Chapter 309: Try Slaying a Thousand Alone
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 309: Try Slaying a Thousand Alone
A full night had passed since Encrid failed to return.
At some point, the enemy forces had begun to recede like an ebbing tide. Ragna hadn't come back either, and Sachsen was nowhere to be found.
Krais realized the situation was incredibly grave. A foreboding premonition was incessantly gnawing at his mind.
"Where is the highest point nearby? Somewhere with a good vantage point."
Despite the circumstances, he remained calm. It would have been one thing before disaster struck, but once it had, there was no time to panic—especially with Encrid missing.
I don't know for certain, but if the Captain dies, won't I follow him to the grave?
What would happen if Encrid returned as a corpse? Rem would probably hurl an axe at Krais without hesitation. Of course, it was just a half-joking thought.
This isn't good.
Even if Encrid didn't die, nothing good would come of this. If the Captain vanished right now, countless problems would erupt. If someone asked him to pinpoint exactly what those problems would be, he would have to think long and hard to answer, but the feeling arose naturally.
One thing was certain: the Mad Company would be finished.
A figure who could control Rem, Ragna, Sachsen, and Audin? There was none. In the past, they might have set up a strawman leader, but they had changed over time. Now, they were people who could only be led by the Captain.
Without them, could the Border Guard block Azpen's attack next spring? Not a chance.
If that happens, I'm leaving without looking back.
It wasn't as if he were some patriot who would linger here.
While Krais was lost in thought under the shade of a tree, Nurat, who had been reviewing the surrounding terrain based on her map and memory, spoke up.
"Follow me."
Shrouded in the shadows, Krais exuded a gloomy aura. Nurat noticed, but she didn't say anything. It was a strange feeling. Was it because the man named Encrid wasn't here? The thought occurred to her suddenly—a woman's intuition.
And she was right. Krais when he was with Encrid and Krais on his own felt like two completely different people.
"Let's hurry," Krais urged.
Nurat brought two horses, and the two of them rode off. After passing a few nearby hills, they reached a rugged path. It was a trail they would practically have to cling to as they climbed.
No lady disliked a robust physique and well-toned muscles. Since it was only natural for a beautiful woman to appreciate physical beauty, Krais had never neglected his training. Thanks to that, he scaled the steep mountain path in no time. Nurat, being a trained warrior, climbed it even more easily.
Once they reached the top, Krais cast his gaze into the distance.
"Crazy bastards."
As the morning sun illuminated the surroundings, the enemy's formation came into view. They were the ones who had slipped between the hills.
Should they pursue them further? Strike them from behind?
That would be a terrible move.
What if they followed and got hit by a counterattack? The terrain was far too advantageous for ambushes and surprise attacks. No matter how high their morale was, and even though they had won a great victory in the previous battle...
Our overall forces aren't overwhelmingly superior yet.
If they fell into a trap instead, the situation would reverse in an instant. No, from the very beginning, their strategy was that driving them out would equal victory. That had been the goal all along, because winter was on their side.
How are they going to hold out in this cold? What about supplies?
There was a reason Azpen coveted Greenpearl. Beyond the plains occupied by Naurilia lay rugged terrain—a land of hills, valleys, steep mountains, and lurking monsters. Holding out in the winter and maintaining supply lines there was no easy feat.
Four to five days at most.
That was all the time the enemy could endure. Therefore, this was a won battle. Now, all they had to do was hunker down inside, rain down arrows, and hold out.
There was only one problem: Encrid's absence.
Did they seriously abandon this battlefield just to catch the Captain? Giving up the entire front just to kill a few people?
It was bold—far too bold. Utilizing a small elite force was meant to win the battle. But if you abandoned the battlefield itself, what was left? You were seizing the future.
Could they really have gone that far? His ominous imagination had found an answer, but Krais couldn't be sure. It was simply too daring a move.
"Just one more day."
Krais decided to wait for his Captain. Those words sounded ominous to Nurat, but she couldn't bring herself to argue. The big-eyed man who had lost his Captain exuded a strange, intense pressure.
*
Abnayor allowed a day to pass. There was no need to rush the assault right now. He, too, needed time to prepare.
The place where he had cornered Encrid was a spot where valleys and cliffs lay nestled between three hills. It was a stage deliberately set with traps—an investment made solely to kill a few individuals.
Are there any variables?
