Chapter 147: If You Have Certainty in the Path You Walk
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 147: If You Have Certainty in the Path You Walk
"Why aren't they here?"
The Azpen Principality's detachment, which included three associate knights, couldn't find a single trace of the enemy.
Shouldn't there be a rearguard in this area? Or at least some kind of tracks or signs?
The reports said they were heading toward Cross Guard, so why was the path empty? There wasn't even a scout unit monitoring their movements.
Normally, before a full-scale battle, scouts would bump into each other, trade insults, loose a few arrows when the opportunity arose, and then clash. That was the standard procedure. You had to find the enemy to hit them, and the Principality had detached a significant portion of their forces specifically for that purpose.
There were three associate knights among them, no less. This meant they had diverted a portion of their regular knight orders, even attaching a few giants and special forces to the unit. This was a substantial chunk of the main army's strength.
They had to fight. They needed to fight, but...
Crunch, crunch.
Gravel kicked up beneath the commander's feet.
There was nothing. All they had seen on the way were a few ghouls popping out from the riverbank and the remains of a campsite from about three days ago.
"What about Hawk's Claw?"
"We've lost contact, sir."
To make matters worse, the ranger unit that was supposed to monitor this area and rendezvous with them had vanished as well.
"They're likely dead, aren't they?" the commander, himself an associate knight, asked.
The adjutant glanced at him before speaking cautiously. "Yes. It appears so."
What did he mean, "it appears so"? They were obviously dead.
The commander considered his options. Should we strike their rear anyway? What would happen then? Would they run wild like horses with their tails on fire? I'm getting curious to see Naurilia's reaction.
Just as he made up his mind, a sharp-eyed messenger ran up to report.
"A signal fire has been lit!"
They had just crossed the mountain ridge. The commander turned back toward the direction of the main army. A signal fire was only lit when the main army was in dire peril.
"We're heading back."
The commander did not hesitate. It was a stroke of genius; thanks to their immediate return, they narrowly avoided total annihilation.
*
After joining Marcus's infantry, Encrid rarely spoke.
Although the soldiers stole glances at the Mad Platoon, no one dared to strike up a conversation.
"You're back?"
Vengeance was the only one who came over to toss a casual greeting. Encrid gave a brief nod and kept walking. He walked and he thought, and as his thoughts deepened, he sank into himself, reviewing the battle.
I couldn't use the Sense of Evasion.
Drawing out the Heart of Monstrous Strength also required a long preparation.
I fought as if piecing together every scrap of skill I possessed.
Planting my left hand on the opponent's head, slashing with my right.
The foundation had been "showing it in advance" and the Heart of Monstrous Strength. He had felt a thrill in the fight itself, as some of his methods for wielding two swords had finally clicked.
So, what was next?
A review. He retraced the battle step by step. Just because he won, did that mean there was nothing to learn? No. There was plenty. There was always something to learn.
Crunch, crunch.
Having passed through the gravel field, the unit headed straight toward the rear of the main army. The march continued. After three days of repeating the cycle of eating, walking, and sleeping, they finally reached the camp where their allies had originally been stationed.
Of course, whether they reached the camp or not was of no concern to Encrid. He was too busy reviewing and reviewing again. He neither saw nor heard what was happening around him.
The basics.
How was the Mustachioed Man's sword? It was faithful to the basics. Sharp and delicate. Heavy and agile. It changed as much as needed, exactly when needed.
It's the difference in the basics.
Is winning or losing the issue?
Of course it is. If I had lost, I would have died. But there's no meaning in losing on purpose in a fight I could win, either.
Always do my best.
Take even half a step firmly.
For a today that surpasses tomorrow.
Winning did not make his craving and thirst disappear.
Did I think I was done just because I mastered the basics once? Was I being arrogant? To think I'd have such thoughts in my life...
Considering his past, where he had been too busy struggling just to survive, this level of reflection was once unimaginable. Encrid realized that polishing the basics was only natural. One could see it just by looking at his training of the Isolation Technique.
Daily repetition. Repetition of the same movements. Whether it was Valaf-style martial arts, the Heavy Sword Style, or the Soft Sword Style.
Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu. Everything came down to the basics, and the basics again.
The moment that thought struck him, he couldn't contain himself. His hands itched, his heart pounded, and his skin tingled—even though they were still marching.
Shring.
He drew his sword. Then, he executed a vertical slash—straight and true, polished to the level of a master's work. A crown slash, just like the Mustachioed Man's.
Whoosh.
He had suddenly swung his sword mid-march. Anyone else would have been scolded, but the one doing this was Encrid.
"What's going on? An ambush? Oh, it's Platoon Leader Encrid?"
