Chapter 21: Sparring and Review
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 21: Sparring and Review
Crack-boom!
Suddenly, lightning split the clear sky, and rain began to patter down.
“Tsk, ruined the mood.”
“Hmph.”
Rem and Ragna, who had been getting worked up, avoided each other's gaze and looked away.
With that, the fight was over.
The two of them headed toward the barracks to escape the downpour. It had been perfectly clear just moments ago, and now a sudden deluge. The weather was acting possessed.
It was the end of autumn—hardly the season for sudden showers. The sky at this time of year was usually stingy with rain. A shower without a single dark cloud in sight was exceptionally rare.
“Rain, all of a sudden,” Krais said, looking up at the lightning and the rain falling from the blue sky.
Encrid looked up as well, reflecting on what had happened while he was away. The rumors of a curse, as expected, were utter bullshit.
“Are they going to call this rain a curse too?”
“They might. Anyway, over the last three days, Bo tripped and broke his nose, and Jack broke his arm. On top of that, Rotten got bitten by a snake.”
All three were scouts.
Bo was a soldier agile enough to do backflips, but since he’d tried such stunts while wearing armor, he was lucky to have only broken his nose. Jack was a foul-mouthed soldier who was overly confident in his spear skills; he supposedly broke his arm during a sparring match, but Encrid would bet money that his opponent had snapped it on purpose. Lastly, Rotten was far too careless for a scout. It wasn't the season for snakes to be active, but there were areas in this grassland that were particularly infested with them.
Every single incident was entirely predictable.
“And besides those three, someone burned their hand on a pot,” Big-Eyes added, sounding excited.
If he truly believed it was a curse, there was no way he would speak of it so lightly. To him, it was just juicy gossip.
“And there was also news that the medical tent burned down. Ah, Squad Leader, you were there, weren't you? Didn't you hear anything?”
Are they calling the tent burning down a curse too?
“Yeah. It did. It burned well.”
Krais, who was about to enter the barracks, whipped his head around.
“You saw it yourself? Did the fire really just erupt out of nowhere? I heard rumors that a spy snuck in.”
No, it didn't.
I did it.
It was Encrid who had set the fire. And as for a spy—there had been an ambush, but it was highly doubtful whether the attacker was an enemy soldier. He still didn't know Krang's true identity, but the man seemed to be at least the bastard son of a noble. Wouldn't that assassin be from their own side?
As for the curse, there was no point in even discussing it. Command would crack down on the rumors soon enough. No commander would welcome such talk spreading through the ranks.
“Well? Did you see anything?” Big-Eyes urged.
Encrid stared into those large eyes for a moment, lost in thought. Krais's mouth was far too loose to entrust with the truth. Even if he weren't a gossip, there was no reason to tell him anyway. Encrid had decided to keep his mouth shut, so that was what he would do.
“The tent I was in burned down.”
“Huh?”
“I guess you didn't know?”
“Not at all. So it wasn't an enemy attack? Did it really just catch fire out of nowhere?”
“The night watchman dozed off, and the wind knocked over a torch stand. There happened to be an oil canister nearby to refill the torches. The fallen stand set the tent on fire, and—whoosh.”
Encrid clenched and opened his fist, mimicking the spreading flames with his hand.
“So it was nothing special.”
“Doesn't it occur to you that I almost died?”
“Well, you're standing right here in one piece, aren't you?”
Encrid couldn't tell if the man was actually worried or not.
“If you aren't alive and well, are you a ghost, Squad Leader?” Rem chimed in from behind, snickering.
Was this bastard seriously calling that a joke?
“The Lord said, ‘Let the wraiths rest in peace.’”
The Devout Squad Member performed a verbal exorcism. Encrid thought that if he really were a ghost, those would be very uncomfortable words to hear.
“Only my hair got singed a bit.”
The tips of his bangs had been scorched, so he had trimmed them. The hair, roughly hacked off with a knife, was visibly unkempt.
“Your hair is black anyway, so you can't even tell it burned,” Rem said, still snickering.
“Is your hair a pile of ashes, then?”
Rem's hair was gray.
“Ah, how did you know? My head is indeed a pile of ashes.”
Rem kept at it, even though he was the only one laughing in the barracks.
Perhaps it really was just a passing shower, for the rain stopped as quickly as it had started. Their banter was brief. Once the rain ceased, Krais said he had business to attend to and left.
Encrid lay down in his spot and fell asleep to the background noise of raindrops pattering off the edge of the tent. It was a sweet nap. When he woke up after a good rest, his headache was completely gone. His fatigue had vanished as well.
Encrid got up and twisted his torso from side to side. He felt no pain in his flank at all.
Good. He felt refreshed.
There was no one else in the barracks. Straining his ears, he could hear people passing by outside and the grumbling voice of a soldier from the neighboring tent.
“What kind of bullshit rain starts and stops like this?”
Encrid pushed open the tent flap and stepped outside. The squad members were scattered in front of the barracks, enjoying their personal maintenance time. It was only natural that Sachsen and Krais were nowhere to be seen. The rest were in their usual spots.
Among them, he approached Rem, who was doodling something on the wet ground.
“You look like you have nothing to do.”
“Do I? You're right. I was just bored, trying to decide whose skull I should crack open.”
Picking fights with the surrounding squad members with his nasty tongue was one of Rem's specialties. And if his target fought back, beating them half to death was one of his hobbies. Though he had toned it down since Encrid's arrival, he hadn't completely abandoned the habit.
“Then spar with me.”
“Spar?”
“Yeah. Sparring.”
Rem nodded readily. It wasn't as if this was the first or second time. Encrid's requests for sparring were a daily routine.
“Fine by me.”
The two headed to the empty clearing behind the barracks. Thanks to the erratic weather, there was no one around. Even if there were, they wouldn't have cared.
Encrid stood facing Rem, keeping a distance of ten paces. Rem grinned, rolling his wrists in circles. With every movement, his axe blade—which he sharpened at every opportunity—reflected the dry sunlight.
Though the rain had been starting and stopping, the sky was now perfectly clear. Instead of dry air, a damp breeze blew, and the scent of earth filled Encrid's nose. Yet the ground wasn't muddy; it was damp, but firm enough that his feet didn't sink. Moderate clouds blocked the sun, so it wasn't blinding either.
“Good day for a fight.”
“Is it?”
Encrid replied and awakened the Beast's Heart.
Through the repeating days, he had strived not to waste a single moment. While that included pushing his body to its limits and training his hearing, it also involved using his brain.
The Valen-style Mercenary Sword won't work.
He knew this because he had fought Rem countless times while learning how to thrust. Against Rem, the Valen-style Mercenary Sword was useless.
What should he do then?
His own weapon, the intimidation radiating from his opponent, and his accumulated experience—keeping all of this in mind, what kind of attack would land a clean hit? How could he create an opening?
It was time to test the answer to his persistent contemplation.
Slide.
Rem stepped forward. There was no hesitation in his firm stride. His confidence was palpable.
“Do I have to go first?”
Instead of answering, Encrid read his opponent's breathing.
Inhale, exhale.
Rem's breathing was long and slow. Right in the middle of that long exhalation, Encrid closed the distance in an instant. Pushing off with his back foot, he lunged forward.
Whoosh!
He swung the sword in his hand, slashing horizontally. Rem bent his waist backward, dodging as if lying down. It was a feat possible only because he had perfectly predicted the trajectory of the slash. Even in that half-reclined posture, Rem's eyes never left Encrid.
Seeing this, Encrid reflexively pulled his sword back to block his front.
Whoosh.
Clang!
Before he knew it, the axe flew in and struck his blade. The impact wasn't heavy. No matter how strong Rem was, it was still an axe swung from a reclined position. Yet, from that very position...
Whoosh, whoosh!
The axe flew at him repeatedly.
Clang! Clang! Clank!
Gripping his sword tightly with both hands, Encrid blocked again and again. He wanted to pause even for a split second to recover his stance and counterattack, but Rem did not stop. Encrid felt as if he were standing beneath a rapidly falling guillotine.
The shower of axe strikes finally ended as Rem fully stood back up. A brief opening appeared, but Encrid did not retreat. Nor did he correct his stance.
Rem, now upright, pulled his arm back. Seeing this, instead of backing away to catch his breath, Encrid...
Step!
...took a step forward and unleashed the thrust he had practiced countless times. He extended his blade directly from his defensive stance, driven by the absolute determination to pierce his target.
Everything happened in a flash.
He thrust forward, and the moment his blade was about to pierce Rem's waist, the blue sky and Rem's face blurred past Encrid's vision in a dizzying spin.
Huh?
Rem's face appeared upside down in Encrid's vision.
Whoosh.
The moment Encrid thrust, Rem had swept his ankle. It was a split-second decision. Thanks to that, the tip of the sword sliced through empty air. Instead of swinging his axe, Rem let go of it, grabbed Encrid by the collar, and threw him aside.
“Ugh!”
Rolling to the side, Encrid immediately realized how he had been defeated. It was a trick. He had been timing his move to the moment Rem pulled the axe back, and Rem had turned that very expectation against him.
“Whew.”
Splayed out on the ground, Encrid shook his head. It was monstrous strength. Encrid believed he was second to none when it came to raw power, but to fling a grown man with one hand... Even if he was relatively light without his gear, "monstrous" was the only fitting term.
