Chapter 16: Lack of Skill
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 16: Lack of Skill
The third "today."
Encrid continued his grip training and mental combat drills. He didn't waste a single second.
On the surface, it was the exact same day; nothing out of the ordinary happened during the afternoon.
I simply hadn't noticed it before.
Today was different. Krang skipped breakfast and only reappeared after lunch. The soldier assigned to the medical tent was also away from his post for an extended period, despite his sole duty being to guard the entrance.
Everything else remained the same. A few patients still occupied the neighboring medical tents.
Encrid sat in front of his tent, watching the soldiers pass by. Since this was the rear, there were far fewer combat troops here than on the front lines.
A wheel on a handcart snapped, sending it tilting into a heap. The groans of the sick echoed from every direction. A soldier grumbled about the biting wind.
Putting it all together, the security wasn't particularly tight, but...
Still, it shouldn't be so porous that a handful of assassins could slip through undetected.
His goal remained unchanged. All he needed to do was intercept the assassins and raise hell. He steeled his resolve.
He spent the rest of the day as he always did.
"Aren't you sick of that yet?" came Krang’s usual question.
"Just wait until we get back, you bastards," followed by Vengeance’s pointless muttering.
Night deepened.
Encrid lay down to sleep but soon sat back up, resting on the edge of his cot. He reviewed the information he had gathered.
The time the assassins arrived: After the third night watch shift change.
Their weapons: Poisoned darts and daggers.
Their stature: Small, resembling a woman or a child.
The prime suspect: The newly appointed company commander.
Their target: Likely Krang.
This was all he knew, but it was enough. They weren't even targeting him; he just needed to raise the alarm.
Watching the night watchmen swap shifts, Encrid stood up.
"Yawn. Going for a piss?" the sentry on duty asked, mid-yawn.
"No, just can't sleep."
"I heard we’re returning to the main unit tomorrow?" The sentry offered a faint smile. He was a gentle-looking soldier with freckles and droopy eyes. Since Encrid was a squad leader, he held a higher rank than the common soldier.
"That’s right."
"Are you too nervous to sleep?"
"No, the moon is just too bright."
At Encrid’s words, the freckled soldier looked up at the sky. It was a pitch-black night. Clouds completely shrouded the moon. Though a few bright stars twinkled in the distance, the darkness was so thick that one couldn't see a hand in front of their face without a torch.
"The moon?"
"Just a joke."
As Encrid spoke, he glanced at the sentry of the neighboring tent. No matter how strictly discipline was enforced, there were always soldiers like that—he saw the man leaning against a tent pole, nodding off.
"Haha." The freckled soldier let out a stiff laugh. "Actually, the torches are too bright for me to sleep."
"You’re quite sensitive."
"I’ve been like that since I was a kid."
It wasn't an empty boast. Encrid was indeed more sensitive than the average person. He had excellent hearing, a sharp sense of smell, and a keen palate. His five senses were highly refined.
And yet, I’ve already been taken out twice without even noticing.
The opponent was exceptionally skilled at stealth. Then again, if an assassin wasn't confident in infiltration, what else would they be good at?
It was dark. Looking up at the stars and the flickering flames on the torch stands, Encrid struck up some idle chatter. He asked where the soldier was from and how he had ended up in the military. The freckled soldier readily poured his heart out.
Encrid didn't listen closely. Even as he spoke, his nerves were stretched taut, focusing on the area behind him. He kept touching his neck.
Because I was hit in the neck, the poison took effect instantly.
If it had hit his arm instead, he would have had plenty of time to react. He had to be ready. As long as he was awake, he would have more than enough time to scream—
"Laura said she’d wait for me..."
The freckled soldier was in the middle of talking about his girlfriend back home. At that moment, with a sharp thwip, something pierced straight through the boy's neck.
A blade!
A finger-length blade protruded from the front of his throat. No blood gushed out yet; until the blade was pulled out, it would act as a plug to stop the bleeding. The freckled soldier swayed to the side, his mouth suddenly muffled as he collapsed soundlessly.
Twang!
Something flew straight toward Encrid. The entire sequence happened in a single breath.
Encrid reacted. Reflexively, he shielded his neck with his hand. With a soft thud, a poison dart embedded itself into the back of his hand.
Now was his chance to scream. There’s an assassin here! Ambush! Or something like that. At the very least, a meaningless shriek would suffice.
And yet.
Grab.
Something clamped over his mouth. No sound, no warning. Encrid felt a hand grab his neck and twist.
Crack.
