Chapter 127: Today's Victory Does Not Guarantee Tomorrow's Victory (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 127: Today's Victory Does Not Guarantee Tomorrow's Victory (3)
"Mmm."
It was the dead of night. At Encrid’s low groan, Esther raised her head.
Foolish human.
Why did he push his body so far past its limits?
Esther had learned through experience that if she used all her strength to relieve his fatigue, her own body would give out first.
And why had it come to this? It was because she had become too engrossed in the magic book Encrid had brought back.
It is useful, though.
There was much to analyze, categorize, and apply. As she pondered alone, she was suddenly struck by a wave of self-pity, realizing that she currently couldn't even look into her own Spell World.
How did I end up in this state?
"Fuuu."
Her self-pity lasted only a moment. Before she could lament her fate any further, the man holding her in his arms groaned once more.
A crazy human who began his day with training, no matter what.
She didn't know what he carried inside him, but whatever it was, it was slowly breaking down the curse placed on her body.
Let's just do what needs to be done.
Since the breakdown of the curse accelerated when the man was in peak physical condition, Esther worked hard to relieve his fatigue as usual. Unable to open her Spell World, she used her own body as a medium to draw out the exhaustion from his frame and disperse it.
In the process, fragments of the man's dreams or thoughts occasionally projected into her mindscape.
Before, it had just been swords appearing at random, or a deep, black well. But today, she caught a glimpse of a coherent dream. It seemed to be a fragment of the man's past.
Through the chaotic imagery, a face began to take shape. For whatever reason, this face had left a deep impression on the man holding her, which was why it appeared so vividly.
Seeing it, Esther frowned.
Ugly bastard.
It wasn't so much that he was physically deformed, but rather... how to put it? He exuded an infinite sense of vulgarity and meanness. That was the vibe. To be precise, it was likely how Encrid viewed the man.
Esther watched the dream. It felt long within the vision, but in reality, only an instant passed.
Stop wandering.
Just do what you always do.
Esther chided the man. Having such dreams made it harder for her to disperse his fatigue. With that single thought, the dream ended, and the groans escaping the man's lips ceased. Soon, only the sound of his deep, steady breathing reached Esther's ears.
*
As soon as Encrid opened his eyes, he knew it was a dream.
Again?
He was only surprised that he was having the same dream once more. If the Ferryman of the Black River had appeared, he would have just accepted it. But this was a single moment from his past—how many times had he dreamed of this now?
He had once considered it a nightmare, but after reflecting on it so many times, it had become just another memory.
"You... hmm, I'll just let you live."
A sharp, protruding killing intent. A mercenary with triangular eyes.
Lying beside him was a companion with whom he had started the job. Even though they had only known each other for three days, they had been in a position where they had to watch each other's backs. Or rather, they had been.
It had all started with a request to subjugate demonic beasts.
"A couple of harpies are causing trouble. We'd appreciate it if you could hunt them down."
Since it was a village on the outskirts of the kingdom, the residents had pooled their meager savings to gather krona. The village chief's son, who had traveled to the nearest territory, hired five mercenaries.
Encrid was among them. And so was this bastard.
Cawww!
A cry like a crow’s shriek. Swaying breasts, the plunging talons of a harpy.
A companion Encrid had known for quite some time lost his life to the harpy's strike.
"Watch your step and don't stick your neck out too much. Act like that, and you won't live to see old age."
He was a mercenary with a sharp tongue but a decent heart. He wasn't the kind of guy who should have died like this.
It was all because that triangular-eyed bastard had stabbed him from behind. A simultaneous attack from front and back, timed perfectly with the harpy's strike. He had fallen victim to a coordinated assault by monster and man.
Afterward, the triangular-eyed mercenary drew his sword.
Shring!
Emitting a strange, metallic ring, the thin blade swept through the air. It bent and extended at a speed that was barely visible.
Swish!
The sound of his sword cutting the air was distinct. The blade, flying like a whip, pierced a hole in his companion's head. In the heart, the thigh, the forearm—the tricks performed by that bending blade killed his companions one by one.