He had planted the seeds in the ground, and they had borne fruit. Now, only the harvest remained. Though the harvest would require a great deal of blood, Abnayor believed it was a worthwhile endeavor. Therefore, nothing could go wrong.
Abnayor turned the thoughts over in his mind. He took a sip of black tea, heavily sweetened. Sugar was essential for keeping the mind sharp.
What variables could arise here?
There would be no mistakes, not even at the very end. No matter how outstanding the opponent was, as long as he wasn't a Knight, he could never escape. He had prepared a plan of that caliber.
After his defeat in the previous battle, Abnayor had thoroughly investigated the Border Guard. Was it a battle lost because the enemy had played the card of an Associate Knight? No. He had reviewed the battle and found the answer. They had already lost before the Associate Knight even appeared.
He found the reason for their defeat. He dissected the battle. He combed through the battlefield. And that was how he obtained those names.
Encrid and the members of the Mad Company.
The skirmishes they fought on the outskirts, their raids on the supply lines—all of those had come together to paint the picture of defeat. Even afterward, every time he heard of their exploits, a thrill ran through him. His hair stood on end.
They were bastards who couldn't even stay quiet inside the city. When the Hurier family looked, their assassins were slaughtered, and everything ended in failure before the name of Encrid. They were like uncatchable, elusive ghosts.
Therefore...
I will catch them.
Abnayor was a strategist who prepared. And that was exactly what he did. He played to his strengths. He prepared, thought deeply, and cornered his opponent.
It began with the bandits and the cultists. By chance, a good card had fallen into his hands. It was only natural to utilize it.
The Black Sword and the cultists are no pushovers either.
There was no way they wouldn't impact the Border Guard's strength. Abnayor had deliberately avoided fighting, waiting for them to split up. It would have been even better if the Black Sword or the cultists had killed a few of them, but he wasn't that lucky.
Regardless, they had split up. Encrid had left Rem, Audin, and Teresa behind.
Trying to catch them when they are grouped together is an amateur's move.
Above all, Abnayor's "art" had been embedded in this land. For Encrid, he had created and bound him with something called the Triangle Seal. For the rest of the Mad Company members, he had sent blades worthy of them. He had even played the card of the assassin clan.
With this...
He would kill them.
Feeling his mouth grow dry, he took another sip of tea. Swallowing it, he organized his thoughts.
The losses were immense. If everything went according to plan, all he would gain were the heads of a few men. On the surface, just the heads of a few elite soldiers. But in Abnayor's eyes, they were the heads of those who would become Azpen's greatest threat in the future.
Now that his thoughts were settled, the next step was execution.
Because the front of his tent was wide open, sunlight and the winter wind drifted in together. It was a wind that wasn't particularly cold. The weather was fine today.
"Let us begin," Abnayor said, setting down his teacup with a soft clink.
First, it would be the head of the bastard named Encrid.
*
Encrid did not think of this as a crisis. This couldn't even be called a danger. After all, it wasn't as if a blade was at his throat this very second.
Encrid hid himself in the thicket and focused entirely on resting.
Whatever I do, the body comes first.
His physical stamina could already be called superhuman without exaggeration. A single night would be more than enough to replenish his depleted strength. Even if he couldn't reach perfect condition, he could recover to a certain extent. His body had become like that now.
It was thanks to the Isolation Technique and Audin.
Should I thank him?
The thought occurred to him anew. Once he returned, it wouldn't hurt to at least tell Audin he owed him one.
Stamina is one thing, but...
Aside from recovering his stamina, his body was under a heavy load. He had swung his sword all day long. It would be stranger if his body were perfectly fine.
The capillaries in both of his forearms had burst, leaving dark, mottled bruises. He hadn't just swung his sword; he had punched and kicked as well. He couldn't focus solely on offense either, as he had essentially plunged into the enemy ranks alone.
Nor could he block every single incoming attack. Using his Sense of Evasion, he blocked and dodged only the lethal strikes, taking the rest with his body. To be precise, he deflected the attacks with his pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves.
It was absolute madness, but with the techniques he had learned from Audin, it wasn't anything crazy in Encrid's eyes.
If I were a real Knight, this wouldn't even be difficult.
