Chapter 54: The Turtle and the Frontier Slaughterer (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 54: The Turtle and the Frontier Slaughterer (3)
Direction. With what purpose, and toward what goal, does one exist?
Screee—
A hawk soaring over the verdant plains cried out as it circled overhead. Its sharp call brushed past the two men standing below.
It was a mild winter afternoon. Standing by the barracks wall, Encrid answered the offer he had received with a question of his own.
Torres hesitated, pondering for a moment before he spoke.
"The Soldier Grading System is bullshit, but it did establish one clear standard: what it means to be a Special Soldier."
His voice was quiet, low, and deep. It possessed the somber resonance of a low-pitched hymn. His thoughts aligned as he formulated an answer, his words laced with sincerity and conviction.
"It refers to reaching the absolute limit of human capability. It means cutting into your sleep and swinging your sword on the battlefield until your hands are blistered and raw. Right?"
Torres reached out and pulled Encrid’s hand toward him. Encrid offered no resistance, letting the man take it. Turning Encrid’s palm upward, Torres spoke.
"Look at this."
The palm was covered in thick, iron-hard calluses that had split and healed over and over again. It was the physical proof of his desperation—the record of countless days spent swinging a blade.
"There are plenty of bastards who put in this much effort. But those whose talent actually keeps up with that effort are rare. Truly rare."
Torres shook his head slightly. He was right. Encrid knew this truth all too well, having crawled and scraped through the dirt precisely because he lacked that innate spark.
"A place where soldiers who possess both effort and talent—soldiers who have reached the very limits of humanity—gather! That is the Border Guard. You want to get stronger? Join our unit. We will fill whatever you’re lacking."
Encrid had asked about their direction, but the answer he received was about filling deficiencies.
In that, Encrid found his answer.
Looking into Torres’s eyes, which were filled with passion, desire, and conviction, Encrid spoke.
"I’m sorry."
It was a rejection.
It was an unparalleled opportunity—an absolute dream of a chance on the path toward a goal that had been torn to shreds but never forgotten. No, a dream he could never forget.
But Encrid could not go.
The Border Guard could be a step to climb higher, but the top of those stairs would never lead to the world he desired.
Stopping at the limit isn't enough.
Merely reaching the limit was insufficient.
The Frontier Slaughterer—they were the group with the most exceptional killing capacity among all the units stationed within the Border Guard. Yet, hadn't the very member of that guard standing before him just said it himself? That the Border Guard consisted of those who had reached the limits of humanity.
Encrid’s dream lay beyond that.
Of course, for someone who hadn't even reached the limit to talk about surpassing it was nothing short of arrogant. Even so, he couldn't set out on a journey expecting to stop halfway before even reaching his destination.
Encrid shook his head.
"You must know the nature of our unit," Torres pressed.
Turning ordinary soldiers into excellent killing machines in a short period of time.
Encrid knew. There was no half-hearted training there. They were a group that produced soldiers of a far higher caliber than ordinary troops. However, their method was the problem.
In truth, there was only one underlying question behind Encrid’s inquiry.
Had anyone from the Border Guard ever become a knight?
The answer was none.
They learned and mastered the most convenient and efficient ways to kill. They hadn't earned the moniker "Frontier Slaughterer" for nothing. In terms of swordsmanship, it was a style that prioritized shortcuts and anomalies over the basics.
One could never become a knight through shortcuts and anomalies alone. Knowing this, it was a path he could not take.
"You’re a fool, aren't you?"
To anyone else, that was how it would look. Torres relaxed his glare, his expression shifting to one of disbelief.
"I hear that a lot."
"Ha. I never dreamed I’d get dumped by a man instead of a woman. May I ask why?"
Should I tell him? Will I just be laughed at again?
Whenever he spoke of his dream, it felt as though he heard nothing but ridicule.
Ah, was that true?
Krang was serious.
There was no one else. Rem had just been thrilled to find another excuse to tease him. The others hadn't reacted very well either. A few instructors, in particular, had looked at him as if he were a certified madman.
"I want to go higher than the Border Guard."
Even so, Encrid spoke honestly. He had nothing to hide.
"Higher?"
"I want the red cloak."
It didn't strictly have to be the red cloak, but it was an appropriate metaphor. There was only one order of knights in Naurilia. They were the king’s guardians, draped in blood-red cloaks, and the ultimate symbol of Naurilia’s military might. They were also the only unit permitted to bear the royal crest.
Vividly engraved upon their cloaks was the kingdom’s symbol: three crossed swords. Three blades with intersecting edges, and the Sun Beast—a mythical divine creature with a round head and a mane of fire.
These were the symbols of Naurilia.
He was saying he would become a knight. Torres understood perfectly. That was why he was taken aback.
"...That’s a bit much."
Torres had caught a glimpse of Encrid’s skills. They were impressive—for someone who had only awakened to his talent at the age of thirty.
