Chapter 150: Night of the Banquet
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 150: Night of the Banquet
Revelry, spirits, and celebration.
It was a feast of exactly those things.
Had there ever been a party like this before? Encrid searched his memory, trying to recall the last time he had experienced anything resembling a banquet.
It felt like it had been years.
It was certainly his first since joining the Border Guard, and perhaps one of the few times in his entire life. He had enjoyed something similar during his mercenary days, but... what had he actually done back then?
He’d barely let the spirits touch his lips before losing himself in the analysis of his past battles.
"Have a drink, Platoon Leader."
Aside from Finn and the Company Commander, many others thrust their cups toward him.
"When it's time to play, you play. Come on, don't be a party pooper," Rem added.
So, Encrid drank. He had said he didn't particularly enjoy it, not that he couldn't handle it.
Gulp.
With one sip, a sharp aroma brushed the tip of his nose. The sweet liquid slid down his throat, warming his stomach.
Not bad.
He wasn't a born gourmet or a connoisseur of fine spirits, but his years of wandering and consuming whatever he could find hadn't been for nothing. They say a poor wanderer will eat anything, yet is also the most capable of judging everything that enters his mouth.
This must have cost quite a few Krona.
The Battalion Commander had really loosened his purse strings. Or rather, was it more accurate to say the Border Guard was footing the bill? There was no way he had paid for this out of his own pocket.
Regardless, Encrid ate, drank, and enjoyed himself. When he resolved to rest, he was the type to put his absolute best into resting. He knew all too well that proper rest was preparation for what lay ahead.
However...
The starlight is exceptionally beautiful tonight.
It was a truly magnificent night, the sky embroidered by the moon and stars. It was a night almost too precious to waste on mere drinking.
"A little alcohol to wet the palate is more than enough, Brother. You want to arm wrestle me? Very well!"
From one side, Audin's cheerful voice drifted over.
"You bastard, are you being picky again?" Rem’s voice was provocative as usual.
"It simply does not suit my palate," Ragna retorted.
By the way, where did they say Sachsen went? Had he gone out to the territory? Sachsen wasn't the type to fit in at a banquet anyway.
Encrid sat comfortably in a chair he had claimed. Everyone was busy eating and drinking. Excited soldiers chattered, while others spun heroic tales laced with half-profanities. Every now and then, people came up to talk to Encrid—not just Finn and the Elf Company Commander.
In fact, he was practically the most popular person there.
"I knew you'd shine one day."
It was Bell—the man who had died, or rather, almost died from an arrow during the very first repetition of this day. In a way, he was someone whose fate had been rewritten thanks to Encrid.
"So? Do you want to spar?" Encrid joked.
"No way, why would I spar with you? I heard you even beat up the Border Guard."
"I got lucky."
Luck. It had become a habit of speech for him now.
"Can something like that really be done with just luck?" Bell grumbled, then laughed. It was a remarkably bright, innocent laugh.
Then, Vengeance approached.
"Why are you... sigh." He let out a deep sigh, then muttered, "Never mind, forget it. Let's just drink." He shared a quick toast and abruptly turned around.
If it were before, Encrid wouldn't have known why, but now that he understood Vengeance's heart, he could offer some comfort. Even if it was just cheap comfort offered while sitting down and flapping his lips, if it reached the other person, it had meaning.
"The world is wide," Encrid consoled him, as if reciting an infantry slogan. "And there are plenty of women."
Step.
Vengeance's footsteps halted. What was the emotion behind his sigh? It was undoubtedly jealousy and envy. He must have seen the Elf Company Commander and Finn coming over to drink with Encrid. He probably also noticed the peculiar glances from several of the maidservants.
Was the consolation appropriate?
Vengeance, who had stopped, twisted only his upper body back. His eyes looked as if they held ghostly flames.
"You bastard...?"
Seeing that, Encrid thought his consolation had been highly effective. Wasn't it much better to see him bloom with such passionate fury rather than wallow in despair?
"Jenny?" Encrid pretended to be surprised and looked behind Vengeance.
Vengeance's head whipped around with terrifying speed. Jenny, the herb seller, was Vengeance's sore spot. After all, she was the original reason he had hated Encrid.
Creak.
Realizing there was nothing—specifically, no Jenny—behind him, Vengeance turned his head back toward Encrid, making a bizarre sound. It sounded like the rusted neck of a newborn Skeleton Soldier.
"You son of a bitch! We're sparring!"
Ah, a spar. He had intended to rest today, but it couldn't be helped. This really wasn't his intention.
"Shall we?"
Encrid straightened his posture. Vengeance regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. He already knew from experience and observation that he was no match for Encrid. But how could he endure being mocked like that?
"They're fighting!"
"Who? Who?"
"It's Platoon Leader Vengeance!"
"Who's his opponent?"
"Ah, it's the Charming Platoon Leader."
That damn "charming" label.