Reviewing the battle in his brief musings, Encrid chewed on the jerky he had brought and found a stream to quench his thirst. The water was clear. He drank it without boiling; for him to get a stomachache from this, it would have to be laced with poison. Hearing the sound of flowing water in the distance, it seemed a valley was nearby.
I'll rest for a day and escape tomorrow.
Even when one lost their bearings, there was always a way out. You just had to choose a direction arbitrarily and keep going straight. Even if it was the wrong direction, once his sense of direction returned, escaping wouldn't be difficult. That was what Encrid thought.
What happened to the battlefield?
It hadn't been the kind of fight where he could afford to look back or survey the overall battlefield. Encrid had simply done his absolute best. He had focused entirely on the immediate combat to achieve these results.
Though he didn't know it, the scales of victory had already tipped with that single battle. The end of this conflict would be marked by Naurilia's victory, though the deaths in the interim were unavoidable.
Encrid didn't know the exact state of the battlefield, but he recognized that there was no need for him to run wild here any longer. Azpen had become a deer mauled by a predator. He hadn't coordinated or even seen the entire battlefield, but he felt the flow.
Encrid found a suitable tree trunk and scattered fallen leaves beneath it. Finding a spot sheltered from the wind, he closed his eyes. He needed sleep. Sleep was essential for recovery.
He woke up in the early hours of dawn. His long-trained body immediately entered combat readiness the moment he opened his eyes.
Rustle.
He heard the sound of grass being stepped on. It was a relief he hadn't lit a fire. Otherwise, he would have graciously handed them his location.
Actually, this is for the best.
He could just find one of them and have them guide him out of here.
Encrid held his breath and listened. He focused on his hearing. At the same time, starting from a single finger, he slowly loosened his muscles. He warmed up his body, which had stiffened in the cold, preparing himself.
His ears pinpointed the opponent's position.
Rustle.
First, to the left.
Swish.
This time, to the right.
Presences began to register. They were that close. Encrid, who had been focusing on listening, poked his lowered head out.
What is this?
It wasn't a small scouting party, but a large-scale force. They were sweeping through the thickets with their spearheads. The sound of spears repeatedly stabbing into the bushes echoed.
There wasn't just one or two pairs of eyes. Even a casual glance around revealed nothing but enemy soldiers. Counting them was meaningless. Thus, it was only natural that he was discovered.
"Over there!"
He locked eyes with an enemy soldier.
Sharp eyes, Encrid thought as he stood up completely.
"Catch him!"
The enemy surged forward.
Fighting wasn't always the best option. Encrid pulled back. He was no fool. Krais often said that his Captain was highly intelligent, and it wasn't a lie.
Encrid worked his brain. Rather than engaging them, using his feet to slip away would be—
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
While he was still thinking, a hail of arrows rained down from one side.
They're insane.
Firing arrows like that would hit their own men. Encrid raised his sword to deflect the unavoidable arrows, and spotting a large tree, he quickly moved to use it as cover.
Thud!
Several arrows struck the tree.
"Argh!"
"Ugh!"
As expected, a few arrows hit their own allies. Yet, the arrows did not stop.
"Fire!"
"Keep firing!"
The arrows kept flying.
Encrid glanced briefly at the blade of his sword, then swung it hard toward the tree. It was a full-power rotational slash.
Boom!
A loud explosion of sound erupted. As he struck the tree with his sword, half of it was severed as if shattered. Along with it, a sharp crack split across his blade. The sword had already been ruined after the previous battle.
This time, he drew his Gladius against the half-severed tree. His Heart of Monstrous Strength throbbed. The muscles used to swing the sword reacted and swelled. Then, the blunt but sturdy blade shattered the remaining part of the severed tree as if splitting it open.
Creak! Crack!
The tree began to tilt.
"Huh?"
An enemy soldier directly beneath the tilting tree froze in panic. Soon, with a rustling crash of breaking branches, the tree fell.
"Watch out!"
"Crazy!"
The enemy crowd fell into chaos. Encrid took the opportunity to sprint. He dashed toward what he roughly estimated to be the south. He discarded the cracked sword, strapping his Gladius to his left hip and moving Spark to his right hip.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
Just then, heavy infantrymen blocking his path came into view. They were holding thick shields, barring the way. Their numbers easily exceeded fifty. If he tried to bypass them, more enemy soldiers would swarm in from the left and right.
Why are there so many of them?
It was excessively crowded. Were others trapped here along with him?
