Chapter 305: Eating, Drinking, and Resting
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 305: Eating, Drinking, and Resting
When he asked about the meat that melted on his tongue, the answer came quickly.
"It’s eel."
It wasn't a snake, but a long-bodied freshwater fish.
A female soldier explained as she roughly skinned the creature with a short knife. Everyone here was quick-handed and worked with practiced coordination.
"When we head back to the city this time, I’m thinking of transporting fish from the river all the way here to sell. What do you think?" the soldier brushing on the sauce asked.
Encrid silently gave him a thumbs-up. As he did, he pictured the distribution route between the river and this outpost. If the road was well-paved, it would take only two days by carriage. If they could acquire a Spell Object that emitted cold air even in the heat of summer, freshness wouldn't be an issue.
While Artifacts were ancient relics, Spell Objects were magical tools crafted and sold by organizations like the Mage Guild. Among them were tools designed to maintain a gentle chill. Using those, people in large cities could enjoy things like shaved ice even in midsummer.
Of course, they were ridiculously expensive, making them a rare sight in a backwater like the Border Guard, but who knew what would happen once trade developed further? He knew that even now, luxury goods like silk were trickling in. The trade would have grown even larger if not for the war, but that couldn't be helped.
"I’ve never tasted anything like this before."
Encrid spoke with genuine sincerity. Though sauce was smeared around his mouth, it didn't diminish his appreciation; if anything, it amplified it.
The soldier brushing sauce onto the grilled eel grinned. He didn't exactly have a gentle face, but his smile was honest. Pure joy shone through him. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the mere act of someone appreciating his food.
"Do you think it’ll sell well?"
"Incredibly well."
"Even if you’re just saying that, it makes me happy."
"Hey, you have to take me with you then, alright?" said the soldier grilling the eel next to him. He had soot smeared across his face, which looked remarkably natural on him. Neither of them looked very old.
"Helma! Is it all grilled?"
A few soldiers called out as they approached. The female soldier who had been staring at Encrid was named Helma.
"Yeah. Did you catch anything?" Helma replied without looking back.
From what Encrid could gather, they had cleared a path all the way to the Pen-Hanil River, so they would go fishing there whenever they were bored. The approaching soldier set down a thick pouch. Thin shards of ice showered down from the leather, which was coated in a layer of frost from the cold weather.
"What is it?"
"Crayfish."
When the pouch was untied, crustaceans with sharp pincers spilled out. The soldier who had been making the sauce licked his lips.
"Those are delicious even if you just grill them."
Encrid mingled with the soldiers. He ate and enjoyed himself as if he had always been one of them.
"Want a sip?" Helma offered him a drink. It was a musty-smelling whiskey. "It’s not top-shelf stuff, but it’s not bad, right?"
It was indeed perfect for warming the body in the biting cold. The culinarily gifted soldier grilled the crayfish, popped off their heads, and smeared the innards over the meat like a sauce.
"Eating it like this will blow your mind."
Encrid tried it. It almost did. There was no fishy odor, only an overflowing, savory umami. A pleasant sweetness wrapped around his tongue and struck his brain.
"You absolutely have to open a restaurant," Encrid recommended a second time.
Next was trout. Since the guts had already been cleaned by the river, they only needed to grill it. Once sprinkled with salt and pepper, this too was a delicacy.
"By the way, which unit are you with?" another female soldier asked.
Female soldiers were a common sight within the unit. Naurilia highly encouraged women to enlist.
Born the daughter of a serf? If you want to change your life, throw yourself into the military.
This was the female enlistment system—Naurilia’s third military pillar, following the Soldier Grading System and the Soldier Mercenary System. Because it worked so well, female soldiers were easy to find.
"The reinforcements."
"From the Border Guard?"
"Yeah."
"How is it? Is your commander really as handsome as they say? Rumors are everywhere. Is he better-looking than you? Huh?"
Currently, Encrid had a beard. To be precise, he had simply neglected to shave because he lacked the time. It could have looked scruffy, but it couldn't completely hide his underlying features. After all, Helma kept stealing glances at him.
"No, I’m better-looking," Encrid dismissed the question with a joke.
Several soldiers burst out laughing. Some cast envious glances, while others liked Encrid’s easygoing attitude.
"Why don't you stop showing off?" quite a few soldiers grumbled. It was the natural aftermath of envy and complex emotions.
"Sure. I will," Encrid accepted the jab calmly.
What was the point of fighting them? If it had been Rem, he would have cracked their skulls first, but he wasn't Rem.
After eating and drinking, he entered his assigned barracks to find Esther sitting quietly, waiting for him. There were rumors that several soldiers who saw her had instantly fallen lovesick. With her silky black hair cascading down and wrapped in a thick black fur coat, the mage’s appearance—alongside Sinar’s—was more than enough to captivate the camp.
