Chapter 222: The Soldier Who Ended the War
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 222: The Soldier Who Ended the War
He didn't know how the rumors had spread, but...
Encrid saw something deeply irritating in his opponent's eyes. This wasn't the look of someone who had come simply to test his skills or trade blows. What flickered in those eyes was nothing but greed and avarice.
"The Soldier Who Ended the War, huh? Isn't that a bit arrogant?" the mercenary, Ibarun, asked.
He hoisted his morning star as he spoke, his posture radiating a blatant threat. It was a combat stance that screamed a single message: ‘I could cave your skull in with this.’
Yet Encrid merely stood there, his expression blank. "I suppose so."
"You must be confident in your skills."
For someone who looked like he would charge in without a second thought, Ibarun was surprisingly cautious, testing the waters. Encrid didn't like that either.
"Somewhat."
When Encrid gave the half-hearted reply, Ibarun’s brow furrowed in anger.
"Fucking arrogant bastard."
It was a deliberate insult—a verbal jab meant to shatter an opponent's composure. It was also one of Encrid's own specialties. In the past, there had been times when he wielded the tongue in his mouth far more often than the sword at his hip just to survive.
"Haaah!"
The repeated dismissals finally spurred Ibarun into motion. He lunged forward with a massive stride, swinging his blunt weapon with all his might.
This was Ibarun the Squeezer? A supposed powerhouse of the territory?
The speed of his approach was far too slow. Compared to Rem, the word "sluggish" was the only thing that came to mind. While Encrid wasn't quite at the point of yawning, he certainly had plenty of room to breathe.
But that didn't mean he intended to fight half-heartedly. If he decided to fight, he gave it his all. Those weren't empty words; Encrid truly lived by that creed. In everything he did, he risked everything he had to do his absolute best.
For that was how a talentless man forged his path. Had he hesitated even slightly on his journey toward his dream, the man he was today would not exist.
‘He might be different from how he appears.’
Encrid remained vigilant. This could all be a tactic. After all, baiting an opponent into lowering their guard was an essential skill for any mercenary.
Whoosh!
Watching the incoming morning star until the very last moment, Encrid stepped his left foot to the side. He spun his body half a turn and drew his sword.
Shring!
He swung the moment the blade cleared the scabbard. Ibarun hurriedly tried to pull back his weapon, but trying to recover a morning star already propelled by its own inertia threw his movements into total disarray.
"Ugh!"
Clenching his teeth, the scarred mercenary let out a grunt and threw himself to the side, abandoning his weapon.
The blade sliced through empty air. It was intentional. Encrid, thinking his opponent might feign a dodge only to pounce, had kept his swing simple and focused on defense.
‘Why isn't he coming?’
He hadn't intentionally left an opening, but surely that was the perfect moment to strike?
"Let's do this bare-handed," Ibarun said, having lost his weapon.
Encrid felt it intuitively. ‘An empty shell?’
Later, he would learn that the nickname "Ibarun the Squeezer" came from the man's grip strength. However, against Encrid's forearms—which had been brutally tempered through the Isolation Technique—it left nothing but faint handprints.
And when Encrid broke the man's wrist using the exact same method a moment later—
"Aaargh!"
Only a shrill scream echoed through the air.
He was an empty shell. A hollow reputation built on lies.
"Hmm."
Krais, who was watching the fight, swallowed a groan. Some company members had also gathered to watch, having heard that the first "guest" had arrived.
Rem shook his head in disgust. "Nothing but idiots are going to show up."
Sachsen remained silent. Neither Ragna nor Audin added a word. They had devised a plan to gather strong opponents because Encrid wanted to meet them while traveling the world, but so far, only chaff had arrived.
"Do you want to keep going?" Encrid asked Ibarun, who was clutching his shattered wrist.
"No! I'm done!"
Ibarun was utterly terrified. At this rate, even Bell could probably fight him. Encrid turned around, his interest gone.
"Don't be too disappointed. Didn't they say that an adventure only begins once you leave the village?" Krais said. It was his way of saying that the beginning and the end couldn't happen at the same time.
There was a relevant proverb in the East: You can't get full on the first bite.
Encrid nodded indifferently, lost in thought.
Rem was intense and wild. Sachsen casually threatened lives. Ragna unleashed relentless storms of swordsmanship and excelled at tactical mind games. Audin possessed extraordinary innate strength and superb physical control.
Even with such people around him, Encrid still craved new experiences.
‘I am still lacking.’
Encrid sought to gain something different. He wanted to fill his deficiencies. It was a craving close to instinct. But his first opponent was... an empty shell.
An idiot had shown up. Was he disappointed? No, far from it. Encrid was not the type to get discouraged over something like this. When it came to waiting and enduring, he was a man who could contest for the title of the best on the continent.
"It's fine."
Four out of five of those who came afterward were similar to that first shell. They were fools who coveted Encrid's fame.
