Chapter 218: Making Them Come to You, Not Going to Them
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 218: Making Them Come to You, Not Going to Them
To say he hadn't even considered it would be an understatement; he had zero expectations.
And beyond that, it was something he simply did not want.
Me, a battalion commander?
To be honest, just managing his current squad—including the chaotic Rem and the beastman Dunchabel—was already a hassle. More than that, he wanted to swing his sword just one more time. It was a primal urge, a singular desire.
His fingertips were finally brushing against a dream that had eluded him for a lifetime. Anyone in his position would be desperately reaching out, straining every fiber of their being to drag that dream closer. It was a moment to be drunk on desire, not burdened by responsibility.
But to oversee the entire territory?
He might welcome such a task someday, but not now. He felt it was ridiculous to even search for a justification. What would happen if he actually became the battalion commander?
Rem’s voice echoed vividly in his mind.
“Battalion commandeeer? Then I’ll be a company commander. Give me my men!”
She would grind dozens of soldiers into the dirt over and over again, granting them an "honorable discharge" only because they would all be too busy deserting to escape her. Come to think of it, leaving Dunchabel to Rem might have been a mistake. Not that he had any intention of looking after the beastman himself.
Therefore, his answer was already set. He did not want it. Not yet.
“I decline.”
His thoughts were long, but his cognitive speed was immense. There was no hesitation. He replied almost the instant the question was posed.
“I figured as much.”
Marcus nodded as if he had expected the rejection. He didn't seem to harbor any regrets, but he added a few words regardless.
“Let’s pretend I asked two more times, making it three proposals in total. With that in mind, feel free to let me know whenever you change your mind.”
“Understood,” Encrid replied, unfazed.
“Now, let’s hear your reason. I should at least know why you refused, shouldn't I?”
Marcus clasped his hands and rested his chin on them. It was a habitual pose Encrid had seen often. He didn't get the sense that Marcus was particularly curious, but he answered anyway. It was only proper to respond to a superior.
Standing straight before the table, Encrid spoke.
“The 1st Company Commander won't accept it.”
He meant there would be immediate internal backlash. The 1st Company Commander was the man closest to the promotion. Since the Border Guard Captain had taken charge of Martai, wasn't it only right to give the position to the next in line? Even if they suppressed him, having a subordinate harboring malice directly beneath him would be a disaster.
“You have some political insight, too,” Marcus noted, maintaining his pose. Feeling that one reason wasn't enough, he pressed further. “Any other reasons?”
“I have no need for the position of battalion commander.”
“...Saying you don't need it is quite refreshing. Especially since it doesn't sound like an excuse.”
Marcus relaxed his posture and leaned back in his chair. Only now did he seem genuinely intrigued. Encrid knew this man had a few sly snakes coiled inside his mind, but since that wasn't a problem, he spoke his mind freely.
When he said he didn't need it, he meant it. To become a knight, skill came first. Martial prowess was the priority; the qualities of a commander could come later. If his leadership skills ever became an issue, he would master them then. After all, hadn't he always learned by throwing his body into the fray, risking his life, and dying over and over again?
But right now, it wasn't necessary. Especially since he had once again felt the limits of his current skill.
No, rather than a lack of skill, it was a thirst.
From Zimmer’s thrust to everything that came before it, there was an abundance of techniques to master. He had also realized something from Marcus’s strategy: he still had a long, long way to go.
He wanted to walk that path. It was the path toward his faded dream, and that was why he wanted to push responsibility aside for now. It was a truth Encrid had only just realized himself. Sometimes, one only truly knows their own mind after digging deep into the soul.
“Because my swordsmanship is still lacking,” Encrid replied.
“If your skill is lacking, then most of the soldiers might as well go out and die,” Marcus retorted. Then, he lightly clapped his hands in understanding. “Well, it’s hard to force a Krona pouch into the hands of someone who says they don't want it.”
Marcus muttered to himself. Then, instead of dismissing him, he asked about the regional situation.
Encrid replied as if it were obvious. “The situation is only going to get worse, isn't it?”
Encrid spoke from intuition, but the problems were already surfacing. They weren't fully visible yet, as only a few days had passed since the battle ended. The conflict had ended in the blink of an eye, like a kernel of corn popping over a lightning flash.