Then, along with a searing pain at the back of his neck, he felt a blade slide deep inside. Having died so many times, he could now gauge the depth of a blade and the severity of a wound by the sensation alone. With a wound like this, he wouldn't last long.
Encrid collapsed to the ground, the blade still embedded in him. Warm blood flowed from the nape of his neck, soaking his chest. The assailant didn't deliver a finishing blow, but Encrid didn't have the luxury to check on what they were doing.
What about Krang? What about Platoon Leader Vengeance?
As his lifeblood spilled out in heavy spurts, Encrid looked at the two figures sprawled before him. One was the freckled soldier. He was already dead, his throat pierced. Blood pooled and soaked into the tent floor.
What was his name again?
The boy had talked about so many things, but Encrid hadn't paid attention to any of it.
Just inside the tent entrance, he could see Platoon Leader Vengeance. He, too, lay motionless with wide, staring eyes, as if he had been strangled. But Krang was nowhere to be seen.
Squeezing out the last of his strength, Encrid lifted his head and peered deeper into the tent. As he moved, the embedded blade shifted, sending a wave of agonizing pain through him.
"Guh... urgh..."
A groan escaped his lips. Even so, he forced himself up to look. He saw a slender woman. Behind the torn fabric of the tent, blocking the way, stood an elven woman.
So it really was you.
It was the newly appointed company commander. No matter how unobservant one was, there was no mistaking her.
"Already pull—"
Another voice mingled with hers. That was where his memory cut off.
*
"Cypress! Cypress!"
Today restarted once more.
Son of a bitch.
A hollow chuckle escaped his lips. His opponent was an assassin. Whether he had the Beast's Heart or the Valen-style Mercenary Sword, there was absolutely nothing he could do. He had to at least face them in combat to try anything, but they immediately went for his throat or used poison.
As he kicked off his blanket and stood up with a snap—
"Have you lost your mind first thing in the morning?" asked Platoon Leader Vengeance, the kicked blanket half-draped over his head.
"Ah, no, sir."
That wasn't what was important right now.
"Oh, you want to go? This is insubordination, isn't it?"
Encrid ignored Vengeance, who was limping to his feet, and walked out of the tent.
"Hey! Are you running away? You little bastard! You're dead when I catch you!"
Behind Vengeance’s shouting, Krang’s waking voice joined in. "Why is it so noisy this early?"
Once again, the exact same day repeated.
Let's see how this goes, Mr. Assassin.
Encrid prepared for the fourth night. This time, he packed a few daggers. He also coaxed the freckled soldier into coming inside the tent.
"Everyone we need to protect is right here, isn't that right?"
Persuading him was easy. The simple country youth fell for Encrid’s words hook, line, and sinker. He brought one of the torch stands inside and set it up. The inside of the tent lit up brightly.
Now, dear assassins. Can you still do your job in a place this bright?
They could.
He didn't even know when they had slipped in. He had no idea how they had gotten so close. An assassin dropped down from the top of the tent with a soft thud. The fallen shadow shot poison darts straight into the necks of both the freckled soldier and Encrid.
Just before dying, Encrid saw the tent fabric being sliced open with a sharp shhhk. A white blade. A dark silhouette beyond it. Thanks to the torch stand he had brought inside, the flickering light illuminated the opponent's face.
It was the newly appointed company commander.
*
"Cypress! Cypress!"
The fifth "today" dawned.
"Yeah, yeah."
He had been caught even while knowing it was coming. That made four times. His stubbornness flared up. He tried again in a similar manner, but this time, he focused every single ounce of his attention.
The result wasn't much different. The cots in this tent were raised off the ground. A dark shadow darted out from underneath one and launched a volley of blowgun needles—poisoned darts.
A deadly poison. An agonizing pain, on a completely different level from being stabbed, surged through him. It felt as if a thousand ants were gnawing away at his heart. His breath caught, and he couldn't draw another lungful of air. He died without being able to do a single thing.
The sixth "today" was much the same. There were minor variations here and there. Just before dying, he heard the group of assassins saying something.
"You, ho..."
"You..."
"This is a war..."
"Fair..."
Of course, hearing those fragments changed nothing. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. At best, it was just a few scattered words. No matter how much he racked his brain to piece them together, he couldn't find an answer.
Driven by sheer stubbornness, Encrid tried every method he could think of. Never giving up was a virtue, but in a situation like this, it could also be a flaw. It was an old adage: if the head is dull, the body suffers. Endless trial and error wasn't always the answer.
Fortunately, Encrid was no fool.
Twenty deaths.
