Chapter 13: Review
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 13: Review
After being unconscious for two full days, Encrid slept for another half-day.
When he finally woke, a serving of bread and soup sat before him. A long shadow stretched over the meal for a moment, then vanished.
He turned his gaze toward the half-open entrance of the tent. It looked to be dawn. There was no sound of people moving about, and with only a few torch stands lit outside, the light filtering into the tent was far dimmer than before. Everyone else inside was fast asleep.
Encrid reached for the bread.
‘My arm moves without any trouble.’
Since he was already moving, he tried to twist his body and sit halfway up.
Twinge.
A sharp pain flared in his flank. It was so intense that even the back of his head throbbed.
‘Still, if it’s only this much...’
Rem had said nothing was broken. By his own assessment, that seemed to be the case. They said he had fainted because his head had been rattled, but fortunately, his skull felt intact. He wasn't dizzy, and his senses—eyes, nose, and ears—were all functioning perfectly.
Dip.
He tore off a piece of bread, dunked it into the cold soup, and shoved it into his mouth.
‘My tongue works fine, too.’
He must have been incredibly hungry, because even this tasted delicious. His tongue reacted to the subtle sweetness of the flour. He couldn't tell what had been boiled to make the soup, and it was barely more seasoned than plain water, but it was enough to fill his empty stomach.
As if the thick soup and bread were a gourmet meal from a fine restaurant, Encrid chewed every single bite thoroughly and swallowed slowly.
‘If you eat too fast after waking up from being knocked out, your stomach will turn.’
He knew this from experience. Normally, the soldier guarding the medical tent should have told him this, but...
The soldier he had seen yesterday evening looked as if everything in the world was a chore. In the first place, was a guard even necessary for a medical tent?
‘He must have backing.’
Otherwise, why would an able-bodied bastard be stuck here doing nothing but watching over wounded soldiers?
After filling his stomach, he forced himself to sit up. If you lie down right after eating, you won't digest properly. When injured, one had to eat well and rest well—and eating well included proper digestion.
"Hoo."
Letting out a soft sigh, Encrid stared blankly at the flickering light at the tent's entrance. Though his eyes were fixed on the swaying torch, his mind was filled with entirely different thoughts.
The repeated day. Today. The day he had finally surpassed.
Encrid reviewed that "today" over and over again. He replayed the moment so many times it would probably haunt his dreams. Looking at the thrust itself, it was magnificent. Even he had to admit it was a flawlessly clean strike.
‘Leading the fight up to that point wasn't bad either.’
The Valen-style Mercenary Sword had been a massive help. It was also thanks to the training he had built up through the countless repetitions of "today." Even so, he couldn't say he had done everything perfectly.
‘It was unrefined.’
That was the conclusion he reached after replaying the moment countless times.
Someone walked past the tent.
Crackle.
The shadow of the soldier passing in front of the burning torch stretched long. In Encrid's imagination, that elongated shadow soon transformed into the Stabbing Freak.
‘When I thrust...’
‘What if he had dodged?’
The shadow dodged the thrust. After dodging, it whipped its sword around in a slash. The blade sliced through the neck of the shadow playing Encrid's part with terrifying ease.
‘Then I would have been the one to die.’
Fully prepared? Yeah, right.
‘I was lacking.’
If the opponent had been just a little smarter, if he had known how to fight just a little better... If he had possessed just a tiny bit more experience. If he had survived at least until the next battlefield.
‘No, I'm overthinking it.’
This was a leap in logic. If he kept thinking like this, there would be no end to it. The shadow fighting with the sword was merely a product of his imagination; once he shook off the thoughts, it vanished.
Encrid stopped worrying about what had already happened.
‘Instead of playing "what if," let's think about the next step.’
Rem had said he needed to know how to thrust with all his might. But surely, he couldn't execute every single attack that way.
So, he racked his brain. He would only show the thrust once. Before that, he would continuously grate on the opponent's nerves. Once the provoked opponent attempted a thrust, he would counter.
‘I staked everything on a single thrust.’
A thrust where failure meant death. Was that truly the right way? You shouldn't lead a fight like that. Encrid knew that much. What if it hadn't worked, and he had been greeted by a new "today"? What should he have done then?
‘If the thrust didn't work, would I have had to rely on luck?’