They had expected a tedious siege, but they had shattered that expectation with a clever scheme—first by hiding Encrid, and second by opening the gates of Martai. Because of those actions, the enemy army and their commander lost morale and surrendered all at once. Had they fought with their full strength exposed from the start, they would have shed far more blood.
Marcus was well aware of the situation. As the territory grew and gained power, problems increased proportionally. Even so, help from the capital was unlikely. The board had shifted, yet the Border Guard had withdrawn the frontier garrison, weakening their own forces. Furthermore, they had provoked the Black Sword, and by swallowing Martai, they had positioned themselves as a threat to the neighboring nobles.
On a personal level, Encrid had also slaughtered cultists.
“That’s why I proposed the battalion commander position, you know.”
“What difference does it make if I take it?”
“Because it’s impressive when a commander is ridiculously strong,” Marcus said.
That seems separate from having to command the entire territory, though?
“And to be frank, the 1st Company Commander wouldn't even dare to complain,” Marcus added.
One only challenges someone when there is a realistic chance of winning. Encrid was an absolute monster. The 1st Company Commander rebelling? Not a chance. Even if he harbored discontent, he would have no choice but to comply outwardly.
Marcus believed this, but Encrid did not agree. Humans, by nature, feel the most twisted when they are stripped of something they believed was destined for them. Their perspectives differed, but it wasn't a problem. Encrid wouldn't accept, and Marcus didn't actually intend to force him.
Deep down, Marcus thought it would be far more interesting to give Encrid an even greater position later. Moreover, once one became a knight, territory would naturally follow.
Without realizing it, have I already come to believe that this fellow will become a knight?
Regardless of his inner thoughts, Marcus voiced his fallback plan.
“Then, at least take on the role of Training Company Commander.”
This was within Marcus’s sole discretion. Although the frontier garrison had left, it was not easy to simply increase the numbers of the Mad Company as an alternative.
“It would be best not to expect too much,” Marcus muttered.
Hadn't the Elf Company Commander said so? Hadn't he warned that Rem was an expert at "grilling" people? That nine out of ten who joined would likely desert? Hence, this was the next scheme Marcus had devised.
Give him a sense of belonging and status, along with justification and tasks.
Since Encrid got excited about training anyway, wouldn't teaching suit him? Thus, the new role of Training Company Commander was created.
“Yes, understood.”
Encrid accepted readily. It was unexpected for Marcus, but Encrid had been thinking along similar lines. What was the best way to ensure the safety of the territory? They needed to raise the overall quality of the troops. And how to do that?
They just need to be put through the wringer.
He wouldn't ask them to train as hard as he did, but if they increased their hours and put in some forced effort, their skills were bound to improve. Was he not the living proof?
It was news that would terrify anyone in the Border Guard, but only Marcus and Encrid were in the room to hear it.
“Well then.”
“Go on.”
Encrid saluted and withdrew. The position of Training Company Commander was one thing, but first, there was the victory party. That was when his achievements on the battlefield would be officially recognized. The rest of the work would wait. Until then, Encrid planned to hone what he had newly seen and felt.
As always, time was more precious than gold. Especially since he hadn't even run into "the wall" lately.
Is the ferryman getting lazy?
It was a thought that would have left the ferryman speechless.
*
Two days later, the victory party was held.
“Oh! A battle of glory! The battle that swallowed Martai, announcing the birth of a new rising star and hero!”
With this victory, Encrid’s name spread far beyond the territory. Was it because he had shouted his own name in the heat of battle? He didn't know. It might have helped, or it might not have.
While everyone else was eating, drinking, and cheering at the top of their lungs, Encrid’s mind was elsewhere.
Experience.
Digesting past experiences was one thing, but he considered that to be stagnation. Aside from mastering what he already possessed, a new desire had formed. Did he need an adventure? Should he leave this place in search of new patterns and experiences?
The realization he had gained from watching Marcus’s strategy stirred in his mind once more.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Rem asked from beside him. He held a pumpkin pie in one hand and distilled liquor in the other. The sharp, pungent scent of alcohol stung Encrid’s nose. Rem seemed perfectly happy soaking his stomach in spirits.
Encrid was sitting on a chair by a market stall. They were drinking in broad daylight. Even so, the surrounding soldiers, residents, and children were all busy stealing glances at him. Was he not the hero of the hour?
