Chapter 301: That I Was Not Wrong
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 301: That I Was Not Wrong
Waaaaaaah!
The moment they stepped into the Border Guard, a deafening roar slammed into them.
A thrill coursed through Encrid’s entire body. It was only natural; everyone had poured out into the streets, screaming their lungs out in a frenzy of relief and joy.
"My ears are going to burst," someone muttered.
Amidst the exhausted soldiers and the falling snow, the people erupted. The Black Sword had threatened them, and the cultists had swarmed their gates. Officially, it had been Viscount Tarnin’s army, but that was nothing more than dressing ghouls in human clothes.
It was a thinly veiled ruse. Anyone with half a brain knew the truth—even the local innkeeper.
Although Azpen still loomed on the horizon, there were moments in life that simply could not be passed over in silence.
When is life at its most precious? It is when one overcomes a mortal threat. When one narrowly escapes the jaws of death. When the heart beats with the raw, undeniable proof of being alive.
That was exactly what the residents of the Border Guard felt right now. They had escaped the shadow and survived the storm.
There were those who hadn't been able to bear the tension and had fled in the dead of night. There were those who had run away long before the first blow was struck. Conversely, there were those who had chosen to stay.
Now, they did not spare their vocal cords. They screamed as if their hearts might explode.
"You! If it’s you, I’ll give you the prize I’ve guarded for twenty years!" shouted Vanessa, the innkeeper.
Having lost her first husband at twenty-five and never having looked at another man since, Vanessa guarded her virtue fiercely. If anyone ever tried to make a move on her, she was known to swing a cast-iron pot with lethal intent.
"Who’d want that?!" a burly mercenary shouted from beside her.
He had clearly been mauled in the battle; blood-stained bandages were wrapped tightly from his left eye down to his jaw. Yet, as if he felt no pain, the mercenary roared with laughter, even as the exertion threatened to reopen his wounds.
"I wasn't talking to you, you oaf!"
"Get a grip, landlady!"
The crowd erupted in laughter. The mercenary didn't stop, bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"They fight like absolute demons!"
"Bloody brilliant fighters, the lot of them!"
Following the mercenary’s lead, the rough, gravelly voices of the men joined the high-pitched, piercing cheers of the women. Everyone was drunk on the pure, intoxicating joy of victory.
"Geez, did they forget Azpen is still out there? Is this really the time for a party?" Krais grumbled.
Seeing this, Rem reached out to pat the back of Krais’s head.
Smack!
Perhaps his desire to be "affectionate" was a bit too eager, because his hand connected with a sharp crack. Rubbing the back of his head, Krais turned with a grimace.
Rem chuckled. "You gotta enjoy it when you can, kid."
"Are you going to 'enjoy things' right before you die, too?"
"Look at you, talking back. I’m enjoying myself right now—just as I’m about to split your skull into six pieces with my axe."
"Enough," Encrid intervened. If left alone, Krais’s skull might not actually get split, but he was definitely going to take a few more lumps.
"It is a poor habit to oppress the weak simply because you yourself are weak," Ragna remarked, observing the exchange.
Somehow, with Encrid at the center, the group had naturally split: the injured gathered on the left, and the unhurt on the right. On the left stood Rem, Audin, and Teresa. On the right were Ragna, Sachsen, and Dunchabel.
"Huh? What was that? I can't hear you over the sound of a dumbass who gets lost every five seconds," Rem said, cupping a hand behind his ear.
This time, Sachsen chimed in. "Oppressing the weak. Bad habit. Do not do it."
Sachsen added a gesture, waving his hand dismissively from side to side. It was the kind of condescending tone one used when scolding a pet.
Regardless of whether the crowd was cheering for the "Immortal Rem," the man in question drew his axe. "Why don't you come closer and say that to my face?"
"No. Wait. Tsk, no." Sachsen crossed his arms, continuing his mocking gestures.
If this goes on, they’re going to blow up.
