Chapter 278: Starting with Sachsen
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 278: Starting with Sachsen
"Cowardly rat, filthy scum, damn you to hell!"
The executive of the Black Sword spat out a mouthful of blood as he hurled curses at Marcus.
Of course, there was a slight misunderstanding at play. Sinar had been the one to start the mess, and Encrid had stepped in to finish it in the blink of an eye. However, the more the Black Sword investigated, the only solid lead they found was the involvement of the Border Guard Standing Army.
So, who had ordered it? Who was the mastermind behind the scenes? One name kept grating on the executive's nerves at every turn.
Marcus.
A noble, a bastard with deep connections to the royal palace, and a man rumored far and wide to be eyeing the position of the Grand Duke of the North.
"That miserable piece of shit!"
Whether he chewed on the name in his mind or screamed it aloud, his fury would not subside. It was unfair, frustrating, and absolutely maddening. He wanted to throw himself onto the floor, screaming and thrashing in a fit of rage.
Only after barely—truly barely—regaining a shred of composure did the executive grind his teeth. Even so, he couldn't just rush out and kill the man immediately.
What kind of place was the Border Guard? Every time they sent assassins, all contact was lost. They had tried to kill that bastard Encrid, but they hadn't succeeded even once. No, had they even managed to scratch him? They had sent men armed with lethal poisons, yet every single one had been defeated.
Was the opponent exceptionally skilled? The Black Sword had considered the possibility. The executive thought so, too—that the boy was at least at the level of an Associate Knight.
Encrid's exploits were exaggerated in some reports and underestimated in others. But none of them truly believed that Encrid had reached the level of an Associate Knight. To swing a sword from nothing and suddenly awaken to the use of 'Will' was an unbelievable tale. While such geniuses appeared once in a blue moon, if he possessed that kind of talent, why was he only shining now?
It would be one thing if he had been living in hiding, but that wasn't the case. His traces were everywhere. He had been a common mercenary, handing over Crona to lousy instructors just to learn the basics of the sword. He was the kind of nobody who would work as a hunter for a few copper coins or take on menial odd jobs. When there was no swordplay to be found, he was the guy repairing castle walls for a wage.
How could they believe a nobody like that had become an Associate Knight?
The Black Sword was rational. They had no choice but to think this way. Above all, Count Molsen had been manipulating information behind the scenes. Because of this, they could not accurately gauge Encrid's true strength.
They weren't dismissing him entirely, of course. It was clear that some late-blooming change had occurred. Still, they refused to believe he had truly become something on the level of an Associate Knight.
There had to be a helper. And who was the core figure among those helpers?
Marcus, that insidious bastard, without a doubt.
"Now, it's war!" the executive roared alone in his empty study.
Naturally, he wasn't the only one who thought so. His superior, the leader of the Black Sword Bandits, had issued a similar order.
Gather our full strength.
Seek the aid of the cultists as well.
Burn the Border Guard to the ground.
Though they were neither lords nor masters of any territory, this abnormal bandit group—wielding the power of both military force and political authority—decided to unleash their full might. They released the black gold coins they had amassed over the years and mobilized every connection they possessed.
Those who had been active as members of the bandit group gathered. Among them were several mercenaries who would stab their own parents to death if the price in Crona was right.
Thus, a force resembling an army gathered on a small hill west of the Border Guard. It was a force of roughly five hundred men. Could they scale the walls of the Border Guard with such numbers? It was no easy task, but the Black Sword's specialty was not open warfare—it was covert operations.
And so, they proceeded.
The outbreak of this bandit group's activities—which outwardly appeared to be a territory war sparked by Marcus encroaching upon and seizing neighboring lands—influenced more than just a few things. It was the beginning of a civil war, the spark that set countless players in motion.
For Marcus, who was inside the Border Guard, this was entirely unexpected. Just before the outbreak of the territory war, he had said:
"How many villages are there? Send troops to seize them all. From now on, we are not the Border Guard Standing Army, but the Border Guard Territory."
"And who is the lord?" a company commander had asked.
"The first lord is me." Marcus had proudly raised his thumb and pointed to himself.
