Chapter 221: Because They Endured the Time of Training
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 221: Because They Endured the Time of Training
As Encrid stood atop the platform, the eyes of the soldiers drilling below held something bordering on pure resentment.
"I told you, when you run back in, at least pretend to be out of breath," Rem had advised him. "It looks much better that way."
Encrid had done exactly that. He had followed the instructions to the letter.
Whether that had become the driving force that pushed the soldiers to run even harder, he couldn't say.
"Listen, breaking people is my specialty," Rem had insisted, telling Encrid to simply watch from the sidelines.
And Rem wasn't wrong. He certainly knew how to run men ragged. Otherwise, there was no way their eyes would look so possessed after only a week.
As they charged onto the training ground, a cold, blue light seemed to flicker in their eyes.
Shhhhhhh.
The relentless downpour only heightened the intensity of the scene. While Encrid didn't particularly enjoy the constant rain, he loved the look in their eyes. Just by moving their feet and pushing their limits, their gaze had filled with venom.
Now, there was no reason for him to just stand by and watch.
Even before his regressions, Encrid had been a half-mad training fanatic. He had swung his sword day after day until his palms burst open. Why would now be any different? If anything, it had been a struggle just to hold himself back.
Pushing the soldiers through their drills while thinking of Count Molsen naturally made him want to draw his own blade. Encrid abused his body relentlessly, both during and outside of his official training hours.
"At this point, it’s just pure, stubborn obsession," Krais muttered under his breath while watching from the side.
Encrid didn't mind. He liked the spite-filled eyes of the soldiers, and he liked the fact that he was constantly moving forward.
"Now," Encrid called out. "Let’s swing some steel."
After seven days of doing nothing but running, he finally allowed them to hold weapons. There were no complex maneuvers, phalanxes, or coordinated combat drills yet. Such things were neither Encrid’s specialty nor his current focus. He intended to push their basic physical capabilities even further.
Marcus watched the scene from a distance.
"I only gave him a title..." he mused. Why was the man working so damn hard?
Beside him, his adjutant nodded. "Indeed, sir."
"Are there no deserters?"
"...Though they seem to desperately want to flee..." the adjutant trailed off.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "They want to?"
"It seems they don't even have the strength left to try."
They say that if you don't have the strength to run, you can't escape. Encrid’s training was the living embodiment of that sentiment.
To Marcus’s eyes, Encrid was someone who should have enjoyed the cheers and praise of the masses. However, there was something that took precedence over vanity. Encrid was a man who ran straight toward his goal. Before seeking accolades, if there was something that needed to be done, he simply did it.
What must I do to become a knight?
Sharpen the mind and polish the sword. That was all. So, he did just that. Every day, without fail.
Watching him, one couldn't help but feel a sense of awe.
It’s as if he was waiting for the title of Training Company Commander, Marcus thought.
Encrid acted as if he had been preparing for this role his entire life. And looking at him now, he seemed to thrive on the hostility and bloodlust of his subordinates just as much as he did on praise.
Or... does he just enjoy tormenting people?
It was a reasonable suspicion. Marcus was simply glad he wasn't the one down there in the mud.
* * *
Bel had a history with Encrid. The man had saved his life, and they had crossed paths several times since. Because of that, Bel had harbored a small hope.
He’ll take it easy on us.
Bel thought any normal human would show a little leniency to an acquaintance. But Encrid was far from normal. Surely, he wouldn't expect everyone to endure the same hellish training he put himself through? He would go easy. He had to.
That hope shattered within two days. The tower of faith Bel had built vanished without a trace, utterly demolished.
"Heugh... gasp... cough!"
Bel’s breath hitched in his throat, but a voice boomed from behind.
"If you fall behind, you get hit! Got it?"
The grinning Axe Madman was hot on their heels. Rem laughed as he swung his axe through the air. Even if he didn't intend to kill them, he would certainly beat them, and getting struck by that weapon was far more painful than running.
"Gotta keep moving, right?"
At first, they only ran laps around the training ground, but now the Axe Madman chased and tormented them from behind. They were running for their lives. It was a vicious cycle: fall behind, get beaten, and run again.
"Want to kill me? Then kill me! Ambushes, sneak attacks—anything goes! Come at me, lads!"
At Rem’s snickering provocation, the soldiers' shoulders trembled. They truly wanted to beat him to death. Bel didn't—or rather, he couldn't. Just staying upright was enough to make him choke.
After conquering several hills at a full sprint, the training ground would finally come into view.