But that was exactly where it ended. Honestly, his skills were barely enough to scrape into the Border Guard. If it were Encrid’s squad members he had run into inside the barracks earlier, that might be a different story.
No, even they wouldn't do.
They were out of the question for other reasons. They were all highly problematic. No matter how much trouble they caused, a soldier had to follow orders. In that regard, they were below standard.
A blade that cuts its own wielder is no weapon at all. It was something to be discarded.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course."
He had been flatly rejected. Torres nodded. He didn't want to crush the man’s aspirations, but he felt compelled to leave him with a warning.
"You’ll regret this."
"Perhaps."
Encrid replied with absolute sincerity. Since no choice was guaranteed to be the right one, he might indeed regret it.
Torres, the Border Guard platoon leader, spun on his heel and walked away without waiting for a military salute. He looked petulant, but his shoulders actually seemed lighter.
Encrid turned around as he watched Torres recede into the distance. As he trudged back toward the barracks, he recalled a conversation he’d had with Ragna.
"Are you talking about the members of the Red Cloak Knights? And you're curious about how they moved like that?"
The shock of seeing the Red Cloak Knights had been significant. What is a knight? How could they move like that? It would be a lie to say he wasn't full of questions. And to think, those members were merely associate knights.
"It’s a bit too early for you to know," Ragna had said. Encrid had silently waited for him to continue. Just as he expected, Ragna went on. "Knights do not rely on physical strength alone. A very special power dwells within their bodies. How to wield that power is not something we should discuss right now. Knowing it would only hinder you."
"Just give me a direction. I want to know if I’m heading down the wrong path or not."
It might have been an unreasonable request. But as Encrid’s skills grew, he was realizing anew that none of his squad members were ordinary. Among them, he had learned the basics of swordsmanship from Ragna, and during those lessons, he had realized something.
If he had to pick the person in the squad closest to being a knight, it would be Ragna.
"The basics are a parade of simple, brute-force techniques. You’ll know once you fight—would it be faster for you to grow stronger by relying on that mercenary sword style you learned, or by training your basic forms?"
Why are shortcuts called shortcuts? Why are anomalies called anomalies? If it were just about fighting well, the Valen-style Mercenary Sword was several times more effective than learning the basic forms of the Heavy Sword Style.
"It is for going further—the righteous path. You must walk the proper path. I believe that answers your question."
It was more than enough of an answer. Swordsmanship that progressed through the basics. Walking the righteous path, scaling the countless walls that blocked his way through those very basics.
That was what he needed to do right now. Encrid reached his conclusion.
Chrrr—
When he entered the barracks, a beastly sound welcomed him. The room was a mess. A bed had been pushed to one side, a table was overturned, and in the middle of it all, Big-Eyes was making a tearful face, his cheeks covered in scratches.
"Ow... of all places, my face..."
"It’s quick."
"Leopard meat tastes terrible, but meat is meat."
Behind Big-Eyes, Ragna chimed in, followed by Rem.
The beast was a black panther. A young panther with blue eyes, just like the creature he had fought alongside before. He thought he would never see it again after it suddenly vanished, but somehow, it had made its way in here.
The panther bristled its fur, glaring at Ragna and Rem, but the moment Encrid entered, it spun around and leaped straight into his arms.
Rem scratched his head with the thumb of the hand holding his axe. If Encrid had been just a moment later, that axe might have severed the panther’s neck.
"Was this your pet, Squad Leader?"
"Ah, so that’s what it was?"
Ragna—the man who had been infinitely serious and heavy when speaking of knights—returned to his usual lazy self. He sheathed his sword and threw himself onto the displaced bed. Seeing this, Rem lowered his axe as well.
"Was it yours, Squad Leader? That thing is vicious."
Big-Eyes asked, casting a wary glance at the panther.
"Did you get scratched?"
"I just wanted to pet its head."
As Big-Eyes touched his scratches to gauge the damage, Rem chuckled.
"He got like that because he tried to reach his hand in to check if it was male or female."
Hiss!
As if understanding the words, the clever panther thrust its head forward and bared its fangs. Startled, Big-Eyes tried to back away, only to step on a discarded leather canteen and slip. Rem burst into laughter as Big-Eyes fell flat on his butt with a loud thud.
"Are you alright? Your face?" Encrid asked, letting out a small chuckle. This was the guy who usually bragged that his face was a blessing to the Kingdom of Naurilia.
"Ah, I’m fine. I’ll just have to apply some medicine or get some divine healing so it doesn't leave a scar."
Divine healing for a measly scratch? That was something you’d only do if you had Krona to burn.
"Uh, right."
Encrid gave a half-hearted reply and looked down at the panther in his arms. The creature that had been baring its fangs just a moment ago was now quietly looking up at him. He hadn't thought of it as particularly small, but holding it, it felt surprisingly light.
"Did you come to play?" Encrid asked.
