Chapter 25: Tall Grass Field
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 25: Tall Grass Field
"We'll push straight through the grass and track the scouts' trail. What do you think?"
Looking back, the Scout Squad Leader's eyes had been sparkling when he said those words. His face was a mix of anticipation, confidence, and a healthy dose of tension.
It was a new "today."
To put it simply, running away had been a failure.
After opening his eyes, Encrid welcomed the new day by ruminating on where things had gone wrong.
Where did it fall apart?
Maybe going east was the mistake.
No, I think things were fine up to that point.
Reviewing his battles was a habit of Encrid’s. While fleeing east, he had run into the crossbow unit again, ending up riddled with bolts before collapsing. As he writhed on the ground, a final bolt had pierced his skull, ending him.
He didn't even want to think about that pain again. But if he didn't replay it in his mind, he would keep dying. He hated that even more.
Review. Trace back the steps. Find the problem. Encrid repeated the cycle over and over.
I was able to seize the opportunity first because I could hear them.
He had caught an anomalous sound. What he had learned from Sachsen was proving useful. Afterward, the Beast's Heart had allowed him to view the situation calmly. He had to choose one side and break through.
Even though he had failed.
If I do it again...
He felt he could do it. He hadn't been caught by the pursuing forces; he had just been unlucky enough to run into a waiting unit.
I just need to find a different path.
As he was lost in thought, someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Enri. Encrid realized he had been too distracted.
"We're just going to take a quick look around and leave, so bear with it."
What did he keep telling him to bear with?
"You look like you're in a bad mood."
As he spoke, Enri gestured forward with his eyes. Looking ahead, Encrid made eye contact with the grim-faced soldier trailing closely behind the Squad Leader. The man seemed to be glaring, but it probably wasn't to pick a fight.
Considering he asked me to understand the Squad Leader, he's one of the reasonable ones.
He was probably looking for a good opportunity to give Encrid some friendly advice. Deciding that the situation wasn't right for a chat, the grim-faced soldier averted his gaze first.
Encrid nodded to Enri to show he understood and kept walking. He pushed the grass aside with his hands and stepped inside.
Soon, a familiar sight blocked his view. The tall green grass severely restricted his vision. It was definitely a bad idea to face an ambushing enemy in here. Risking one's life to enter this place wasn't something a sane person would do under normal circumstances.
What if we just don't go in here in the first place?
That wasn't an option. Scouting the tall grass field was the very reason and purpose of this unit's presence. If they ignored that and went back, what would they even say? That they noticed an enemy ambush before even entering?
Even if they somehow changed the direction of the patrol, there was no way the ten men here would keep their stories straight for him. It was unavoidable. Usually, a newly welcomed "today" was always like this.
But if asked whether this was a problem...
It's not bad.
Though he had only fought properly once, Enri had looked at him and asked how he could possibly be a lowest-rank soldier, and the Squad Leader had put himself down.
Real combat.
It was just a single battle, but that one experience was invaluable. The Beast's Heart had left him no time to panic. He had swung and thrust his sword, exploiting every split-second opening. He had moved by predicting the opponent's behavioral patterns. And in between, he had applied what he had learned.
Thump.
His heart beat. A thrilling sensation coursed through his body.
This is a good opportunity.
Before setting off on the scouting mission, Rem and Ragna had taken turns reviewing his swordsmanship. What he learned from them. What he realized on his own. This was the perfect chance to digest it all.
"Do you see this? Where the grass is flattened?"
"Those are animal tracks."
Encrid was a man who knew how to apply what he had learned. He pretended to know.
Enri looked at Encrid, rolled his eyes, and asked, "You have hunting experience, don't you?"
He didn't. He had learned it from Enri.
"I've just heard things here and there."
He had heard it from Enri. After giving an honest answer, he continued the trivial conversation. At the same time, he quickened his pace slightly to move closer to the front.
Right behind the Squad Leader.
Encrid was currently analyzing the scout unit's formation. It was something he hadn't paid much attention to before. The Squad Leader was in front, with two on the right and two on the left. Directly behind the Squad Leader was the grim-faced soldier. The rest of the men followed like a rearguard.
So he's not just an idiot.
The formation was decent—a shape well-suited to respond if an enemy appeared. Though a formation wouldn't be of much use if they ran into a unit armed with crossbows.
In the "today" where he had died, the Scout Squad Leader hadn't acted foolishly anymore. He had silently followed Encrid's lead. On top of that, his sword skills were quite decent. The grim-faced soldier was highly experienced, too.
At least intermediate rank.