"Pick up your weapons."
Then came the endless, mind-numbing repetition of basic forms.
"I'll fight you whenever you want. Seriously, come at me!"
Amidst the Axe Madman’s constant taunts, a few soldiers decided to challenge the blonde swordsman, who at least looked approachable.
"If we last five exchanges in a spar, we can rest?"
"Because that would prove your skill," Ragna replied calmly.
Ragna was... different from how he looked. They thought he would hold back, but—
Thwack! Crack!
He swung his wooden sword with such blinding speed it was a mere blur. If it had been unsharpened steel instead of wood, they would be dead.
Looking at the unconscious soldier on the ground, Ragna spoke nonchalantly. "Weak."
No, what the hell? It’s not that we’re weak, it’s that you guys are monsters! The words bubbled up in Bel’s throat, but he kept them down.
"If you've got a problem, come at me. Please, someone challenge me too. I'm begging you," Rem called out.
The Axe Madman’s voice instantly cooled Bel’s frustration. Challenge them and die. Message received.
After sprinting all morning and a quick lunch, they spent the entire afternoon swinging their weapons with everything they had. It was simple training, but the fact that they had to repeat it every single day made it a living hell.
"Is he a demon?" Bel silently agreed with his comrade’s mutterings before collapsing into sleep.
A total demon.
Yet, they couldn't even complain. Encrid’s own training was longer, harsher, and more brutal than anything he forced upon the soldiers.
"Watch the spar, brothers."
There was Encrid, fighting Audin, the massive, fanatical soldier.
"Here comes the Axe Madman."
Then there were the spars with Rem, who now openly embraced the nickname the soldiers had given him. Encrid fought Ragna, and he fought Sachsen. He fought desperately, but he couldn't win. In fact, he was usually the one getting brutally beaten.
Audin swept Encrid’s ankle and, in the same motion, delivered a spinning back kick with speed that defied his massive frame. With that single blow, Encrid was sent flying. He soared backward like a bird before crashing into a rack of practice swords.
Crash!
He landed headfirst in the mud, which had turned into a swampy mess from the days of rain.
Is he dead? The soldiers' hands reflexively stopped as they watched in shock.
"If you want to rest, die first! Otherwise, keep moving!" Rem barked. Sachsen would then approach and poke them in the ribs, signaling them to continue.
Even as they reflexively swung their weapons, their eyes never left the fallen Encrid.
The demon of discipline rose once more. He looked like he had crawled straight out of the abyss. His head was split open and bleeding, and dark filth dripped from his body. Their gazes shifted from the muck on his forearms to his face.
Is he... okay?
"Hmm. That stung," was all Encrid had to say.
He was a madman. A man obsessed with the sword.
Sword-crazy bastard, Bel thought, swallowing hard.
"It's getting harder to hold back, Brother Company Commander. Especially when you charge in like that," Audin noted.
Encrid had clearly crossed a line in his reckless assault. It was a scene they witnessed almost every day. At first, they were shocked; then, they were horrified; but after a month, they began to adapt.
As summer faded and autumn drew near, word finally came of a mission. After two months of grueling training with only a half-day break every ten days, they were ordered to subjugate demonic beasts.
"The number of demonic beasts nearby has spiked. There are reports of fanged horses. This is a subjugation operation," the order read.
The mission was initiated by the Battalion Commander and led by the 2nd Company Commander.
"Whew, finally. Does this mean no training today?" asked the Vengeance Platoon Leader. Venom dripped from his eyes, and a sharp, blade-like aura radiated from his body. In just two months, the man had been completely transformed.
"We'll be fighting all day, so I'd assume so," Bel replied.
Bel’s presence had changed just as much. If it hadn't, he would have deserted long ago. There would be nothing more pathetic than dying during training.
"Let's go catch those crazy colts," Vengeance said, testing his longbow. His strength had improved significantly, and he had been issued a new bow—half again as large as his previous one, with a string made of tougher tendon.
The entire archer squad under his command was similarly equipped. Marcus hadn't spared a single krona on their gear, which was the only satisfying part of the ordeal. Leaving their training to that mad Company Commander, however, was the absolute worst.
"Over there!"
The scouts spotted the approaching pack. While most demonic beasts were carnivores, occasionally herbivores would turn as well. Among them, horses were the most troublesome. Fanged horses were lethal through their charge alone; their physical momentum was a weapon in itself.
"There are over ten of them!"
At the scout's report, the 2nd Company Commander shouted, "Archers!"
