Chapter 194: Taking Care of It (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 194: Taking Care of It (2)
"Isn't this a bit much, Captain? Seriously."
Krais spoke through a face bruised a deep, sickly purple and heavily swollen. Encrid didn't look up as he tugged off his boots.
"Were your eyes always that blue? That bastard Rem certainly has a knack for this. It’s practically a disguise; I almost didn't recognize you."
Krais’s eyes were so puffed up that his pupils were barely visible, and his cheeks were bloated from whatever beating he had endured. Rem surely hadn't thrashed him with malicious intent, but he had definitely gone too far. Traces of dried blood clung to Krais’s nostrils like smeared red paint, the remnants of a heavy nosebleed.
Krais snorted, swallowed hard, and let out a long, weary sigh.
"Don't you think Rem has been a bit much lately?"
If he meant "irritable," Encrid had to agree. Rem seemed sharper, more on edge than usual. He was quick to brandish his axe over slights he would have ignored in the past.
For instance:
"Keep your eyes straight when you walk. It makes me want to split your skull open with my axe."
He would suddenly bark this at a soldier from a neighboring unit who just happened to glance his way. Sparks flew between him and Ragna with increasing frequency as well.
"Hey, picky eater. Do you want your skull cracked?" Rem would provoke.
Ragna would fire back without hesitation: "Step outside. I'll split your head open and dip it in honey."
Ragna would accept the challenge, and a brutal sparring match would follow immediately.
Encrid’s reaction was different now. In the past, he would have rushed to intervene, but now he simply observed. There was much to learn from their clashes. If he watched closely enough, the two of them would eventually end the fight on their own.
Was this what they called growing up? Had they finally moved past being childish brats who picked fights at the slightest provocation?
"Whew, nothing like a good sweat. Care for a round?"
After they finished their bout, it would be Encrid's turn. He would digest what he had learned from watching them, putting his own training into practice. It was a truly enjoyable time. Unlike before, Encrid fought with greater intensity, and Rem was deadly serious.
"Footwork!" Rem would bark if Encrid’s feet were a fraction too slow.
"Where are you looking?!"
Sometimes, Rem would vanish as if by magic. It wasn't a spell, but a feat achieved through sheer physical prowess. Even if Encrid lost track of him with his eyes, he barely managed to track him with his senses.
Whoosh.
He swung his blade.
Clang!
Steel met axe.
Their seriousness was a good sign, and Encrid always felt refreshed after sparring. But why were they so on edge? The bickering between Rem and Ragna was daily routine, but the worst of it was Rem's relationship with Sachsen. To Encrid, it seemed utterly pointless, but perhaps it meant something different to them.
Once, Rem, who was heading out, and Sachsen, who was coming in, met at the doorway. Neither budged. Rem slowly began to stroke the handle of his axe, while Sachsen let his arms hang loose, ready.
Even Encrid couldn't just stand by and watch that.
That was close.
How had he managed to throw himself between them in the past? He had to shove his way through a murderous atmosphere—something akin to the 'Intimidation' that Associate Knight Aisia exerted—to stop them.
"Enough."
At the sound of Encrid’s voice, Sachsen cleared his throat softly and stepped aside. Rem trudged out without a word or a smile.
Edgy. So edgy.
Of course, Rem wasn't the only one. Ragna carried a similar vibe, and Sachsen was the same. At least Audin was his usual self.
Rem had gone out, muttering about a patrol and hoping he'd run into a passing manticore. Audin had left to lead evening prayers and deliver a sermon to soldiers from other units. There was a group of deeply devout soldiers among whom Audin was highly revered. Sachsen, as always, was absent, and Ragna was sleeping in a corner of his cot. It was their usual routine.
Encrid scanned the barracks before finally answering Krais.
"I suppose so."
It was his confirmation that Rem was indeed irritable. Thinking about it, the man really had been volatile lately.
"Ugh, anyway, what did the Battalion Commander want you for?"
Satisfied that Encrid had agreed with him, Krais didn't waste any more breath on Rem's mood. What was the point of complaining about a lunatic? Ignoring him was the only way to stay sane.
"Escorting the mercenary contract delegation from the Black Sword Bandits."
At the blunt reply, Krais's eyes widened. As they did, his pupils became visible through the swollen, blue flesh. It looked incredibly painful, but Krais paid the discomfort no mind. Or rather, the gravity of the news made him forget the pain.
"You're going to do it, right, Knight?" Krais asked, his expression turning grim.
Encrid didn't know why he was suddenly being asked that, but he nodded. The answer to such a question was always set in stone. He understood why Krais was double-checking, though.
The dream of becoming a knight was, after all, utterly absurd. Though he had patched and stitched that dream back together so it no longer felt like the shattered, torn-up mess it once was... it was still by no means an easy path.
Did Krais think Encrid didn't know that? Krais hadn't asked to mock his captain or to give him a reality check. Encrid was a madman. If he said he would do something, he did it. If he set out to save someone, he saved them. If he set out to fight, he fought.
He's definitely not normal.
Living like that usually led to an early grave. It was a miracle for someone like him to make it past twenty, yet how old was the captain this year? Thirty-one? It was a wonder he had survived this long.
In any case, that was the kind of man he was. And that man wanted to become a knight. Knowing Encrid wasn't one to give up, Krais had done some research on the process of joining the kingdom's knighthood.
What kind of people usually joined? Who could become a Squire, the rank before Associate Knight? Most were the children of nobles or associates of great merchant guilds. If they lacked both power and wealth, they were at least royalty from a cadet branch.
What if someone was neither a noble nor well-born? Occasionally—very, very rarely—geniuses with absurd talent were born. Such individuals could win the kingdom's recognition purely through skill. Of course, it required a fair bit of luck as well.
But is that common?
Absolutely not. Those bastards called geniuses in the provinces? Once they faced those born into prestigious families who had received systematic training since childhood, they were usually beaten to a pulp. The capital held every advantage. The level of instruction, the morale, the sparring partners—everything was superior. Since the skilled gathered in the capital, talent naturally gravitated there and flourished.
A true genius. In other words, unless one was a monster who could stand entirely on their own strength, it was an incredibly daunting task. For those without a grand family background, the path of a knight was too grueling, too painful. It was a path of endless adversity.
Conversely, assuming a genius did exist, what was required to become a knight? Skill? Skill was a given.
"You didn't turn it down, did you?"
"Hmm?"
"The mission. You didn't reject it, right? You have to do it. Absolutely, without fail."
What was needed besides skill was achievements—proof of having dedicated oneself to the country. Achievements translated into honor, and honor served as proof of one's worth. For an outsider—especially a rough former mercenary—to join the knighthood, Krais believed that achievements had to come first.
Therefore, if he truly wanted to become a knight...
"Tell me. Did you reject it? Surely not?"
The mission the Battalion Commander mentioned might not be appealing to Encrid. Even Krais could see that. Escorting a delegation? And who was the delegate? Krais's sharp mind quickly pieced together the context.
The one going was obvious: that half-wit noble bastard and his weird-eyed guard. Those two would be the core. And the Battalion Commander was replacing what should have been a platoon-sized escort with Encrid's raw martial power.
Why? Why keep Encrid by that noble's side?
There's an ulterior motive.
It was glaringly obvious. Control. Either to have him killed or to put him in a situation close to it. The only problem would be if the noble caught on and tucked his tail.
So that's why.
Marcus was a fox. A warmonger? Yeah, right. To Krais, the Battalion Commander was a sly fox among foxes, even if he looked like he’d be best friends with a mountain bandit.
The battlefield of Azpen, the Battle of Greenpearl—since his exploits there, Encrid had slain a thousand gnolls. He had cut down a colony leader and killed cultists. Just last night, he had defeated ten skilled fighters from the Black Sword. Audin had also killed a manticore. In the process, Krais had pocketed the manticore's corpse, and the higher-ups hadn't said a word. He had expected them to demand a cut.
But the Battalion Commander had buried everything, starting with the gnolls. Instead of announcing the feats, he had quietly swept them under the rug. He let those who wanted to believe the rumors do so, and let the rest spread unchecked.
Why? Because he disliked Encrid? Not a chance.
The reason one bends their knees and crouches low... is to leap higher.
Concealing and deceiving. There was only one thing being hidden: the true strength of Encrid and the Mad Independent Platoon.
Krais's mind spun rapidly. Anyone else might have had steam coming out of their ears, but this was easy for him. He had navigated far more complex situations just to survive in the past. Connecting the dots, the answer emerged.
What drove the battlefields of the continent today? The ones who shattered strategy and tactics were the breed known as 'Knights.' Wasn't the term 'Knight-class' coined because there were beings among other races who were referred to similarly? A small, elite force of powerful warriors had long been the core of strategic warfare.
Of course, no commander was foolish enough to rely solely on a single knight in a large-scale battle. But in the previous battle against Azpen, hadn't the victory of the Border Guard Standing Army—which was ultimately just a skirmish—shifted the entire tide of the war?
It's war.
This was preparation for war. Hiding their strength would make them a lethal hidden trump card.
And this is the first move.
The swelling in Krais's eyes seemed to vanish as they sparkled with realization. At least, that was how it looked to Encrid.
Why are his eyes sparkling so uselessly? They gleamed even brighter than the Battalion Commander's had earlier.
"If you had turned it down..."
Turned it down? As if.
"I said I'd do it."
"Wow, ah, thank goodness. This is really important right now. Because—"
"I know."
"No, there's more to it than meets the eye. This escort mission isn't just an escort."
"It's basically asking me to kill that guy."
Krais blinked. His bruised eyes seemed to say: Ah, right. He's not an idiot.
"Your eyes look insolent."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind."
He couldn't bring himself to beat up someone who had already been thrashed like this. Encrid let it slide.
"Achievements. A step toward becoming a knight. I know."
That was why it was important. Marcus was more influential and held a higher position than he let on. Although the delegation mission wasn't directly tied to earning achievements, Encrid knew this matter wouldn't end simply. He didn't know this through logic, but through pure intuition.
Ever since his senses had sharpened, he would occasionally get a sharp, prodding intuition. This was one of those times.
I can't just let this go.
So there was no reason to refuse.
"Whew, I was worried you might have turned it down, thinking it would interfere with your training. You're absolutely right. Achievements. Right now, you need to secure those above all else. They're more important than skill. Honestly, there are probably bastards in the knighthoods who got in purely on paper achievements. No matter how formidable the Red Cloak Knights are, they can't be entirely free from the influence of power."
It was a cynical remark, but Encrid secretly agreed.
"So, I've decided to take two people with me."
If there was an opportunity to kill, would he? Or would he act according to the situation? How far ahead had Marcus planned? And what would Encrid's choice be? He had accepted the mission. What followed would change depending on his choices.
"Two? Who?" Krais asked.
"Not you."
Encrid lightly tapped Big-Eyes' head and turned away. Esther would probably follow him even if he didn't ask.
"Ah, count me out. I'm busy," Finn declined first.
Would he need a ranger for this? Probably not. A good ranger was always an excellent companion, but this time, there wouldn't even be a need for a guide.
"I'm taking Rem and Ragna."
Their irritability had been weighing on his mind. It was best to separate Rem and Sachsen. Besides, as long as Rem and Ragna were by his side, they wouldn't cause any major trouble. At least Sachsen and Audin were relatively calm.
Nodding at the roster, Krais said, "So you've decided to slaughter them all."
"...Hmm?"
That wasn't Encrid's intention at all. A mission was a mission; officially, he planned to focus entirely on the escort.
"Taking Rem... whew. You'll have to keep him in check until you're out of the camp and away from prying eyes. And since you'll need to bury the bodies, I'll pack a folding shovel in your bag."
Encrid was about to deny it, but then he remembered thinking a few days ago that the noble bastard and Rem absolutely must not cross paths. Well, he would manage to stop them somehow. It wasn't as if Rem was completely unreasonable.
"So, when do you leave?"
"Tomorrow."
Krais tried to whistle, but failed because of his swollen lips. "That's fast."
Meanwhile, Encrid was wondering if he should bring a prisoner along as a guide. With Rem and Ragna by his side, there certainly wouldn't be any shortage of martial power.
Above all, Encrid looked down at his palms. He saw the calluses. His palms were hideously scarred and misshapen from tearing open and healing over and over again from swinging his sword. The fingerprints on his fingertips were so worn down they had practically disappeared in spots. He had used his fingertips a lot while training in the Flicking Sword Style.
Wanting a reward for one's efforts, wishing for some form of compensation... was only natural. After enduring so much, what did it feel like to finally reach out and grasp that hard-won reward?
Not bad, Encrid muttered out of habit.
A quiet confidence had welled up within him from everything he had built so far. And because he still did not rely on repeating today, the Ferryman was not in his thoughts. He was simply looking toward tomorrow once again.
The path he was walking was advancing. The destination was clearer than before, thanks to the signposts along the way. Naturally, he had no intention of ignoring achievements. He would not hesitate to stand at the vanguard of the battlefield.
He was no longer in those days when he had to rack his brain just to survive. Even when charging at the gnolls, even when standing before the Black Sword...
Thump.
It had been thrilling. Honestly, it had been incredibly fun. That moment of stepping forward instead of hiding behind others.
"I want to be a knight."
When he had first put his dream into words as a child, Encrid had dreamed of standing in front of someone. Of standing at the vanguard. Proving his strength there was a demonstration of skill unlike anything before.
At the root of his dream was a little boy who used to picture himself fighting on the battlefield. The boy born in a rural village had finally touched a piece of his dream, and he was still moving forward.