Chapter 399: And For My Shining Hero
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 399: And For My Shining Hero
Lieban, a squad leader within the Capital Defense Force, knew Encrid. They had spent several months together back when Encrid was still stationed in the capital.
Naturally, he recognized the face. It wasn't a face one easily forgot.
Standing at the front of the formation, Lieban’s gaze fell upon Encrid, and a conversation they had once shared surfaced in his mind.
"You want to be a knight?"
He had mocked him then.
"You’d be better off finding another path."
He had even offered the boy serious advice.
There had been no answer. That bastard Encrid had simply continued to swing his sword. He was always there, in that same spot. Whether it rained or snowed, it didn't matter.
"Teach me the sword."
He was a man who never stopped begging for instruction. And strangely enough, he always carried himself with such unearned confidence.
The number of people mocking him grew by the day. The number of people ostracizing him grew as well.
Once, a mercenary who had only just picked up a blade joined their ranks. The mercenaries usually gathered at a specific tavern, and Encrid was always there. The novice, hesitant at first, improved at a terrifying rate. He was a talented bastard.
He quickly surpassed Encrid’s skill and began to toy with him during their spars.
"I mean, you swing your sword that much and you're still at this level? I don't get it. Shouldn't you just quit?"
The face of that snickering novice was still vivid in Lieban’s memory. What was that bastard’s name again? He couldn't recall. But he clearly remembered the expression Encrid had worn in response.
Encrid hadn't gotten angry, nor had he fallen into despair. He had been completely unfazed—calm and composed.
Was he really fine on the inside, though? Lieban wondered. Had his heart not festered and rotted away, over and over again?
Lieban had watched him. Not out of kindness, but simple intrigue. The next day, Encrid was back to swinging his sword.
The contempt from those around him only intensified.
"Why do you keep hanging around that guy?" some asked Lieban. It wasn't as if he was actively defending Encrid, though.
"None of your business, is it?"
He just found it annoying to see a bunch of eyesores banding together to pick on one man.
Even then, Encrid never changed. Even when beaten half to death. Even when surpassed by everyone around him. He swung his sword, and then he swung it again.
For what?
‘A knight?’
How could that make any sense? How could a third-rate swordsman—at best barely scratching the surface of second-rate—ever become a knight? Only a mere handful among those with heaven-defying talent, those hailed as geniuses, could ever achieve that. That was what it meant to be a knight.
"Get a grip."
Lieban had said it out of pity, but of course, Encrid hadn't listened.
Back then, Encrid was famous in his own way. A childish sense of justice and reckless bravado. An unchangeable, pathetic lack of talent. Those were the only things that defined the name Encrid.
Lieban looked at the enemy soldiers lined up in the distance. The very first thought that had crossed his mind upon seeing that host was escape.
‘We don’t stand a chance.’
An overwhelming force. A refined army. The Count’s army—or rather, the rebels. They were the ones he would soon have to fight. His long years as a mercenary and his career in the Defense Force told him the cold truth.
If they fought here, they would die. It would be a dog’s death.
‘Why am I standing here?’
Was it some childish sense of justice? Or was he clinging to a few gold coins? If not that, then what? Even when he quit the mercenary life, there hadn't been any grand reason. He had simply gained a wife, and then a child. There was a woman who spoke of love while looking at the petals and the moon. There was a child who called him "Daddy."
"Why on earth do you go that far? Your palms are torn open."
He had once asked Encrid. Why go to such lengths? Why risk his very life to train? Why refuse to back down even while taking such a beating?
Deep down, he knew the answer now.
Protection.
Protect those standing behind you. Do not turn away from honor. Establish your convictions.
These were the principles Encrid used to live by, saving lives with his reckless resolve. These were the things he cried out with his entire body, even without speaking them aloud.
Lieban had seen several corpses while cleaning up the aftermath of the incident at the royal palace. There was one bastard who had once beaten Encrid and subjected him to all kinds of abuse. The man who had persecuted and driven people to the brink under the title of "instructor" had been found scattered on the floor, hacked into pieces.
‘Should I say it’s good riddance?’
The name of the killer was Encrid. A name once synonymous with pathetic talent.
