Chapter 46: Tempered by Countless Battles (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 46: Tempered by Countless Battles (2)
A healer had come by while I was out, apparently. It made sense; my entire body was a map of cuts and puncture wounds.
"Fortunately, they said there won't be any permanent disability. You're a lucky man, Squad Leader," Big-Eyes said with a grin.
"You sound like you were rooting for the injuries."
"No way! I’m worried about you. Worried! You should feel honored. You're the first man I've ever actually worried about, Squad Leader."
"Sure, sure."
I thought we would have withdrawn by now, but our forces were still locked in a standoff against the Azpen Principality.
Would there be more fighting?
Even if there were, it would have nothing to do with Encrid. Standing on a battlefield again with a body in this condition was out of the question—unless it was just to watch from the sidelines.
As I sat there crunching on the apple Big-Eyes had left behind, Rem walked in. The rest of the squad was away, leaving the barracks empty.
Rem sat down next to Encrid, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin on the back of his hands. With his lips pressed firmly together, he stared intently at Encrid.
"If you're planning to confess your love, I'm rejecting you in advance."
"Don't you know I like women? If you and a woman I've never met were both drowning, I'd save her. Assuming she’s pretty, of course."
"That's fine. I'm a good swimmer. I'll manage on my own."
"Then save me next time. Come to think of it, I'm a terrible swimmer."
Then what on earth was this bastard thinking when he said he'd save a drowning woman?
Encrid shook his head. It was classic Rem.
"Yeah. I'll throw you a rock."
It was their usual banter. But then Rem fell silent, his gaze fixed on Encrid. His gray eyes were steady, devoid of their usual mischief. There was an unprecedented seriousness in his stare.
"Got something to say?"
"How did you know it was sorcery?"
Encrid hadn't expected the question so soon. "Because I saw it during the scouting mission."
"You figured out it was sorcery just from that? It looked like you charged out there knowing exactly where the flagpole was."
He was right. That had been the target. Encrid had known everything. But he couldn't exactly explain that he knew because he had repeated this day over and over. He needed a plausible excuse.
He was about to spin a web of lies, but those gray eyes made him hesitate. Even if he told the truth, Rem wouldn't believe him—but did he really have to dismiss him with a total fabrication?
He’ll see right through a clumsy lie. Encrid had a gut feeling about that. More than that, he didn't want to treat Rem that way.
So, he decided to mix in the truth.
"I used to live with someone from a pioneer village."
That was true. Rem himself was from a pioneer village.
"I heard a few things from that friend."
Also true. Rem had been the one to tell him about sorcery in previous loops.
"So, I put the pieces together and made a guess."
This wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough. Instead of pondering and guessing, he had repeated the day until he figured it out by throwing his body into the fray. You could say he had thought with his muscles instead of his head.
At least, that was what Encrid chose to believe as he spoke.
"It seemed like the flagpole was the medium for the sorcery. I saw the enemy's formation looking strange before the mist rolled in, and well... after that, I just charged."
"Hmm."
People fall for lies mixed with truth because the speaker carries genuine sincerity. Because Encrid was being sincere about the parts he could share, even someone with Rem’s sharp intuition found it hard to detect deceit.
Rem believed him. Or, at the very least, it wasn't something he could argue with.
"Is that so? I thought it was amazing how you figured it out the moment you saw it."
"What about the sorcery?"
"I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn't mess around with that kind of stuff."
"Is that so?"
Rem nodded. Encrid recalled that Rem had been missing during the climax of the battle. They had charged together, but Rem hadn't been by his side when the mist cleared. He hadn't been seen until they returned to the unit.
"I've been meaning to ask—where did you go on the battlefield?"
"It was nothing. I was just curious about who set up that flagpole, so I went to take a quick look."
"...You went to take a look?"
"I had a little chat with him using my axe."
Rem grinned and walked out of the barracks.
Encrid recalled the moment he had knocked down the flagpole. The shaman bastard had been shaking some bells before quickly vanishing. At the time, Encrid had been too busy destroying the medium to give chase.
It seemed the shaman had tried to slip away, only to run straight into Rem’s axe.