After slaughtering everyone else, the bastard's words to Encrid were that he would let him live. A fishy smile, dispersing killing intent. Eyes that deemed him not even worth the effort of a swing.
Encrid didn't get angry, nor did he scream. He silently raised his sword.
"What? You want to fight me?"
Words were unnecessary. Before they could even exchange a few blows, a hole was pierced through Encrid's shoulder.
"I told you, I'm letting you live."
That was all. Then he left. Encrid's survival afterward was more than half luck.
"I heard everyone died. How...?"
Barely surviving the land of demonic beasts, he reached a village. After recovering, he undertook another life-threatening journey to reach the territory. But the bastard was already gone.
He couldn't even lodge a complaint with the guild. Before he knew it, the bastard had become a core member of the organization. Yet, rumors circulated that even such a man had ended up a wanderer a few years later. Had he messed with a nobleman's daughter?
Back then, the reason he had killed Encrid's companion was similar.
"Fuck, who the hell do you think you are to lecture me?"
It had happened because another mercenary, knowing the bastard's old habits, had chided him.
The reason he let Encrid live? Encrid never asked, so he didn't know. But there was a sense of twisted self-satisfaction to it. A mercenary who wasn't even worth his time—a self-indulgent belief that he didn't just kill anyone, and that letting a pathetic weakling live fed his ego.
"Pathetic bastard."
Those were the final words the man left behind.
Encrid had thought the world was unfair. He also realized that skill and character were entirely separate things.
He was a real son of a bitch.
But a dream was just a dream. If Encrid had been an ordinary man, he would have made that bastard the target of his vengeance. But he didn't. If given the chance, he would raise his sword and hold him accountable, but he wouldn't burn his life away for that single purpose.
He didn't throw his life away for the companion who had lost his heart to a harpy. Leaving behind those grudges, he would only burn his life toward his dream.
That was Encrid's way of living. Steadfast and stubborn.
You aren't even worth killing.
Even if his opponent looked at him that way, he simply forged ahead. Even if dark, damp, fearful memories tried to erode him, he would silently endure and shake them off.
It's pointless.
Did letting despair weigh down his shoulders help him swing his sword? Did it serve as a guidepost to the life he desired?
No.
So he didn't do it. Instead of despairing, he swung his sword. Instead of dwelling on death, he swung his sword. Instead of swearing revenge, he swung his sword.
"Shall I kill you this time?"
The dream distorted. Somehow, the Ferryman seemed to loom faintly behind the bastard. Just as the memories of that time rushed in like a wave, turning into a chaotic sea—
Meow.
A lazy beast's cry echoed.
That was the end of it. The dream faded and shattered.
Stop wandering.
He heard a voice. It was pure and clear, yet warm.
Esther?
For no reason, the image of a blue-eyed panther came to Encrid's mind.
Bwooooooo—
At the sound of a horn trumpet, Encrid opened his eyes.
This time, it was reality. He saw the familiar canvas ceiling of the tent. The panther held in his arms was sleeping soundly, quiet as a mouse. A faint warmth heated his chest.
Turning his head, he saw that the morning sun had not yet risen. A deep blue light was subtly seeping in.
Encrid wasn't the only one who reacted to the horn.
"Good mornin'."
It was Rem. Springing up, Rem began gathering his gear.
"Ugh, shit, it's still freezing."
The barbarian particularly hated the cold. Even though the wind wasn't a biting gale like before, he still grumbled. Yet, his hands never stopped moving. As usual, he put on his thin gambeson, tucked his twin axes into his waist, and stood up.
Audin also rose and grabbed his two clubs.
"May your day be filled with blessings. Good morning, brother."
No one answered, but no one chided him either. Sachsen was already fully armed. And Ragna was already moving, surprisingly diligent today. He wasn't rushing, but he was quietly and efficiently gathering his gear.
Encrid didn't just sit there. He had three whistle daggers left. He put on a thin shirt, and over it, his leather armor, which was torn near the right shoulder. The leather was thin and soft, making it comfortable. Once he threw on his gambeson and slipped on his boots and gauntlets, he would be fully equipped.
