Chapter 289: Duty and Responsibility (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 289: Duty and Responsibility (1)
To Krais, this was only logical.
Why risk one’s life in a fight with no chance of winning? Why resolve to die right here?
‘If reinforcements were coming, that would be one thing.’
Weighing the circumstances, it was highly unlikely. But unlikely didn't mean impossible. To catch even a glimpse of those reinforcements, they had to give up what needed to be given up first—like Greenpearl, or the Border Guard fortress.
They had the watchtowers they’d built and the new moats they’d dug, but if they were hammered from both the front and the back, it would all be useless.
‘What we have now is meaningless.’
Planning for the future was also a sign of wisdom. Holding out wasn't always the best answer. Having reached this conclusion through such reasoning, Krais spoke.
He suggested they run.
Encrid stared intently at Big-Eyes, thinking to himself.
‘His eyes seem perfectly fine this time.’
He didn't look terrified or consumed by anxiety. He was asking with a clear head. Did he really not know what would happen if they fled?
Encrid widened his gaze and looked around. The eyes of everyone else besides Big-Eyes—every single squad member—were fixed on him. Whatever choice he made, they would follow his word.
Or so it seemed.
Even Odd-Eye, lingering in front of the barracks, would do the same. To say nothing of Esther. Even Rem, who was currently sleeping off his exhaustion somewhere, would surely chase after him if he returned to find Encrid gone. Ragna, too, seemed like the type to find his way back even if they parted ways and he got lost a thousand times.
Why? Who was he to them? What did they see in him to follow him like this?
He couldn't force his will upon them. He couldn't force them to protect what he had decided to protect. Encrid couldn't bring himself to do that.
"You can go."
That was what came out of his mouth. Krais’s expression brightened, yet he still waited for the next words.
"And you?"
Sachsen, whose speech shortened whenever things didn't go his way, asked abruptly. It felt like the bastard was always biding his time, dropping honorifics the moment he saw an opening.
"I'm not going."
"Why? You've done more than enough by now."
Krais also subtly dropped his polite tone. Encrid didn't call him out on it. Instead, he said what he had to say.
"If you sell your sword for gold coins, you're a mercenary."
Though they wondered what nonsense he was spouting, they all watched him in silence. Seeing them wait, Encrid realized that while he had learned from them, they had also learned something from him: the attitude of listening.
Everyone's ears were open. Even if they hadn't been, it wouldn't have stopped him from speaking, but it was certainly better this way.
"And I am going to be a knight."
He swallowed. His usual thoughts—the convictions he had harbored since some distant day in the past—had been chipped and polished into a sturdy pillar.
Encrid shifted and sat up slightly. Pain surged through his shin and right arm. It wasn't agonizing; it was bearable. At least it was far better than dying. The persistent pain only served to remind him that he was alive, and that he hadn't spent his day in vain.
"I hear that a lot," Sachsen chimed in, as if adding a beat.
Encrid pulled his legs in, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position.
"If you have no intention of selling your sword for mere gold coins, then you must sell it to duty and responsibility. And this, right now, is my duty and my responsibility."
What is a knight? One who protects.
What must they protect?
The knights of legends and myths, those who shone like the sun in the past, had said: Protect the weak. Defend justice. Keep your oaths.
Which of these was the highest priority? Encrid had reached his own conclusion.
Chivalry.
Was risking one's life for a lady chivalry? If he had sworn to do so, then yes. If that was his chivalry, he would readily acknowledge it.
However, he would not sell his sword for mere gold coins. Nor would he become a murderer who enjoyed the slaughter. He sought an intangible value. Protecting what one believes in. Those who swear oaths for that purpose and keep them.
To an ordinary person, he was just a foolishly stubborn human being.
That was Encrid's dream. It was the path he had looked toward and walked upon until now. It was the reason he had never given up despite dying countless times, and why he had never settled for the present.
If Encrid fled now, how many people inside the Border Guard would die? A massacre of three digits or more might occur, sparing neither children, women, the elderly, nor the young.
Perhaps fewer would die. Or perhaps even more would perish. One of their opponents was a cultist. A group of madmen was involved.
