Chapter 26: Way Out
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 26: Way Out
‘I should have dodged there.’
Encrid ruminated on the "today" that had been yesterday—a day that belonged to him alone.
‘No, dodging wasn’t the real issue. I was too obsessed with landing a single blow.’
Dodge what needs to be dodged; strike what needs to be struck.
Hadn’t he heard time and again how crucial those split-second decisions were? He’d heard it from countless swordsmanship instructors, and from Rem as well.
“What’s the point of seeing everything so clearly with that Beast’s Heart of yours? If you make the wrong choice, you’re dead anyway.”
It felt as though Rem were standing right beside him, snickering in mockery. If that bastard knew what was happening, he definitely would have said exactly that.
Encrid replayed the moment over and over in his mind.
‘Today, I’ll take a slightly different route.’
Changing his path every day—it was the privilege of one who possessed a repeating "today."
“We’re going to capture the enemy scout unit beyond this grass field. What do you think?”
Today, without fail, the Scout Squad Leader was leading everyone toward the abyss. Encrid didn't have the slightest intention of stopping him. In truth, he knew that changing the scouting route was useless. No matter which path they took, the result remained the same.
‘The enemy has already saturated this entire area with ambushes.’
The enemy was crawling everywhere, centered around the Tall Grass Field. If he wanted to survive, the logical answer would be to return to the main unit the moment he opened his eyes, but...
‘There’s no way that’s possible.’
Doing so would be desertion. In severe cases, insubordination and desertion led to summary execution. But did that mean he should abandon these nine men and flee on his own? Was that how he was supposed to survive?
‘Is that why I learned the sword?’
Knight, general, hero. Even now, he swung his sword dreaming of such things. Knowing they would be annihilated, was abandoning them really the answer? Was that truly the best he could do?
‘No.’
Everyone has something they cannot compromise on. Encrid knew he was neither a good Samaritan nor a saint, but this was one area where he refused to yield. Some might call it conviction; others might call it stubbornness. Encrid didn't care what anyone else said.
‘This is my decision.’
If he had lived by other people’s standards, he would have given up long ago and taken an easy, idle post in some quiet village’s vigilante group.
He discarded the option of fleeing. His goal was to find another way to escape this "today."
He fought again. He bled and killed the enemy. This time, his sword snapped while he was using it as a shield to block a heavy blow. A spear shaft struck him hard on the temple. The world spun.
Naturally, death followed. He wasn't sure if it was the spearhead gouging his chest or the shaft cracking his skull that finally did him in.
Once again, the loop reset.
He died, and died again. By repeatedly experiencing life-or-death combat, he digested what he had learned through sparring. He hammered home the fundamentals he already knew. Throughout all that time, Encrid kept only two things in mind.
First: how could he fight better?
Second: how could he escape this "today"?
Moving forward toward tomorrow. Encrid knew that reaching that moment required relentless effort. That was how he had overcome his previous two "todays."
But this time, the situation was different.
‘I can’t see a way out.’
No matter where he went, the area was crawling with enemy soldiers. He couldn't comprehend what was so valuable about this damp, muddy ground—filled with grasshoppers, locusts, and blindingly tall grass—that warranted an ambush by such a massive force.
‘Tenacious bastards.’
What’s more, every single one of them was a properly trained soldier. They weren't some ragtag mercenaries fighting for coin, nor were they conscripts dragged out against their will. They were professional, salaried soldiers. In some regions, soldiers like these were considered elites.
While "elite" might mean something else on a grand battlefield, on a skirmish of this scale, professional soldiers were indeed the cream of the crop. If men who did nothing but eat and practice spear drills weren't elites, then who was?
‘This is a headache.’
If he launched a surprise attack, he could kill three or four of them. But any more than that was impossible—especially while trying to retreat with a squad of crossbowmen at his back.
‘The martial power to kill them all...’
If he repeated this "today" countless times, would it be possible to acquire that level of strength?
No, it wasn't. He had tried, so he knew. During his first repeating "today," he had learned a hard truth while trying to overcome that spearman.
‘There’s a limit to what you can learn within frozen time.’
Encrid knew himself well. To improve his skills and feel the thrill of growth, he needed a good teacher and the right catalyst. That didn't mean he was wasting his loops, however. Auditory training, swordsmanship, combat reviews—he repeated them over and over. Though slight, his growth was steady.
“I’m confident in my archery, but I’m a bit of a coward, so my hands shake when things get chaotic,” Enri said from beside him.
It was something Encrid had heard several times now. Enri would go on about how, despite his faint heart, his skills were actually quite decent when he drew his bow.
