Chapter 193: Handling It Well (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 193: Handling It Well (1)
Marcus began with a look of pure admiration as he received the midnight report.
"You surprise me every time I see you."
He then expressed his gratitude, his praise bordering on excessive.
"It is all thanks to you."
How could a battalion commander bow his head like that to a mere soldier—no, even if he was a company commander now, it was still an extraordinary gesture.
Encrid simply dismissed it as a coincidence and dryly listed the facts. That was all.
"I see."
With Marcus's final nod, Encrid left the office. The rest was up to the man in charge of the Border Guard—Marcus—to handle.
As he finished his report and stepped outside, the Elf Company Commander followed him as if to see him off. Her gaze was fixed blankly ahead, her posture and tone thoroughly half-hearted.
"Should we spend the night together? Since we must remain pure until our wedding night, we’ll just hold hands while we sleep."
"I’m going to sleep without holding anyone's hand. Alone. In my own barracks."
"I see."
Was she actually joking?
Parting ways with the Elf Company Commander, Encrid returned to his barracks. He washed away the sweat and settled onto his cot. Water dripped from his wet hair. As he shook it out with his hands, he realized his hair had grown quite long again.
"They just ruined my sleep. If those bastards were going to come, they should have come in force."
"Everything is within the Lord's will, so pray, brothers and sisters."
"I heard something happened?"
"Kyarung."
"Ugh, if the Black Sword is coming this far, things must have gotten really ugly."
Everyone chimed in with a word before going to sleep as usual. But they didn't just sleep. At least, Encrid didn't.
He closed his eyes and reviewed the earlier battle. Whether he won or lost, whether he dominated or struggled, there was always something to learn from every fight. That was how he had been taught, and that was how he had always lived. This time was no different. The fact that he had literally sliced his opponent to pieces changed nothing.
As he fell asleep while repeatedly reviewing the battle, ten white lions lunged at him in his dream. But even now, he stood firm. They were manageable. He could fight them. Encrid suddenly felt the sheer extent of his own growth.
Is it funny?
What had his battlefield originally been like?
It was a place where he struggled desperately just to survive. A place where he avoided stepping forward to keep from dying. A place where he could only survive by staying in the rear and reading the room, rather than standing at the front.
But now?
Even though he knew it was a dream, his chest tightened with a strange thrill. This was the result of a long time spent training and practicing. What had he originally wanted? Usually, when such thoughts overlapped, the dream would fall apart. Was this thanks to the Ferryman? Even though it was a dream, his mind was as sharp as reality.
The strange thing was that Esther was fighting alongside him, but she wasn't in her panther form. She had pale, smooth skin and wore a black robe that shimmered despite its dark color. It looked like clothing made from the finest fabric.
"Is that what you originally look like?"
"...Could you not pretend to know me in the inner world?"
What was that supposed to mean? Even to Encrid, it was fascinating that he could recognize her face even when she wasn't a panther. But then again, with that black hair and those blue eyes, wouldn't anyone recognize her? Since she told him not to pretend to know her, he did just that. It was a dream, so he ignored her.
But isn't this my dream?
He did think the problem lay with the person who had popped out of a corner of his own mind.
Soon, the pack of white lions began to charge. Ten white lions swung their claws and scimitars, but what started as a bloody clash eventually turned into a dance. Come to think of it, he hadn't asked her how she learned the Valen-style Mercenary Sword. At that moment, even that didn't seem important.
Rather...
She wanted to die, yet suddenly she seems to cling so desperately to life.
She was a strange beastman. Even her appearance was unusual. She didn't look like a normal beastman at all.
A dream was a dream, and work was work. Lions had appeared, but the dream, which was closer to a nonsensical vision, quickly faded and vanished.
Opening his eyes, Encrid sat up and stared at the ceiling of his barracks. Since it was summer, the outside was already bright even though it was early dawn.
Now, what should he do?
He would start with the Isolation Technique.
After that, swordsmanship training, with some time carved out in between to strengthen his concentration. He didn't skip the Flicking Sword Style and the Five Senses Training either.
Hadn't Sachsen said so?
"Training is something you do every day. Especially sensory training, as it builds up day by day, so do not skip it."
