Chapter 31: Set It on Fire
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 31: Set It on Fire
Setting fire to tents is starting to feel like my specialty.
Encrid leaned against a tree, the thought crossing his mind as he gave his squad a final, brief explanation of the plan.
None of them said a word; they simply listened. At this point, they were an arrow already released from the bow. There was no turning back.
Then, Encrid moved.
"I’m going first."
He stepped forward into the darkness, his movements perfectly silent. He lowered his posture, eventually dropping to a flat crawl against the dirt. The squad members watched in silence as Encrid vanished into the shadows of the terrain.
The plan was simple—a classic diversion. Make noise in the east, strike in the west.
Mac and the rest of the squad would be the ones drawing attention. Only three were excluded from the diversion group: Encrid, Andrew, and the soldier who had once been a common thug.
"I'll do it," Mac had said, stepping up to lead the distraction.
He hadn't complained; he had spoken with a strange readiness. Though Mac’s attitude had shifted suddenly, Encrid didn't dwell on it.
As long as he follows orders, that’s enough.
In the darkness, Mac quietly loosened his muscles, picked up a stone, and hurled it with practiced precision.
Thwack!
The stone struck a guard square in the helmet. The soldier let out a sharp yelp as the rock bounced off the metal.
"...Son of a bitch!"
"What was that?!"
The four guards on watch turned in unison toward the source of the noise. Encrid held his breath, watching them from the shadows. No further words were needed.
"Intruders!" a soldier shouted.
Commotion erupted instantly. Encrid tried to use the chaos to slip toward the main tent, but—
"You rat."
He was caught red-handed.
There was no need to panic. This was a situation he had navigated through many of his "todays."
I can't do this alone.
Beside the tent, a soldier gripped a spear and glared at him. Encrid sprang to his feet before the man could lunge, dirt clinging to his chest and scattering onto the ground.
Without a word, the soldier—silhouetted against a nearby torch stand—thrust his spear. Encrid locked his eyes on the incoming tip and twisted his body. The spear whistled past him, a hair's breadth away.
It wasn't just a dodge; it was a gamble. He was betting half his life on a single opening. It was a crazy stunt, the kind of audacity only granted to him by the Beast's Heart.
He lunged forward even as the spearhead grazed his shoulder. A burning heat flared in the wound, but in exchange, Encrid closed the distance until he was right under the man's nose.
He slashed his sword upward. The soldier, seeing the blade, lowered his spear shaft to use as a makeshift shield. But Encrid had been concealing a knife in his left hand from the start. He drove it straight toward the man's collarbone.
Squelch!
The blade sank deep, tearing through flesh and bone.
"Guh!" the soldier groaned.
Encrid immediately slammed his forehead into the bridge of the man's nose.
Crack!
The soldier collapsed backward, unable to even let out a whimper.
This was the Valen-style Mercenary Sword, Three-Sword Style. The first sword was a feint; the real lethality lay in the off-hand knife and the brutal headbutt. He had charged straight into a spear, risking death just to set up this one sequence.
He had taken down the guard, but since he had been spotted, setting the fire himself was now a distant dream. Another soldier had already emerged from behind the fallen guard, wielding a sword and a torch.
The man had a scar near his eye and a formidable presence. One could tell by his gait and posture alone—this was no amateur.
"Pathetic," the man sneered, clicking his tongue.
There was an easy confidence in his stride. Even facing an intruder who had just emerged from the dark, he showed not a shred of fear.
"Whew, took you long enough," Encrid muttered.
The man's brow furrowed.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, flames surged upward from behind the man. Before anyone realized it, the tent had caught fire.
"...Put it out!" the man roared.
Encrid seized the moment, lunging forward with a thrust. He pushed off with his right foot and planted his left.
Everything starts from the feet.
It was the absolute foundation of swordsmanship, drilled into him by both Rem and Ragna. Encrid executed it perfectly. He kicked off the ground and surged forward, the soldier looming large before him.
The man’s back was turned. He was wide open.
Encrid thrust his sword with the full, spring-like tension of his entire body—the very same thrust that had killed Encrid himself countless times in the beginning.
Whoosh.
The blade sliced through the air toward its target. It happened in a mere fraction of a second. Of all the thrusts he had ever executed, this was his absolute best—even across all his repeated "todays."
Encrid was certain he had killed him.
In his hyper-focused state, the world slowed down. He saw his own blade moving, and he saw the man's hand twitch.
In that slowed-down world, the enemy's sword swept upward from below.
Clash!
Slash!
Encrid was deflected past the man, stumbling to a halt as he clutched his abdomen. The enemy soldier, who had been looking away, turned fully to face him. He raised an eyebrow at Encrid.
"Arrogant bastard."
The man looked thoroughly enraged. But his anger wasn't the problem—his astonishing swordsmanship was.
In that split second?
The thrust had been perfect. Even Rem wouldn't have dared to block it without using his whip-like axe. Yet, this man had dodged it. Though a faint scratch marked his neck, it was barely a graze.
On the other hand, the sword the enemy had reflexively swept upward had cleanly slashed Encrid's flank. It wasn't deep, and the bone was untouched, but...
He was caught off guard, and yet...
This was the result.
Encrid was intimately familiar with this "today," yet it felt as though a vast, impassable river lay between him and this soldier. The opponent could cross that river at any moment to strike him down, while Encrid felt as though he could barely dip his toes in the water.
The gap in skill was undeniable.
But so what? Had he ever fought only those weaker than himself?
Encrid steadied his breathing and gripped his sword tighter. If this was today's turning point, he would simply give it his all. Where others might see an overwhelming cliff of despair, Encrid saw a flight of stairs—stairs he would eventually climb.
A thrilling ecstasy surged from his toes, filling his chest.