Lieban felt blinded. It was so, even though the sunlight was not piercing his eyes. There are people in this world who shine so brightly that one dares not look directly at them. Whether they called him a hero or a shining star, it didn't matter. For he stood firmly in his place, proving himself to the world.
‘Encrid.’
He merely repeated the name in his heart.
He watched Encrid step forward to fight. It was vivid. Though it was dazzling, nothing hindered him from watching. With Lieban’s eyes, he couldn't tell which way the battle was turning, but he knew one thing: it was fierce. Boundlessly fierce. It was as if Encrid had thrown his very soul into the fray.
Blood splattered. Sparks embroidered the sky.
The bastard fighting Encrid let go of his sword, drew a sidearm from his waist, and swung. It was a machete. Encrid struck back with the sword in his hand.
Clang!
A deafening roar erupted. The shockwave seemed to ripple outward in concentric circles. Goosebumps broke out over Lieban's skin; every hair on his body stood on end. Forgetting his despair at the sight of the enemy, Lieban found himself staring only at Encrid’s back.
He was alone. He had blocked the path of an army they didn't even dare to face, cut down several of them, and was now swinging his sword against the monster who had stepped forward next.
A flash of light erupted between the clashing pair.
Encrid’s body was sent flying backward, rolling across the ground. His opponent merely stumbled back a few heavy steps.
Lieban saw Encrid rolling. But he knew Encrid was not a man who would stop just because he fell.
Thud.
Lieban struck the ground with the butt of his spear.
Thud.
Then, he did it again.
"For Naurilia," he muttered.
It was a whisper that wouldn't be heard. A word that wouldn't reach the front. It was merely a word for himself. For he stood here for his country, his people, his wife, his child—for everything. He had to protect the people behind him.
In sync with Lieban’s movements, the surrounding soldiers began to strike the ground with their spear shafts, one by one.
Thud, thud, thud, thud.
The disjointed rhythm naturally fell into unison. It wasn't ordered by any commander. Every single one of them had simply been moved by the fight of the man who had stepped forward alone.
‘And for my shining hero,’ Lieban murmured inwardly as he struck the ground.
And then, the fallen Encrid stood up.
Some words seemed to pass between the two combatants, but they were lost to the wind.
Thud, thud, thud.
Only the sound of spear shafts striking the earth echoed.
*
As Encrid pressed on in a breathless rush, striking again and again, Liebart was the first to introduce a variable. He let go of his sword and swung a machete.
Encrid neither slowed down nor paused to catch his breath. He simply unleashed Silver. Though his posture wasn't perfect, it was a strike powered by the eruption of his Heart of Monstrous Strength. It was a slash infused with power that transcended human limits.
Their weapons clashed.
The moment blade met blade, an intangible pressure erupted from the machete’s edge, slamming into Encrid’s abdomen and chest. It was too sudden and too close to deflect. Encrid grit his teeth, absorbing the impact with his body, and forced his sword through to the end of the arc.
That was the result of their clash. One body sent flying, and the opponent forced back several steps.
As Encrid lay sprawled, the world seemed to spin. Since he was aware he had been blown back, he quickly regained his balance. However, even as he pushed himself up and assumed a stance, the sky continued to whirl. The ground spun beneath him. His opponent’s figure appeared warped and elongated. Something hot welled up from deep inside him, and he spat it out.
"Ugh."
After vomiting a mouthful of blood, his chest felt lighter and the dizziness faded.
"What was that?" he asked.
"A magic sword," Liebart replied.
Encrid didn't think it was unfair.
As Encrid stood up, a heavy thudding sound began to vibrate through the air. Somehow, the resonance felt similar to the beating of his own heart. Strangely, it sounded like a battle hymn.
‘My chest hurts a bit...’
...and his head was spinning, but did that matter? No, not at all. Encrid asked and answered himself in his mind, then raised his sword. He was going to finish this.
Liebart looked down at his dented pauldron and breastplate.
‘Is this the difference in talent?’
Liebart dismissed the fleeting thought and looked at Encrid. The opponent’s presence seemed larger than before. It could be due to the difference in willpower, but more than that, it was the army’s morale.
Of course, he could just push forward and crush them, but there was no need to do so today. Granting them a single day’s grace wouldn't hurt. In fact, giving them one more day would align better with what the Count truly desired.