Soon after, the pig, Viscount Tarnin—the ruler of the neighboring territory and the original owner of the villages—declared a territory war.
"What is the meaning of this without royal permission! You are filled with greed and know no shame! Marcus, beg for forgiveness this instant! If you do not repent, I shall surely sever your head and offer it to God!"
The speech the Viscount made after gathering his troops was quite a spectacle. Since he hadn't bothered to hide his intentions, the words quickly reached Marcus's ears.
"Looks like that pig took the wrong medicine," Marcus responded. He merely muttered it with his chin resting on his hand at his desk, but his meaning was clear.
It was the start of a civil war. Of course, that didn't mean they would start brawling immediately. As was the case with most territory wars, Viscount Tarnin first sent a messenger. A typical conflict began with a war of words before the steel finally clashed.
"But what is this bastard trying to pull?"
This time, however, things were slightly different. It was Viscount Tarnin who had first gathered mercenaries and self-proclaimed hotshots to provoke them. He acted as if he were going to fight right away. Yet, instead of attacking, he merely dug in and held his ground.
Why? Who benefited from this stalemate? Who lost?
Marcus was no fool. Rather than rushing in now, it was more profitable to let Tarnin and his supporters waste their resources. Marcus pried into and dissected his opponent's intentions, racking his brain.
The pig Tarnin's specialty?
• Eating.
The idiot Tarnin's strength?
• Having skin so thick that blades can't easily pierce it.
The power of Viscount Tarnin's territory?
• Absolutely worthless.
What is that bastard relying on?
• The Black Sword Bandits.
Marcus weighed the priorities and assessed the situation. But why was he acting like this? Gathering troops naturally cost gold coins, as he had to provide food and lodging. Furthermore, there were mercenaries to consider. He had to pay their wages. If he didn't put silver coins in their hands just because they weren't fighting, some of those mercenaries would cheerfully turn around and carve a star-shaped hole in Tarnin's belly.
But why?
Even after gathering his forces, the Viscount showed no intention of attacking. He only spouted bullshit about "conducting training" or some such nonsense.
Marcus decided to wait for now. There was nothing he could do immediately. It was true that he had encroached upon the territory. He had planned to gloss over it quietly, swallow a few villages, establish something resembling a territory, and then obtain the royal palace's approval later.
I feel like there's someone behind that pig Tarnin.
The question was, who?
Soon after, the scheme orchestrated by the mastermind in the shadows landed with a heavy thud. It was heavy enough to strike Marcus right in the back of the head.
"......Ha."
[As the chaos in the North has intensified due to the territory war, we command Marcus of Centerpole, of the Thumb Pillar family, a faithful friend of the royal palace...]
Thus began the letter.
Marcus was a gambler. He knew how to seize the decisive moment. But the contents of this letter were akin to having his hands and feet bound before the game even began. It was a conspiracy designed to prevent him from even participating in the decisive moment, and there was no visible way to avoid it.
"Ha."
Only a hollow laugh escaped him; he had been completely outmaneuvered.
*
"Did you guys have a grand old time without me? Huh?"
Rem welcomed him the moment he returned. Encrid thought that this bastard truly never changed.
"I was out on a mission."
"Ah, but you had fun. Meanwhile, I was stuck here, huh? Teaching some beastman left behind by who-knows-who, cooped up, huh?"
It was a long-winded way of demanding an immediate spar. To one side, Dunchabel stood with both eyes bruised black and blue. It looked like Rem had tormented her to no ordinary degree.
Encrid felt a pang of pity for her. If he let it slide, Rem would probably beat Dunchabel to a pulp again today. Above all, Encrid only felt a bit of fatigue and was completely uninjured.
"Bring it on, you tongue-wagging barbarian," Encrid joked.
Rem grinned. "Let's settle our grudges!"
With that nonsense, the spar began.
"You haven't changed a bit!" Rem shouted, swinging his axes in a cross.
Suddenly, he unleashed Intimidation. He claimed to have learned it just by watching the rapier swordsman, which was utterly absurd. Was that really something you could copy just by watching from the sidelines? Of course, the method of manifestation was completely different, though there was no way for Rem to know that.