Seeing the tension, Ragna added another comment. It was, in essence, like pouring a gallon of oil onto an active forge.
"Whether it’s the guy who got his arm broken by a single dog, or the guy who barely escaped with his life..."
There was no particular malice in Ragna’s tone. This was both Ragna’s greatest strength and his most glaring weakness: he spoke with absolute, unfiltered sincerity. He didn't bother to hide the truth, even when the truth was an insult.
"Haha, brother. Would you like to enter eternal sleep?" Audin didn't flare up; he merely spoke with a quiet, chilling calm.
Ragna truly believed they were weaklings. Encrid heard every word and knew that if he didn't step in, blood would be spilled right in the middle of their triumphal entry. Everyone was subtly raising their momentum.
It had been a while since they’d been this rowdy. Come to think of it, they had managed to get along surprisingly well until now. In a way, this was progress—at least this time, they were taking sides before fighting. Rem and Audin on one side, Ragna and Sachsen on the other.
Actually, looking at it that way, it was an even bigger mess than usual.
"Aren't you going to stop them?" Even Krais, who had sharp instincts, felt a chill and nudged Encrid’s side.
Encrid was now an expert at managing this group. A single sentence was enough.
"I think I'm faster than you now, Rem."
The murderous tension deflated instantly. Rem blinked, his aggression replaced by confusion. "What did you just say?"
"Check it later."
The aura dissipated. Encrid’s gaze turned to the horse leading the way. The leopard who had briefly shown her face before heading inside wasn't hurt, but she looked exhausted. The wild horse, Odd-Eye, walked proudly even without reins, busy observing his surroundings. One would expect a beast to be frightened by such a boisterous crowd, but he was perfectly calm.
Horses were generally skittish creatures, but perhaps because he carried the blood of a demonic beast, he remained unbothered. It was an attitude born of supreme self-confidence—the knowledge that he could escape or kill anything that crossed him. Seeing him gallop and fight on the battlefield, he had proven himself reliable.
He’s a member of the unit, too, Encrid acknowledged inwardly.
Leaving the cheers behind, they entered the military district. Rem immediately stepped in front of Encrid.
"Ta-da! Time for verification. Let’s see it then. What’s faster?"
"Is your body alright?" Encrid asked with genuine concern. It wasn't meant as a provocation, but...
"Son of a bi-i-tch," Rem replied, his face contorting into a masterpiece of pure annoyance. It was a grotesque expression, yet somehow, it signaled a warm, harmonious conversation by their standards. "Let’s see it. If you’re slower than me, this won't be any fun."
What an amusing bastard.
Encrid took his stance. In front of the barracks, with the unit watching, he prepared to demonstrate the technique he had realized during the heat of battle.
He couldn't thrust in a single, perfect breath yet, and his ability to infuse his Will was still unrefined. But once infused, it was faster than Lycanos. It was similar to his Will of 'Rejection.' Though his control was clumsy, the activation was overwhelming.
Relaxation. Contraction. Explosion.
Repeating the process, he thrust his sword. The blade extended in a perfect straight line, seemingly folding space and tearing through the sound barrier.
Clang!
Rem tried to deflect the sword with his axe but failed to catch the timing. He was forced to block the blade with the flat of his axe head. The result was a piercing metallic screech.
"Good block," Encrid said, admiring him. He hadn't aimed to kill, but that speed was not something easily countered.
"...What the hell did you do while I was gone?" Rem did not hide his shock.
He wasn't the only one. Ragna let out a sharp, involuntary cough. Sachsen’s perpetually half-closed eyes widened. Audin froze, his smiling face locking in place like a finely crafted marble statue.
Ragna was relatively calm since he had seen it once before, but seeing it once didn't mean he was used to it. If anything, seeing it again proved that Encrid killing Lycanos had been no fluke.
A single word flashed through Ragna’s mind: Fast.