How could repeating today be a curse? By overcoming countless "todays," he would eventually defeat even a monster like this. He would never settle for "today."
Ecstasy welled up within him, and the emotion laid itself bare on his face.
"Are you smiling?"
The soldier's face contorted. While Encrid wore a look of triumph, the soldier burned with pure rage.
"I'll tear you to shreds and feed you to the dogs."
Encrid sensed his impending death. Right now, he could not defeat this opponent. But he had no intention of going down quietly. He braced himself for the pain and steeled his resolve.
Whoosh!
Behind the man, a massive pillar of fire erupted. It made the previous flames look like child's play, as if a dragon had just breathed life into the camp. The entire tent was engulfed. Sparks crackled and flew in all directions.
Beyond the blazing tent, panicked voices cried out.
"You bastards! Put out the fire!"
"Someone poured oil, Platoon Leader!"
"The torch stands have been knocked over!"
They did a splendid job.
Encrid had drawn attention twice just to set this fire—once with Mac’s diversion, and once with his own body. The fire itself had been lit by Andrew and the former thug, who had put his experience of causing trouble in his home territory to excellent use.
"The flagpole is burning!" a man shouted, watching the flames rise. It was the tattooed man. "Platoon Leader! Do you not know what's important right now?!"
He scolded the man standing before Encrid.
Watching this, Encrid quietly took a step back. No matter the gap in skill, he wouldn't die in just one or two exchanges. The opponent knew this too. If Encrid resolved to stall, he could hold out until the fire consumed everything.
Encrid couldn't understand why they were risking their lives over a few flagpoles, but he knew one thing: the enemy cherished them far more than the lives of their soldiers.
"I'll remember you."
The opponent—the Azpen Platoon Leader—glared at Encrid before spinning around. He had decided that dealing with the arsonists was more urgent than finishing Encrid.
Encrid let out a silent sigh of relief. He truly felt as though he had returned from the dead. Dying was something he could never get used to, no matter how many times he experienced it. If anything was a curse, it was that—having to experience the horror of death over and over.
But the agony was a small price to pay if it allowed him to move forward. If it helped him grow stronger, he would endure it a thousand times over.
"We have to go."
Andrew's voice came from behind. His face was covered in soot.
"Retreat," Encrid said, moving out immediately.
As they ran, Andrew pulled a whistle from his breast pocket and blew two long blasts.
Wheeeet, wheeeet!
Mac came running from the distance, leading the remaining squad members. Enri was bleeding from his arm, and no enemy soldiers were following them.
The squad, which had started with ten men, was now cut in half. But the way out was open.
"They've gotten busy. I assume there won't be a pursuit?" Mac asked. His forehead was split open, blood trickling down his face.
"Probably," Encrid replied, quickening his pace.
Blood continued to pour from his flank. He had thought it wasn't deep, but the exertion of running was making the bleeding worse. He pressed down on the wound with his hand as they ran.
From this point on, it was an uncharted "today." Encrid kept a close eye on their rear. Five men were hot on their heels.
"These crazy bastards!"
The pursuers were relatively fresh, their faces stained with soot but otherwise unharmed. Encrid, Andrew, and Mac were enough to handle them, but the rest of the squad was in bad shape. Enri had a hole in his stomach and was stumbling from blood loss; the former thug was supporting him, making it impossible for either of them to fight.
"Damn it, we're all going to die at this rate! Pull yourself together!" the thug grumbled at Enri, though he didn't let him go.
Fighting the pursuers caused Encrid's flank wound to tear further. Mac took down two of the enemies but took a slash to the thigh in return. He simply bound it tightly with a linen bandage and kept moving.
Andrew, however, seemed to have grown exponentially stronger.
No, that's not it.
Encrid realized it wasn't that Andrew had suddenly improved; the raw intensity of the battlefield had simply forced his latent abilities to the surface. If Andrew's sword hadn't whipped up a fierce storm to cut down two pursuers, their escape would have failed.
Though everyone was battered, they were alive. As they fled through the night, Enri spoke in a dying whisper.
"If we go west... we'll hit the plains fox and snake habitats. They won't follow us there."
In this region, known as Greenpearl, various dangerous animals thrived.
"If we go there, we'll get bitten and die before we shake the enemy," Mac countered.
Enri offered a faint, pale smile. "There's a place where the habitats overlap. I know it. It's the boundary line... a hunter's path. It's safe."
Encrid looked at Enri, marveling at his mental fortitude. Guiding them in that condition... the man was tougher than he looked.
Everyone looked to Encrid. The decision was his.
"We go that way," Encrid said.
As he walked, he fell deep into thought. The enemy Platoon Leader had left a deep impression. If that man had appeared in every loop, Encrid would have spent all his time dying.
Wait... I've heard that voice before.
He remembered a previous "today" when he had managed to slip into the guarded tent. He had seen flagpoles, flags, and a bowl of strange smoke. A man with a tattooed face had been there.
The reaction back then had been intense. "Catch him!" they had screamed the moment he touched a flagpole. Someone had slashed his neck from behind.
The owner of that voice was the same man he had just fought.
As they walked under Enri's guidance, the sky began to turn a deep, atmospheric blue. A soft light enveloped the world from above, signaling the end of the night.
It was dawn.
Encrid realized he had surpassed "today" once again.
The scout squad continued toward the main force until the sun fully illuminated the landscape, eventually meeting up with the main scout unit.
"What on earth happened to you all?" the scout Platoon Leader asked the moment they arrived.
Encrid had no energy for explanations. Too many of them were injured. Reporting could wait; for now, the fact that they were alive was enough.
"Whew... I'm going to pass out now," Enri muttered.
Encrid didn't bother to reply. There was no point talking to someone who had already lost consciousness.