Of course, Rem and the other members of the Mad Company were also drawing attention, but they were the type who didn't care about the gaze of others. In the midst of the crowd, Sachsen had vanished—likely to the red-light district again.
“I was wondering how many strong fighters I would meet if I wandered the continent.”
It was an honest answer. Rem chuckled.
“I’ve wandered, so I know. It’s not that easy. If you look for guys rumored to be good, most of them are all talk.”
“That’s true,” Ragna agreed, appearing on the other side. His cheeks were flushed from a few drinks, though he didn't look drunk. He had said he didn't usually enjoy alcohol. Regardless, both of them carried the air of experienced wanderers.
“Is that so?” Encrid asked, feeling a strange thirst.
What was the nature of this thirst? Was it because he wanted to fight more? It wasn't that simple. Was it because he was itching to train? No. Was it an obsession born from not being able to repeat the day? Was he waiting for a recurring death?
To Encrid, the repetition of the day, the wall, and the ferryman were entirely separate matters. Though he had jokingly blamed the ferryman, it didn't matter whether the day repeated or not. He was who he was because he silently forged ahead. The repetition was merely a tool.
Therefore, this thirst was something else entirely. It had arisen ever since he realized the form of the Orthodox Sword style. It was a desire to compete with the best across the vast continent—a boiling spirit of struggle.
To fight and to experience.
That was the path to making his patched-up dream whole. In the past, he had been dragged along by new lessons; this time was different. By observing Marcus, Encrid had pinpointed his own deficiencies. Melting down past experiences to build a tower of new ones—this was a milestone he had established on his own.
“Should I gather rumors about guys who are good with swords?”
It was the bald Gilpin. He, too, seemed to have drunk heavily, yet he kept his posture straight.
Encrid considered it. If he received that list, would he have to leave the territory behind? It was worth considering.
Krais, who had been watching silently, suddenly spoke up. “But Boss, there’s a much easier way. I don’t get why you’re talking about adventure and becoming a wanderer.”
“What do you mean, Big-Eyes?” Rem asked, sipping his drink.
The big-eyed soldier had a remarkable brain to match his gaze.
“Our names have spread far and wide through this battle. There are plenty of people in Martai and the pioneer villages who will act as our mouthpieces. So it’s simple. Instead of going to find them, we make them come to us.”
Krais’s words struck like a lightning bolt of realization. Was a competitive spirit something only Encrid possessed? If someone was a decent fighter...
“That sounds plausible, Brother Big-Eyes,” Audin agreed, and Dunchabel nodded beside them.
“Even among mercenaries, there were many who wandered just to hone their blades,” Dunchabel added.
She was right.
“How about 'The Soldier Who Ended the War'? If you use that title, they’ll flock to you in droves,” Krais continued. “If you defeat them one after another, the rumors will spread, and you can fight to your heart’s content until you die. Well, if this place becomes a battlefield itself, the number of visitors will drop, though.”
“Krais, take this.”
Encrid was impressed. He paid him the most fitting reward: a Krona pouch he had been saving for new armor.
“Oh.” Krais snatched the pouch out of the air with the speed of a man blocking a flying dagger. “Thank you.”
Krais grinned. Encrid was equally satisfied.
“Spread the word well.”
“Yes, don't you worry!”
It was a transaction where everyone won. Rem chuckled. It was a decent victory party.
As time passed, several soldiers approached, claiming they wanted to join the Mad Company.
“I want to go mad too!”
“I want to become a madman!”
“I was already crazy to begin with!”
Why the recruits all spoke like this was beyond comprehension. Rem, half-drunk, said he liked their spirit and would accept them all. Then, glancing at Encrid, he noted, “For a company, our numbers are way too small, aren't they?”
It was true. If they didn't regret it after sobering up, they would join. Encrid would check their skills later.
Talk of glory and heroes floated through the air. Encrid was undeniably the star of the party.
“Wouldn't you like to eat marmalade for the rest of your life? All for free, of course,” a merchant’s daughter tempted him.
“No!” a young man of the territory cried out in despair from the sidelines.
Even without the young man’s cry, Encrid had no intention of taking the offer. “I’ll buy and eat it at its proper price.”
“Tch.”
Some women were bold, others subtle, but a figure soon appeared who would bring an end to the festivities while simultaneously complicating everything.
“His Excellency the Count is arriving!”
The attendant’s shout echoed through the venue, silencing the crowd.