By the standards of the Naurilian soldier grading system, that is. Both the Squad Leader and the grim-faced soldier were quite skilled. Enri wasn't bad either. Walking with a shortbow in his left hand, he knew how to rapid-fire arrows. Though he still wasn't at a level where he could survive dodging dozens of bolts.
I must avoid the crossbow unit at all costs.
Encrid intentionally walked close behind the Squad Leader. Perhaps mindful of the Squad Leader, the grim-faced soldier didn't try to strike up a conversation.
Rustle. Gasp! Crunch.
And then, he heard the same sounds again.
"Get down."
First, he grabbed the back of the Squad Leader's neck and threw him backward. The first time, only four had escaped alive. This time, he would save a few more.
"Argh!" The Squad Leader let out a half-scream as he tumbled backward.
"Enemy!" the enemy shouted. Immediately, bolts came flying.
In the meantime, Encrid kicked the back of the knees of two allied soldiers in quick succession. Bolts whooshed right over the heads of the collapsed soldiers. Encrid also spread his feet wide and lowered his body close to the ground.
A startled grasshopper right in front of him leaped and fled. Encrid dropped into a deep split, then sprang back up using the elasticity of his thighs and back, throwing a knife.
Whoosh!
The knife tore through the air. It sliced through empty space, hitting nothing, but it made the enemy flinch for a brief moment. A brief opening—that was all he needed.
Thwack.
He thrust his elbow backward, lightly tapping the Squad Leader's forehead.
"Get your head in the game."
With those words, he lunged forward.
Rustle, rustle.
Trampling dirt and grass, he drew his sword. He took his stance mid-draw and executed a one-handed thrust.
With all my heart and soul.
He had to put his absolute determination to pierce the target into the strike, but his muscles couldn't lose their tension after the thrust. How do you thrust with full power while keeping strength in reserve?
"You need a feel for it. How do you get that feel? Keep doing it. You'll get it eventually."
Those were the words Rem had told him during a spar. Encrid was digesting that advice right here, right now.
Thud!
The tip of his sword pierced the opponent's chest. He twisted and pulled it out. The blade, which had severed muscle, nerve, and heart, was withdrawn. Feigning a horizontal slash, he closed the distance and swept his leg, kicking another enemy soldier's shin. It was a soldier who had just raised his crossbow to aim.
"Ack!"
The struck soldier reflexively ducked his head, and Encrid slammed his pommel down onto the back of the man's skull.
Crack!
The strike was like hitting a flimsy leather helmet with a blunt weapon. The sensation of splitting solid, green wood vibrated through his fingertips.
Just as he brought down the second man, he saw another rushing toward him, clad in cloth armor twice as thick as normal and carrying a large round shield.
Thwip, thwip, thwip!
Enri fired three arrows in rapid succession. But the arrows failed to pierce the armor. No blood seeped from where they struck. One poorly embedded arrow wobbled before dropping straight to the ground. He had fired too hastily, failing to utilize the bow's full draw weight.
Encrid quickly switched his sword to his left hand and swung.
Clang!
Sparks flew as the blade clashed against the edge of the shield. Though he managed to dent the shield's frame, Encrid's hand went numb.
"Graaaah!"
The enemy roared, bringing his shield down toward Encrid's head.
Thump.
A place where a moment's distraction meant instant death. Panic, and you die. That was the battlefield.
It was in moments like this that the Beast's Heart truly shone. A boldness that kept him calm even in the dead center of a battlefield. Because his heart, built of thick muscle, was doing its job, Encrid could clearly see the trajectory of the descending shield.
"Watch closely, and dodge well." That was Rem's teaching.
"No part of a sword is useless. From the hilt to the tip, you use all of it." This was Ragna's teaching.
Encrid watched closely and stepped back at the absolute last second. With a heavy whoosh, the shield grazed past his nose, the wind pressure whipping his hair.
"Huff, puff!"
The man who had slammed the shield down tensed his muscles to raise it again. Rough breathing echoed from behind the shield. Through the breathing and the movement of his shoulders, it was clear the opponent was extremely tense. His eyes, peeking out from above the shield, rolled as he kept his gaze locked on Encrid.
Striking the shield would only drag out the fight. Encrid tossed his sword slightly, catching it by the blade so the hilt was facing upward. With this reversed grip, he swung with all his might, rotating his waist and knees. The movement was executed before the shield-bearing enemy could even react.
Whoosh, crack!
The pointed tip of the sword's crossguard slammed into the opponent's eye. Blood erupted. Clear fluid ran down along with the red.
"Aaaargh!"
