Chapter 306: The Variable
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 306: The Variable
Good luck or bad, the sky was far too clear. The wind barely stirred.
It was a string of warm winter days. It was warm enough that the previously fallen snow had begun to gently melt away. Greenpearl wasn't a place where snow typically piled up, though the peaks of the Pen-Hanil Mountains were always blanketed in white.
In other words, it was a damn good day for a fight. It felt as if the heavens themselves were pushing them toward the slaughter.
"The enemy is right before us!" the messenger reported.
Even then, Encrid was still wandering among the common soldiers.
"We meet them at the wooden barricades! Everyone, out!"
At the commander's shout, Encrid moved.
"Hey, shouldn't you be heading back to your post?" Helma asked, turning her head.
She was speaking to Encrid, who had fallen in beside her. She was just heading out, gripping her buckler and short spear. Matching her pace, Encrid gave a casual reply.
"It's fine."
Helma blinked. What do you mean, 'it's fine'? And can this guy even fight? Usually, pretty boys like him are useless in a scrap.
Helma found herself worrying about Encrid, despite having known him for only two days.
"If the superiors find out, they'll break your nose."
Encrid gave another half-hearted reply to her warning. "I got permission."
He had simply asked the question and answered it himself. Therefore, in his mind, he had permission. Besides, this was a pre-arranged move.
What variable would he create on the battlefield? There was only one thing Encrid could do.
"Hey, if you're going to be like that, why don't you just stand at the very front?" a soldier grumbled. It was the same man who had been complaining earlier.
He showed a strange hostility, but Encrid didn't care. When they were about to spill blood and fight together, this level of whining was honestly cute. Compared to Rem, it was nothing more than a child's tantrum.
"Sure," Encrid replied, picking up his pace. He was already heading to the front anyway.
Helma, likely assigned to the vanguard, directed her steps that way as well.
"Hey, mind your own business," Helma snapped at the soldier behind them.
The soldier fell silent. He probably hadn't expected Encrid to actually go.
In the meantime, Encrid had roughly gauged the soldiers' skill levels. Rem had done a terrible job of it, but looking at them through the lens of the Naurilian Soldier Grading System, there were a few who seemed to be at the senior level. Helma was at least intermediate. Their fighting force wasn't as bad as he had initially thought.
Though the majority were closer to junior rank and their branches consisted only of infantry and archers, their discipline was excellent. They raised horses but had no cavalry; instead, they had prepared wagons along the supply route toward the rear. Naturally, those wagons were loaded with supplies and essentials.
They're perfectly prepared to run if things go south.
Whether we become war criminals or get hunted down, we won't die a dog's death here for nothing. I won't let myself, or my subordinates, end up that way.
It was a formation and preparation that made him feel as if he could hear Garret's voice. Encrid quite liked that.
As he walked, he casually swung his arms. The pain was faint. His right arm had recovered reasonably well, and his left shin was perfectly fine. The various wounds he had sustained elsewhere now left only faint traces. Sachsen had looked at him and promised that no scars would remain on his face. Instead, the marks would stay on his shins, forearms, and torso.
Hearing that, Krais had spouted some nonsense again.
"Scars on the face aren't bad, but it's still better not to have them."
It was a testament to Krais's determination to drag Encrid to a salon no matter what. What a ridiculous man.
Encrid moved, feeling the texture of the soft armor wrapped around his shoulders, chest, and thighs. Even though it was relatively thin leather, it felt stiff. Wearing a thin gambeson underneath made it feel somewhat suffocating. Still, taking it off would not only leave him cold but also halve his defense. A moderate amount of discomfort would ultimately translate to protection.
"You're going in carrying three swords? Seriously, if you fight at the very front, you're going to get yourself killed," Helma said with concern. She was a good-natured friend.
Just as he was about to respond, Sachsen approached from the side. No, he practically materialized. Encrid had sensed him beforehand with his sharp five senses, but Helma had not.
"I've brought him."
Helma jumped in surprise. It felt as if a man had suddenly popped out of the ground. He wore a thin hat instead of a helmet, and the blonde man, who kept adjusting his leather helmet, joined them.