Was that why she hadn't gone outside? Probably not. Esther simply didn't pay much attention to her surroundings in the first place.
The mage looked at Encrid. Her flat, monotone voice was the very definition of bluntness.
"I need to go somewhere for a bit."
"Alright."
Encrid had no reason to hold her back. Just like that, Esther abruptly departed.
At dawn the next day, Krais asked with bloodshot eyes, "Do... Do you not think her spells or magic would be helpful?"
In other words, why did he just let Esther go? Since she was currently in human form, wouldn't she be an asset? It was something Encrid had considered as well.
"It won't work."
"Why not?"
"Because if she could help, she would have stepped up long ago."
Normally, Krais would have realized this too. Esther had been in her human form for a long time now. If she could have solved their problems with spells, she would have done it already. The fact that she hadn't meant there was a reason.
Encrid knew this, which was why he let her go. He figured she had her own business to attend to, and he didn't think she was desperately needed right now. He felt that unless she wanted to help, forcing her might actually do more harm than good. It wasn't a logical thought, but a feeling. Encrid was simply following his intuition.
"Why do you only get smart at times like this?" Krais grumbled, conceding the point.
Afterward, Encrid warmed up his body and began his training. Through the Isolation Technique, he went through the process of tightening, stretching, and torturing each muscle individually before swinging his sword.
This time, he had killed Lycanos and retrieved his sword. Now, two blades hung from his left hip.
"Isn't that uncomfortable?" Sinar asked, having approached to watch him.
"Now that I’m used to it, it’s fine. It’s also lighter than I expected."
"Is that so?"
"A light spar?"
"Not a bad idea."
Clang!
Sinar’s Leaf Sword was flexible, smooth, and fast. Supporting herself on her toes, she practically bounced forward to swing. Even though her attacks were light, they were tricky to deflect.
"Are you countering my techniques?"
"Quick-witted, aren't you, fiancé?"
By the time he tried to deflect and counter, she had already struck and retreated. Encrid changed his stance. Heavy sword. Swinging with weight and slashing with momentum. He added speed to it. It wasn't the five-swings-in-a-single-step technique that Ragna had shown him before, but it was two strikes per step. After observing and pondering over it, he was at least able to mimic the rhythm.
"Good," Sinar admired.
Her Leaf Sword changed as well, shifting from a fast, snapping strike to a soft sword that absorbed blows. It was ever-changing. The elven sword was sharp yet gentle. Encrid observed this and committed it to memory. When he reviewed it later, there would be something to learn.
Although his right arm injury hadn't fully healed, this wasn't a life-or-death spar. Neither of them was being particularly serious. After clashing for a while, Sinar wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
"Do you know the name of that sword?"
"Does it have a name?"
He was holding the sword Lycanos had used in his left hand. Encrid scanned the blade. It was an awl-like sword, tapering from the hilt to the spine and the tip. The blade was silver, and the hilt was wrapped in something rough but comfortable. It didn't need extra leather padding; when held, it locked perfectly into his palm, giving the impression of being custom-made for a light-sword specialist.
He already knew it was no ordinary weapon, especially with the patterns resembling structured characters engraved near the hilt.
"It’s a sword crafted by the elves," Sinar said quietly. "Its name is Spark."
"Is it famous?"
"In its own way."
It was sturdy yet light, meaning it wasn't made of ordinary iron. Spark was a sword crafted by a famous elven artisan. Elven swords came in two types, Naidel and Needle, and this was a named sword of the Needle variety. Naming a weapon meant the creator had absolute confidence in it.
She had heard it was lost ten years ago, and yet here it was. A light, durable sword specialized in thrusting—the finest of all Needles.
How many swords were lost back then?
The artisan who made Spark had crafted several other swords, all of which were lost due to a certain incident. "A certain incident" was just a polite way of putting it; in truth, they were lost because of a pathetic lineage.
Endurance, Destruction, Spark... there had been others. She couldn't remember them all. If she went to the elven city, they would likely be documented as items to be recovered, along with records of the wicked human bandits who took them. They were all lost when an ambushed elven swordsman died. That was what happened when a sword was given to someone without the qualification or skill.
It is only right for one who is worthy to hold it.
So, it was only natural for Encrid to possess Spark. At least, that was how she saw it.
"It seems to be a famous sword. Is there no need to return it?"
"Unless they look closely, even an elf wouldn't recognize it. 'Spark' is written in the elven tongue right beneath the guard, so you just need to cover that up."
Sinar spoke and turned away. Encrid understood her meaning perfectly. She was telling him to hide it and use it. He decided to do just that. He had picked up a fine blade; there was no need to go out of his way to return it. Encrid, too, had a desire for good swords.
After working up a sweat with Sinar, he felt hungry again. Encrid washed up and wandered around the inner camp, which was structured almost like a village. Though there was no blacksmith, he saw people grilling food or patching cloth everywhere. Every single person seemed to have plenty of work to do.