Of course, even taking all of that into account, retreating right now could be seen as the most efficient choice. Giving up what had to be given up for now and reclaiming it later might be the better approach.
But he would not do that.
Encrid's emotions did not waver. There was no reason for them to. Since he had decided to do so, he would do it.
The Border Guard was behind him, and Encrid had sworn to protect them. Though he was no knight, Encrid had kept his oath from the very day he had sworn to live that way. He had lived like that ever since. That was the kind of man Encrid was.
Krais's face turned pale again. The corners of his eyes drooped. He seemed thoroughly displeased.
"It's foolish."
"Agreed."
Replying to Krais, Encrid recalled a day from his past.
*
Shhhhhhh.
"This rain is coming down disgustingly hard."
The mercenary captain didn't particularly hate rainy days, but passing through a sticky swamp for a commission made his irritation soar. Fortunately, they weren't cutting straight through the middle of the swamp but rather taking a path through the small forest beside it. Still, that didn't make it any more enjoyable.
The small forest bordering the swamp frequently gifted them long bugs crawling into their armor, and fearless mosquitoes bit the backs of the marching mercenaries' hands.
"Fuck!"
Slap!
One mercenary, slapping the back of his hand, flared up in anger. Where the hell were these damn mosquitoes coming from in this pouring rain?
"Are we there yet?!" a fierce-eyed mercenary shouted.
The guide swept back his soaking, limp black hair and spoke.
"Almost there."
"You've been saying 'almost' for a while now!"
The captain approached. He was large and rough-looking, radiating intimidation from his appearance alone. Yet, even as he looked straight at the captain, the guide's blue eyes remained calm.
"The rain has slowed our pace."
"Whew. Fine, let's go, let's go."
Tap.
The captain lightly tapped the back of the guide's head and shook his head. Then, he placated his mercenary band.
"You miserable bastards. Shut your traps before I throw you all into the swamp."
As he spoke, the captain struck down a long, hanging vine blocking his path with his thick sword. With a thud, the severed vine split to the left and right, clearing the path.
The captain's words were harsh, but they succeeded in silencing the complaints. Watching this, the guide, Encrid, thought that this mercenary band was a pretty decent group. For one, despite his appearance, the captain took good care of his subordinates, and the mercenaries themselves knew how to keep in line.
At the very least, they weren't the type to stab a comrade, a friend, or a client in the back during a job. Without at least this much intuition, a guide would often end up as food for the bugs or fertilizer for the trees. If one didn't want to die on the road, they had to choose their company wisely.
It seemed he had made a good choice this time as well.
"But why are we using that guy instead of a proper Pathfinder?"
Did he ask knowing it could be heard? Or did he say it specifically for him to hear? One of the mercenaries asked, falling in behind the captain.
Shhhhhhh, patter-patter-patter.
Even through the pouring rain, their conversation carried clearly. Thanks to the canopy of trees overhead, the rain didn't pelt them as hard.
"He's cheap."
"Huh?"
"I said he's cheap, that bastard. His pathfinding skills are a bit lacking, sure, but on the flip side, he knows how to swing a sword."
He was useful as a half-combatant, half-guide. Thus, they could get an extra fighter while only paying the rate of a guide. Weighing everything together, the mercenary captain concluded that Encrid's rate was cheap.
Of course, the dimwitted subordinate babbled back, "That's not cheap." He rambled on about how he knew several other guides who were much cheaper.
"Do any of them actually know how to find a path?" a comrade sneered from behind.
"Want me to kill you? You're getting cocky, kid."
After that, it was a parade of trivial jokes. Jokes about killing and surviving. The typical banter of rough mercenaries.
The commission required them to stay and work in a small village nestled inside the forest. It was a relatively safe village, with almost no monsters or demonic beasts nearby. Surrounded by swamps, one might expect a Lizard Colony to exist. But supposedly, some wandering swordsman had come in over a decade ago and slaughtered them all.
Since then, whenever the monster Lizards showed signs of gathering, the village would hire mercenaries. For just a few gold coins a year, they could live free from threat.
