Chapter 52: The Turtle and the Frontier Slaughterer (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 52: The Turtle and the Frontier Slaughterer (1)
"Let’s have a go, you and I."
The soldier who spoke took a step forward. He looked ordinary enough—slightly shorter than Encrid, but with a solid, compact build.
The gleaming blade of the shortsword held loosely in his hand caught the light.
The Frontier Slaughterers. The Border Guard was a small, elite force. Though it was a direct-command unit of only two hundred men, its commander held a rank equal to a battalion commander. According to Naurilia's military organization, they were part of the kingdom's direct-command forces.
This meant they operated under a completely separate chain of command from the 1st and 2nd Infantry Battalions stationed at the border.
The Border Guard soldier stared at Encrid with flat, expressionless eyes. It wasn't a provocative look; rather, it was an arrogant gaze, looking down on him as an inferior.
That sparked Encrid's competitive spirit. He felt like this was a fight worth having.
Encrid was enjoying himself.
I can actually fight.
Compared to the past, when he would collapse instantly, overwhelmed by sheer skill, or be crushed by talent before he could even begin—what was he now?
He was savoring the joy of that transformation.
Perhaps thinking Encrid was hesitating, the surrounding crowd began to murmur.
"Sorcery Breaker!"
"Troublemaker Squad Leader!"
"Give it a shot!"
"It's not like an elite is anything special!"
Though there had only been three brief spars, everyone was now cheering for Encrid. It was a strange experience. Having never felt anything like this in his entire life, it was a first for him.
"Let's go!"
"Go get 'em!"
"Show 'em what you've got!"
"The flower of the battlefield is—"
"—the infantry!"
Now they were practically chanting the infantry slogan. It was amusing, considering their opponent was also technically infantry. Regardless, their support came through loud and clear.
The competitive urge to fight. A thirst that couldn't be quenched by merely being an Intermediate Soldier. The collective military spirit of the infantry backing him up gathered around him.
In that instant, a thrilling sensation surged from his toes through his entire body.
Watching from the sidelines, Vengeance could understand the feelings of those cheering for Encrid.
It makes sense.
After all, hadn't Vengeance himself just bellowed at Encrid to show them what he had?
A bottom-tier soldier who swung his sword even at the expense of his sleep. The squad leader who kept the Troublemaker Squad in check. His status had been insignificant, and his skill had been terrible compared to his effort.
That had been the assessment until now. Everyone likely thought the same.
But what about now?
Encrid—the Troublemaker Squad Leader—was showing a completely different side of himself. He had proven his worth by demonstrating outstanding skill. This was the moment it became real: by breaking the sorcery, he had saved his allies' lives and shifted the tide of the battlefield.
It was something they had known but still doubted. Now that the doubt had become reality, everyone knew. They knew who the greatest contributor to the previous battle truly was.
It was a contribution that the battalion commander had dismissed with a few words of praise and a single pouch of Krona.
As in any military, there was a culture of the higher-ups taking the credit and rewards. Especially the current battalion commander, whose reputation was downright terrible. Rumors were rampant that he viewed his troops as mere consumables.
Quite a few soldiers had already subtly noticed Encrid's skill. A few, including Vengeance himself.
Among them was Bell. He was the soldier Encrid had protected with his shield from the arrow of that Hawk's Claw bastard.
I knew it!
Bell had recognized it the moment Encrid saved him. The Troublemaker Squad Leader was destined for greatness, no matter what he did.
Was that all? The hearts of everyone who had formed a connection with him, knowingly or unknowingly, became one. Encrid was now the representative of the common soldiers of the Border Guard.
Receiving their cheers, Encrid lightly kicked the tip of his sword up and took his stance. At the same time, putting the thrilling sensation behind him, he regulated his breathing.
"So, you're doing this?"
"I have no reason to avoid it."
Seeing Encrid step forward so calmly, Torres, the Border Guard soldier, thought to himself: Look at this guy.
The Frontier Slaughterer. Even though his unit hadn't earned that nickname for nothing, his opponent didn't back down. Instead, he stepped up to fight, a faint smile even playing on his lips.
It was interesting. It was fun. But at the same time, it was irritating. He wanted to show this man the difference between a common soldier and special forces.
Whoosh!
Torres lunged first. His footwork was terrifyingly fast.
Encrid waited, then thrust his sword straight down the center. It was a solid move. Left, right, up, or down—the opponent would have to dodge somewhere. And the moment he dodged, a heavy follow-up strike would pursue him.
Torres didn't dodge. He thrust his own sword directly against Encrid's incoming blade.
The moment blade met blade, Encrid tried to press down with sheer strength, but his opponent pulled off a trick.
Screeech—clang!
Scraping blade against blade, Torres lifted his sword diagonally upward, twisting it so the point of contact slid along a diagonal. The downward force was deflected and slid away. It was a deflection, the fundamental of the Soft Sword style.