No, that was out of the question. He couldn't accept that. Skill, not luck. Encrid believed that was the best way to make the most of the opportunity given to him.
Pondering this didn't mean he was drowning in self-loathing. It was simply the process of reflecting on the facts, separating what he lacked from what he did well. Just as he had always done after a battle or a spar.
"If you fight with half your life on the line and survive, that battle will become your asset, Enki."
The Old Swordsman of the Coastal Territory had been a mere swordsmanship teacher instructing children in a quiet coastal territory. In terms of skill alone, he would probably be too embarrassed to make a name for himself even in a small commercial territory, let alone a great one.
But when it came to teaching, he wasn't bad. At least to Encrid, he was an excellent teacher.
"If you intend to live by the sword until the day you die, then after a battle is over, digest everything you gained from it, shit it out, and digest it again. That will be your only way to survive."
This was likely the path the old teacher had walked and experienced firsthand. After all, he limped on his left foot, and his entire body was covered in scars. Lessons earned through literally throwing his body into the fray.
That instructor had charged a hefty tuition fee, too. But Encrid didn't regret paying it. It had been a highly valuable time. Now was the time to reflect on what he had learned from him.
‘There must be another way.’
He couldn't thrust with all his might at every single moment. If he did, he would be the one to die. Even Rem wouldn't fight like that. Yet, when it actually came to sparring with that crazy bastard Rem, every single one of his axe swings felt heavy with weight and murderous intent.
‘How can he do that?’
The joy of successfully executing the thrust was fleeting. Encrid did not get drunk on his sense of achievement. No, he was happy—he felt a deep sense of satisfaction from overcoming the wall through his own efforts—but he didn't stop there.
Naturally, Encrid began to envision tomorrow. The aftermath of a successful thrust. Because now, he could see a tomorrow that had been invisible before his success. He was reaching out and walking toward the sun of that tomorrow.
‘What if I thrust with full power, but don't commit my entire heart to it?’
In this way, he was drawing closer to the answer. There was only so much he could figure out just by thinking, but that was fine. This wouldn't be the end of the time granted to Encrid.
The Faceless Ferryman had said so. That this was not the end. That walls would continue to appear.
‘Did he say it would repeat?’
Then he would just have to risk his life and challenge it again. Knowing that such a moment would come again made his heart race. A strange heat rising from his lower abdomen warmed his entire body.
Encrid ignored the heat. Now was not the time to push his body.
‘First, rest.’
Even without a doctor, his self-diagnosis of his throbbing flank told him he needed to rest completely for a few days.
‘But how on earth did I end up here?’
What usually happened when a soldier got injured? Regardless of the severity, they would either die while being treated in their own squad's tent...
‘Or, if they had enough pull, they'd get treated with a doctor by their side.’
Or, if the Goddess of Fortune showered them with a heap of coins, they might receive a priest's prayers. Divine healing was something only possible when luck and backing aligned perfectly. Of course, it was a different story for high-ranking commanders.
In any case, Encrid was none of the three. Which meant someone had pulled some strings to get him here.
‘I don't know.’
Seeing as he was starting to burp, his food seemed to have digested. Encrid lay back down and slept. He slept deeply. When you're hurt, eating well and sleeping well is the best medicine.
When he opened his eyes the next day, he saw a pair of large, round eyes.
"Get your face out of my way."
When he reached out to push Big-Eyes's face away, the man backed up before the hand could even touch him.
"You were sleeping so soundly that I hesitated to wake you, but you opened your eyes at the perfect time."
"Yeah, right."
He was the kind of guy who would normally kick someone awake to avoid wasting time, so Encrid wasn't buying it.
"Tsk, who do you think got you into this tent, Squad Leader?" Big-Eyes said, puffing out his chest.
So that was whose doing it was. Then again, among his squad members, no one else had the resourcefulness to pull this off besides Big-Eyes or Sachsen.
"I had to loosen my purse strings quite a bit for this. You owe me one. Don't forget it."
He hadn't even asked to be put here, but still, a good thing was a good thing. The medical tent served better food than the regular barracks, was located in the rear, and had the ultimate advantage of requiring absolutely no work. He was completely exempt from duties and everything else.
If he weren't here, he would have had to groan through the pain in his flank while trying to keep his squad members in line.
‘But will the squad run fine without me?’