Shhhhhhh. The pouring rain. Blurred vision. Damp, uncomfortable clothes and armor. Getting this soaked meant the gambeson he was wearing was practically ruined. Weather that made him glad he had worn something cheap.
Yet, if the rain let up even slightly, the bugs would run rampant, and on top of that, it was hot. He wondered why the trees here were like this; instead of fresh air, they seemed like totems designed to trap the humid atmosphere.
It was a typical commission: exterminating Lizards and repairing the village surroundings. Encrid, who had already spent over half a year holding out and training in a nearby village, was working as a guide just to make ends meet.
"We've arrived."
It was a village they reached by following his clumsy but roughly familiar directions.
"Welcome."
The middle-aged village chief welcomed the mercenary band, and afterward, they dealt with the Lizards drawn by the scent of the swamp. They hung bark ropes, which emitted a scent the creatures detested, all over the swamp trees. They also drove stakes into the ground, though looking at them, one had to wonder if they actually did anything.
"It is wisdom passed down from the past," the chief said. He seemed to believe in it implicitly.
With so many tasks to do, the mercenaries' hands were in high demand. If a Lizard they had failed to drive away cropped up, a sword was needed again, and there was almost no one else to step up besides the mercenary band. A few of the villagers could fight, but the vast majority seemed completely unsuited for combat.
Since he had only tagged along as a guide and had no particular reason to step forward, Encrid was, as always, swinging his sword in an empty lot at the edge of the village.
"Mister."
A kid called out to him. It was a fair-skinned child with gentle, friendly eyes. Was she twelve at most? Having been defeated by someone her size before, he didn't look down on her just because she was young, though she certainly didn't look like someone who wielded a sword.
"Why are you practicing so hard?"
What followed was the usual story. Trivial chatter, a kid who dropped by at every opportunity—a young girl, to be precise. And just like that, Encrid became friends with a little girl.
"I'm going to leave the village in three years."
"Is dying on the road your dream?"
To call dying after leaving the village a dream—she certainly had guts. Where on earth was she going to go alone at that age?
"No, jeez, that's not it! You saw the herbs that drive away the Lizards, right? Do you think those only exist here? The herbs from this swamp are different."
He had heard that the swamp village's main source of income was herbs.
"Ah, so dying on the road is your dream?"
"Oh, seriously!"
Then what was she leaving for?
"I'm going to find a truly amazing herb. And I won't be going alone; I can just tag along with a mercenary band when they visit!"
She called it a dream: finding plants people didn't know about, turning them into medicinal herbs, and selling them.
Encrid didn't laugh at other people's dreams. However, he did worry.
"So your dream is to die on the road while looking for herbs?"
"Ah, seriously!"
He didn't think they were particularly close. It was just a casual acquaintance, a way to pass his spare time. A way to kill time while resting his body, which was exhausted from training.
Perhaps the little girl felt similarly? While the other mercenaries who visited the village looked terrifying, here was a guy who looked relatively gentle, swinging his sword in a corner every day. Someone who wasn't bad to chat with when she struck up a conversation—just about that much.
The mercenary band's work continued for over a month, and the two kept up their trivial conversations.
"Is being a guide your dream, Mister?"
"No, a knight."
"A knight? Those nightmares of the battlefield?"
"Yeah."
"...I think it'd be nice to gather herbs together, though. You could follow me later."
"Forget it."
"No, I respect you, Mister. Really. I mean it."
"Look me in the eye when you say that."
Why was she looking at the distant mountains while talking?
"Huh? What did you say?"
"Look at you, pretending you didn't hear."
She was a truly ridiculous kid.
And crisis, as always, arrived without warning.
"Hey, what do either of us gain if we fight here? Let me put it plainly. If you've gotten everything you were paid, just leave. Get out. It's not like you took a commission for this."
In Encrid's opinion, the mercenary captain was a decent man. For a mercenary captain, he really was. He meant it.
Fifty bandits had appeared out of nowhere, spouting some nonsense about hearing rumors of hidden jewels in the swamp village.
The mercenary captain had to make a choice. And the villagers had to despair.