"If I beat you, do I get made a company commander right away?"
"Did you really fight with that body? You seem decently trained, but you look like you're lacking."
"Aren't you going to draw your sword? You won't blame me if you die, right?"
Encrid dealt with the feast of challengers Krais had laid out exactly as he pleased. Whenever they challenged him with clumsy skills, he broke their limbs one by one.
Among them were mercenaries who had made a decent name for themselves, wandering swordsmen, and even those who bragged about being former squires. Still, the vast majority were mercenaries. Quite a few coveted the title of "The Soldier Who Ended the War."
Seven more guests arrived after that, but it was difficult to find anything worth learning from them. In fact, many were literally worse than ordinary soldiers.
Among the dross, there was only one decent opponent.
"The beastman, Barakal."
He was a beastman whose human speech was clumsy, but his innate athletic ability was extraordinary. For Encrid, he was a rare opponent worth fighting.
The beastman used claws—blades protruding from the back of his hands—and was highly skilled in unorthodox attacks. He would raise his knee to draw attention, then swing his claws down heavily from above, or crouch so low he almost touched the ground before lunging. These were feats made possible only by his natural physical capabilities.
Encrid watched, experienced, and learned. It was not a bad time. Even though he was no longer repeating the same day, these were days spent absorbing, refining, and tempering everything he had accumulated. Just because there was no immediate threat didn't mean anything changed; Encrid continued to live his days as if he were still trapped in the loop.
*
Rem was pushing Dunchabel hard. In truth, it went far beyond mere pushing.
"Do it right, or you die, beastman."
What had started as playful teasing had escalated to genuine bloodlust. And why wouldn't it? Did she feel nothing watching their captain nearby? The crazy beastman couldn't even control her own strength properly.
So, what was the solution? If you push someone to the edge of a cliff, they'll exert every ounce of strength to keep from falling. That was the logic. And that was exactly what Rem did.
Yet, he also realized something in the process.
‘She has talent.’
Her innate physical abilities were on another level. There were flashes of brilliance in how she used her body. In other words, she was vastly different from Encrid. Her mind was a mess, but her body was extraordinary, making her quite entertaining to teach.
Still, there was no way this beastman would ever become like the captain.
"I'm gonna die..."
After being run through the gauntlet, she passed out. Endurance? Willpower? If she had possessed those, the gap between her and Encrid wouldn't be so astronomical.
Rem left Dunchabel half-dead and thought of Encrid. He felt that Encrid's skills had improved significantly. It was getting awkward to hold back and go easy on him like before. Now, a single moment of carelessness meant Rem had to fight seriously.
As he measured that growth, a certain word came to mind.
"A knight, huh."
The path Encrid wished to walk was a path open to Rem as well. Of course, it wasn't the kind of "knight" they spoke of on this continent. Rem's tribe had their own way.
Lately, he had been uncharacteristically deep in thought. That was why he was driving Dunchabel so ruthlessly. By pushing his opponent, he was pushing himself.
"Are you crazy? Lying down? Are you sleeping? Are you seriously sleeping right now? Sleeping in the middle of training?!"
At his nagging, Dunchabel reluctantly dragged herself up. If anyone were to tell her that this demon had actually crawled out of the Demon Realm, she would have agreed wholeheartedly.
*
The Soldier Who Ended the War.
"So this is the bastard."
The Demon Realm Holy Land Cult, which had been carrying out operations in northern Pen-Hanil, was watching. One of their core executives muttered inside a small pub. He occupied a worn wooden table; because it was early, the place was nearly empty.
On the table lay a drawing of Encrid's face.
‘The bastard who repeatedly interfered with our work.’
The one who destroyed the Gnoll Colony in the pioneer village and killed their cultists. The one who killed the manticore and its handler when they were sent to assassinate him.
‘He is an obstacle.’
The cult executive made his decision. Conveniently, that very obstacle was spreading rumors, inviting people to come find him.
"Go and kill him," the cultist ordered.
There were plenty of people on their side who could destroy a Gnoll Colony. They had more than enough martial power for that. And, of course, they possessed power that far exceeded even that.
At the executive's command, the woman sitting across the table stood up. Her shoulders were twice as broad as any man's, and her thighs were as thick as logs. Her eyes were so narrow that her pupils were barely visible, and her lips were even thinner.
She was a warrior raised by the cult—a swordsman who, lacking talent in spells, had reached her current position solely through raw physical ability.
"Yes."
The female warrior stood. Her towering height made her look like a giant. In fact, giant blood flowed through her veins. The Demon Realm Holy Land Cult had injected that blood into her through experiments. Even excluding Will, her physical capabilities and combat prowess were easily at the level of an Associate Knight.
She was more than capable of killing this Encrid fellow. There was no need for assassins. Since he was asking for a fight, they would oblige. They would let him fight and die just as he wished.