"You're here?"
"Yes."
"Where is Dunchabel?"
"Big-Eyes kept her separate with Sinar. Said we have to keep our cards hidden."
"Ah, is that so?"
It was a trivial conversation, one Helma couldn't fully understand. However, she realized that the man before her was by no means ordinary. No, it would be more accurate to say she had known all along but was only now truly registering it. He was a man who had drawn attention from the very beginning. He moved as if the tension circulating through the camp meant nothing to him.
Encrid paid no attention to Helma's gaze. He focused on the task at hand.
What they needed was a variable—something the enemy wouldn't expect. Encrid chose the very beginning of the battle to initiate it. Krais had agreed to this as well. It was a method that had worked well so far. By delivering an unexpected blow, they could observe the enemy's reaction. That would allow them to confirm at least some of the cards the enemy was hiding.
It was fine if they couldn't see everything. Even seeing just a part would allow them to deduce what would come next. The situation would be completely different from their current state of total ignorance.
Ah, please, just...
Krais was currently fighting off ominous thoughts. Encrid, on the other hand, was calm.
There are quite a lot of them.
Even as the enemy army approached, he didn't feel particularly tense. He felt no great sense of danger. It felt as though whatever the enemy had prepared, it would be fine. His instinct warning him of danger was quiet, and his physical condition was better than expected. His right arm was more than half recovered, after all.
Good.
It really wasn't bad.
"Waaaaaaah!"
Shouts from both friend and foe shook the air. Azpen still adhered to their slow march. As soon as the approaching enemy entered bow range, their allies were the first to release their strings.
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
Arrows sliced through the air, signaling the start of the battle. Azpen shot back. A black rain began to fall overhead. It was a more standard start to a battle than ever before.
"Hold!"
"Raise your shields! Don't lower them!"
"Argh!"
"You stupid bastard!"
Arrows fired in high arcs appeared like black dots in the sky before pouring down. An unlucky soldier took an arrow to the shoulder. His comrade dragged the wounded man back, while another raised a shield over them to block the incoming fire. Their coordination was good. They were well-trained.
Yet, it was still lacking. Compared to the Border Guard Standing Army they had brought as reinforcements, they were weak. It was like comparing a solid stone to hardened mud.
I need to make the training more rigorous.
He would have to draw up a training schedule for those who survived today. It was an idle thought, but not a bad one. Planning for the future was always helpful. This kind of thinking was also a form of preparation—a way of steeling one's mindset. Adjusting one's sword belt and gripping one's weapon properly weren't the only ways to prepare.
Encrid casually watched and dodged the incoming arrows. When he could dodge daggers thrown right at his face, this was child's play. He hadn't even brought a shield. While being fully armed was important, for now, three swords would be better.
Looking to his side, Ragna was dodging arrows without even looking, leaping away to create distance, while Sachsen had already vanished. They would manage on their own. Was there any reason to worry about Sachsen? Probably not.
Encrid focused only on his own task.
"Whew."
He regulated his breathing. No matter the battlefield, no matter the opponent, and whether his current condition was good or bad, danger always existed. Threats could never be ignored. As always, Encrid brought out his absolute best.
To start, he held a single sword in both hands.
Shring.
A steel sword with a bluish tint slid from its scabbard. He raised the blade into the brilliant winter sunlight. It had a few nicks, but it was still sturdy. Even though he had tried to maintain it, it was in this state because he had used it too roughly. It was only because it was a high-quality sword that it had lasted this long. A common steel blade would have shattered long ago.
A good sword was always right.
I'm counting on you one more time.
Encrid spoke to his sword. When the time came for it to rest, he would send it off gently, but not today.
The infantry of both charging armies were gradually closing the distance. Encrid moved with them. He strode forward with long, rapid steps. There was no hesitation. Half a step ahead of his allies, then breaking away from their ranks to go even further forward—soon, a gap of several paces opened up.
Naturally, it looked as though he was charging out all on his own.
"Hey, where are you going?!" someone shouted from behind. It sounded like the grumbling soldier. "You crazy bastard! Hey!"
