Chapter 282: The Pain That Kills Me Only Makes Me Stronger
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 282: The Pain That Kills Me Only Makes Me Stronger
"Everyone has assembled."
The entire force had gathered, save for those currently on patrol duty.
Encrid stood upon a platform erected on one side of the training grounds, looking down at the gathered troops with a calm, steady gaze.
Will this actually work? he wondered.
Part of him felt like this was a complete waste of time. Giving a sudden speech wasn't exactly his style, but it had been Krais’s specific request.
Near the end of their strategic meeting, Krais had asked, "What does a group in crisis—a crowd facing imminent danger—need most?"
He had asked the question only to answer it himself.
"It’s simple. Right now, our territory needs a rallying point."
Krais had flung his arms wide as he spoke. The gesture made him look like an actor on a theatrical stage, yet it felt strangely fitting. It was a movement calculated to draw every eye in the room.
At Krais’s explanation, Encrid’s gaze had drifted to the head of the meeting table. There sat a man haunted by misfortune, with dark shadows under his eyes born from sheer exhaustion.
"The Battalion Commander?" one of the platoon leaders had muttered, his tone thick with doubt, as if questioning if this was truly the right path.
"With all due respect to Battalion Commander Graham, there is currently no one who has made a name for themselves in these parts as much as the Mad Company Commander," Krais had countered. "Furthermore, there are those staying in this territory solely because of Commander Encrid—though I doubt all of them have agreed to fight as our allies just yet."
Krais delivered his conclusion bluntly but without malice. He was being considerate, keeping the discussion brief so as not to further damage Graham’s prestige.
And Krais was right.
In accordance with Marcus’s intentions, they had poured out gold coins to absorb the majority of the mercenaries into the army, but not all had joined. A few still had only one foot in the door. They were the types to watch from the sidelines, ready to flee if things went south—or perhaps even defect to the enemy.
In this world, bat-like swordsmen who swayed with the wind were far from rare.
"And then there’s the issue of our own troops' morale," Krais said, raising his right index finger.
The cultists and the Black Sword were deliberately spreading rumors: that Azpen would invade at any moment, that Marcus was plotting a rebellion and would soon be beheaded, and that the cultists would unleash demonic beasts upon the territory this very night.
The security forces had taken up clubs to suppress these rumors, but would that be enough?
No, it wouldn't.
Encrid recognized the problem. You couldn't silence a panicked populace by beating them, nor could you block their words with your hands.
So, how were they to stop it?
Folding his fingers into a fist and sweeping his hand downward, Krais continued, "Rumors are best countered with even more eye-catching actions."
Hence, the need for a rallying point. Or, to use a cheesy term found in old tales and legends: a hero.
To those who had fought alongside him in the last battle, Encrid looked exactly like one. A man who had been struggling in the dirt right beside them was now an independent company commander and a symbol of absolute military might. It was a scene straight out of a heroic epic.
A few soldiers with a musical bent had even composed songs about him, though they weren't exactly pleasant to the ear.
"Ah, I admit it," Vengeance, who had been listening, spoke without thinking and then quickly averted his eyes. He stole a nervous glance at the Battalion Commander. It wasn't the kind of thing one should say in front of their superior.
But Graham acknowledged it as well. Honestly, he had thought more than a few times about how much easier things would be if that bastard just took over as Battalion Commander instead.
Did he lack ambition? No.
But in a godforsaken situation like this...
...Isn't a crazy bastard like him exactly what we need?
Above all, if it was Encrid, Graham didn't mind. He could willingly hand over the position of Battalion Commander and the leadership of the territory to him. There was no grand reason; he simply found himself naturally wishing for that crazy bastard to succeed.
"Proceed with it."
The exhaustion on Graham’s face eased slightly. The proposal brought that much relief. Furthermore, there were no nobles around to make useless noise, which was another factor that put his mind at ease.
"Will this be alright?" Palto tried to object once, but it was half-hearted. He, too, believed they had to do something immediately. Whether it would work was a different story.
And so, Encrid stood on the platform.
"Just tell them to fight hard. That’s all you need to say," Krais had whispered right before Encrid climbed up.
"What we need right now is to flush out internal spies and show the outside world that we are perfectly fine. To do that, we must give the soldiers something to believe in. The Battalion Commander will rest, and once he’s recovered, he’ll stand behind you with a worry-free face, just clapping. You handle the rest."
It was a theatrical play—a calculated act to boost morale and crush the enemy’s designs. Encrid decided to play his part.