Encrid pulled back. If he charged in like this, he could kill most of them, but what about after that? The Encrid of today existed because he had never spent a single day half-heartedly. He would not walk a path where death was clearly visible.
He pulled back once more and ran.
As he ran, he kicked a stone off the ground. With a sharp clack, the stone flew into the air, and he struck it with the flat of his Gladius.
Ping!
With a crisp sound, the pebble flew faster than an arrow.
Thwack!
The pebble struck the head of a soldier who was just raising his crossbow in front of him.
I'll break through here.
He saw a gap where the crossbowmen were clustered. Encrid leaped into the enemy ranks. He was like a predator leaping into a herd of herbivores. With the Gladius in his right hand, he slashed and struck; with Spark, he stabbed. Spark was a blade that couldn't be used for slashing in the first place.
After killing five or six men and breaking through, a path appeared. It looked like an artificially cleared path through the thickets.
Perfect.
It was the moment he thought he had escaped.
"Fire."
Crossbow bolts flew from the left and right. It was a trap that used a single crossbow unit as bait.
I don't know who designed this, but...
It was a vicious trap. Encrid rolled forward. A bolt lodged itself into his armor. It hadn't reached his flesh, but he didn't have the luxury to pull it out.
Encrid kept running. He leaped to the side, slashing down seven or eight enemy soldiers. He leaped back again, cutting down about fifteen. He repeated this cycle of slashing, stabbing, fighting, and fleeing.
The battle that had begun at sunrise continued until sunset. No matter where he went, there was no escape. He felt as if he were trapped in a maze. Later, he even saw walls artificially constructed of piled stones.
When did they prepare that?
It was utterly absurd. It was not a place he could possibly break through by brute force—especially not with a swarm of enemy soldiers trailing right behind him.
"What are you people?"
Though he wasn't wounded, his limbs trembled. It was the result of running and swinging his sword without a moment's rest.
Every human has their limits. They say a Knight can slay a thousand men alone. Then, what about an Associate Knight? An Associate Knight cannot slay a thousand alone. That was why they were only Associate Knights.
As Encrid ran, gasping for breath, Abnayor muttered to himself, "Try slaying a thousand alone. Only then will you walk out of here alive."
Otherwise, he would die. The strategist of Azpen was certain of it.
*
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
Dozens of arrows.
After shaking them off, running, fighting, and fighting again until the very end.
Behind him were three swordsmen said to have come from the Hurier family. In front of him, his path was blocked by dozens of shield-bearing heavy infantrymen. On top of that, dozens of arrows flew toward him.
Having no room to dodge, he was hit once in the stomach and once in the shoulder. His bandage inner armor protected his stomach, but because he failed to block the arrow to his shoulder properly, he couldn't lift his left arm. His pauldrons had been blown away long ago, and only his right gauntlet remained. His boots were torn.
The flesh-searing wind seeped through his cut and shredded armor. He was battered and broken.
To the very end, Encrid used Spark to kill two of the Hurier family swordsmen and severed the arm of the third. The one whose arm had been cut off glared at Encrid with bloodshot eyes.
"And here I thought these preparations were excessive," he spat.
Encrid had no time to reply.
"Kill him."
The finale was adorned by dozens of arrows. No, in reality, a hundred and fifty arrows had been fired. A hundred and fifty longbowmen had shot their arrows toward a single target.
Encrid ran, swords in both hands. It was a desperate struggle.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
The armless Hurier bastard threw his body forward. While Encrid split the man's head open with his Gladius, dozens of arrows pierced his body.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
His thighs, his shoulders—and worst of all, one grazed his neck, tearing away a chunk of flesh. With a dull thud, his knees hit the ground first, and he collapsed headfirst.
Crazy bastards.
Only then did Encrid realize. They had deployed all these troops and made all these preparations just to catch him alone. It was madness.
He felt a little—just a tiny bit—annoyed. This was a first, even for him, to die like this.
As he closed his eyes, his body trembled violently. He had lost too much blood, and his body could no longer regulate its temperature. Soon, death arrived. Darkness shrouded his vision. With his plummeting body temperature, he felt it as a cold, icy death.
Having died like that, when he opened his eyes...
Splash.
Along with the sound of river water, he saw the Ferryman. He was aboard a swaying ferryboat beneath a violet lamp.
"Are you having fun?" the Ferryman asked.