Sparks flew where the metals clashed.
As his downward force was deflected to the side, Encrid did not hesitate. He brought his rear right foot forward and kicked.
Thud!
Just before his toes reached the target, his opponent blocked Encrid's shin with his palm.
The distance closed. They were now closer than sword-range. Torres let go of his shortsword and lunged deeper into Encrid's chest. Crossing his hands, he grabbed the collar of Encrid's neck, intending to choke him out.
Regardless of whether his opponent choked him or not, Encrid stubbornly pulled his sword upward from between his legs. It was a strike with the back of the blade, aiming for the opponent's spine. Even if he was choked, he wouldn't pass out instantly, and in that time, he could leave a deep gash on the elite soldier's back.
Torres twisted his body. Instead of holding the collar, he shoved Encrid's chest hard with both hands.
Encrid resisted the shoving force. Without backing down, he changed the direction of his sword and swung it horizontally.
From the moment Torres dropped his shortsword, his defeat could be considered predetermined. One side held a weapon, while the other did not. Which side should have the advantage?
But here, Encrid experienced something entirely different once again.
His opponent suddenly vanished.
Vanished?
His Single-Point Focus shattered. His opponent had disappeared from right before his eyes. Not even a sound could be heard.
After that, instinct moved Encrid. It was an instinct carved into his body through dying countless, truly countless times. The survival instinct he had gained from struggling desperately to repeat the day and reach tomorrow saved Encrid's life today.
Instantly holding his sword with only his right hand, he snapped his chin back. Thanks to that, his chest was wide open. Along with that, a flash of light surged from within Encrid's embrace, right beneath his chin.
Swoosh!
The flash grazed his cheek. In that brief split second, Encrid activated Single-Point Focus once more.
If I miss this, I die. His instinct still blared a vivid warning.
The upward-surging flash suddenly dropped straight down. Encrid did not miss it. Catching the flash with his left palm, he drove his knee upward.
Smack—Thud!
A burning pain flared in his palm. He could see Torres's eyes trembling right in front of him.
Blood dripped from his left palm, which had caught the blade of a dagger. This was the aftermath of the lethal strike Torres had delivered with a dagger he had drawn after discarding his shortsword.
A single drop of blood fell to the ground with a plop.
As blood began to drip steadily, Torres let out a long breath and gestured to withdraw his weapon. Encrid obediently let go of the blade. Pain washed over his left hand—a burning, searing heat. He also felt a stinging pain and blood trickling down his cheek where it had been cut.
If he hadn't dodged, his jaw would have been split open. He was lucky. If not for the movement driven by pure instinct...
Chilling, Encrid thought.
"You're lucky. Huh?"
Then, Rem's voice cut through the air.
Before anyone realized, Rem was standing right behind Torres, his axe resting on his shoulder. It was well within striking distance. Beside Rem, Ragna was also visible, his left hand resting on his sword and his left foot half a step forward—the stance for a quick-draw.
"You shouldn't go any further than that," Ragna muttered.
While those two had taken up positions behind Torres, someone else stood right beside him. It was the red-brown-haired squad member, Sachsen. He didn't hold any weapon in his hands, yet he seemed more dangerous than Rem and Ragna. The instinct that had flared up during the spar told Encrid so.
And these three weren't the end of it.
Encrid's gaze drifted downward. He saw a blade blocking the gap between himself and his opponent. A sword resembling a leaf—the Naidel, a sword unique to the Elves.
"That's enough. I am the 4th Company Commander. Any further, and it's fratricide."
It was the Elven company commander. Her sword had slipped between them before they knew it.
"Why so hostile? It's just a spar. If we traded two more blows, I'd end up with a few extra holes in my body."
Torres retrieved his dagger. Rubbing his stomach where Encrid had struck him, he raised both hands in surrender. Only then did the onlookers, who had been watching with bated breath, let out a collective sigh of relief.
"He fights incredibly well."
"No, seriously, how the hell is he a bottom-tier soldier?"
There was no need for an examiner.
"He's at least a Senior Soldier!"
They had eyes to see. Moreover, look who his opponent was.
"I'm Torres, platoon leader of the Border Guard," he said, tapping his epaulet, and extended his hand. Encrid sheathed his sword and reached out with his uninjured right hand to shake it.
"I am Encrid, leader of the 4th Squad, 4th Platoon, 4th Company."
Since his opponent spoke formally, Encrid maintained military etiquette.
"The Troublemaker Squad Leader. I've heard of you."
Anyone who was anyone in the territory knew of Encrid. Torres offered a good-natured smile. He didn't look like someone who had just been fighting with his life on the line.
"You fight damn well. See you around," Torres said, turning away.
As he walked through the onlookers, the crowd of soldiers parted for him. The Frontier Slaughterers—the reputation of this unit was renowned even among their own allies. A platoon leader of such a unit had acknowledged Encrid.