It was a useless worry. The weakest link of the 444th Squad worrying about others?
‘Ah, wait. The weakest link is actually this guy.’
Big-Eyes was terrible at fighting. But that didn't mean he lacked talent. No matter what, whenever a battle broke out, he always managed to slip away to the rear under the guise of some "special duty." He certainly had a knack for it. And this time, Encrid had benefited from that very knack.
"Should I bow my head to the floor to thank you?"
"No need for grand gestures. Just don't forget it."
‘Why is it so important that I don't forget?’
"Got it."
"Great. Well, I'm busy, so I'll be off."
To think he'd visit a patient in the middle of being busy; Encrid was practically honored.
Big-Eyes and Rem weren't the only ones who visited. Sachsen tossed him a small container, claiming he was just passing by.
"Apply this to your flank once a day, and it'll ease the pain. Just don't go telling anyone where you got it."
"Especially keeping it a secret from our squad members, right?"
Sachsen shrugged and quickly made his exit. Twisting open the container, which was about the size of two knuckles, Encrid saw a dark green ointment inside.
‘Did he crush some herbs to make this?’
If he had made it specifically for him, it would have been incredibly devoted. Of course, that wasn't the case. It was something he had seen a few times before, though it was his first time using it.
He scooped a bit of the ointment onto his fingertip, slipped his hand under his clothes, and gently spread it over his flank. Although sharp pains flared up with every movement, the area where he applied the ointment grew warm, and the pain became much more bearable.
‘This is good.’
Thinking he should use it sparingly, Encrid sealed the container tightly and tucked it under his bed.
‘But was the medical tent really that close to our barracks? I don't think it's a distance you'd just "pass by."’
Well, whatever. He got a highly effective ointment, and that was all that mattered.
After that, two other squad members dropped by.
"I'm sorry, Squad Leader. There's nothing I can do for you," one squad member spoke, as if he could have done something but chose not to.
"The squad is a total mess without you, Squad Leader. Have this," another squad member said, tossing him a half-eaten apple before leaving.
The last guy had definitely just been passing by. After all, this bastard was notorious for getting lost. Encrid had even overheard him saying outside the medical tent, "Our squad leader is in here? Why?"
‘That bastard didn't even know I was hurt in the first place.’
Raising squad members is completely useless.
‘Not that I raised them, though.’
Except for Encrid himself, they were all bastards who knew how to fight and run away perfectly fine on their own.
‘I should just worry about myself.’
How much of a mess could the squad really become just because he wasn't there? They would all get along fine on their own. It was best to put aside useless worries.
More importantly...
"You bastard."
This was far more concerning. A new guest had entered while he was resting peacefully by himself.
The fellow had entered the tent around midday. The medical tent was large; if they squeezed in, more than ten people could lie down. Yet, there were only three patients in this spacious tent: Encrid, with his aching flank; a platoon leader who had joined today and was currently glaring at him; and a blonde lying in the far corner, idly staring at the ceiling while twitching his fingers.
It was the platoon leader who spoke to Encrid.
"Your skills are at the level of the lowest-grade soldier, and you're a squad leader despite being a former mercenary. Do you take turns offering your ass to your squad members? How did you even become a squad leader?"
See? This was the real problem. This platoon leader was an old acquaintance—a platoon leader from the neighboring company who was always itching to tear Encrid apart.
His name was Vengeance. Whoever named him certainly did a thorough job.
The reason Vengeance hated him? He had no idea. The bastard had growled at him from the very first moment they met.
"And now you're in the medical tent? You easy-living bastard."
‘Yeah, I agree with you on that.’
His life was indeed quite comfortable right now. It would have been absolutely perfect if not for Platoon Leader Vengeance in the next bed.
"Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Platoon Leader."
"A pleasure?"
What, did he want him to say it was shitty? Encrid was an adult. He knew how to wear a mask.
"Yes, a little."
"A little?"
"Because I'm not that pleased to see you."
"You little shit..."
Vengeance flared up in a rage. However, he didn't pounce. To be more precise, he couldn't. Word was that he had been deeply slashed in the thigh during the previous battle, to the point where even standing up was difficult.
Which meant...
‘Isn't right now the perfect opportunity to tease him?’
Encrid was an adult. He knew how to wear a mask. And he also knew how to mock a disagreeable bastard.