Even watching it now, it was blinding. Speed is relative, and from that perspective, how many people could truly block that thrust? The barbarian, the bear-like fanatic, and the wildcat—those three might manage. But for the beastman or Teresa, it would be nearly impossible. Teresa might manage if she raised her shield in anticipation, but not the beastman. It wasn't a gap in raw skill, but a fundamental difference in their fighting styles.
However, weaknesses were also apparent.
The delay after a single thrust is too long.
While the instantaneous acceleration was unprecedentedly brilliant...
"Let’s try again once you’ve properly integrated it into your body, eh?" Rem noted.
The bastard was right. It wasn't fully integrated yet. Encrid’s arm trembled, his posture collapsed slightly, and his balance was disrupted. Of course, that didn't diminish the lethality of the strike.
A Will focused entirely on speed. In other words, Encrid’s thrust was now at a level expected of an Associate Knight. Without realizing a fragment of Will, such a limit-breaking technique could never be executed.
'Rejection' and 'Thrusting.' Two fragments of Will.
It was fascinating, though not impossible. Still, Encrid was a type of human Ragna had never encountered before. Then again, if Encrid were an ordinary man, Ragna wouldn't have stayed by his side this long.
"Let’s do that," Encrid said calmly.
Amidst the heavy snow, the group fell into their own thoughts. Everyone present felt the same—watching Encrid, they were hit by a merciless wave of inspiration.
"O Father," Audin murmured in prayer, while Dunchabel’s eyes burned with a competitive fire. Teresa forgot her injuries, her hands itching for a weapon.
Krais, who had watched the whole display, sighed. "Are you guys serious? Sparring at a time like this?"
"What, would you rather shovel snow?" Rem shot back.
Instead of arguing, Krais steadied his breathing and turned to Encrid. "Captain, let me ask you one last thing."
"Ask."
"Bite him hard!" Dunchabel chirped from the side. Rem promptly kicked her in the rear.
"You haven't had enough of a beating, have you?"
"Why are you always picking on me?!"
"Why do you think?"
Ignoring the two, Krais continued. "Are we going to keep fighting?"
The question carried immense weight. They could run. If they abandoned Greenpearl, defending the Border Guard would be simple. Now that they had passed this hurdle, the forces of Martai could finally move. They hadn't been able to withdraw easily due to the cultist uprising, but by now, they should have set out. They would likely arrive by tomorrow.
Even so, would they step forward to fight Azpen?
"If we leave them be?" Encrid asked back.
"Whew. I'm saying this because I think you already know the answer, but if we leave them be, it will be nearly impossible to protect this city in the long run."
That was Krais’s assessment. Things were chaotic inside Naurilia. Otherwise, reinforcements should have arrived long ago. At the very least, Count Molsen shouldn't have been able to turn a blind eye like this.
The power of the capital did not reach this far. Yet, they had managed to pull Battalion Commander Marcus out of the fray. No matter how one looked at it, the omens were grim.
The conclusion remained the same: if they wanted to survive and protect what they had, they had to strike first. It was better to attack while they held the advantage in both terrain and momentum.
"What do you think those Azpen bastards are up to?" Encrid asked, sheathing his sword and glancing at the sky.
The snow had grown heavier. If it continued, the world would turn into a white wasteland. It was unfortunate for the soldiers, but regardless of their exhaustion, they would have to shovel snow. If left alone, the drainage channels would freeze, and the weight of the snow would collapse the roofs of the wooden buildings. The barracks were stone, but if the perimeter fences broke, the repairs would be grueling.
While considering the hazards of the weather, Krais pondered Azpen’s motives. The conclusion was anticlimactic.
"I don't know. If they wanted Greenpearl, they should have struck long ago. I think we need to observe them a bit more." He had dark predictions born of a grim imagination, but none felt certain. "Once the snow stops, we must march out," Krais added.
Encrid nodded. There was nothing left to do but prepare.
They ate, they slept, and they rested. But as the snow continued to fall into the evening, complaints erupted among the men.
"Let us drink and enjoy ourselves, you damn snow!"
