Chapter 318: I Should at Least Tell Everyone They Did a Good Job
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 318: I Should at Least Tell Everyone They Did a Good Job
His head spun the moment he stood up.
It was the natural consequence of being bedridden for too long. He stumbled for a brief second, but his posture corrected itself almost instantly. The senses he had honed through the endless repetitions of "today" adjusted to the subtle imbalances in his physical state, allowing him to adapt with practiced ease.
Not bad.
It was a sensation he had learned to appreciate anew.
Standing tall, he turned his head from side to side. To his left sat Ragna, bandages swathing one shoulder and his torso, eating porridge one-handed. Ragna swallowed his mouthful and swept a sharp gaze over Encrid’s body.
Sinar’s gaze was no different.
The two of them shared the same thought. They hadn't noticed while he was lying down, but now that he was on his feet, something about him felt different.
It was only natural. In the midst of those countless repetitions of "today," Encrid hadn't just learned how to dodge.
Still, it wasn't something they were going to press him about right away. Ragna, however, found himself looking forward to their next sparring session. An unprecedented spark of motivation still burned deep within him.
"Is it good?" Encrid asked.
Ragna nodded.
No one was hand-feeding him, but a friend of a soldier named Helma—or something like that—had cooked the porridge for him. It tasted different from their usual rations. He thought he heard them mention shredding eel meat into the pot this time.
Encrid began to slowly warm up his body. Two days had passed.
Ragna sat up as well. Wasn't this a perfect opportunity to just laze around? He thought. The members of the Mad Company were difficult to read, so he didn't bother trying to decipher their inner thoughts.
"Are you doing alright?"
"It was just a slight sprain to begin with," Encrid replied.
If a "slight sprain" kept a man in bed for three days, a fracture would probably be a death sentence. Encrid kept that thought to himself. They were just those kinds of people. Would Rem, Ragna, Sachsen, or Audin be any different? They weren't the type to change their ways just because someone argued with them.
Instead of speaking further, Encrid moved.
He flowed through the forms of the Isolation Technique that aided in physical recovery. Feeling his muscles wake up, he stretched his arms and slowly raised his core temperature. He stimulated his uninjured areas to force his blood to circulate faster.
Despite the winter chill, a faint steam began to rise from Encrid’s skin.
"A cold? Move and raise your body heat. A fracture? Move and raise your body heat. A laceration? Move and raise your body heat."
That was Audin’s philosophy on injuries. Even Rem, listening from the side, had snorted in disbelief at the time, but strictly speaking, it wasn't entirely wrong. At the very least, once a person had forged their body through the Isolation Technique, it was possible to a certain extent.
The Isolation Technique improved fundamental physical strength. A body built that way naturally circulated blood rapidly even at rest. Since circulating blood accelerated the healing of wounds, Encrid was simply manual-starting that process.
On top of that, his reinforced muscles and physical power boosted his recovery—something Encrid had already experienced firsthand. Still, his progress was exceptionally fast. So fast that the phrase "monstrous recovery rate" naturally came to mind.
Of course, Esther, who was currently sleeping with her head buried in her paws nearby, played her part as well. She had slept in Encrid’s arms, her presence stimulating his regenerative abilities. It was a minor trick, hardly even a spell, but it worked.
Between all these factors, it was no wonder Sinar looked surprised to see him up and moving.
"You really do have a fascinating body," Sinar remarked, watching him from her seat.
She was perched on a chair inside the tent, one knee pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around it. Encrid gave a nonchalant nod. As his body heat rose, he stripped down to a short-sleeved shirt, and Sinar’s gaze drifted over the lines of his physique.
"I suppose so."
Eating, sleeping, waking, and recovering. Reviewing the battle while being the center of everyone's attention. This was daily life for Encrid. It wasn't awkward for them to be gathered like this.
The medical tent was spacious, large enough to accommodate twenty grown men. A large brazier sat in the center, and right beneath it, Esther slept curled in a ball. Ragna sat beside her, while Encrid went through his forms near the fire. Sinar stayed near the entrance.