Somehow, that was similar to Audin's philosophy. Wasn't the Isolation Technique based on the same principle?
"Brother, skipping a day and doing twice as much the next day doesn't work. That only ruins your body. You must do it every day. Every day, every day, every day, every day. Did you hear me, Brother?"
He had emphasized those words so much that they were practically engraved in Encrid's ears.
Not that the daily training was painful. Encrid, too, accepted it as a matter of course. Thus began another day of reviewing, practicing, and refining what he possessed.
No matter what had happened yesterday, while Encrid spent his day in the same manner, Marcus—the ruler of the territory who had admired Encrid the previous night—was currently confirming just how thick-skinned the bastard who had pocketed the Black Sword's gold coins truly was. In a way, this fellow was also a subject of admiration.
*
Dunchabel had spilled everything she knew. It was the same even after she was locked in the dungeon.
"Go to the Border Guard and cause a decent ruckus. That was the order. Me? I'm practically a mercenary. I don't know how this whole thing started. But it's certain they have ties with someone inside the territory."
At the beastman's words, Marcus didn't even ask who it was. Instead, he summoned the noble who had pocketed the bribe to the dungeon. The noble descended into the prison with his guards, and when asked if he knew anything, this was his response:
"I know nothing of this."
The bastard frowned briefly, then spoke again.
"You filthy beastman, speak honestly. Are you really with the Black Sword? Are you actually going to believe the nonsense of a mercenary who moves for a few gold coins?"
He even had the audacity to get angry. Marcus found the words of the gold-pocketing bastard, spoken right in front of the beastman, utterly absurd. Can I really not just slice this guy to pieces?
Marcus averted his gaze from the noble entirely. He felt that if he kept looking, he might actually kill him on the spot. Not that he intended to let him off the hook. How could he leave someone who was causing such a mess untouched?
I can't just execute him in the territory.
He was still a noble. If such an incident occurred within the Border Guard, even if it was swept under the rug for now, it would highly likely cause trouble later. No matter how they covered it up.
It might become a weakness when I operate in the capital. No, it definitely will.
Considering his future plans, that was unacceptable.
Then what should I do?
Because of his nickname, "Warmonger," people often viewed him as someone ignorant of political strife and conspiracies, but that was far from the truth. To be a noble in the capital—especially one who maintained power—political maneuvering was essential. Marcus, too, was a politician, meaning he possessed a talent for stabbing people in the back.
Marcus made up his mind, and after some deliberation, reached a conclusion. Since he couldn't deal with him here, why not send him out for now, but attach that fellow who always brought back results far exceeding expectations whenever given a task?
If I just send them together, I feel like he'll somehow handle it on his own.
He was thinking of Encrid.
Marcus hadn't even sent him on patrol. He had merely left him in the barracks, yet Encrid had gone ahead and sliced up the Black Sword elites, beaten a Manticore to a bloody pulp, and left the cultist who came with them missing a head. That was just last night.
What if I just send him along?
And if nothing happened? Then he could just leave it at that.
For now, I'll send him under that pretext.
The Black Sword bastards had played their tricks, after all. He couldn't just let that slide either.
With schemes brewing in his heart, Marcus spoke with a straight, upright tone.
"Martai has organized an army."
This was the truth. In fact, the son of a bitch who called himself a general in the mercenary territory was preparing for war with the Border Guard. For now, only a few quick-eared individuals knew, but rumors of an impending territory war would spread like wildfire soon enough.
"And we have no reinforcements to expect."
As he spoke, Marcus took a step to the side.
Whoosh.
Since they were underground, the light from the torch mounted on the wall illuminated half of his face, casting the other half into deeper shadow. His expression made him look like a man agonizing over the safety of his territory.
Martai held a clear military advantage. Marcus knew it, and so did the noble. It was precisely because the noble knew this that he was spouting nonsense about bringing in the Black Sword. It was indeed a matter worthy of agony for a commander and representative of the territory.
"What if we hire them as mercenaries?"
Although he didn't specify who "them" referred to, the noble's ears perked up.
