Chapter 50: "Surely" Can Kill a Man (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 50: "Surely" Can Kill a Man (1)
Once the battle concluded, Encrid returned to his duties as a member of the Border Guard’s standing army.
He stood guard and patrolled the territory. In his remaining time, he immersed himself in the sword, day after day.
To anyone seeing Encrid for the first time, it was a routine so repetitive it would make them sick. Yet, it was also a peaceful existence—so much so that everyone around him eventually took it for granted.
In truth, even if someone had watched him closely, he wouldn't have cared. He sank deep into his own thoughts, pondering endlessly.
How can I win?
Or, how can I swing my sword better?
It was a time to take stock of his progress and reflect. Having witnessed the knight's skill firsthand, a mad desire to surpass him boiled within Encrid’s soul.
Yet, he did not grow impatient.
Slowly, one step at a time.
Even if the progress was slow, he was always moving forward. That was Encrid's specialty.
Beast's Heart, Blade's Sense, Single-Point Focus.
To advance, he mobilized everything he had learned from Rem, Sachsen, and Ragna during their sparring sessions. At first, he mostly sparred with Rem, but later Ragna joined in. Eventually, Sachsen would occasionally chime in as well.
"Let me stimulate your mind before your brain turns entirely to muscle," Sachsen remarked one afternoon.
"Huh? Are you saying that for my benefit?" Rem shot back.
A stray remark sparked tension between Rem and Sachsen, but to Encrid, it was just another peaceful day.
Sparring with Rem was rough. It was a clash that demanded split-second improvisation and rapid judgment. He had to focus, led by sheer boldness. It was a time when the body had to move before the mind could even think.
Ragna was different.
His was a fight focused purely on the art of swordsmanship itself. Even if Encrid started on the offensive, a single moment of carelessness would instantly push him onto the defensive. Throughout the spar, he had to keep his eyes on the entire flow of the battle.
Sachsen was unlike either of them.
Sachsen relied heavily on feints. He deceived with sound, with footwork, with hand gestures, and even by subtly shifting his shoulders. Encrid had to pay attention to every single movement. It became a battle of rapid, reflexive thinking.
"Clear your mind of stray thoughts. Focus on the present," Sachsen would say.
Before he knew it, the image of the knight had faded from Encrid's mind. He simply repeated what he could do, day in and day out.
*
One afternoon, a fortnight after their return to the Border Guard, the distribution of rewards took place.
"These are the men who contributed to our victory against the treacherous Azpen!" the battalion commander shouted.
The commander began distributing the reward money. Among the recipients, Encrid received the largest share.
"This reward is bestowed for exposing the existence of sorcery and destroying it!" the adjutant announced in a booming voice.
They're actually giving me full credit?
Encrid had expected the command to snatch his achievement and claim it as their own, but they readily acknowledged his contribution. Among the company commanders lined up beside the battalion commander, the emerald-eyed elf stood out prominently.
What had the company commander done to ensure this? There was no way to know. It wasn't as if they would answer even if he asked.
"This is our victory!" the battalion commander cried out once more.
However, no one was swept up in the same madness they had felt on the final night of the battlefield. Led by the platoon leaders, the soldiers standing at the front offered a polite round of applause.
As Encrid returned to his spot, several soldiers in the back glanced at him and began to gossip.
"Sorcery? He destroyed that banner by himself?"
"One of his squad members probably did it."
"Surely he didn't do it alone."
"They're saying the mist was sorcery, and he got rid of it? No way. That squad leader?"
It was a natural reaction for anyone who knew the "old" Encrid. That was what Encrid thought, at least.
But Rem felt differently.
"Seems like these kids are missing the taste of my axe lately," Rem muttered. He spoke with a deadpan expression, but the meaning behind his words was terrifying. This was a man whose hobby involved cracking the heads of surrounding soldiers on a regular basis.
"Why do we even do this? I'd rather get some extra sleep," Ragna muttered, glancing back. The battalion commander's speech seemed dreadfully boring to him.
As the squad leader, Encrid stepped in to placate him.
Meanwhile, the battalion commander was droning on and on about himself. It was a festival of bullshit: how great his role on the battlefield had been, how sending the scouts had actually been his idea, and how he had recognized the banner as sorcery the moment he saw it.
Perhaps out of boredom, the whispers mocking Encrid from behind grew louder.
"That troublemaker squad leader... do you think he sneaks into the battalion commander's quarters at night?"
"Hey, what kind of nonsense is that? He's not some male whore."
The one who spat out the slur laughed even louder at his own joke.
This, too, was something Encrid was used to hearing. A squad leader who only survived by sucking up to his subordinates. Even back when his skills were terrible, he hadn't cared about such talk. Now, he didn't just let it slide; he had reached a level where he didn't even register it. Encrid ignored it once again.
But his squad members did not.
"Having fun, are we?"
It was Sachsen. Before anyone realized, the auburn-haired man had moved, slinging his arms over the shoulders of the two gossiping soldiers. Encrid hadn't even seen Sachsen move.
The two soldiers flinched in surprise. Sachsen lowered his head between them and whispered something. Because his head was bowed, Encrid couldn't read his lips, but the moment he finished speaking, the two soldiers went silent. Their faces turning pale was an added bonus.
Sachsen casually strolled back to his spot.
"What did you say to them?" Rem asked, curious.
Ragna perked up his ears, while Big-Eyes and the Devout Squad Member subtly leaned toward Sachsen as well. Although he didn't care what those soldiers babbled about, Encrid was also curious.
"Just some advice. Essential advice for navigating life."
"Bullshit," Rem scoffed.
Encrid hadn't seen it—and neither had Big-Eyes—but the other three had. Sachsen's hands, which had been draped over their shoulders, had been holding short knives. With the blades pressed right against their throats, who wouldn't be chilled to the bone?
"Do you need some advice too?" Sachsen asked Rem, his tone perfectly casual.
Rem grinned, a vein bulging on his forehead.
"Quiet. The battalion commander is speaking," Encrid intervened, stopping them before things escalated.
Despite Sachsen's show of force, the discontent toward Encrid remained. It was criticism steeped in jealousy and envy.
Originally, he was a nobody.
Originally, he was a pathetic existence struggling at the very bottom, lagging behind everyone else.
Originally, he was a squad leader who barely survived thanks to the strength of his squad members.
That was Encrid's place in their minds. His status as a lowest-rank soldier only reinforced that perception. Yet, they were being told that such a soldier had destroyed the sorcery. The battalion commander himself praised his achievement, and a reward had even come down from the kingdom.
Rather than those who were genuinely happy for him, there were far more who envied him with a "snake heart."
Since ancient times in Naurilia, snakes had been depicted as treacherous, jealous, and ugly creatures that couldn't bear to see others succeed. Thus, people referred to such behavior as harboring a snake heart. The soldiers' current behavior was exactly that.
They were bitter about an achievement made by someone who was supposed to be worse off than them. Even though he had saved them by destroying the sorcery, many found it hard to accept.
"Surely, not that squad leader?"
Even if it wasn't outright hostility, that single phrase summed up the entire situation. Surely, what could that squad leader have possibly done? It was a toxic mixture of contempt, envy, and jealousy.
"Hmm, everyone sure has a lot to say," Big-Eyes commented, though he usually let things slide.
The battalion commander's speech finally ended. The leather pouch Encrid received was heavy. Unless it was filled with copper coins, it was a substantial amount of money. Encrid decided to use the funds to buy himself a proper sword.
"Dismissed! It's time for the guard shift change," the battalion adjutant announced, ending the tedious ceremony.
"Want to go a round right now? Do you have duty?" Encrid asked Rem as the crowd dispersed.
Rem found this man truly, utterly fascinating. "Have you ever thought about playing with those loudmouths instead of me?"
"Them? Why bother? Would it be of any help?"
The squad leader was looking only at his sword again. Seeing this, Rem felt a warmth in his chest. How could a person be so consistent? Dealing with the bastards who ran their mouths could wait.
"Let's do it. Sparring."
Rem suddenly recalled when he had first seen Encrid in the Border Guard. Back then, he was worse than terrible—just an idiot who relied on cheap tricks.
But what about now? The memory of their clash in the territory after the battle flashed through his mind.
Where did he get these basics?
He showed a Heavy Sword Style and a level of swordsmanship that looked as if it had been guided by a solid, prestigious family. It made Rem wonder if this was even the same person.
"You've improved a lot."
With that, Rem immediately shifted gears. He had to. Sparring playfully like before was no longer enough.
While Rem took it in stride, Ragna had been quite shocked after sparring with Encrid.
Even if I taught him myself, he couldn't have done better than this.
The squad leader's skills had improved exponentially. His basics were solid, and though Ragna had only briefly shown him Single-Point Focus, he executed it remarkably well. Still, it wasn't entirely unnatural. Single-Point Focus was a matter of driving oneself into a sort of trance. If one had the talent, it could be achieved in a single day. After all, Ragna had done so himself.
While it was surprising that the squad leader had managed it... it wasn't impossible. Thinking that because he could do it, others could too—that was the mindset of a genius. That was how Ragna understood Encrid's current state.
Sachsen, on the other hand, felt a sense of enjoyment while facing the squad leader.
I'm enjoying this?
What is a sword, a spear, or a dagger? They were merely tools to kill. All his life, he had treated weapons as nothing more than tools. Yet, strangely, after clashing with the squad leader, he felt a sense of relief—to the point where he would temporarily forget the goal he had set for himself. It was incredibly bizarre. That was why he wanted to look out for the squad leader even more.
Standing to one side, the Devout Squad Member, Audin Pumrei, stared intently at Encrid. His discernment was of a different caliber.
His skills shot up in a single day.
Did the squad leader have this much latent talent for physical movement? If so, his skills should have continued to show steady improvement afterward. But now, he had hit a plateau again. Of course, there were plateaus in mastering any craft. Audin knew this, yet whenever he looked at the squad leader, he felt a strange sense of incongruity.
Something is strangely off.
Still, it was probably nothing to worry about. Or perhaps it was easier to think of it as a divine blessing. Encrid was a man who trained so hard he pushed his body to the limit, making every day feel too short. If a blessing did not descend upon someone like him, then who deserved one?
Audin embraced the question. God and man, blessings and curses. Using everything that came to mind as a subject for contemplation, he sank into deep thought.
*
"It seems decent."
Encrid had bought a sword.
"It's more than just decent! That thing has Valerian steel mixed into it!" the blacksmith shouted, a vein bulging on his forehead.
"Is that so?" Encrid asked, lifting the sword to inspect the blade. There was none of the bluish sheen characteristic of Valerian steel.
Seeing him inspect the blade like an expert, the blacksmith quickly added, "I said it was mixed in, I didn't say it was pure Valerian steel."
"I see."
Valerian steel was a high-quality metal renowned across the continent. Steel from the Valeri region was highly elastic and resistant to breaking. Swords made of it did not chip easily. Once sharpened, it became an incredibly durable weapon. On the battlefield, what ally was more reliable than a sturdy sword?
Otherwise, there was Imperial steel, but since the Empire banned its export, Valerian steel was the best option available.
"I'll take this one."
When Encrid spent half of his reward money on a single sword, Big-Eyes, who had tagged along, shook his head.
"Why spend so many Krona on a sword? You could just use some random weapon rolling around the battlefield, or request one from supplies."
"Wouldn't you regret it if you died from a blade strike because you used a shoddy weapon?"
"...Put that way, I have nothing to say. So, are you going to apply for promotion right now?"
"Yeah."
He had recently polished the techniques he had integrated into his body through countless spars. Now, he wanted to test his skills.
How far can I go?
Currently, he was at the lowest rank. He judged himself to be at least an Intermediate Soldier. Then what about Senior? Elite? Special?
Naurilia had introduced the soldier grading system to boost morale. To be promoted, one simply had to defeat a soldier of a higher rank. Challenges were accepted at any time, and there were even people within the unit whose job was to arrange these spars. It was a simple but efficient system.
"Alright, let's go then."
And arranging these spars was exactly what Big-Eyes did. Krais, also known as Big-Eyes, did anything that made money. Promotion spars involved gambling, which made them lucrative. Although the higher-ups knew Krona was changing hands, they turned a blind eye. Some commanders even placed bets on the spars themselves.
"I bet on your victory, Squad Leader," Big-Eyes said.
He hadn't said it out of faith in his own judgment. It was what he had heard after pestering Rem before the match.
"If you're going to bet, bet on the squad leader," Rem had said. Since Rem was not one to make empty promises, Big-Eyes believed him.
You'd better not lose.
If he lost his money, he wouldn't let it go easily. Of course, he wouldn't pick a fight with Rem; Krais knew all too well that if he challenged Rem, he wouldn't even have bones left to bury.
"You want a promotion spar?"
When Encrid made the request to the platoon leader, the officer nodded. "Indeed, there's no need for you to remain at the lowest rank."
After the platoon leader gave his permission and Big-Eyes arranged the match in the central training ground, a few idle soldiers gathered. Normally, it wasn't the kind of event that would draw a crowd, but this was the famous "Troublemaker Squad" leader.
The one who had supposedly destroyed the sorcerous mist.
The squad leader rumored to survive only by kissing his squad members' asses!
Naturally, the number of onlookers grew. With over twenty spectators watching, Encrid stood face-to-face with his opponent—a soldier of mercenary origin with curly hair.
"I'm an Intermediate. I heard you applied straight for Intermediate Soldier?"
"I did."
"You're arrogant."
With that brief exchange, they clashed. Encrid parried his opponent's downward strike.
Clang!
The metallic ring of clashing blades echoed. Encrid waited for his opponent to attack again. That was how it had always been with Rem, Ragna, and Sachsen. Every time they sparred, they gouged at Encrid's openings.
And how had it been in real combat? The stabbing freak. Mitch Hurier of Azpen. All of them had been formidable opponents who never tolerated a single opening.
But his current opponent was different.
Clang! Clang!
A few more exchanges followed. Encrid furrowed his brow.
Is he joking?
His opponent's skill was far below what he had expected. It was hard to tell if the man was even trying.
"Hah!"
The soldier swung his sword downward. He left so many openings that Encrid actually had to hesitate over which one to exploit. Encrid merely feigned a block, dodged, and swept his instep against his opponent's shin.
Thud, sweep, whoosh.
The soldier's right foot flew out to the side, and he went down instantly, hitting the ground with a loud crash.
"Argh!"
Perhaps he had landed on his hand awkwardly; he let out a scream, clutching his wrist as he rolled on the ground.
It was entirely unexpected. A flood of questions rushed into Encrid's mind.
Why is he so weak?
That was Encrid's burning question.