A guard sword at his waist. A knife strapped to his left leg.
His leather armor and gauntlets were practically half-ruined from his fight with Frok.
Can this even be fixed?
Probably not. Regardless, it wasn't something to worry about now.
Andrew, Mac, and Enri were only called the "youngest" or "dead weight" because they were in the Mad Independent Platoon; in truth, they were skilled enough to be veteran soldiers. Andrew had already achieved the feat of killing an enemy soldier, proving his worth. The initial excitement had faded, replaced by a steady confidence.
"What's going on?" Andrew asked.
"What do you think?" Rem looked at Andrew with a pitiful gaze.
"Looks like the ones who were hiding have finally come out," Mac said. Why else would they blow the horn at dawn, especially when the fog made it impossible to see?
Krais rubbed his eyes, thinking the same thing.
Attacking first thing in the morning is terrible for my skin.
His idle thoughts lasted only a moment before his mind began spinning. Their forces had deployed more scouts than usual. They hadn't shared drinks to celebrate yesterday's victory. They hadn't served extra food either.
It meant the battle wasn't over. The commanders had tightened discipline. They accepted the win but prepared for the next strike.
There was a saying on the battlefield: Today's victory does not guarantee tomorrow's victory.
He really is a decent commander.
Krais held Marcus in high regard. He didn't understand all of the man's choices, but they were rational.
"Assemble! All troops, assemble!"
A messenger's voice echoed from outside.
Krais found it strange that the enemy had stayed hidden until now. Why hole up in their camp? If they wanted to run, they would have run. They should have made a final stand or requested reinforcements.
But just hide? Why?
It's because they think they still have the upper hand. Or they believe they have a chance to turn things around.
In other words, they had another card up their sleeve. The battalion commander wouldn't be ignorant of that. Now, it was a matter of whose prediction was more accurate. Was the sword prepared by Azpen sharper? Or was their commander's shield sturdier?
"Unless you plan on staying behind alone, shouldn't you get your gear?" Encrid lightly tapped Krais on the head.
"Ah, yes."
In any case, I'm sticking right by his side today.
Encrid saw right through Krais's intentions. The man had no intention of leaving his side.
Stepping outside the tent, they found the camp bustling. Troops were moving and assembling in response to the horns and shouts.
"Heh, I smell it. I smell it." Rem seemed to be in a suspiciously good mood.
"The fog is annoying, but, well, it's fine," Ragna added.
"If you sharpen your senses, the fog is no obstacle," Sachsen said, unusually helpful.
"The Lord says there are many vacant seats in heaven today." Audin's prayer sounded fiercer than ever. Filling the vacant seats in heaven? It sounded like he was determined to beat people to death.
Even Andrew, Mac, and Enri looked ready. Their bodies felt light.
During yesterday's sparring, Encrid had felt an endless surge of strength. It felt as if he were drawing tomorrow's strength to use today.
Good.
Despite pushing himself yesterday, he was in great condition. Better than yesterday, even.
No pain in my wrists.
New skin had already grown over his cuts. It was a harmony created by divine power and elven medicine.
"All troops, deploy! Move out! Forward!"
Ahead, a messenger raised his voice. Piercing through the fog, their forces began to move. The fog by the river was thicker than ever, but it didn't feel like sorcery. It was a hunch, but unless the enemy was foolish, they wouldn't use the same trick twice.
"I like it. I like it." Rem kept muttering.
"What is?"
"I feel like today's going to be fun."
Sometimes Encrid wondered what went on inside Rem's head. The problem was, Encrid had a similar feeling. Beyond the fog, he felt a new enemy approaching. His heart was beginning to race with the heat of battle.
Just as the commanders at the front finished lining up in tense silence—
"Fuck!"
A shout erupted from the front lines.
"Shoot! Shoot quickly!"
Through the hazy fog, Encrid witnessed a bizarre sight. A blurry gray shadow. Its build was like a bear's, but its head was positioned far higher. It was a mass larger than even Audin.
A monstrous shadow, with a head positioned a full half-height higher than Encrid himself, was charging through the rain of arrows.