Encrid let the soldiers' chatter go in one ear and out the other, but he couldn't easily dismiss those words. It felt like a title that didn't suit him at all. He had a similar experience before. Hadn't Audin called him stubborn? Stubborn? Not at all. The same went for "charming." Absolutely not. It was a misunderstanding.
"Where? Where's the fight? Wait, hold on! If there's a match, we need to place bets!"
Krais, who had disappeared into the crowd of soldiers, suddenly popped out. He looked at Encrid's face, then checked Vengeance.
"...Though no one might know it, Platoon Leader Vengeance is actually a master of secret assassination techniques! Anyone want to bet their Krona on Platoon Leader Vengeance?"
No one did. The bet fell through.
Vengeance struck down with his sword with all his might. Encrid did not let his guard down. As always, his eyes gleamed with focus. He moved his body as he watched the descending blade. There was no hesitation.
Encrid raised his sword horizontally to block the strike, tripped him, and slammed his knee into Vengeance's thigh. It was a blend of basics and unorthodox tactics.
"Argh!"
Struck in the side of the thigh, Vengeance collapsed.
"Hmm."
Encrid felt somewhat unsatisfied. It was like the feeling of stopping mid-urination. Just one blow? Wasn't Vengeance a soldier who was practically on the verge of becoming a Senior Soldier?
"Did I tell you the soldier grading system is a piece of shiiit, or did I not?"
Rem's words came to mind for no reason. He turned his head, looking for someone like Rem. Instead, he saw a crowd of people staring at him with peculiar eyes. Their gazes were filled with something akin to awe and envy.
Encrid frowned at the sight, then smoothed his brow. It was a look of dissatisfaction that only Krais noticed. He didn't want envy; he wanted someone to challenge him. For a while, the number of people challenging him to spars had increased, but recently, it had grown quiet. Even the Border Guard was quiet.
He thought he had spotted the Border Guard Captain among the soldiers earlier. The 1st Company Commander seemed to be around somewhere, too. Could he expect something from those two?
Encrid's eyes searched for them. Finding them wasn't difficult; they had caught his eye long ago. However, the Heavy Armor Company Commander was already thoroughly drunk. And the Border Guard Captain showed absolutely no intention of stepping forward. Both held cups in their hands and looked completely uninterested in fighting.
"I was going to offer him a drink, but..." The 1st Company Commander spoke with a flushed face, then turned away, muttering, "That guy is definitely a lunatic."
When the Company Commander's gaze fell on him, Encrid glanced behind himself. Since the man had said "lunatic," he wondered if Rem was standing behind him. There was no one.
Then, who was he talking about? Surely it wasn't directed at him. After all, wasn't he practically the only sane person in the Mad Independent Platoon?
"Should I say he met expectations? Or should I just nod and accept that he's not normal?" The Border Guard Captain left after leaving only those words.
Encrid saw the Elf Company Commander and Finn watching him from the side. And below them, Esther. The blue-eyed panther opened her mouth, yawned, and abruptly turned her head away.
Wait, did she just try to cover her mouth with her forepaw? As if that paw could actually cover her mouth. That panther really acted like a human sometimes.
Encrid thought as he prepared to sheathe his sword. He felt frustrated, like someone cutting off in the middle of an important sentence. But what could he do? There was no one around who could match him.
It was at that very moment.
"Are you really going to do it?"
"Yes."
A conversation drifted from the side. At the same time, a sharp, skin-pricking aura—strong enough to conjure the illusion of a blade—swept over him. Encrid reflexively placed his hand on his hilt. It felt as though he had to draw his sword and fight right this instant.
He turned around. There stood Andrew.
Shring.
He wasn't just standing there. He was drawing his sword. He did so with a posture ready to strike and parry at any moment. Why did his draw exude such resolve?
As Andrew drew his sword, a duet of light—starlight and torchlight—bathed his face. One side was blue, the other red. He hadn't drunk any alcohol; his complexion was calm and serene.
Standing there, Andrew spoke.
"I learned the swordsmanship of the Gardner family, honed it in real combat, and while walking my path alone, I learned that there is no giving up when it comes to learning."
Mac, who had been standing beside him, took a step back before anyone realized. The surrounding soldiers did the same. They backed away, clearing a space. Thus, only Encrid and Andrew remained in the center.
One had his hand on his hilt. The other had already drawn his sword.
Andrew, without letting his momentum waver, finished speaking.
"I request your guidance."
Encrid quietly gazed into Andrew's eyes. Unwavering pupils, a burning passion instead of envy. It was a gaze and a moment he liked very much.
Whoosh.
The sound of a nearby torch crackling reached his ears. A pleasant night breeze blew. He had heard the saying that spring holds magic so often he was sick of it.
That saying... it seemed to be true.
Instead of answering, Encrid looked up at the sky. The night was a feast of starlight rising amidst the moonlight. A world of pouring stars lay up there.
Lowering his head again, Encrid spoke.
"Isn't it a fine night for a fight?"