He ignored them. Now was the time to draw everyone's attention.
"Please shake them with the first blow."
There had been Krais's request, but Encrid's own heart was already boiling over.
What have you prepared? An associate knight? A magic sword? Magic? Sorcery? Did you even bring a knight? If not, how are you going to stop me?
After a flurry of thoughts, Encrid stepped onto the frozen ground bristling with arrows and clashed with the enemy. Because he was faster than anyone, he was the first.
"You crazy bastard!"
A tense enemy soldier thrust his spear forward. Encrid shifted his tempo. Instantly dropping his center of gravity, he accelerated. Before the soldier's eyes could adjust to the sudden shift in speed, Encrid's foot had already found the man's shin.
Kicking him mid-stride—Thud, crack!
The bone shattered in a single blow, sending the soldier's body flying into the air before crashing to the ground.
"Argh!"
Leaving the scream behind, he slammed his elbow into the head of the soldier next to him. He had used his foot and elbow almost simultaneously.
"Gack!"
A death rattle sounded. Crack! Crunch! The struck soldier's neck bones shrieked, and blood seeped through his helmet. His skull had been crushed in a single blow.
Only then did Encrid swing his sword. Pivoting on his left foot, he swung once from his right hip to the upper left. Accompanied by the wind, the heavy sword swept diagonally. It was a Heavy Sword Style spinning slash.
Encrid added a variation. Utilizing the momentum of the swing, he shifted his pivot foot from his left to his right. As he did, he brought the sword down from the upper left and swung it from the lower left to the upper right.
His feet crossed, swapping positions, and the trajectory of the sword traced a perfect infinity symbol. Everything caught in the path of that blade was broken and shattered. Cut, slashed, and flung away.
"Aaargh!"
"Ugh!"
Those who screamed were the ones lucky enough not to die instantly. Those whose necks or heads were caught in the blade's path met their end right then and there. With just two exhilarating strikes, nine enemy soldiers lay dead. Because he had moved while swapping his feet, the reach of his sword was exceptionally wide.
"Kill him!" blood rushed to the eyes of a nearby commander.
Instead of retreating upon seeing the carnage, the commander gritted his teeth.
Their discipline is better than our allies'.
Their training and the quality of their soldiers were superior. There was also a difference in the capability of their commanders. Because Encrid was focused on the fight, he couldn't grasp everything, but his intuition told him: he had to cut down the commander who had just spoken. He felt it instinctively—doing so would increase their chances of victory.
As he moved again, spearheads thrust at him from all directions. They stabbed and stabbed with their long spears. Encrid deflected what he had to and dodged what he could. It was like navigating a forest of steel. In this manner, he closed in on the commander and delivered a single downward strike to the crown of his head.
Striking with the technique of a Snap Strike, the head didn't just split; it burst with a dull thud. It was a sight born of monstrous physical strength. As the blade struck through the helmet, the shattered skull pierced through the scalp. Blood and brain matter spilled out instantly.
"Phew."
He swung his sword in a wide arc to threaten them, causing the enemy soldiers to hesitate. Encrid took a breath and unleashed his Heart of Monstrous Strength. This power wasn't limitless, but right now was the time to thrust, strike, slash, and smash.
"F-fuck, what is this?!" an enemy soldier shrieked.
Encrid's blade did not stop. He was the Grim Reaper. He was a harvester of lives weaving through the enemy ranks.
"Crazy bastard!" a soldier screamed.
It was a meaningless cry. There was not a shred of hesitation in Encrid's blade. As he single-handedly cut down dozens, the enemy's formation began to crumble.
"Are you just going to stand there and watch?!"
As the enemy commander roared, someone finally stepped forward. If left alone, their formation and ranks would be completely shattered. A warrior from the Azpen side, who had been catching his breath, stepped out.
He walked toward Encrid, then stopped. The man gauged his opponent's skill.
Heavy Sword Style.
A style of fighting that focused on weight and ignored minor attacks. Analysis complete. Then, it was time to fight.
The man stepped forward.