“Are you good enough to shoot an apple off someone’s head from a hundred paces?” Encrid tossed out a joke to clear his head.
“A hundred paces is impossible, but within thirty, I can manage. If you go place an apple on our Scout Squad Leader’s head over there, I’ll give it a shot.”
“A pity. We don’t have an apple.”
“Indeed, what a shame.”
Enri knew how to appreciate a joke.
“But seriously, within thirty paces, I’m confident. I don’t know about an apple, but I can definitely hit a skull,” Enri added, his expression turning serious.
“If you can pierce their skulls one by one, you could probably take down ten of them,” Encrid said, glancing at Enri’s quiver.
The flat leather quiver slung at his waist held roughly ten arrows. To keep it from rattling, leather straps bound it to his thigh and waist, and those same straps were wrapped around the arrows to keep them bundled together. Later, he would only need to loosen the strap to draw them easily. True to his background as a plains hunter, Enri seemed highly adept at both handling his bow and moving with his ammunition.
“Hey. What are you two snickering about? We’re on a scouting mission. Honestly, tsk.”
Up ahead, the Scout Squad Leader glared back at them and clicked his tongue. Naturally, Encrid didn't care in the slightest. In his repeating "todays," that brat chiming in was a scripted event.
‘It would be great if we could start by taking out two or three with arrows.’
The Grim-faced Soldier walking behind the squad leader gestured to Encrid with his eyes. It was a silent plea: don't talk back, just let it go.
It was the same as before. There was no need to get worked up, so he didn't bother arguing.
‘Then it would be much easier for us to launch a surprise attack.’
A simulated battle played out in Encrid’s mind. The information gathered through his loops allowed him to construct a highly plausible simulation. In the end, he would die. More likely than not, he would die. Even if there was a gap in individual skill, the difference in numbers was simply too overwhelming. If only their equipment were superior, but...
‘That’s not the case either.’
What would Rem have done? He wouldn't have even hesitated. He would have charged in with an axe in each hand, swinging them wildly. With Rem’s skill, even if he couldn't kill all hundred of them, he would have slaughtered a good number and escaped. That was how swift and extraordinary his skills were.
‘It’s hilarious that a guy like that is just a common soldier.’
Though Rem himself didn't seem to have any complaints about it. In a way, it seemed Encrid was the only one in the Troublemaker Squad who harbored any ambition—the only one who wanted to become something more than a squad leader.
But what was the point of thinking about squad members who weren't even here? Encrid corrected his train of thought.
A small snake slithered quickly through the short grass. The grass beneath his feet was gradually growing taller, proof that they were approaching the Tall Grass Field.
‘I am not Rem.’
He simulated the battle in his head once more. Then, a sudden thought struck him.
‘Just how strong is the squad leader?’
Until now, he had been too frantic to observe properly. He had only registered him as "not bad." The Scout Squad Leader, the Grim-faced Soldier, and Enri. And the rest of the scouting squad. One thought led to another until he finally reached a conclusion.
“I don’t need to protect them.”
“...Pardon?” Enri asked, reacting to the muttered words.
“Nothing.”
He had been foolish. Until now, Encrid had tried to break through this alone. He had fought under the assumption that he had to protect everyone by himself, passively reacting to the moment they encountered the enemy. Thus, while he thought he had exhausted every possible method, one option still remained.
A method that could completely flip the board.
Crack, crack.
Encrid cracked his neck from side to side. There was still some time before they reached the grass field. Stepping forward with long strides, Encrid grabbed the Grim-faced Soldier’s shoulder and pulled.
“Hmm?” The soldier tensed reflexively. “What is it?”
“You glared at me earlier, didn’t you?”
He knew it hadn't been a glare, but a look asking for his understanding. But when a man's face was a weapon in itself, merely looking at someone made it seem like a provocation.
“No, hey, that’s not—”
“Why are you talking so much?”
Whoosh!
Encrid swung his fist. The Grim-faced Soldier jerked his head back to dodge.
“...What the hell? Have you lost your mind?” the Scout Squad Leader asked, utterly dumbfounded.
“Bring it.”
Ignoring him, Encrid swept his leg at the veteran's ankle. The Grim-faced Soldier managed to dodge that too, his brow furrowing deeply.
“I thought you had some sense.”
“Because I have sense, I read your obnoxious look. Simple as that.”
Rem had once admitted it: when it came to getting under people’s skin with words, Encrid might just be the best on the continent.
“Come on, fight me, you ugly bastard. You’ve got a face that would make a cow turn tail and run.”