Screaming is out of the question.
The assassins' skills were just that formidable. Once, he had even tried shouting "Ambush!" before the enemy could even make a move. The soldiers from the neighboring tents rushed to his location. He also saw Krang rubbing his eyes as he woke up. Since it was roughly after the third night watch shift change, it could be considered a preemptive strike timed perfectly.
"Ambush? Where?"
In the end, he only got kicked in the shin by the neighboring platoon leader. If he shouted first, nothing happened? If that allowed him to just get through the day, getting kicked in the shin was a small price to pay.
After the commotion died down and Encrid made up some excuse about having a nightmare—
"How did you know?"
Encrid heard the assassin's voice for the first time. It was a man with a metallic, raspy voice.
And then he died. With a blade driven into his neck.
If he had tried that, he had tried other things as well.
"Platoon Leader Vengeance. Are you perhaps annoyed with me?"
"What the fuck?"
"It's not because of me, but because of Krang, right? Isn't it because Krang keeps talking nonsense?"
Encrid tried to clear their heads with some light conversation before warning them.
"Assassins are coming. Tonight."
"...Go crazy quietly, you lunatic."
Vengeance didn't believe him.
"Do you have some secret birthright or something? Why would assassins come for you?"
Krang didn't believe him either. They were men of little faith.
It was a failure. He had tried various approaches, but the reason for failure was always the same.
A lack of skill.
Because it all boiled down to that single reason. The assassins were simply too skilled.
He had to find a way. Neither the Beast's Heart nor the Valen-style Mercenary Sword was of any help right now.
Should I bring Rem over during the night?
Could that be a solution? Rem, or any of the other squad members, wouldn't be taken down so easily. Except for Big-Eyes, they would likely survive. But how could he bring them here? There was no way. He was just a squad leader, and they were mere soldiers. Regardless of their skills, that was how their ranks stood.
What if he spoke to the platoon leader in charge of the medical platoon? As if he'd listen. And what excuse would he even use?
Some things were possible, and some things simply weren't. Bringing his squad members over was out of the question.
Was there no other way, then?
There was. The repetition of the exact same day meant Encrid knew exactly when and where he would see Big-Eyes.
Maybe I should ask for advice.
His squad members were all terrifyingly talented. Even if he couldn't bring them here, he could at least get their input. It was a much better approach than stubbornly banging his head against a wall.
Encrid pushed himself up to go find Big-Eyes.
"Where are you going?" asked Platoon Leader Vengeance from behind. Since Krang had been gone since morning and now Encrid was leaving too, it seemed he felt compelled to ask.
Encrid tilted his head and answered with a question of his own. "Feeling lonely, are we?"
"What the fuck?"
"Never mind, then."
"Hey, you, you little shit—"
Ignoring him, Encrid walked out.
"Just wait until I'm healed!" Platoon Leader Vengeance bellowed from inside the tent. Encrid picked his ear.
Finding Big-Eyes wasn't difficult. His expression was terribly sour, but what did Big-Eyes' expression matter? Encrid had been repeating this day twenty times without even seeing his killer's face.
"Big-Eyes."
Big-Eyes, who was walking briskly toward some destination, turned his head at the call. He frowned, but then recognized Encrid.
"Squad Leader? You're looking fine now."
"Can we talk for a moment?"
"Ah, I'm a bit busy right now. If you need someone to talk to, Sachsen is over there."
Big-Eyes really did seem busy; he pointed his thumb behind him and hurried away. There wasn't even time to grab him. In any case, Big-Eyes wasn't his main target; he had just planned to ask him to call another squad member.
Encrid headed toward the tent Big-Eyes had pointed out. It wasn't a large tent, but a small maintenance tent—a rarely used part of the supply base. Since it was a place where broken equipment was gathered, people rarely frequented it. It was a tiny tent nestled between the larger structures, looking barely large enough to fit two people.
"Squad Leader?"
Sachsen was there. He had reddish-brown hair and brownish eyes with a hint of red. He was a squad member who always wore an easygoing smile.
And according to Rem's assessment: The shadiest bastard of the lot. A deviant who enjoys exploiting openings and backstabbing over a fair fight.
...or so Rem had said.
Encrid scratched his head, wondering if he had interrupted at a bad time. It certainly felt like he had arrived at an awkward moment.
"Do you have a moment?"
Sachsen nodded nonchalantly. Behind him, from between the folds of the tent, a woman with curly blonde hair peeked her face out before quickly ducking back inside.
"I'm just finishing up here."
Sachsen stood up, draping his unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders.