Chapter 421: Something Ominous Approaches
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 421: Something Ominous Approaches
“Something ominous is approaching.”
A violet lamp, a ferryboat drifting on a black river, and the Ferryman.
It was a space so familiar he could have drawn it with his eyes closed. It was a dream, and he was aboard the Ferryman's boat.
“What kind of ill omen?” Encrid asked, perched on the edge of the vessel.
Would it be alright to cross my legs? As the thought crossed his mind, the Ferryman's eyes turned toward him.
“I can tell you no more.”
It was a response typical of an incredibly fickle being. That was how Encrid saw the Ferryman. Every time they met, the Ferryman's personality shifted, his tone changed, and he spoke entirely on a whim.
Encrid did not find it difficult to deal with such capricious people. His experience wandering the continent just to learn a single sword technique had not gone to waste. Brawlers, mercenaries, noble guards, merchant guild swordsmen, sword instructors at training centers—he had encountered plenty of unique and eccentric bastards among them.
And the most peculiar of them all were the members of his current company. He had more than enough experience. If comparing purely by personality, the Ferryman might actually be better than Rem.
In times like this, there was no need to argue or show any emotion.
“I see,” Encrid agreed. He paused for a moment, then asked, “How do you know this ill omen is coming?”
The Ferryman did not answer. He truly seemed to have no intention of saying anything more. His gaze simply fell upon Encrid.
Then, with a sudden snap, his vision went dark.
*
When he opened his eyes, it was morning. Since the summer sun rose early, his surroundings were already bright even during his training of the Isolation Technique.
Encrid devoted himself to his routine as usual.
Sachsen, who had been lost in thought since leaving the royal palace, had reportedly started acting friendly and talking to the squad members after sparring with Encrid, but he had since returned to his usual self. In fact, he hadn't just returned to normal; he had left for a few days, claiming he had business to attend to, so he wasn't even present.
It was a pity, as Encrid had intended to spar with him once more.
“Good morning, Brother.”
A moment later, Audin followed him out. Behind him came Teresa, Dunchabel, Ropode, and Pel.
“You're relentless from the crack of dawn,” Pel remarked.
Anyone could tell at a glance—this wasn't training meant for show. He was simply doing it.
“When are you going to challenge me?” Encrid asked. A chicken instead of a pheasant—he was looking for a substitute.
“Not yet.”
He must be possessed by an evil spirit that died from a lack of sparring, Pel thought. His own hands were itching too, but he didn't want to jump in when he was obviously going to lose. After all, a shepherd always moved efficiently.
Still, there really is something about him that makes a man's blood boil.
Encrid was a man who made something surge in one's chest just by watching him. Since he couldn't force someone who refused to fight, Encrid turned away and began to push his body to the limit alongside Audin.
Starting with the Striking Method, they assumed strange postures that stretched their muscles to the point of tearing.
“Muscles that have lost their flexibility are nothing but useless lumps of flesh,” Audin's instruction continued.
Teresa oversaw Ropode's training, while Dunchabel, dripping with sweat, followed Encrid's movements. Morning training after a dream that might have been a nightmare or the Ferryman's mischief—it was their daily routine.
*
Afterward, various matters awaited Encrid.
Half a month had passed since his return to the Border Guard. He was gradually getting used to these days. For instance, even the battalion commander calling him "General" was becoming familiar. Although there was a mountain of work, Krais tackled it with such determination that Encrid himself didn't actually have much to do.
“I think it would be best to standardize the soldiers' equipment. What do you think? After that, we can divide them into branches and train them.”
First, training.
“We will expand that outpost in the future. To the level of a gateway. Right now, there are only twenty men, but we'll build it so at least a hundred can be stationed there. If we give each outpost a name to foster a sense of belonging, they will defend them better. That is my projection.”
Security.
“The nobles keep sending gifts, but I will handle the replies myself.”
Diplomacy.
“The Lockfried Merchant Guild, which has been doing excellent work, wants to open branches in the neighboring cities. Will you permit it? If you don't, Leona might pout.”
Economy.
“I've raised the soldiers' wages, and I plan to select a few capable individuals to act as landowners. There is plenty of good land, and it would be a waste to let it lie fallow. However, since that land is Greenpearl, I was wondering if we should establish a few outposts at the gateway over there.”
And finally, finance.
At this rate, even ten bodies wouldn't be enough for Krais.
“Are you even remembering to eat?” Encrid asked, wiping away his sweat. He was in the middle of weapon control training with a wooden practice sword—one that weighed five times more than an actual iron sword.
“Pardon?” Krais turned his head.
“I asked if you're not too busy.”
Encrid doubted even the lamp-rubbing genie from the Eastern Continent's fairy tales would work this hard.
“I'm reasonably busy.”
“Should we raise your salary too?”
“It's already at the limit. If I receive any more, I'll be earning more than the Castellan of the Border Guard.”
He's certainly not one to neglect his own pockets, Encrid noted, nodding.
“Besides, am I the one doing all the work? I just have to review and approve from the top.”
That was exactly what Encrid was doing now. Krais had even carved a seal from somewhere and brought it to him. Even if he was a general, he hadn't originally been a noble, but the current Encrid was different. It was only natural, given that he wielded enough power to slap an ordinary noble across the face two hundred and eighty times.
The entire territory of the rebel leader had been handed over to him, and he was known as a hero of the nation, a demon slayer, and a friend of the King.
“I've also brought in Gilpin to put him to work. I'm pulling in people from here and there. The Lockfried Merchant Guild has been a huge help with this as well. They handle most of the tasks involving numbers.”
Encrid left him to do as he pleased. Honestly, even if he stepped in himself, he wouldn't be able to do it half as well. Encrid boldly delegated the work to Krais, choosing to closely examine only a few specific matters.
One of them was the soldiers' equipment.
“We will divide them into three branches: spearmen, swordsmen, and shieldmen. Basic training will require them to handle all weapons. And as for their equipment, let's do this.”
A swordsman's basic equipment consisted of a longsword, a dagger, a wrist-mounted miniature crossbow—which Krais had badgered blacksmith masters and workshops to create—armor lined with oiled linen and covered in leather, arm and shin guards, three throwing knives, a hand axe, a kite shield, a cloth-padded leather helmet, and a short club.
The miniature crossbow was a weapon developed after Encrid recalled using one confiscated from a bandit in the past. The spearmen and archers were equipped similarly, excluding their primary weapons.
They're fully armored, and if they have to carry a backpack on top of that, isn't that just torture? Krais thought to himself as he looked at his commander.
Encrid, quick on the uptake, replied, “Send back anyone who complains that this is too hard.”
There was a time when the Border Guard standing army was so short on numbers that they had to accept anyone who came and send them straight to the battlefield. But now, they didn't need to do that.
“Rather than a massive army, we will raise a select number of elites.”
Krais agreed. In the first place, everything they were discussing was designed to increase the soldiers' combat capability. Because they had set up an office but never used it, these discussions held in a corner of the training ground were the very moments deciding the soldiers' futures.
Swordsmen, spearmen, archers, shieldmen, cavalry, and horse archers. Encrid laid out the broad framework, and Krais added his wisdom to it.
“Since we're at it, I'll gather some decent soldiers to fill the ranks. How about reorganizing the units under your command? You know you can't remain an independent company forever, right?”
Encrid nodded and conveyed the decisions he had made with Krais.
“Rem, let's weed out some decent guys and form a unit.”
An assault unit—it would be good to have bastards who could strike and tear through enemy lines when war broke out.
“Huh? You serious about that?”
Encrid hesitated for a moment. Rem might end up leaving the soldiers half-dead instead of actually forming a unit.
“I told you to form a unit, not to torment them.”
“I'll do my best,” Rem said, standing up.
“Don't do your best.”
Encrid felt a pang of pity for the soldiers. He tried to assign a similar task to Ragna.
“Too much trouble.”
“Cavalry is fine, swordsmen are fine too.”
“Too much trouble.”
After returning from the royal palace, Ragna had dedicated himself to training for a few days, but now he was back to his old ways, dozing off and rolling around in his barracks. Aside from occasionally showing his face at the training ground when Ropode dragged him out with great effort, he had become lazy again.
Ropode, seemingly fearless, repeatedly asked Ragna to spar. Naturally, he was beaten black and blue or threatened with death.
“Keep annoying me, and I'll cut off one of your arms.”
“I'll work hard so it doesn't get cut off!”
Even so, Ropode did not back down. He was a fellow of extraordinary spirit. At least, on the surface. Ragna was a man of his word, but surely he wouldn't actually cut it off. Probably.
Still, Encrid threw in a word of caution just in case. “Don't cut it off.”
“We'll see.”
The reply was incredibly unsettling. Yet, pairing Ropode with someone who refused to do anything out of sheer laziness brought a small sense of relief. When it came to unit organization, Ropode, who had been trained and educated in a knight order, was far more adept.