Encrid rejected the Intimidation and spoke with his sword instead.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Metal clashed against metal, sending golden sparks flying between them.
Teresa, uncharacteristically quiet, sat with her legs neatly gathered, waiting for her turn. In other words, it was just daily life.
The next spar was Teresa's turn. She had carefully crafted several techniques and polished them while training with Audin. She wondered if they would work against Encrid. Her heart fluttered.
While he was away, nothing had felt fun. Even as she honed her techniques and built her body, a sense of emptiness had crept in. She felt like a landowner who possessed nothing but an empty barn.
"Why do you look so listless?" Audin had asked when he noticed her limp attitude.
Teresa had contemplated her own heart for a moment before asking, "Wandering Teresa asks: What happens if the Captain doesn't return?"
Audin had burst into a hearty laugh. "He will return."
Audin was a man who always spoke in the name of God, showing deep contemplation rather than blind certainty, yet he was strangely clear-cut when it came to Encrid. He had no doubts.
The moment she saw Encrid return, Teresa's heart beat faster than ever. Her face flushed red. And why wouldn't it?
My techniques.
He was the opponent to test them on. The opponent who would accept her fighting spirit. The one who had drawn her out of the cult. The only one who would dance with her sword and shield. Others were perfectly willing to spar with her, but it was different with him.
Encrid was just... different. Teresa didn't bother trying to find out what that difference was. What mattered to her was the process of fighting him. The process of sparring with him. It was herself, raising her sword and shield before him.
For this, she could burn and incinerate her very life. Burning thus, she would cleave and kill any enemy blocking Encrid's path. She would leave no enemies before him, refusing to let him only look forward. She would make him turn around and face her.
With this sudden, untimely realization, Teresa dropped to one knee and prayed. She gathered and engraved her resolve. It was neither the way of the cultists nor did she call upon the name of any god, but it was unmistakably a prayer.
"Are you sleeping? Who's next?"
The Captain, who had been beaten by Rem but quickly sprang back up, spoke. Teresa straightened her knee and stood. Raising her shield to cover her front, Teresa smiled.
"Wandering Teresa is coming."
Should he call it an enjoyable spar? At least, it was for Encrid. Rem was fun, and Teresa's onslaught was enjoyable too. Dunchabel, who insisted on fighting with two swords, was also a fairly entertaining opponent.
"You're still clumsy," Encrid noted.
"I know!" Dunchabel snapped. She insisted she would use two blades even though she knew she was unrefined.
As he watched her, wondering why she was acting like that, Rem chimed in. "She's a crazy bitch, a crazy bitch. If you run into a high priest while wandering around, kidnap them or something. Everyone here needs treatment."
Apparently, she was using two weapons because she had been deeply impressed by watching Rem. Encrid let her be. It wasn't his place to say anything.
Thus, Encrid returned to the main camp.
"But why haven't you improved at all during this time?" Rem asked, a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice.
Had his skills remained the same? That might be the case. But did that mean nothing had changed?
No.
Encrid had plenty of time to think while traveling for two months. Climbing cliffs, riding horses, walking, running, and entering villages. The battles were short, and the marches were long. Along the way, Sinar would crack Elven jokes, Finn would babble about trivial things, and occasionally, Sachsen would...
"Do whatever it is you desire. Holding it in will only make you sick."
...spout strange things like that.
I've never held anything in, though.
Encrid was sincere. But to others, it might not have seemed that way. Compared to his abilities, Encrid did not cling to worldly rewards. Then, what was it that he desired? Sachsen's question touched upon that very point.
Encrid knew exactly what he wanted and was walking properly along his signposts. And this time, as he walked and walked, his mind spun incredibly fast and clear.
Encrid reflected on his training methods. What he possessed, what he needed to grow, and what he could gain by honing them. Previously, he had been too busy absorbing and digesting his surroundings, but not anymore.
Walking for two months, Encrid had established his training regimen. It was time to put it into practice.
"I'm going to need some help."
And that would start with the stray cat, Sachsen.