but it would soon lead to spears, swords, and blood.