"He's a bit... you know, right?" A soldier spun his finger around his ear.
"The Mad Platoon Leader?"
"Yeah, let's just keep moving."
Everyone just shrugged it off. It wasn't like this was the first or second time. Above all, there was no one who didn't know of the Mad Platoon's exploits on the previous battlefield. They had practically become legends. There were even looks of awe and respect mixed in with the confusion.
It's because he's that crazy about training.
Is that why he fights so well?
Such thoughts lingered in the minds of the soldiers. The neighboring platoon leaders also left them alone. Hadn't there been a separate order from Battalion Commander Marcus? Anyone could see they were receiving special treatment—exempt from all duties, even kitchen duty. Everyone pretended not to notice and moved on.
The members of the Mad Platoon didn't particularly care about the stares either. Ragna watched his platoon leader suddenly swing his sword and sighed.
I had something to tell him when we got back, but now there's no point.
"Re-imprint the basics onto your body."
He had shown him Severing, but the actual teaching hadn't even begun. There were things he needed to build up for that, things he had to explain again. Would it be a wall of despair, or a new milestone? He had to teach him and show him. There was so much to say—things people usually forget once their skills improve. He had intended to remind him of those things.
Ragna pondered deeply. What did his platoon leader need right now? After much deliberation, he had organized his thoughts, but...
Clack.
The gravel field was coming to an end. Ragna stopped in his tracks.
"Yes, that's right," he muttered.
His platoon leader didn't need nagging. He reflected on his own and filled in his own deficiencies. That was just the kind of man he was. As he stood there, Ragna felt a shiver run through his entire body.
Things he himself had quickly forgotten, passed over, or deemed not even worth reflecting on—Encrid stacked them one by one, using them all as foundation stones.
Ragna felt the spark of motivation flare up in his chest once again. Though he thought it was absurd, looking at his platoon leader made him want to swing his own sword.
"Have you lost your mind? What's 'right'?" It was Rem, walking beside him. The barbarian tilted his head. "Haha, were you offering a solitary prayer? Did the Lord answer you?" The giant religious fanatic on the other side, Audin, also chimed in.
Ragna didn't want to reply. He didn't want to ruin this mood. But Rem was persistent, and Audin was diligent.
"Hey, what's right? Did a ghost get into your head? Hey, big guy. Shouldn't we exorcise him? Huh? Don't you have a ghost-busting fist or something?"
"Haha, Brother, possession does not happen so easily. Especially in a unit with such lively discipline. I believe he was offering a prayer. So, what did the Lord say?"
I wish they'd just fuck off.
Ragna was starting to feel desperate. It didn't take long for that desperation to turn into murderous intent. Should I just cut them all down?
Rem and Audin reacted simultaneously to the sudden burst of killing intent.
"Hey, you want to leave your head here? Want some help?"
"Brother, are you throwing a tantrum because you didn't receive the Lord's answer? If so, breaking a sweat isn't a bad idea."
If killing intent rose, you fought. That was practically an ironclad rule of the Mad Platoon. Of course, it would stop if Encrid intervened, but he was currently lost in his own world.
Clang.
Ragna drew his sword and swung. Rem reacted instantly.
Clang!
Axe met sword. Sparks flew, and killing intent crackled between them. Audin couldn't just stand by either; Ragna wouldn't let him. Using the recoil from striking Rem's axe, Ragna slashed directly at Audin's chest.
Audin retreated, deflecting the blade by slapping the flat of the sword with his palm. It was an advanced feat, performed with casual ease.
Rem, Ragna, and Audin. It was almost fascinating how they did such things so naturally. Soon, the three of them were tangled in a brawl.
Watching them from the side, Sachsen thought all three of them were absolute idiots. His eyes naturally drifted away from the trio and toward his platoon leader. He had a complaint—just a tiny one.
He seems to know exactly how to use the Sense of Evasion.
Is it that hard to increase physical coordination? It's not easy, really not easy. But isn't this a bit like discrimination? Why did he master the Heart of Monstrous Strength so quickly, while the Sense of Evasion is so slow? Is he paying less attention? Is he putting less effort into my technique?
"Annoying," Sachsen muttered, but there was no one to answer him.
The three were too busy fighting; Andrew and Mac, wanting no part in the brawl, had slipped away; and Finn was too busy questioning whether this platoon was actually functioning properly.
Only Krais, accustomed to this, did his job. He received orders from the Elf Company Commander instead of the platoon leader.
"Why you?" the company commander asked, expressing pointless dissatisfaction.
Krais replied, "If you disturb them at times like this, the platoon leader hates it, the members hate it, and it just becomes a mess."
"More of a mess than this?"