Further back, Dunchabel was nodding off. She had sustained several minor cuts, but no major injuries. Encrid had later heard that the moment Dunchabel learned he had fallen into a trap, she had taken the lead and sprinted toward the danger. Apparently, she had charged the front lines like a woman possessed.
The beastwoman, who had once lived as a mere lackey for the Black Sword, had naturally settled in as a core member of the squad.
Why is that? Encrid sometimes wondered. Why are they all gathered by my side?
Krais—the soldier nicknamed "Big-Eyes"—was sitting on a chair a few steps from the brazier.
"It was my mistake," he said abruptly.
Encrid paused his movements. "What was?"
"I failed to predict the situation. I put you in danger. That's what."
Though the statement lacked context, Encrid understood immediately. This was Big-Eyes, the man who had been struggling desperately to read the enemy’s every move.
"It would be stranger if you had predicted it," Encrid said sincerely.
The opponent was simply a lunatic.
At those words, Krais turned his eyes toward Encrid. A deep, complex emotion welled in his gaze—a mix of bewilderment and disbelief.
"Even though you almost died because of it?" Krais asked, searching Encrid’s eyes.
How could there not be a single shred of resentment in that gaze? Why were those eyes always so direct? Krais wondered how a human being could possibly be like this.
"I’m alive. I’m not a ghost, am I?"
Meaning, he hadn't died. And that was all that mattered.
"Captain, you really are..."
Krais felt a brief wave of gloom, but he quickly suppressed it. Right, what was the point of arguing? It wasn't as if he didn't know his captain was this kind of man.
What is wrong with him?
Even now, Encrid was asking that very question with his eyes. Despite barely surviving, there was no resentment. It was an incident that happened while penetrating deep into enemy lines at his own request, yet he didn't hold Krais responsible for the outcome.
Beside him, Ragna was just as indifferent. When Encrid looked at him, Ragna merely stared back as if to ask what he was looking at.
"Ah, forget it. Just forget it."
Krais shook off the lingering emotions. Asking was pointless. The man wouldn't care anyway, and if Krais let it bother him, he’d be the only one losing sleep. He absolutely hated being the one at a disadvantage, so it was best to let it go.
Through a process of cold rationalization, Krais composed himself.
What was next? A review, just as his captain had taught him.
Having heard how Encrid escaped, understanding Ragna’s situation, and confirming the enemy’s movements, Krais realized he had been thoroughly outplayed. He wasn't some grand strategist who could have foreseen everything, but because of his oversight, his captain had nearly died. The man had saved his life before, yet Krais had almost led him to his grave.
Even putting aside the captain’s surprisingly naive nature, a chill ran down Krais's spine.
Predicting the battlefield.
It carried that much weight. He had learned a harsh lesson from this experience. He learned that anything could happen. The enemy’s scheme sent shivers through him once more. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how insane the opponent was.
If they had sent a group of Associate Knights, we would have been on guard.
But they used a literal crowd of ordinary soldiers to snare a single elite? It was madness. Sacrificing a thousand soldiers to catch one person? When that person wasn't even a knight?
No, it was possible. He should have predicted it. Krais decided that was his job. But he hadn't. Why? Because he lacked experience.
No, he couldn't just blame it on a lack of experience. Something like this could happen again. So what should he do? He had to broaden his scope. He couldn't limit his imagination. He had to envision the most bizarre, nonsensical things the enemy could possibly do.
Not dragons flying overhead, though!
That wasn't a possibility; that was just a delusion.
Though it wasn't Encrid’s intention, Krais was reflecting deeply. Above all, seeing his captain remain so upright even when his life was on the line gave him much to consider.
Never again.
He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
After organizing his thoughts, Krais said idly, "I’m telling you, we should just open a salon."
It was a suggestion Encrid never paid the slightest attention to, no matter how many times Krais said it.
"If you open one, I’ll drop by."
As if you would.
You’d probably be swinging a sword the whole time anyway.
Wow, how can he just say things he has no intention of keeping?
Krais knew they couldn't open a salon right now anyway. But he also knew that if he really did open one, Encrid would drop by. He kept his word. Because that was the captain. But he would almost certainly end up training inside the salon.