He meant it. To the point where he felt holding a banquet on a night like this was almost a waste. Yes, on any other day... if the starlight hadn't shone down on him like this, he might have just enjoyed the banquet. But it was too precious a night for that.
"Then..."
Andrew thrust his sword forward. Encrid met him. They had started in the scout unit, but their relationship had changed rapidly. And now, once again.
Andrew's sword danced. It was a Technique Sword—a style focused on speed to exploit the opponent's weaknesses. Encrid was cautious and focused in facing him. He showed everything he had. That was only right. Since his opponent was showing his utmost sincerity and effort, he had to do the same.
Esther found it quite fascinating.
Tonight is truly...
A night where mana flowed thickly. Sensitive individuals could often feel that such nights were different. Was that guy the same? Seeing how he couldn't stay still and was running wild, it certainly seemed so.
The fight was not long. The victory and defeat were clear.
"Now, who bet their Krona?!" Krais's voice rang out higher and clearer than ever. Tonight, the busiest and most passionate person might very well be Krais.
Thud.
It was the sound of Andrew falling backward. There was no exchange of dozens of blows. Before even ten clashes of swords had finished, the outcome was decided.
After knocking Andrew down, Encrid offered him a hand and pulled him up. Then, a sudden question occurred to him, and he asked, "Are you planning to leave?"
"Whew, yes," Andrew took a deep breath and replied.
"Why?"
"I have things to do."
Then he had to go. After all, one couldn't hold back someone who had already decided to leave.
"It was fun."
"Yes, Captain."
Andrew smiled. In a way, he felt like a younger brother. He was a friend who gave off that kind of feeling.
"I really learned a lot."
Encrid nodded at Andrew's words. For some, it was a banquet to drink themselves into a stupor. For others, it was a banquet to set up a gambling den and pocket some Krona. For yet others, it was a banquet to reaffirm their camaraderie.
And for Encrid, it was a banquet with beautiful starlight, perfect for sparring.
Afterward, a few more people, swept up in the heat of the moment, challenged him. The atmosphere had shifted. He found it quite pleasing.
Thus, the night of eating, drinking, and fighting passed. Encrid fell asleep and woke up at dawn as usual. The start of morning training. Whether the night of the banquet had passed or not, what needed to be done had to be done.
He headed out to the training ground, only to find an unexpected guest waiting there.
*
The party continued until the middle of the night. Duty was handled by another battalion that had not participated in the battle.
"I owe you one," Marcus said to his subordinate commander, along with his request.
"Not at all, sir." The commander readily accepted Marcus's request.
And why wouldn't he? Who was Marcus? He was no ordinary Battalion Commander. Once he returned to the capital, he would become a man of a new status. He was a noble, and specifically, a member of one of the five families holding the core of power.
"Well then."
After the commander left, Marcus set down the bottle of alcohol he was holding. He had done something uncharacteristic for the sake of the unit's morale. He preferred tea over alcohol. He even had a habit of mixing tea with his alcohol when he did drink. He also preferred quiet settings over noisy ones.
Is it because of my childhood education?
Perhaps it was the influence of the tea ceremony he had learned from his family. It wasn't important. He was already used to it, and there was no need to force himself to change a habit.
Marcus leisurely sipped his tea. Even in his quarters, the noisy sounds of the celebration echoed. Although calling prostitutes was forbidden, quite a few men would likely head out to the red-light district once the alcohol kicked in. Today was a moment to show leniency rather than control. He intended to let most things slide.
As time passed, a few commanders he knew popped their heads in. Among them were those conscious of his power, and others who sought him out because they liked him on the battlefield, alongside his nickname "Warmonger." Still, almost all the Company Commanders had shown up.
No, one is missing.
The Elf Company Commander was nowhere to be seen. Well, it wasn't something to worry about. Her sucking up to power, or going out of her way to share a drink with him... both seemed equally ridiculous.
Thus, sharing conversations over tea mixed with alcohol, Marcus went to bed early around the time the sun set and the moon rose. It was a deep, dreamless sleep.
Amidst the silence.
Knock, knock.
"Battalion Commander."
At the knock and the voice of his guard on night watch, Marcus opened his eyes.
"What is it?"
He turned his gaze toward the window. It was before dawn, a time when deep blue and orange began to blend beyond the moonlight, signaling the start of a new day.
"A guest has arrived."
It was far too early for a guest to arrive. Who could possibly visit at this hour? It must be someone completely detached from human etiquette and noble authority.
Marcus was not flustered. He hadn't expected them to arrive at such an hour, but he could guess who it was.
I thought they would arrive tomorrow at the earliest.
He had heard the battlefield had only just been wrapped up. Had an impatient gift arrived? Or did they also harbor some expectations?
"I'll be right out."
Marcus stepped out, loosely throwing a jacket over his shirt. Since the gift had arrived, it was time to deliver it. This gift was meant for one person. It was the result of Marcus's repeated deliberations.
The recipient of the gift was, of course, Encrid.