For that reason, Liebart genuinely conceded. He admitted that if they fought further, he would be the one pushed back.
"You won."
That was why he said it.
It was completely unexpected. Encrid merely stared at his opponent.
"The Goddess of Fortune is as consistent as ever today." Liebart’s words were steeped in deep regret. And even deeper than that regret was his resentment toward the world. "But it doesn't matter. Nothing will change anyway."
"Are you done?" Encrid’s words cut him off.
"This is enough for today. My interest has waned."
The heavy thudding of spear shafts still echoed. To Liebart, the resonance of those spears sounded like a command to protect the man named Encrid. Above all, he saw those who had drawn close while they fought.
Rem, Ragna, Aisia, and Dunchabel.
On the opposing side stood Malten, Benukt, and Banat. The core forces of both armies had gathered.
‘No, there is one more.’
Someone possessing first-rate, or perhaps even greater, assassination skills. Using senses that transcended human limits, Liebart pinpointed the opponent’s location. Beneath the shadow cast by a horse, someone was subtly hiding.
Once Liebart looked directly at him, the figure took a step to the side. His attitude suggested he didn't care about being seen. It was Sachsen.
"It would be a waste to burn everything here. You ought to know that battle is more than just a sword fight."
Liebart spoke and turned around. When he gestured toward his black armored steed, the horse approached. He picked up his fallen sword, packed his gear, and mounted.
"You're boring," Encrid threw a provocation, but Liebart did not take the bait.
"Next time, it won't be boring."
For someone who had admitted defeat with his own mouth, his momentum was not shaken in the slightest. Their eyes met. Liebart thought of the Goddess of Fortune and cursed her. Encrid looked at his opponent and wondered if this was truly all.
His intuition spoke. This could not be all.
"The battle is tomorrow. We will begin at dawn. This is the respect I show you for defeating me."
With those words, Liebart turned his horse around. Encrid watched him. Should he strike him in the back now? He didn't want to. He didn't do things he didn't want to do. Nor would it be the right path.
Moreover, it would be meaningless. He knew it by instinct, and he knew it by reason. If the enemy initiated an all-out battle right now, his allies would be at a disadvantage. If they were willing to withdraw, he should practically be handing them silver coins in gratitude.
Thud, thud, thud.
The unit was still striking the ground with their spears. Their morale was high, but that was all. Even if their spirits had risen, it wouldn't increase their numbers. If a chaotic melee broke out without proper preparation, the side with fewer numbers would be slaughtered.
What must be done to increase their chances of winning, even by a fraction? Encrid knew the answer. They had to buy time, reorganize, and fight in formation to gain even the slightest advantage. It was because he knew this instinctively that he had stepped forward in the first place.
Therefore, holding Liebart back to fight now was a pointless endeavor.
Encrid also turned around. Since Liebart was already on his way back, the distance between them quickly widened.
"Why did you all come out to greet me?" Encrid asked as he reached his companions.
"I was planning to deliver a vengeful axe strike if you kicked the bucket," Rem said, gripping his weapon.
"Your breathless tactics were excellent," Ragna added, holding an apple seed.
"Why is it that not a single one of them is an easy opponent?" Dunchabel muttered, glancing behind Encrid.
Finally, Aisia stared intently at Encrid before speaking.
"Cool bastard."
He didn't know exactly what she meant, but he could guess. It was a comment born from the skill he had displayed.
What was it that Encrid had shown them? This was the proof of his claim—that facing the Pulse-Severing Associate Knight, at most three "todays" would be enough—and it was also the act of engraving the name Encrid into the minds of everyone watching.
Without morale, this army would have nothing left. And Encrid had forged that morale and bestowed it upon them.
Thud, thud, thud, thud!
The sound of spear shafts striking the ground in rhythm with their heartbeats echoed. Encrid returned to the main army to that sound. No one spoke to him, but everyone watched him.
*
"How was he?"
"He is strong. Better than me."
"And?"
"I must kill him."
"Do so."
Liebart returned to the Count, who asked and spoke with a bored demeanor. The commencement of the all-out battle was postponed until tomorrow morning.
It didn't matter either way. In fact, it was exactly what the Count desired.