The now-one-eyed soldier screamed in agony. Encrid, his hand bleeding from holding his own blade, drew his shortsword. He plunged the blade into the neck of the thrashing, blinded opponent, then ripped it out.
Spurt!
Blood sprayed in tandem with his movement. With a gurgling sound, bloody foam bubbled from the throat as the shield-bearer collapsed.
"This way!"
Because it was a succession of such brutal scenes, the others stared at Encrid, their mouths agape in shock. How many men had he killed in just that brief moment?
Encrid retrieved the sword he had used to pierce the opponent's eye. Blood was thickly smeared all the way down to the hilt. He wiped it off roughly as he moved.
This time, six men had followed him. He had saved two more.
"...What are you?" the Scout Squad Leader asked, having caught up to run beside him.
"Are you really asking because you don't know?"
He'd be better off running instead of wasting breath on this.
Encrid ran east once more. After that, he beat down and killed every enemy soldier he came across. Though they had penetrated deeper than before, he was now certain that east was not the way.
This time, they encountered fifty spearmen. Fifty trained spearmen was equivalent to a platoon. There was no way just three of them could face that. They had lost the others along the way, leaving only the Scout Squad Leader and the grim-faced soldier.
"Just our rotten luck," the grim-faced soldier muttered.
"Damn it." The Scout Squad Leader looked around, his face on the verge of tears.
Encrid, however, steeled his resolve and charged.
"I'm taking at least five of them with me."
From the enemy's perspective, he must have looked utterly insane. Charging after seeing fifty spearmen? To the group of spearmen, this was the act of a complete madman. Maybe if he were a knight or belonged to an order, but... what on earth was this?
Looking at his swordsmanship, they could tell he knew how to fight, but he wasn't exceptionally skilled. At best, he would be considered an experienced soldier. There was no way someone throwing his life away like this could look sane.
Charging in like that, Encrid managed to kill three spearmen. And then, he died, run through the stomach by a spear.
Of course, it hurt terribly. He saw a long banner lying flat behind the crowd of spearmen, and that was his last memory.
*
"Let's go this way. If we kill the enemy beyond the grass, it'll be a great achievement, right? Or would it be better to capture them alive?"
Listening to the Squad Leader's words, Encrid chewed over the day once again. It was a review.
There's no way out to the east.
Then this time, it would be north.
Real combat was excellent nourishment. Even Rem and Ragna, who got along so poorly, agreed on this. Even Sachsen had said as much, hadn't he? That the best way to train one's five senses was to fight with one's life on the line. He had said that at the moment of death, human concentration shatters its limits.
Encrid was currently proving those words with his own body.
I've improved.
It wasn't arrogance, nor was it conceit. Even thinking objectively, his skills had improved significantly. And he was still improving even now.
In this repeated today, Encrid died nine more times to the north. He died six more times to the east. And to the west, he died twelve more times.
The battles continued. One's skills didn't shoot up overnight. That was just how it was. But since he could steadily take one step at a time, Encrid felt a rush of joy once again. Because he was still growing. Because there was a today that was better than yesterday.
"Aaaaargh!"
Thud!
During one of the repeated days, the spear tip of a rather brave soldier grazed his cheek. It was a strike that the old Encrid would never have been able to dodge. It was a strike that closely resembled that of a stabbing soldier, but he dodged it.
And he didn't stop at just dodging. Countless real battles had instilled good habits in Encrid. As he dodged, he brought his sword down from above. A vertical downward slash.
Thrum.
And at that moment, Encrid felt a bizarre sensation. He had swung his sword down, but there was no lingering sensation in his hand. No, it was too faint. He had clearly sliced through the opponent's arm, but it felt as if he had cut through a rotten branch.
It was just that effortless.
Meanwhile, the opponent's arm was cleanly severed, flying through the air. He hadn't even heard a sound. An incomparably clean strike. The kind of strike where, as they say, you feel absolutely no resistance in your hand. The very strike that those called geniuses pulled off countless times.
"Ah."
Encrid was so shocked that his concentration broke for a split second. It was the first time he had experienced this in the middle of combat. He could fully feel the weight of the sword in his hand. The thrilling sensation lingering in his hand filled him with ecstasy.
"Ha, seriously..."
It was incredibly exhilarating. Drenched in blood, he laughed. He couldn't hold back his laughter at the overwhelming sense of satisfaction.
"You crazy bastard!"
From the enemy's perspective, he was nothing but a lunatic. Regardless, Encrid died countless times more. And he repeated today countless times more. Through those repeated days, what he had learned from sparring seeped deep into his bones.