Vengeance obeyed instantly. The 2nd Company Commander had participated in the training himself out of a sense of loyalty, unlike the 1st Company Commander, who had skipped it entirely.
At the command, the archer platoon moved as one.
"Fire!" Vengeance ordered, drawing his string back. The longbow groaned under the tension.
The days when his muscles screamed in protest were long gone. It had only been two months, but they had lived with a demon far worse than these snorting beasts.
Swoosh!
The arrow whistled through the air and pierced straight through the skull of a fanged horse. The sound of the wind slicing and the wet thud of the impact were intoxicatingly satisfying. The beast’s head jerked up before it tumbled into the dirt.
Vengeance was seized by a strange sensation. It felt as though every muscle fiber was obeying his will perfectly. His increased strength and the stamina forged in hell gave him a new perspective. Above all, the experience of being pushed to his absolute limits allowed him to maintain perfect composure.
One more shot.
Even as the beasts rushed forward, he judged that he still had time.
"Fire!"
As he drew the string, the target appeared larger in his vision. His concentration burned white-hot.
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
In perfect unison, the archers released. The volley decimated the pack. Arrows embedded themselves indiscriminately into heads and torsos.
Neighhh!
The death rattles echoed across the field.
"More are coming!"
Before they could celebrate, another dozen rushed from the rear. They were closing the distance too fast for another volley.
"Engage!" the 2nd Company Commander roared.
The clash began. One couldn't achieve a miracle in two months, but their strength, stamina, and focus had sharpened to a razor's edge.
Bel felt it too. His body felt light. Compared to a monster like Encrid, these horses were easy prey.
"Kill them!"
"Fuck them up!"
"Sweep them away!"
With various battle cries, they punched holes in the beasts' heads and slashed through mutated muscle. They thrust with spears and swung looted glaives.
Whoosh!
The 2nd Company Commander swung his glaive, his power on an entirely different level, severing a horse’s front leg in a single arc.
Splat!
Purple blood sprayed. The blood of monsters was black, but demonic beasts often bled blue or purple. The battlefield was quickly stained.
In a way, the battle was anticlimactic. One of the infantrymen, drenched in blood, spoke up.
"...Why are these guys such pushovers?"
He meant it. There hadn't been a single moment of true crisis.
Screeech!
A lone griffin rushed them afterward, but the Vengeance Archers shredded its wings, and the infantry swarmed it, hacking it to pieces. A griffin was a high-grade creature, but alone, it was manageable.
None could deny it—their skills had been transformed. The Border Guard were already veterans, but they had stepped into a new realm of capability.
Back at the base, Encrid commended them in his own way.
"We haven't done our run for today yet, have we?"
Hunting demonic beasts was one thing, but training was training.
"What a complete fucking bastard," Bel spat out. He had been thinking how much he had improved thanks to the man, but the sheer absurdity of the order made his true feelings slip out.
"Is that a request for a spar?"
Cursing or talking back counted as a challenge—a rule established by Rem.
"It's been a while, Bel." Encrid nodded and beckoned him forward.
There was no backing out. He couldn't even ask for mercy.
If you decide to fight, give it your all. That was Encrid’s mantra.
The training continued. Regardless of Bel getting thrashed, Encrid did what he had to do. But training wasn't his only focus.
"He's here. Our first guest," Krais said, seeking out Encrid before evening fell.
Encrid felt a surge of thrill. Someone had actually come for him.
"A big shot right from the start," Krais added.
Under his guidance, Encrid entered the marketplace. The opponent was waiting at Vanessa's Pumpkin Inn. Just as Krais had predicted, spreading rumors had brought the challengers to them.
"Is it you? The one they call The Soldier Who Ended the War?"
A man stood in the training ground behind the inn. Two prominent scars marked his face—one across the bridge of his nose, the other deep across his cheek. He exuded raw intensity.
The weapon in his hand was a Morning Star, its heavy iron head covered in razor-sharp spikes.
"I am Ibarun," the man introduced himself.
Krais whispered from behind, "The mercenary Ibarun. He's incredibly famous. A Territory-class powerhouse, nicknamed 'Ibarun the Constrictor.'"
"I think my nickname is flashier," Encrid muttered.
"Of course," Krais replied smoothly. "Bees and butterflies are always drawn to the flashiest flower."
The nickname Krais had circulated—The Soldier Who Ended the War—was embarrassing, but it was exactly what Encrid needed. He stepped forward.
Before he could speak, Ibarun raised his weapon.
"Let's have a match."
Encrid nodded.