Now, only the soldier who had saved the battalion by breaking the sorcery stood before them.
"By the way, why is he so handsome?" someone remarked, watching Encrid sweep back his sweat-drenched bangs.
Everyone gathered at the training ground took in the sight of Encrid. Though unintentional, it was the catalyst that changed everyone's perception of him. Amusingly, after this incident, no one spoke lightly of Encrid anymore.
"Huh? That squad leader? Isn't he just a sly bastard who runs wild relying on his squad members?"
On the contrary, if a soldier who hadn't witnessed the promotion spar said something like this, they would be scolded instantly.
"Cut the bullshit. How can you say that when you saved your own skin thanks to that squad leader in the last battle?"
"Huh?"
The soldier, who had been away on leave, was taken aback by his comrade's reaction.
"Don't you know the Sorcery Breaker? You bastard, did that sorcery just collapse on its own? You clueless idiot!"
Surely, before his leave, hadn't they badmouthed the Troublemaker Squad Leader together? His comrade's change of heart was dramatic. But he couldn't really complain, because it wasn't just this one person who had changed; the soldier returning from leave was quickly swept up in the atmosphere.
Even to him, it seemed to make sense. They said he destroyed the sorcery. He had even received an award for it. Deep down, he had already been thinking that the Troublemaker Squad Leader might have accomplished something incredible.
Those who had doubted and claimed it was all thanks to his squad members vanished completely. Leading the charge was Bell.
"I was about to get shot by an arrow and die, you know? But he suddenly appeared and blocked the arrow, just like that!"
Naturally, Vengeance also played a part.
"There was a fire, and—cough—even though I hadn't been friendly to him before, he saved me. I heard he passed out after carrying me out of the flames. And it was definitely Squad Leader Encrid who broke the sorcery. I charged at the front and saw him. With my own two eyes!"
Andrew joined in as well.
"I thought he was extraordinary from the very beginning. The one who predicted the enemy's movements and led the scouting mission wasn't me, but Sir Encrid."
The honorific "Sir" was now attached to his name. Mac, Andrew's protector, also chimed in.
"Throughout the scouting mission, he threw himself into the most dangerous positions and the most hazardous tasks. His swordsmanship? That's not something I'm qualified to judge."
Mac was one of the most skilled among the common soldiers. The atmosphere had completely shifted.
Even so, daily life didn't change. Although rumors circulated that the Troublemaker Squad Leader was surprisingly skilled...
"A Senior Soldier?"
To the battalion commander, a single soldier being promoted to Senior Soldier was hardly a big deal. To him, the Troublemaker Squad Leader was merely a slightly bothersome existence. So, he ignored him.
Encrid didn't let the atmosphere get to his head either. He simply tended to his wounds and did his best on guard duty.
Two days after the promotion evaluations, Encrid was on guard duty at the south gate of the Border Guard with Rem.
"Was this all intentional? You're quite sly, Squad Leader," Rem said.
"What is?"
"Lately, the kids can't stop sucking up to you whenever they see you, and yet you're playing dumb."
Encrid had eyes and ears too. Moreover, Krais, who loved to gossip, was with them. He knew everything there was to know. At first, he felt proud. Even if it had been a desperate struggle to survive, it was true that he had broken the sorcery.
But pride was pride. Encrid quickly maintained his usual attitude: training and disciplining himself.
"Don't you get tired of it?"
"No. Want to go a round after our shift?"
"Sounds good to me."
Rem chuckled. He quite liked the squad leader's consistency.
As they were returning to the barracks after their shift, someone blocked their path. It was an unfamiliar face.
"Can we talk for a moment?"
Before Rem could twitch his eyebrows and ask what kind of bastard he was...
"Sure."
Encrid recognized the face. The man held a position where it would clearly be bad if he associated with Rem.
"Go on ahead."
Encrid sent Rem away.
"You don't need me to stay with you?"
"Just get lost," Encrid said in exasperation, seeing Rem trying to act like a nanny.
"Geez, I try to look out for you, and you give me shit."
"Don't look out for me."
"I'll say it again: if you abandon me, I'll pout. I'll throw a fit just like a teenage girl!" Rem kept spouting nonsense until the very end.
What a headache.
Encrid gave Rem a light shove on the back, signaling he understood. Rem obediently went inside. The man, who had been watching the exchange, lightly shook his head.
"Your discipline is a mess."
"Do you think we're called the Troublemaker Squad for nothing?"
They were right in front of the barracks. The man began to walk along the low wall of the military base. Encrid walked alongside him.
"You know who I am, right?"
"Aren't you the 1st Company Commander?"
The man nodded.
1st Company, 1st Battalion. He was the commander of the Turtle Heavy Infantry, the pride of the Border Guard infantry battalion.