Among the murmuring soldiers, he saw veterans and fresh recruits alike. There were familiar faces and strangers. It wasn't snowing, but the sky remained a heavy, oppressive gray.
Then, for a brief moment, the clouds parted, and a single ray of sunlight pierced through. Encrid opened his mouth.
"Do you think we’ll lose?"
The soldiers did not answer. They stared blankly at him. The crowd was vast; even if he shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice wouldn't reach the back.
Esther, in her human form, made a subtle gesture from behind him. It was a spell to amplify and project his voice.
Encrid thought of Krang. Though their encounter had been brief, the impression Krang had left was incredibly deep—a presence that didn't just make people listen, but completely dominated the atmosphere.
Thump.
His heart pounded, and a heat boiled deep within his gut.
"Because I don't think I'll lose."
A single, simple sentence echoed across the grounds. It was filled with absolute, unshakable certainty.
How could he be so sure? The questions the soldiers had about Encrid aligned with their usual awe.
How does he endure that training every day? It’s practically self-torture.
How can a man be like that?
"We won't lose. Protect the Border Guard."
At his third statement, a soldier finally cried out.
"How do you endure it? How do you do that kind of training?"
It was one of the recruits who had been pushed to his limits and shuddered at the mere thought of the daily drills. He had been a petty thief before joining the Gilpin Guild, but after witnessing Encrid fighting for the territory, he had enlisted in the army on the spot.
Encrid realized he wasn't much of an orator. He could only speak from the heart. He welcomed the question, and his innermost thoughts slipped out before he could filter them.
"The pain that kills me only makes me stronger."
The logic didn't matter. Silence descended as the soldiers chewed over his words. The sunlight piercing through the clouds looked like an auspicious light descending from the heavens to illuminate him. Those standing within its reach felt a strange, gentle warmth.
The silence lingered. Just as Encrid wondered if he should say something else, a soldier let out a roar.
"Give me pain, too!"
What on earth is he talking about? Encrid wondered, staring down blankly.
Whatever his inner thoughts, Encrid’s expression remained stoic. From that expressionless face, the soldiers drew a bizarre sense of relief and confidence.
"I will overcome the pain!" another soldier shouted.
"I can do it too!"
"The pain that kills me!"
"Only makes me stronger!"
A bizarre chant was born.
Fortunately, it went exactly as Krais had anticipated. The soldiers' morale began to boil over, almost visibly.
Rem, watching from the side, blinked and whispered, "Isn't the saying 'What doesn't kill me makes me stronger'? I feel like I've heard that somewhere before."
He was right. The words had come out wrong—a slip of the tongue born from Encrid's literal knowledge that death made him stronger.
"As long as we get the result we want, it’s fine," Palto muttered.
The crowd of roaring soldiers was entirely different from the defeated men of yesterday. Just when desertions were about to spike due to rumors, Encrid’s speech had ignited a fire in them.
Pain made them stronger. Even pain enough to kill them only made them stronger.
The soldiers were thoroughly swept up in the fervor. The rigorous training they had endured played a part; they had already seen themselves transformed by it. They knew the Mad Company Commander’s reputation. If a man like that said it, it had to be true.
In the brief lull between the roars, a faint, ominous energy flickered among the ranks.
We can't stop every spy. We can only weed out as many as possible.
Krais’s words flashed through Encrid's mind. He couldn't find every spy, but he could certainly provoke them.
In a sudden flash of wit, Encrid’s voice rang out high and clear over the cheering.
"My name is Encrid! The Mad Company Commander! From this moment, I am going to take the enemy commander’s head! It’s happening tonight! Look forward to it!"
A move worthy of a madman.
"Are we really going tonight?" Rem whispered from behind him.
Waaaaah!
The soldiers' cheers shook the platform. Sachsen listened to Rem’s question, sensed the unsettling atmosphere among the hidden spies in the ranks, and reached a conclusion.
"No, we aren't going, you stupid barbarian," Sachsen muttered, realizing his commander’s intention.
Rem ignored him. "Let’s leave this bastard behind. He’s useless anyway, eh?"
Ignoring the chatter, Encrid drew his sword.
Chriiiiiing!
A faint blue light pierced through the sunlight and shot upward.
"All troops, to your positions!"
"Pain!"
"Give us pain!"
"Oh, pain!"
The chants grew deafening. Graham wondered if this was really okay, but the morale was far beyond what they had hoped for.
Krais often thought that Encrid didn't fully realize his own standing. To the Border Guard, Encrid was twice as mad and twice as monstrous as the rumors suggested. And when people realized that this monster was on their side, fighting at the very front?