That’s the worst. Absolutely the worst.
His imagination was starting to run wild, so he intentionally cut it off.
Encrid, who was currently bending over to touch his toes, watched Krais’s rapidly shifting expressions. It was quite entertaining.
Krais shook his head, ending his flight of fancy. In any case, regret was regret, and once a lesson was learned, you had to move forward. It was a rule he had lived by since childhood.
Though there was no grand comfort offered, he shook it off. What was done was done.
Did I even accomplish anything?
Actually, he had. If not for Krais, Encrid would have fallen into Abnayor’s multi-layered traps. Esther had played her part too. By killing the mage named Galaf, she had eliminated the enemy’s means of blocking Encrid’s retreat. Ragna’s presence had been vital as well. What would that Associate Knight have done if Ragna hadn't killed him?
Sinar and Dunchabel had also made significant contributions. Without them, one of their flanks might have buckled in the initial clash. The enemy forces striking from the rear might have posed a real threat to the Border Guard, rather than just being a distraction. If that had happened, the supply lines would have been compromised. Their retreat could have been cut off. The entire campaign could have collapsed.
The people in this room had defended this battlefield. Encrid truly believed that.
If there were words in one’s heart that should never be hidden or spared, it was these.
Encrid stopped his movements. He knew how to speak with sincerity. And so, he did.
He stood up straight, lowered his hands, and looked around, gathering everyone’s attention.
"I must say," he began. "You all worked hard."
Ragna, mid-porridge, paused his hand. Krais blinked. Dunchabel, who had been dozing, lifted her head.
From the tent entrance, Sinar stared intently at Encrid.
"You say that so easily, without even a hint of a blush," she teased. "I guess they don't call it 'demonic charm' for nothing."
She lowered her knee and clasped her hands in front of her chest.
"I didn't mean it that way," he retorted to the elf’s joke.
"Aren't you the one who worked the hardest, Captain?" Krais asked, his tone one of pure disbelief.
Esther woke up briefly, glanced at Encrid, and tapped the floor with her forepaw. It was as if she were saying, Don't mention it.
Ragna stared blankly at Encrid, muttered, "I fought for myself," and went back to his porridge. Dunchabel nodded in agreement.
"Indeed, I worked hard too."
They were a strange mix—an elf, humans, a beastwoman, and a mage. Encrid truly thought so.
"Where did Sachsen go?" Krais asked.
"He said he was going somewhere."
"Where?"
"Who knows."
"You don't know, but you just let him go?"
"What else was I supposed to do?"
It wasn't as if Sachsen was the type to stay put just because someone told him to. From the very beginning, back when they were the Troublemaker Squad, Encrid’s attitude had been consistent: Do what you need to do. I won't interfere with your business.
Ragna didn't care in the slightest. What did it matter whether that sly wildcat was around or not? He sat lost in thought, reflecting on what he had gained. The spark of motivation had not yet died out.
Sinar observed Encrid, while Dunchabel brought her scimitar to a whetstone.
Shhhk, shhhk!
After sprinkling a bit of water from her canteen, she slid the blade against the stone. Her touch was that of a professional, befitting a former mercenary.
Sitting there, Krais marveled at how such a peculiar group of individuals had managed to gather. Everyone was spending their time in their own way.
It was just as Encrid began moving again to generate heat.
Rrrrip.
The sound of heavy fabric tearing echoed through the space.
Sinar was the quickest to react.
Ting!
Without warning, she drew Naidel. She was already on her feet.
Esther snapped her eyes open. Ragna gripped his spoon like a sword.
"Oh, hmm... looks like him. Black hair, blue eyes, quite a handsome face."
A cold wind rushed in through the jagged tear in the tent. A voice accompanied the chill.
Whoosh!
The flames of the brazier flared violently, sending shadows dancing across the walls. Evening had passed, and the twilight had faded into night. The blue moonlight filtering in from the tear mingled with the red glow of the coals.
Someone stood at the intersection of those lights.
"Sorry about that," the intruder said.
And then, he spoke.