Encrid brushed it off. It wasn't the first or second time Rem had acted on a whim. In a previous battle, he had charged into enemy lines just to catch a man called Hawk's Claw. Knowing this, the platoon leader had simply stopped counting the Troublemaker Squad as part of their main combat force. He only calculated the platoon's actual strength based on the remaining squads.
It was the same this time around. However, there was one major difference.
This time, Encrid had been the first to break formation. That was the anomaly.
"Yo, you alright?"
The platoon leader entered the barracks.
"Are you here to visit the sick? Aren't we heading back yet?" Encrid asked bluntly.
The platoon leader shrugged. "Orders haven't come down from above yet. Everyone is on standby."
Winter was just around the corner, a season where sustained warfare was nearly impossible. They wouldn't leave the camp entirely empty, but since their battalion had carried the brunt of this battle, they were due for rotation. It was strange that the order to return hadn't arrived.
The platoon leader scratched his head, looking at Encrid. "You."
"Yes, sir."
When Encrid had broken formation, the platoon leader hadn't thought much of it. He’d simply assumed Encrid had finally lost his mind.
But then, they had barely survived thanks to the shouts to get down and raise shields. And just when they thought they were dead in the mist, the fog had suddenly vanished. They had turned the tide and slaughtered the enemy.
He later heard from the company commander that the mist was sorcery, and that sorcery required a medium. Unless that medium was destroyed or the shaman died, the spell wouldn't break.
"Who do you think did it?" the company commander had asked, her green eyes piercing.
At that moment, the platoon leader had thought of Encrid. He concluded that, at the very least, the Troublemaker Squad had done something. After all, Encrid had dashed out right before the mist rolled in. And those shouts... they had sounded like Encrid’s voice.
The platoon leader gathered his thoughts. "They say that mist was sorcery."
"Ah, yes. I reported the possibility."
Indeed. It was the report Encrid had made after the scouting mission.
"Right. You did."
The platoon leader stared at Encrid for a moment, told him to take care of himself, and stood up.
It makes no sense.
He knew Encrid's skill level. He wasn't the worst, but at best, he was fit to be a village vigilante captain. There were terrifying bastards in his squad, but Encrid wasn't one of them. Unless the enemy were fools, the medium for the sorcery would have been hidden deep within their lines.
Someone would have had to infiltrate that far. Through thick mist? Under a rain of bolts and arrows?
The Troublemaker Squad Leader? Not a chance.
Just in case, he had asked Rem, but Rem said no. Ragna was out of the question; once the mist cleared, he was already fighting by their side. He wondered if it was the rest of the squad, but they had been fighting in the platoon's rear.
Did support come from the main force?
With that thought, the platoon leader stepped out. The temperature had plummeted, bringing a sudden, biting chill.
"Are we really not marching back?"
He missed the air of the territory. He missed his home, his wife, and his daughter. He wanted to roast potatoes over a hearth and get some real sleep.
*
After two days of bed rest, Encrid was finally well enough to move.
"Shouldn't you take it easy?" Big-Eyes asked, but Encrid's recovery was faster than expected.
"Did that wild beast leave?" Big-Eyes asked, looking around the barracks.
Encrid nodded. "Yeah. I don't see it."
"It seemed to follow you well, Squad Leader."
"Weren't you terrified of it?"
"Of course I am! It's a wild beast!"
"It still looked like a cub, though."
"You know Enri, the hunter you went scouting with? I heard he went out with you," Big-Eyes said suddenly.
Encrid nodded, marveling at Big-Eyes’ network. How did he even know Enri?
"That guy used to be a plains hunter. Enri said that while many beasts live on the Greenpearl Plains, there's one that stands above the rest. Do you know what it is?"
"What is it?"
"A black panther with blue eyes—a blue-eyed panther. They also call it a Lake Panther."
Big-Eyes was animated, clearly enjoying the lore.
"They call it a Lake Panther because its eyes look like deep lakes. Anyway, while they eat gazelles and wildebeests, they usually live by absorbing energy from the earth. They're spiritual beasts. I heard just one of their claws is worth over ten thousand Krona."
Krona was the currency of the Empire. One copper was one Krona. One hundred coppers made a silver, and one hundred silvers made a gold.
Ten thousand Krona was a single gold coin. A single claw was worth more than Encrid’s entire salary.
"Those claws can slit a man's throat. Do you think you could pull one out?"