This time, he brought Ragna and Dunchabel along. The two had been staring blankly at the spar, seemingly having nothing else to do.
"Want to come along?"
"Sure."
"I knew you ate something yesterday. The smell was wafting off you," Dunchabel said.
As a beastman, her sense of smell was incredibly sharp, and she had a taste for delicious food.
"Follow me."
Encrid settled down in a suitable spot and snacked on various things. He didn't reveal his identity. Seeing how Encrid interacted with the soldiers, Dunchabel quickly made up an excuse, claiming she was also one of the reinforcements.
"By the way, who made this? It’s amazing."
"I did."
"Good job, kid." Dunchabel thoughtlessly patted the soldier’s head, and the young man’s cheeks flushed slightly.
A few soldiers threw questions at Ragna, but he remained silent, looking lost in thought. The soldiers kept a reasonable distance from him.
"Why do they look like they’re a bit sick in the head?" one of them muttered, piercing right to the core of the matter.
Encrid heard it and understood. While he was perfectly fine, his squad members did tend to look a bit... lacking.
"Hey, I told you to stop showing off. Why the hell are you bringing these weird friends of yours around?" one soldier snapped.
Encrid let it slide calmly once again. "Right, I’ll be careful."
"This bastard, always just talking..."
"Hey, cut it out," another soldier intervened.
"No, but this guy—"
"I said stop. Don't act like an idiot."
Though they found it annoying that he only gave lip service while doing whatever he wanted, they couldn't go out of their way to cause trouble. The surrounding soldiers held the aggressive one back.
"You watch yourself," was all they could say.
Encrid, watching this, thought their discipline was quite solid. It wasn't a major incident, but they could have easily lunged at him out of spite. Had they done so, he would have had no choice but to rough them up, just like Rem would have.
As he smacked his lips, Helma looked at Encrid with a strange expression. Encrid casually ignored her and went back to relaxing. The grilled trout, crayfish, and seasoned eel even made Ragna’s eyes sparkle. For a guy who was usually a picky eater to react like this, the food was definitely the real deal.
"This sauce is a family secret, you see," the soldier said, warily checking Dunchabel’s reaction.
Encrid ate, drank, and rested, doing only the bare minimum of training. His body had not yet fully recovered.
While the rear soldiers were busy crafting and cooking, the front of the camp revealed soldiers with a completely different atmosphere. Garret’s battalion had few combat-ready personnel, but this group was the most exceptional among them: the plains scouts, the Greenpearl Ranger unit.
"Going out on patrol?"
"Who are you? Which unit?"
It was clear he was an ally, but scouting missions were inherently dangerous. They couldn't just give answers to an unfamiliar face. Several soldiers cast wary glances.
"I came as reinforcements," Encrid said, showing his epaulet—the emblem of the Border Guard’s tall watchtower.
"I don't think that’s any of your business," spoke a soldier who, by the standards of the Soldier Grading System, was at least Special Class. He was short, but his body was agile.
Encrid scanned the man’s build, light equipment, and center of gravity.
Seizing the position with his feet, then deciding the match with a thrust.
He could see a stiletto dangling from the man’s waist. This was the conclusion he reached after visually assessing the opponent’s level of training—knowledge gained through the Isolation Technique and his time with Audin.
"Here, eat." Encrid pulled some seasoned jerky from his pocket and tossed it over.
Catching it, the Special Class soldier asked, his eyes still filled with suspicion, "What is this?"
"Try it. It’s delicious."
The soldier bit off a small piece, then tore the jerky apart.
"Do you have bread? Try dipping it in this." Encrid also handed some marmalade to the soldier next to him. It was a specialty of the Border Guard.
Supplies weren't scarce, but they weren't abundant either. Because they were defending a narrow area, they couldn't easily go out hunting, and they occasionally had to clear out nearby monsters. Excluding a few archers on the watchtowers, the main force of this unit consisted of rangers. There was no cavalry to speak of.
"This is actually good," one of the scouts muttered.
The Special Class soldier—the scout captain—snorted. "I don't know what you’re up to, but did you even report to your direct superior before wandering around like this?"
He hadn't. Well, he could just do it now. Encrid reported to his superior—that is, he reported to himself in his mind, received an answer, and then replied.
"I’m giving it to you because you’re working hard. Just eat."
"What a weird guy."
Even after that, Encrid focused on looking around the camp, eating, and resting. There was a lot to be learned. They had clustered the watchtowers in a narrow area to make defense easier, though it made them vulnerable to flanking. Some risks had to be accepted.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, around sunset, a messenger rushed into the camp. Everyone’s eyes turned toward the man.
"The enemy is right before our eyes!"
The words spread like wildfire from the commander’s tent. The peace was over.