And indeed, it worked. With just a few words, the face of the veteran soldier flushed bright red.
“Fine. You’re getting a beating today.”
Encrid fought him. Instead of drawing his sword, he used his fists as blades and his feet as blunt weapons. They traded blows on relatively equal terms. Actually, to be honest, he was being pushed back slightly.
‘He’s good.’
By the kingdom’s standards, his skill was at least at the level of a senior soldier.
“I thought you were a lowest-grade soldier?” the veteran asked, spitting blood from a split lip.
“That’s right. Lowest-grade.”
“They say you get more coin if you promote. Why the hell are you staying at that rank?”
Encrid knew it too. He wasn't actually at the level of a lowest-grade soldier; he hadn't been since the moment he joined the military. He simply hadn't felt the need to raise his rank because he knew his own skills and limits clearly. There was no need to bother with those labels.
Of course, things were different now. If the opportunity arose, he would promote. He just didn't think of it as his top priority. The standards that separated third-rate, second-rate, and first-rate mercenaries, or the grades of the military... what did any of that matter?
“You fight well.”
Encrid was genuinely impressed. Yes, the man had to be at least this good. His skills were better than expected; he was likely the type who fought even better in actual combat, provided he had a proper chance.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
The Scout Squad Leader’s face flushed purple as he watched them. He looked ready to pounce on Encrid at any moment. Before he could, Encrid spoke first.
“Just sparring. It was a perfect warm-up.”
At the response, which went beyond mere shamelessness into pure confidence, the Scout Squad Leader opened his mouth to shout but stopped, speechless.
“Just let it go. It’s not like we have any real bad blood,” the Grim-faced Soldier said, holding the squad leader back.
Encrid shrugged.
“Watch your mouth, Troublemaker Squad Leader. Your tongue is going to get you into trouble one of these days.”
“That’s my business,” Encrid replied, turning back to his spot.
Enri sidled up to him, looking at his swollen cheekbone. “Didn’t you say you were a lowest-grade soldier?”
“I am.”
Was that really so surprising to everyone? Several other members of the scouting squad were also stealing glances at him.
“But you fight so well.”
“I trained hard.”
It wasn't a lie. Had he not put in relentless effort through his repeating "todays"?
Despite the commotion, the Scout Squad Leader stubbornly marched into the Tall Grass Field anyway. He must have hidden a pot of gold in there, or perhaps a secret lover.
Gasp! Snap.
Hearing the familiar sounds, he realized the enemy was approaching again. He welcomed a new "today." This was the beginning.
“Enemy,” Encrid said through his split lip, nudging Enri. “Over there. Shoot.”
He wanted to see his archery skills. Enri didn't react immediately.
“What?”
It seemed he had frozen up at the word "enemy." Even after that, Encrid had never seen him shoot properly. Perhaps he really was a coward; once battle broke out, he was usually too busy scrambling in a panic. Still, seeing him fire a few quick shots in previous loops, his form had seemed solid.
‘I can’t do this as just a regular squad member.’
The people moving with him needed to react to his orders, but he hadn't established that kind of authority yet. Encrid pondered his position.
‘For now, I’ll put this aside too.’
In the end, he repeated similar actions—struggling desperately and dying. Encrid repeated "today" several more times. In the process, he was able to gauge the squad leader’s skills. They weren't bad; he showed signs of having learned proper swordsmanship somewhere.
“I’ll accept your challenge anytime.”
After Encrid picked a few fights during the repeating days, played along, and let him win, the kid got rather excited. Encrid had faced the squad leader a few times, committing his habits and patterns to memory.
‘He lacks real combat experience.’
That was likely why the Grim-faced Soldier stuck to him like a nanny. When he casually asked about their relationship...
“The son of someone I used to respect,” the Grim-faced Soldier muttered.
This guy was overflowing with loyalty. His entire presence here was solely for the sake of this brat. He was a true guardian.
“A noble?”
“Don’t you know fallen nobles aren’t treated as nobility?”
The Scout Squad Leader was a fallen noble.
“I see.”
Dismissing the rest of their conversation as trivial, Encrid looked up at the sun. It was the midday sun. The wind was moderately cool. It was neither hot nor cold. The scouts were all lightly armored—natural, if they wanted to move swiftly.
Simple armaments and light armor. That was the baseline. He cataloged his allies’ equipment, skills, and assets. He had to perceive everything else as well. Encrid committed everything he knew about the current situation to memory.
The weather, the wind, the location, the circumstances, his allies, and the enemy.
If he could actively orchestrate all of these elements, a way out... seemed within reach.