He assigned Dunchabel to Rem. If Rem was busy tormenting Dunchabel, he would torment the other squad members a bit less.
When he spoke to Audin as well, the man readily agreed. “Of course, Brother.”
Feeling a bit uneasy about that, Encrid paired him with Teresa. With this, he believed the task of raising elite soldiers would progress. After all, they wouldn't need a massive force.
*
Encrid was not one to turn away from his duties. He did everything he could without cutting back on his training and conditioning. Thanks to Krais, his training time wasn't reduced much anyway.
“Let's watch the training. Just do what you usually do.”
Luagarne had made a request to the royal palace and officially joined Encrid's command. Since then, she followed Encrid everywhere like a duckling following its mother. She had reportedly run into Frok Meelun, who lived in the city and beat up anyone who challenged him after joining the Gilpin Guild, but they had ignored each other. Neither seemed to have the slightest interest in the other.
When asked why, she replied, “I am a Frok.”
“So why is that?”
“Everyone lives according to their own desires, and that Frok's desires are none of my concern.”
As he had felt before, a Frok did not bother to learn about things outside their interest. A Frok as knowledgeable as Luagarne was the exception. Her desire was the exploration of the unknown; it was only possible because she was, so to speak, an academic Frok.
“What do you think is the essence of the Orthodox Sword Style?”
Luagarne was helpful in many ways, particularly because her teaching was excellent, regardless of her actual combat skill. An outstanding sparring partner was not necessarily a great teacher. One could easily see that by looking at Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Sachsen. Even if they were told to train soldiers, they possessed terrible talent when it came to actual teaching. Geniuses were simply that kind of breed.
In that regard, Luagarne was a truly exceptional teacher.
“Calculation?”
“Suggestion and restraint.”
The point was this: without even needing to swing the sword, one must move the opponent according to one's intent through just a few subtle suggestions.
“Swinging the sword is merely a motion shown after the verification is already complete.”
“Even when I corner Rem using the Orthodox Sword Style and strike, he counters immediately. What about that?”
“That axe-wielder is a monster.”
Luagarne's eyes read talent. In her eyes, Rem was a monster.
“What about Ragna?”
“That bastard is a sword-wielding monster.”
“Audin?”
“A monster starting from his very physique.”
“Sachsen?”
“A devious monster?”
Luagarne's vocabulary wasn't particularly varied, but Encrid actually agreed with her.
“And you are an incomprehensible monster.”
“Yes, is that so.”
Occasionally, Sinar would come to spar with him, demonstrating techniques that chilled him to the bone. Moreover, she made him feel that even those techniques weren't her everything, appearing as though she was holding something back.
“Why? Did you think you could easily beat someone of my level, Fiancé?”
“I think it's about time you stopped calling me that at the end of every sentence.”
“General Fiancé?”
“Let's not change it.”
Krais even deduced Krang's inner thoughts just by looking at what Encrid requested.
“You're preparing for war.”
“Probably.”
“Hmm, the opponent is Azpen?”
“Probably.”
Encrid gave a vague reply and brushed it off, but Krais seemed to have already figured everything out. He was a fellow whose mind was impossible to read.
*
Even as he spent his days like this, the Ferryman appeared every time he slept.
“Something ominous is coming.”
Encrid had heard the same words for fifteen days straight. He wondered if the Ferryman simply wanted to hear him say he was sick of it. After all, the Ferryman always called him a relentless, tiresome bastard whenever they met.
But Encrid didn't actually find it tiresome.
“Do you not know how close it is?”
“I cannot tell you.”
He was merely curious. Since it was the Ferryman who spoke of it, it must be a "wall." That was how he felt.
In truth, even the Ferryman did not know the exact nature of the ominous shadow. Once an event occurred and today repeated, he could see the determined future, but he could not know everything that had not yet happened. That was something even a god could not do.
The Ferryman thought to himself. No, even the repeating today changes.
The man before him had shown him that. It was the price of that change.
“Something ominous is approaching.”
The Ferryman was showing favor.
“Yes, I look forward to seeing it.”
Watching the master of the curse respond so calmly, the Ferryman felt his stomach twist just a little, but he did not withdraw his favor.
“The ill omen is near.”
“Yes, is that so?”
Encrid was calm, as always.
“Take it seriously. You fool, who walks the path of mortality only to ultimately reach a today of ruin.”
“Yes, I am serious.”
He didn't look serious at all; instead, he seemed filled only with anticipation. The Ferryman found that highly displeasing.