They couldn't openly acknowledge the Black Sword as allies. But didn't that bandit group also take on mercenary work? Thus, Marcus was suggesting they hire them discreetly for this matter.
The noble, Baronet Vansento, who had pocketed the Black Sword's money, tried his best not to show his excitement, keeping his expression carefully blank.
Hearing the words he had been waiting for, Vansento almost spoke immediately but swallowed his words to avoid appearing too eager. He had thought everything was ruined after the failed raid, but apparently not. Had this actually made Marcus anxious? Perhaps.
If we hire them as mercenaries first, and then let them inside later...
Vansento, who had saved his own life as a child through sheer quick-wittedness, had now grown into an adult and grasped power. The sweet taste of authority had rotted his brain. He failed to grasp the reality of the situation. The skill of the guard sent by the Black Sword standing beside him also played a part in his delusion.
"The captured bitch is a beastman named Dunchabel. Dealing with her wouldn't be hard, but the claim that he stopped a ten-man raid alone must be a lie. Even I would take some time against those ten, yet he stopped them alone without even preparing for a night raid? The entire Mad Platoon must have moved. As for the Manticore? I don't know about that. Wouldn't it be better to suspect they're just spreading false rumors?"
Because the Gilpin Guild had immediately hidden and pocketed the Manticore's corpse, only rumors remained. High-grade monsters had highly valuable corpses. Krais had simply hidden it inside the guild with plans to butcher and sell it, but it was perfect for causing misunderstandings.
Manticore, my foot. They're playing tricks.
It was a common strategy used before a war. Bluffing—a trick played because they knew fighting would disadvantage them. It had to be Marcus's scheme. Using the raid as an opportunity to blow the whole thing out of proportion. That was likely why he was hyping up that fellow named Encrid.
Vansento didn't even bother to properly investigate the situation. The guard sent by the Black Sword was the same. They knew that Encrid had changed, and they knew his platoon members were quite capable, but...
If we clash properly.
It wasn't the strong who survived; it was the survivors who were strong. The guard might not have been confident in winning a fair fight, but he was confident in his ability to kill. He was arrogant.
Vansento was already painting a rosy future. These delusions stiffened their minds and narrowed their vision. Recalling those thoughts, Vansento, instead of giving a straight answer, turned his eyes toward Dunchabel and said,
"She doesn't seem to be a particularly famous mercenary."
Without an epithet, mercenaries were usually treated as such.
"Execute her. When would be a good time to depart?"
Looking at Vansento, Marcus wondered how on earth this bastard had reached his current position. Then again, this was the downside of the frontier. There was a lack of talent. It was rare. Though, considering that, the barracks currently seemed to be overflowing with talent.
"Tomorrow would be best. Before Martai marches."
Marcus offered the excuse. Vansento's face lit up with satisfaction. Marcus was also internally satisfied, though he maintained a solemn expression on the outside.
The remaining beastman, Dunchabel, was left silently buried in the darkness.
"We will carry out the execution later, not now."
A brief postponement of her death was all she had gained.
*
It started like this.
"I heard Martai made some ridiculous demands. Have you heard? I wonder if the capital should send reinforcements."
It was Vengeance. Apparently off-duty today, he had dropped by to see Encrid and casually brought it up.
Hearing this from the side, Krais's mouth ran wild.
"Reinforcements? No way, they can't come. No, they won't come. Why? Do I really need to explain this for you to get it? Fine, I'll tell you. A massive war against monsters has broken out in the south. It would be fine if it were just monsters, but Richenstetten, the strongest nation in the south bordering us, has quietly slipped its hand in. In many ways, the fate of the country is on the line. Dealing with the Demon Realm's monster hordes is already overwhelming, and now Richenstetten is involved. In contrast, the Border Guard has already proven its military might and bought time by blocking Azpen. If it's an internal conflict rather than Azpen, there's no reason for the capital to step in. Even if another group gets involved here, we have Viscount Vantra and Count Molsen to the west. Normally, requesting aid from those two noble armies would be the best option, but well, I doubt it'll work. Vantra is practically Count Molsen's hunting dog, and Count Molsen is famous for never moving unless there's profit in it."
Encrid was once again amazed by Krais's ability to find out such things just sitting around. More than anything, he was amazed by his mouth, which never stopped talking.