"...Ugh, I'm not that greedy," Big-Eyes said, waving his hands dismissively.
As Encrid moved, sweat broke out on his forehead. A dull pain throbbed, but he could handle it. Having died so many times, estimating the severity of a wound by the level of pain was child's play.
"If you overdo it, the wounds will open up," Sachsen warned from the corner. Only he and Big-Eyes remained in the tent.
"I'm pacing myself," Encrid replied half-heartedly.
He continued to move, his mind drifting back to the moment he deflected the Mustachioed Man's strike. How had he done it? Could he do it again?
He wasn't sure. Would he fail? No, he felt like he could pull it off if he tried a few more times.
As he was lost in thought, Rem and Ragna returned.
"Walk a bit further away from me. Your laziness is contagious," Rem barked.
"Why are you always so eager to die every single day?" Ragna shot back.
Before their bickering could escalate, Encrid spoke up. "I have a question. About swordsmanship."
Both of them stopped and looked at him.
"Speak up."
"If it's about swordsmanship, I should be the one to answer," Ragna added.
As they began glaring at each other again, Encrid quickly explained. He told them how he had seen the enemy's movements, and how the technique had somehow become ingrained in his body, manifesting unconsciously.
"Isn't that just something that happens naturally as you keep doing it?" Rem answered first.
"An interesting experience. I've been like that since I was a child, so I don't think of it as special, but in your case, Squad Leader... well, yes. God has blessed you. The Goddess of Fortune must have tripped and spilled her gold coins on you," Ragna followed.
Neither answer was particularly helpful. But after more bickering, a more detailed explanation emerged.
"Sometimes, your vision opens up in the middle of a fight. Normally, they say you have to go through countless—truly countless—real battles for something like that to happen even once. If you possess Single-Point Focus, the probability is even higher."
"You've got the Beast's Heart somewhat integrated into your body now, haven't you? It means you've gained the ability to stare straight at your opponent without blinking. If you had such an opportunity—meaning, if you could clearly watch your opponent wield their sword right in front of your eyes—there would be times when you could see how they swing and how they distribute their strength. Then, your body might react on its own. Though, of course, that's only assuming you have the basics down."
"The basics are one thing, but you'd still have to go through hundreds of brutal, real battles."
Hearing their words, Encrid reached a conclusion.
Ah.
What was merely a single day to someone else... had been hundreds of fiercely contested "todays" for Encrid.
And those weren't days spent waiting for the end. They were days spent struggling desperately, giving his absolute best at every single moment. The countless hours he had spent enduring and fighting had granted him this "luck."
In truth, it wasn't luck at all. It was the natural result of his labor. It was the price of his research—of struggling to overcome even as he was cut, stabbed, and killed.
At the foundation lay the Beast's Heart, which granted him boldness, and Single-Point Focus.
I'm grateful all over again.
It was thanks to those two traits. And hadn't Ragna completely rebuilt the foundation of his swordsmanship? The battle with Mitch Hurier, the pursuit by the Mustachioed Man, and the chaos of the battlefield... it all connected.
A complex web of thoughts filled his mind, sparking a single desire. He wanted to hold a sword again. He wanted to swing it. He wanted to test how well he had integrated that deflecting technique.
"I want to spar."
Both Rem and Ragna shook their heads instantly.
Rem scoffed. "Ever since I was a kid, people told me I'm not normal, that I'm crazy. But from where I'm standing, you're even crazier than me, Squad Leader."
That was the last thing he wanted to hear from Rem—a man who harassed soldiers at the drop of a hat and had tried to take his superior's head off. To be called crazier than him...
"I have to agree with him today. How can you even think of sparring with a body like that?" Ragna added.
Encrid felt deeply wronged. Was it really necessary to gang up on him just because he wanted to practice a little?
"Sparring with that body is out of the question, Squad Leader."
The tent flap was pushed aside. Looking up, Encrid saw the Elf Company Commander.
As Encrid tried to push himself up, she strode over, her presence commanding the room.
"Was it you?" she asked bluntly, before he could even offer a salute.
Encrid looked at the beautiful elf, who was as cold and sharp as a sculpture. He moistened his parched lips. He had expected the command to come asking eventually.
How did you break the sorcery?
That was the question that was finally here.