The panther seemed to understand. It blinked, let out a soft purr, and rubbed its head against Encrid’s chest. Its fur, softer than silk, felt pleasant to the touch.
Watching Encrid stroke the panther’s head, Rem spoke.
"Are you going to keep it? Well, at least you won't be bored."
Rem was surprisingly tolerant of animals. Ragna and Sachsen showed no interest. Audin, the religious fanatic who had returned from his shift, also paid no attention. Only Big-Eyes—Krais—still showed immense interest.
"It’s a female."
"Huh?"
"Do you think I would’ve gotten away with just a scratched face otherwise?" Big-Eyes crossed his arms and said triumphantly.
Is that so? How impressive.
"Sure," Encrid replied and began tidying up the room. Rem set the fallen table upright, sat on it, and asked, "Now that you’ve become a Senior Soldier, it seems everyone is looking for you. How about it? The Border Guard doesn't seem like a bad option."
Sometimes, Encrid wanted to peer inside the mind of this sly man. Just when he thought Rem did nothing but play around, the man would pierce straight to the heart of the matter.
"I’m not going."
Encrid stated his conclusion first. He didn't want any unnecessary fuss.
"Why?" Sachsen asked curtly. "...Sir," he added belatedly, remembering the honorific.
"Just because."
There was no need to go into detail. He tried to brush it off, but Rem interjected.
"Are you serious? No matter how foolish the Soldier Grading System is, being a Senior Soldier is more than just decent. And you rejected the kingdom’s direct army under those circumstances?"
"He must have his reasons."
Ragna, who seemed to have guessed the situation from their previous conversation, chimed in, but that only made things worse.
"...Well, damn. Is this bastard acting like he knows something? It looks like he does."
"Why?" Sachsen asked again. This time, the polite honorific didn't follow. His gaze was incredibly insolent.
"Lord, grant wisdom to these ignorant souls."
Audin poured oil on the fire, and the atmosphere flared up. It was a tension that could not be easily ignored. If left alone, a meaningless brawl would break out. Encrid knew these situations all too well. Hot-tempered squad members always sought solutions through a show of force.
"Because the Border Guard ends once you reach the human limit. That’s what that unit is for."
"Is that a problem?"
There was no need to feel discouraged over that being a problem now. When discussing the path to becoming a knight with Ragna, Ragna had added this at the end:
"If you are a natural talent, a heaven-sent genius, you don't actually need to master the basics and engrave them into your body. It will just happen naturally."
Being a knight was a game for geniuses. Among those born with a talent for martial arts, only a mere handful are selected. Among the talented, they look for the geniuses. Only such people could become knights.
Did that mean he shouldn't even dream? Was he not even allowed to hope?
Even if it had been torn to shreds until not a trace remained, as long as he hadn't discarded it, that dream would always remain in his heart.
That was why Encrid dreamed.
"It is a problem. My goal is higher."
Everyone stared blankly at him. Encrid spoke in an incredibly ordinary, casual tone—the same voice he might use to announce that boiled mutton would be served for breakfast.
"I’m going to become a knight."
In the past, he would have been ridiculed. In fact, Encrid’s dream had always been an object of mockery. That was why the current reaction felt so foreign.
"You’ll have to scale a few walls, but hey, if you want to do it, you do it," Rem spoke first.
Ragna showed that burning look in his eyes that appeared from time to time.
Sachsen simply asked, "Is that so?"
Big-Eyes let out a "Wow," his mouth hanging wide open.
Audin clasped his hands together and prayed. "Even if dreams and hopes seem futile and invisible, grant grace to the effort of holding onto them without letting go."
There was no need to be moved by the prayer. In truth, even if they had laughed, nothing would have changed. Encrid was that kind of man. What mattered more than the ridicule or contempt of others was the dream he harbored.
Senior Soldier. A rank properly recognized in the Soldier Grading System.
In truth, this was only the beginning—both in building his strength and making a name for himself to become a knight.
Chrrr—
The panther let out a soft cry and tapped Encrid’s cheek. It felt like a gesture of encouragement.
"Clever thing," Rem chuckled.
No matter how much he claimed it didn't affect him, Encrid felt a prickle in his chest. It was the first time he had received encouragement instead of ridicule.
There are a lot of firsts lately.
No matter what anyone said, it was a joyful moment.
* * *
Encrid spent the next two days training as usual. On the third day, he went out on market patrol duty.
Thuck.
And then, a dagger plunged into his stomach.
It was a fatal wound. It felt as if a red-hot iron skewer was tearing through his abdomen, shredding his intestines.
"Son of a..."
Blood trickled from the corner of Encrid’s mouth as he let out a laugh of sheer disbelief. It was a completely unexpected strike.
"Kyaaaah!"
In the middle of the market, the scream of a passing maid rang out. With that scream as his final sensation, the dying Encrid closed his eyes.