"Doesn't your throat hurt?"
"Huh? This is nothing. At one point, I played five roles by myself in a puppet show."
That was indeed a remarkable talent. Leading a play while mimicking five different people by oneself couldn't have been easy. Knowing Krais, he wouldn't have done it half-heartedly either. After all, he was a guy who would mortgage his soul if it meant earning some Krona.
"Besides, do you know how many peddlers travel back and forth through this territory? The Border Guard is a fortress territory, but due to its unique characteristics, it's also the best trading territory in northern Naurilia. If you just keep your ears open, the words will come to you. Though that's both the problem and the core of this matter."
Krais spoke, cupping a hand behind his ear. His tone carried an air of obviousness, but how could this be considered obvious?
Usually, people who predicted the future were called one of two things: fortune-tellers or swindlers. Krais was neither. He simply possessed a natural eye for reading the trends of the times.
"On top of that, the Black Sword bastards have arrived, cultists have appeared, and things are looking bad in many ways. You aren't thinking of leaving the Border Guard to transfer to another territory, are you, Captain?"
Encrid completely ignored the last question. Even if he were to leave, what about the people remaining?
"Are you actually serious? Instead of thinking about defending the territory!"
Vengeance bellowed in anger. Krais wasn't being serious either. Encrid knew that.
"Yes, yes, of course we must defend it."
"If you've eaten, do your job, Big-Eyes."
Encrid sided with Vengeance.
"In times like this, I want to react like Rem. Siding with someone else right now? I think I'm a bit hurt. Is that right? Is that how it's going to be?"
Perhaps his puppet show experience wasn't for nothing, as his imitation was quite convincing. He slouched, stood on one leg, and pouted his lips, looking the part.
"Oh? It seems Big-Eyes wants an axe planted on his crown instead of a flower. Is that it?"
The only problem was that Rem was currently stepping out right in front of the barracks.
"...That's not it."
"Looks like Venzon is here again. Bored?"
Rem added, casually renaming Vengeance. Vengeance didn't even pretend to hear him.
It was at that moment.
"Fiancé, you are summoned."
The Elf Company Commander spoke from just outside the boundary of the training ground. Her upper body and face were peeking over the short fence. For some reason, he was seeing her face more often than a messenger's lately. It was a summons from the Battalion Commander, so why was a company commander-level officer acting as the messenger?
"I volunteered because I wanted to see you."
"...Is that so?"
Encrid, having grown accustomed to elven humor, could now pass this off without even cracking a smile.
"Big-Eyes, looks like you need some training too. Go on ahead, Captain. Meanwhile, I'll turn this bastard into a fine special-grade soldier."
From behind, Rem handed down what sounded like a death sentence to Krais.
"Let's go together! Together! Captain! Captain!"
Encrid turned away, praying for Krais's soul. Rem seemed frustrated in many ways lately, so letting off steam like that once in a while was probably important.
Squeeeal!
Soon, a sound like a pig being slaughtered echoed from behind, but Encrid ignored it.
"Murder within the unit is strictly prohibited," the Elf Company Commander said, glancing back.
"He won't kill him," Encrid replied.
The Elf Company Commander thought for a moment before speaking.
"I'm sure they'll handle it well."
Her tone was somehow filled with trust.
As soon as he entered the Battalion Commander's office, Marcus spoke abruptly.
"I have a mission for you. I'd like you to go as part of an embassy."
It was before Encrid could even offer a military salute. His tone was incredibly urgent.
"An embassy?"
"Ah, we have to hire mercenaries, don't we? So."
Embassy and mercenaries—weren't those words that didn't go together? It also sounded as if the battle with Martai was truly right around the corner. But was that really a threat?
"Go as an embassy to the Black Sword Bandits. Ah, not as the actual envoy, but as an escort."
An even more mismatched combination of words than embassy and mercenaries had appeared. Envoy and bandits. And on top of that, an escort.
But why were the Battalion Commander's eyes sparkling so intensely it was almost burdensome? They were filled with some kind of anticipation. His eyes shone as if stars had been stuffed into them.
Encrid found it incredibly bizarre.