Krais dismissed it as spoiled whining, reminding them they were only able to rest because of the snow. Meanwhile, those who intended to drink did so anyway.
Instead of joining them, Encrid reflected on what he had gained. He reviewed the battle, retracing every step and every strike. Was there anything he missed? Was there a lesson he hadn't fully grasped? Reflection always yielded growth.
After a day of mental rest, he began to slowly warm up his body the following morning.
"Apply this." Sinar approached and tossed him an ointment crafted by elves. It was potent medicine; once applied, minor wounds closed rapidly. It was especially effective on the burns on his back.
"I'll apply it for you," the company commander said, spreading the salve herself.
A stinging pain and a cool sensation washed over his skin simultaneously. His recovery was unnaturally fast, aided by the activation of his body’s natural healing through the Isolation Technique. He possessed a Regenerative Body—a vessel that mended itself even when broken.
"Give me a few more. There are many injured," Encrid requested.
Sinar looked around at the rowdy mercenaries. "For wounds like theirs, spit is enough to heal them." With that, she swept out of the room.
No matter how he looked at it, Rem was in much worse shape than he was.
"This is discrimination! Pure discrimination! Why does she only do that for the captain?"
"You're not asking because you don't know, are you?" Dunchabel said, her face dead serious.
"I don't know! I don't! Since I don't know, let’s train. Beastman! Hey, beastman, let’s play!"
As Rem growled, Dunchabel bolted out of the barracks. Her movements were outstanding; with a sharp tap, she kicked off the ground and burst through the door like a white shadow. She had improved—it was clearly visible.
Standing in the snow outside, Dunchabel stuck out her tongue. "Whatever!"
Her voice reached Rem, but he didn't give chase. His thermal leather was ruined, so he had patched it into a makeshift vest. He pondered whether he should actually go out and slit the beastman’s throat or stay warm. Chasing her would be quick, but his injuries could use the rest.
"Be patient, brother." At Audin’s gentle dissuasion, Rem snorted and lay back down. She would return eventually. When she did, he would beat her then. Seeing how she was the only one uninjured, she clearly hadn't broken her habit of dodging the heavy lifting in a fight. It was his duty to re-engrave the proper way of fighting into her soul.
Audin, whose arm was still set in a splint, examined the wound on Encrid’s shin. "It will heal quickly."
Yet, Audin’s own arm showed no signs of rapid recovery. Even now, he did not manifest his divine power. There was a reason for his restraint, but Encrid didn't ask.
Encrid nodded vaguely and stepped outside to warm up. He also planned to check on the mercenaries who had fought for the city.
The snow had subsided slightly. A few soldiers recognized him, stiffening into crisp salutes. Given his performance on the battlefield, their reverence was expected. He had been the eye of the storm.
As he walked toward the edge of the camp, he saw a woman standing at the entrance, her nose red from the biting cold. When Encrid approached, she raised her head.
"Ah." She recognized him instantly. She stepped forward, knelt, and bowed her head low. "I was taught that no matter how lowly one’s status, one must never fail to acknowledge a debt of gratitude," she whispered.
She appeared to be in her forties. "Thank you for saving my son."
The woman wept as she spoke. Everyone had told her to give up, to accept the loss. But he had saved that child. Her child. To her, Encrid was not just a soldier; he was salvation.
Encrid felt a strange sense of elevation. His heart trembled. It felt as if voices were whispering in his ear.
You were not wrong.
It sounded like Gere and Pete.
I'm cheering for your dream, mister.
A child’s voice overlapped with theirs.
He wanted to end war on the continent. Encrid wanted to become a knight and bring about that end with his own hands. To ensure no mother would ever have to lose her child to the flames of conflict—that was his reason for being.
Helping the mother to her feet, Encrid calmly sent her on her way.
His fight, his dream, was only just beginning. If life was a path, he had merely reached the starting line. No, he hadn't even reached the line yet.
He wanted to become a knight.
A faded, torn dream was now being patched together, glowing with a new, fierce light right before his eyes.