*
The Black Sword Bandits knew the importance of reputation above all else.
"I don't think we can just let it end with us getting beaten up and retreating. Even if we do pull out, we can't do it quietly."
The main branch of the Black Sword had already caught wind of the tricks Marcus had played. And one of the bandits from the main branch was plotting something similar to the cultists.
‘What if we kill the guy Marcus put forward?’
There were several nobles with connections to the capital in a contractual relationship with them. This incident would narrow Marcus's standing. It was the execution of their contract. Furthermore, they were willing to kill Marcus as well if necessary.
Of course, before that, they would slit the throat of the man who had stepped forward first.
Just as they resolved to do so, the man hiding in the Border Guard started doing something bizarre. The rumor of "The Soldier Who Ended the War" had reached them as well.
"So he's saying, 'Come if you want to fight'?"
The Black Sword Bandits also had several skilled fighters. The main branch decided to send one of them. He was a plain-looking man with brown hair. His nickname was Swallow Blade.
It was a nickname earned because the tricks he performed with a single sword were so wondrous.
"Why don't you go handle a job?"
He was the type to plunge a blade into an opponent's throat with a smile on his face—a crazy pervert who felt ecstasy in murder.
"Sure."
Swallow Blade was a former squire. Rumors were rife that he was an ill-fated genius expelled for committing too many murders. Had he not joined the Black Sword Bandits, he would have been dead long ago.
‘We spent quite a bit of gold keeping that guy around.’
They had placated the nobles who wanted him dead, and the amount of Krona spent hiding him and giving him what he wanted was substantial. But isn't the reason you hone a blade so that you can use it?
Now was the time.
The cultists and the Black Sword weren't the only ones sending people. Several individuals under Count Molsen were also on the move.
"He's doing something amusing. Is there no warrior who will go and prove that the Count's sword is greater?"
At the Count's words, two of his children and one warrior stepped forward. One of them was the fellow who had been beaten by Encrid before.
"I will go."
The Count did not bother to stop his son. Whether it left a good impression or a bad one, it was necessary to make their presence known.
And that wasn't all. News of Encrid reached places entirely unrelated to the Count, the bandits, or the cultists.
"That fellow has improved that much?"
It was the rapier swordsman who couldn't reveal his name back when they escorted the Lockfried caravan. Out of habit, he stroked the spot where his mustache used to be. Now that it was cleanly shaved, his hand felt empty.
"So they say."
He had just finished up various matters. In other words, he now had some free time.
‘Should I drop by?’
He had been certain the man wouldn't improve any further, but if he had suddenly grown that much... he might have sold his soul to a demon. But then, he couldn't just ignore it either. There was also pure curiosity. Just how had he changed?
Besides, wasn't it on the way?
"We'd have to go completely out of our way, though?" his subordinate said.
The rapier swordsman stared at the map for a long moment before asking, "Looks like it's on the way to me?"
It wasn't at all. After a brief thought, the subordinate replied, "Yes, indeed it is."
The others all nodded in agreement. Considering his momentum and status, they had no choice but to follow his lead.
"This is a good way to clear one's head. Why be so rigid?" the man thought as he took a step forward. He was incredibly curious to see just how much Encrid had changed.
*
After he beat down Ibarun, quite a few mercenaries came looking for him. At first, Encrid accepted every single one, but...
"This seems like a waste of time. We should change the rule so they have to at least beat Bell before they can face you," Krais suggested.
They did exactly that.
"Next!"
During training, not only Bell but several other soldiers stepped forward. Sometimes the soldiers lost, but then a platoon leader would step up. And if the platoon leader seemed about to lose, a company commander would step in.
"You're nowhere near good enough!" the 2nd Company Commander, Palto, shouted, a scar visible on his cheek.
"Wooo!"
"As expected!"
"Palto! Palto!"
Unseasonable cheers had now become a daily routine. For Allen, the innkeeper, what had initially been baffling was now just part of his everyday life.
"More beer here!"
He was busy selling alcohol to the spectators. They were days where it seemed nothing out of the ordinary would happen.
In the midst of this, a warrior appeared who even defeated Palto.
"It's a name I've never heard before, but her skills are extraordinary. And she's a woman."
Thus, the female warrior stood before Encrid. At the training ground behind the inn, numerous merchants from the market had gathered to watch.
"A giant?" Encrid asked, looking at his opponent. It was his first time seeing someone taller than Audin, but the fact that she was a woman made it even more surprising.
"Mixed," the opponent replied. Her voice was husky, but clearly female.
Encrid raised his sword. He pointed the tip upward, keeping his center of gravity in the middle of his soles. His instinct told him: this opponent was absolutely not to be underestimated.
The woman also raised her weapon. It was a sword and shield. The shield was solid iron. One could tell just by looking at the weapons she held—she was the possessor of monstrous strength.