Sitting up, he looked at Rem. The man wore a strange expression. Normally, Rem grinned constantly during sparring. Not now. His lips were set in a straight, firm line.
“Tsk, did you eat something good behind my back?” Rem asked, his face serious.
Thinking about it, this reaction was only natural. Rem would have no memory of helping him train his thrusts. After all, when Encrid finally escaped that first "today," he had only made Rem do kitchen duty.
“I've thought this before, but somehow your skills have shot up. Especially that thrust—it was good. Not bad at all.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. And you know I don't do empty flattery.”
“As if.”
“I'm serious.”
“Alright. Then let's review.”
“...You really are consistent, Squad Leader. How is it that you never change?”
Reviewing after sparring. This, too, was a daily routine. No matter how little there was to gain, Encrid would always pester his sparring partners. It was all to learn, master, and train even the smallest detail.
Often, the opponent had nothing left to say. After all, the other person had to show at least some improvement for there to be anything worth critiquing. That was how it had been until now. That was why Rem used to say things like, "Hey, try building up some grit," after their matches.
Were those words meaningless? No. Rem knew the end that awaited those without talent. That was why he had told Encrid what he needed to survive. It was for the same reason he had passed down the Beast's Heart.
But what about now? Things had changed drastically. The fact that Rem suddenly had so much to say about this sparring match was proof of that.
“First off, it was way too obvious that you were waiting for my axe swing. Even if I'm hard to fool, shouldn't you at least make an effort to trick me?” Rem began.
Encrid nodded, listening with absolute attentiveness. Rem smirked at the sight. Getting straight to the core and leaving the minor details for later—that was Rem's style. Encrid listened intently to every single word.
*
There were no battles for three days, during which Encrid sparred with Rem three more times.
“You should train your lower body more. Your balance is strangely off.”
Though he usually spouted nonsense, Rem had a knack for piercing straight to the heart of the matter. Encrid turned those words over in his mind, chewing on them. Afterward, he threw himself into training once more.
He did so even when everyone else was resting. During personal maintenance time, everyone had their own way of spending it. Some wrote letters. Others focused entirely on resting. Except for eating and sleeping, Encrid poured everything he had into practice.
Anyone watching might have called him obsessive, but the man himself was the picture of serenity. He felt an immense sense of fulfillment from his daily improvement. Thanks to that, he felt no misery even during physical training that grew increasingly painful.
“What a relentless bastard. He just got back from the medical tent and he's already at it again.”
“He was quiet for a bit lately, but he's fired up again.”
“If I trained like that, I'd have at least reached the bottom tier of knighthood by now.”
“Huh? Why are you spewing shit?”
He pushed his body, focusing on his hearing. When his muscles screamed in agony, focusing on his hearing helped the pain fade away. The trivial chatter of two soldiers from another tent drifted into Encrid's ears. They were from the 3rd Squad—part of the same platoon, but there was a sense of distance between them.
He tried pushing his hearing even further. Hearing the rustle of fabric behind him, he tried to guess the movement. He also tried to identify people by the sound of their footsteps. Though he was wrong half the time, he could still recognize familiar footsteps.
Light and fast, yet stepping on the dirt with a cheerful rhythm.
Big-Eyes.
He was right.
“Training again? You're relentless. Absolutely relentless,” Krais said, approaching.
Encrid ignored him. As he repeated half-squats, his legs began to tremble. Sweat dripped down his scalp, pooling at the tips of his eyebrows. The erratic sky had settled back to normal, returning to its usual weather with a dry, crisp wind.
Drenching oneself in sweat on a day like this probably didn't look normal. Especially since this was a battlefield. Training in a place where a fight could break out at any moment seemed absurd. Even so, everyone just accepted it. It wasn't as if Encrid had only started doing this yesterday. This was their normal.
“Doesn't that get tiring? I'm amazed you do that every single day,” Krais said, plonking himself down nearby and chewing on a piece of flat jerky.
A drop of sweat rolled down Encrid's forehead, slid past the tip of his nose, and dripped onto the ground. A heavy ache throbbed in his thighs. His muscles quivered, and a wave of nausea washed over him.
He had reached his limit.
Drenched in sweat, Encrid collapsed to the ground. Closing his eyes as he sat, a cool breeze swept over his damp forehead and ears.
Today's training, complete.
As he enjoyed the breeze, he heard firm, heavy footsteps approaching. The footsteps stopped right behind him.
“Still working hard, I see.”
He tilted his head back to look at the newcomer. A long shadow blocked the sun, draping over Encrid's face. Though the backlighting made it hard to see clearly, he could tell it was a heavily bearded man.
“Can we talk?”
It was the 4th Platoon Leader.