Encrid was walking and swinging his sword alone, the other three were busy fighting, and Sachsen maintained a stiff, expressionless face.
"Yes, more than this," Krais spoke with absolute certainty. If we try to stop them, it'll turn into an even bigger disaster. He knew this from experience.
"I see. The main army is returning." The company commander didn't make jokes; he got straight to the point.
Krais, feeling a bit mischievous, asked, "You want our platoon leader, don't you?"
The company commander looked at Krais. The elf's green eyes were like jewels that completed an otherworldly beauty. Because they were like jewels, they were inorganic, and reading emotions from them was impossible. However, there was something Krais could sense.
"I do."
He knew that "wanting" him didn't mean wanting him as a man. Having said that, the company commander turned and walked away. Krais rubbed his arms, suddenly getting goosebumps. Then, he waited for his platoon leader to return to normal.
It was only when nearly the entire day had passed—specifically, when they stopped to prepare camp—that Encrid finally came to a halt.
But does swinging a sword while walking actually help? Krais had no way of knowing.
Surprisingly, the fight among the three ended quickly. Did they all know it wouldn't end in a real conclusion? Or was it just no fun because the platoon leader didn't bother to stop them? There was no way to know.
"Captain."
Encrid, drenched in sweat, turned his eyes toward Krais.
"We're marching back to the territory."
"Hmm?"
Krais knew his captain didn't like long explanations. "When our plan worked—that is, when the enemy diverted part of their forces to the detour—the main army launched an offensive."
The essence of the plan Krais had originally devised was simple: Strike their rear with the Mad Platoon. Lure in the unit called Hawk's Claw and wipe them out. Meanwhile, the Marcus Battalion would pretend to head to Cross Guard. Just the threat was enough.
A battlefield already pushed back. If I were the enemy commander, what would I think? Would I want to carry the disgrace of having my territory attacked?
Either way, there was nothing to lose. There was plenty to gain just by putting on a show. Since Krais's goal was to guarantee safety, putting on such a show gave the Marcus Battalion a perfect excuse to return to their original camp.
As time passed, the variables decreased, and things fell into place exactly as Krais had envisioned. Of course, there were things that completely defied his expectations—primarily, the strength of the Mad Platoon.
I knew they fought well, but...
They fought insanely well. As an independent platoon, a small elite unit, they seemed in some ways even more formidable than the Frontier Slaughterer.
In the meantime, the forces stationed on the Greenpearl Plains had advanced straight ahead. This also went slightly against Krais's expectations. They actually advanced?
Even if they ended it now, their territory had expanded, and they had dealt a fatal blow to Azpen. Yet they advanced anyway, going beyond seizing victory to deal a devastating blow. It was a close battle following a breathless charge, and the gap in power had widened significantly.
It was an overwhelming victory. Thanks to that, the Marcus Battalion and the Border Guard Standing Army were ordered to return to the territory. Perhaps they needed an army to defend the home front in case the enemy grew desperate, and since they were a unit that had achieved great merits, there was likely an intention to reward them.
Instead of explaining all of this, Krais delivered it short and simple.
"They said we're going home."
"Not bad."
Did Encrid understand the strategic nuances? Who knew. I'll just explain it to him slowly later, Krais thought. He was satisfied. Above all, a single map tucked against his chest made him feel even warmer. It was one of the treasures hidden by the enemy, and Krais knew it instinctively. This is the real deal.
Encrid had no complaints about returning either. In fact, he was satisfied. He had learned and mastered a lot on this battlefield. He wanted to reflect on all of it and engrave it into his body. He needed time.
A dullard naturally had to struggle and run forward. Encrid decided to do just that. Craving and thirst burned in his chest, making it impossible for him to stay still.
But why is that guy...
Encrid turned his gaze toward the killing intent he occasionally felt. It was Sachsen. Just when he was about to forget, Sachsen would shoot him a sharp glare. He looked like he had some grievance, but it was obvious he wouldn't answer even if asked.
So, he left him be. It wasn't like his men's complaints were a new thing.
"Going back? Well, that must be disappointing. Since you didn't get to see a knight fight?"
Hearing Rem chime in, Encrid nodded. "It is a bit disappointing, but..."
On the other hand, he felt it didn't really matter.
Step.
Matching his stride, Encrid looked down at his hands. His palms were covered in calluses. He felt the weight of the two swords hanging at his waist and the armor clad on his body.
Mrrow.
The leopard walked beside him, followed by his platoon members. Encrid was walking his path. And if you have certainty in the path you walk, there is no need to constantly check the destination.
"It's fine," Encrid replied, raising his head.
The magic of spring was spreading, and the gentle sunlight settled over his shoulders.