They went wild.
Graham knew that now was the moment. This was a time for passion, not cold rationality.
"All troops, advaaance!" Graham roared.
The units began to move out one after another. It was the beginning of Operation Day and Night.
*
Gilpin glanced at Meelun’s face, his guard fully raised. If things went wrong, he’d be the one getting beaten to death.
"It’s fine. The deal is done. He’s a guild member from now on," Krais had said.
Gilpin wondered if this was truly wise. This was the same Frok who had turned their guild house upside down twice. Still, an order was an order. Gilpin was loyal; Krais had never steered them wrong before.
"This way."
Meelun, the Frok, showed no wariness whatsoever. "I'm hungry."
"Here."
Having been released from prison, Meelun was happily slurping down bug stew. Chewing on the grubs, he felt a wave of contentment. He ate fruit and human food too, but nothing beat bug stew. The nutrition and the crunch were superb.
After Meelun had spent three days eating and idling, Gilpin spoke to him cautiously. "Could you keep an eye on the people coming and going in the back alleys?"
"Sure, why not."
Meelun stood up readily. He liked the conditions Krais had offered—especially the part about not forcing a covenant on him.
That bastard Promshell made me sign a covenant first.
Krais had done the opposite. "Eat what you want, do what you want. Just do it within the territory."
"Why should I?" Meelun had asked.
"What is it that you want to do? I want to let you do it to your heart’s content."
Meelun hadn't answered easily. Froks were a race driven by primal desires. Krais, with his sharp intuition, had read Meelun’s wariness.
"If you just tell me, you’re free to leave," Krais had said. "I’ll open the prison door right now."
Seeing Krais take a step back, Meelun finally opened his mouth. "A sense of accomplishment. The desire for the moment of victory—that is my urge."
Krais grasped the core of it instantly. Meelun desired the result of victory, not necessarily the struggle of combat itself.
"It would be nice if there were many easy opponents," Meelun added.
"A mere sparring match won't satisfy me," he said, flicking his long tongue out. He wanted the moment of winning a raw, real battle.
"Ah, that’s perfect. Plenty of those guys come to the Border Guard. If anyone causes too much trouble, just let us know. We have people to handle the real monsters."
People like Rem, for instance. A man who enjoyed it when crazy bastards came at him. The rest—the skilled swordsmen and mercenaries—would be Encrid’s share.
But there were still many thugs and spies visiting the town.
"You’re telling me to roam the territory as I please?"
"It would be even better if you found guys who seem to be hiding their skills and beat them up, wouldn't it?"
A raw fight required the right opponent. Crushing men who thought they were powerful—that was the ultimate satisfaction. Just imagining it gave Meelun a thrill, his skin secreting a slippery oil in excitement.
"Without a covenant?"
"Without one."
Krais had smiled. A covenant was meant to control a Frok’s desires. If you simply provided a way for them to fulfill those desires, they would stay of their own accord. Meelun was naive in that regard.
Thus, the Frok joined the guild and began scurrying through the back alleys.
Gilpin sensed a movement in the shadows. A few new faces had appeared, claiming they were forming a new guild. Among them was a swordsman with two thick scars across his face, carrying a heavy iron mace.
At a glance, the man’s skills were above average—perhaps around the level of a former Border Guard member. But he was no match for a Frok.
"Oh, really? You’re going to fight me?" Meelun grinned. The opponent’s skill level seemed just right. It would be fun to toy with him before the kill.
"Why is a Frok here?" the man stammered, his eyes darting around.
"Does it matter?" Meelun replied, raising his Loop Sword.
The man was flustered by the unexpected monster. The outcome of the fight was a foregone conclusion.
*
"A failure?"
The Wolf Bishop, leader of the cultists, stopped mid-chew. A piece of half-masticated meat flew onto the table.
"Yes. We have lost contact with the group sent to seize the back alleys."
"Send more in."
The Bishop found the situation irritating, but he knew he couldn't be the first to overextend.
Are you planning to just watch and wait until it’s over?
He had intelligence that an assassination squad targeting the commander would be sent tonight. Did they think he would just sit back and take it?
"Where do they think they’re aiming?"
It would be entertaining to chop off the heads of the raiders, impale them on poles, and charge. The Wolf Bishop cackled.
But that night, there were no raiders.
The next morning, however, the Border Guard standing army marched out beyond the castle walls in full force.
They were marching directly toward the Black Sword’s encampment.