Chapter 547: Clement's Fall
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 547: Clement's Fall
Among the nobility in distant lands—like those in Nauril—many remained skeptical of Encrid’s soaring reputation.
It wasn't necessarily that they didn't believe he was skilled, but they suspected his deeds were seasoned with a fair amount of exaggeration. After all, listening to bards perform the Song of the Iron Wall or ballads about a lone knight holding back a thousand men simply defied logic.
The songs claimed he drew a line in the dirt with a scorched sword, and a wall of fire erupted before him. While some composers detailed Encrid’s deeds with more accuracy, tales naturally spread further when they were flavored with the absurd. They needed a touch of fantasy.
In an era where public hangings passed for entertainment, such stories were a prized pastime. While those in far-off lands believed only half of what they heard—with only the truly naive believing Encrid actually wielded a blade of living flame—within the Border Guard, his reputation was absolute.
There were those who had stood on the battlefield themselves, and there were their families. Every single one of them sang Encrid’s praises. To them, they had witnessed the birth of a living legend.
A man who slays a thousand alone is a monster, but Encrid was a man who had stopped a thousand, spilling only sweat instead of blood to end a slaughter. Among those who had been there, not a single soul failed to chant his name.
"When I grow up, I’m going to be the Knight of the Iron Wall!"
Children shouting such things lined the streets. Under these circumstances, how must the soldiers have looked upon Encrid? Just being in his presence was an honor.
Yet, that very hero was now joining their training. A knight—and not just any knight, but the one who bore the legendary title of the Iron Wall, the supreme ruler of the entire territory—was going to run alongside common soldiers. And he was bringing the "mad unit" with him.
Every soldier was a bundle of tension and excitement. Even those who had trained with Encrid in the past were so swept up in the fervor that they temporarily forgot what he was actually like. Even those who ground their teeth at the mere mention of Audin’s name didn't expect Encrid to drive them with that same level of venom.
A grand reputation has a way of tinting the world through rose-colored glasses. In other words, what happened next was entirely unexpected.
Clement was a soldier who had enlisted only after Encrid had departed for the West. Even though there had been no full-scale battle during her tenure, she had managed to sprain her ankle all on her own during a maneuver. She hadn't even felt embarrassed about it at the time; in the heat of the moment, she had seen nothing but Encrid’s back, the wall, and the halted enemy army.
At least, she wasn't embarrassed until the great knight himself walked up to her.
"So, I hear you’re the soldier who managed to trip and injure yourself all on your own."
"Pardon? Ah, I am Clement of the infantry, sir!"
"Ah, is this her?" Rem chimed in. "The one who tripped and scraped her knee in a battle where nobody else got a scratch?"
"I heard she sprained her ankle," Sachsen added.
Audin’s follow-up, delivered with a wide grin, was the icing on the cake. "You tripped and hurt yourself? Sister, is there something wrong with your legs?"
"Does that even make sense?" a man named Pel added.
Finally, Ropode looked at her and sighed. "Even I can’t defend you on this one."
Clement felt her mind go blank. What is this? Are they seriously berating me for tripping? Nobody else even mentioned it!
Encrid naturally picked up the thread. "It’s because your stamina is lacking. Starting today, we begin mountain running."
The faces of the surrounding soldiers fell. Among them, the veterans felt a chill of realization. Come to think of it, that bastard Encrid was a total lunatic when it came to training. He wasn't just harsh on himself; he was brutal to everyone around him.
From that moment on, the running course—which normally circled the training grounds or the fields behind the city—was moved to the Pen-Hanil Mountains.
To their slight relief, they weren't crossing the dead center of the range, but they still wondered if it was sane to march into a forest that was half trees and half monsters just for "training." Hadn't there been rumors that the Border Guard had killed so many monsters in the mountains recently that the survivors had banded together to form a colony?
In fact, that was exactly what had happened. It was common for packs of monsters and demonic beasts in the range to form colonies, and the packs Encrid had hunted during his past patrols were of that exact nature.
"Aren't you running? Does everyone have a bad ankle like Clement?"
At Encrid’s remark, the unit surged forward. It was the start of a run where any notion of rest had been thrown to the Human-Faced Dogs. They ran literally to the brink of death, and the monsters that popped out along the way were treated as mere "bonuses."
"Don't stop. If you stop, you die."
Those "bonuses" were handled by the knights. They didn't just fight them; they disposed of them.
"Go to God’s side!"
The fists of Audin, the former instructor, displayed a destructive power that made anyone think twice before daring to oppose him. Even without that, any soldier who had seen war knew better than to challenge these monsters. Some soldiers initially thought watching knights fight up close would be a good learning experience, but that sentiment vanished the moment their lungs began to burn.
Having started before sunrise and only returning as the sun set, some began to seriously question if this was right. Clement, in particular, was utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally.
"Does everyone want to trip like Clement?" Encrid would shout.
"Do you wish to be injured like Sister Clement? I can temporarily detach your ankle for you, brother. Just say the word," Audin would boom, his voice like thunder.
Just when they were about to forget, Ropode would chime in. "You might get hurt without even fighting, but let’s not get hurt because of a lack of stamina! Run, Clement!"
Even Pel, the most detestable of the lot, wouldn't stay quiet. "Why do you think that Clement girl tripped? In my eyes, it’s because she lacks talent. She lacks the talent for running. No, she lacks the talent to even stand properly. If you lack talent, make an effort. Ef-fort."
He said this without a trace of a smile, making her want to murder him on the spot.
Clement endured.
Naturally, they weren't doing this just to torment a single soldier. Clement was merely a pretext—an excuse to push the unit harder. Most of the commanders understood this, so they treated her well behind the scenes. Ropode had even instructed them to do so; he knew how to look after his squad members. He had been clumsy at it once, but his time in the mad unit had changed him. Since no one else would look after the grunts, he felt he had to. After all, people like Audin only knew how to run others into the ground.
Moreover, there was a clear intention to raise the overall capability of the entire unit before they headed to the royal palace. Krais had described the fastest way to elevate the army:
"Separation of branches. We divide the units by their specialties. It’s already underway, but weeding out the exceptionally talented soldiers takes effort. Pulling them out to form a separate unit and making them work in sync is a meticulous process."
Among the soldiers, many possessed abilities far exceeding ordinary standards. The name of the Border Guard had spread across the continent, and its reputation was so immense it practically pierced the heavens. It was at the point where even corrupt priests couldn't establish a foothold; in the Border Guard, Encrid was practically a religion himself. As a result, only priests with genuine piety managed to endure.
With such a reputation, people flocked to them. And just as the priests were filtered, so too were the swordsmen. While some came for high wages, the training intensity was far too brutal to endure for money alone. It was enough to make anyone wonder if they had stepped into hell.
Consequently, a diverse array of people gathered. Even excluding Teresa, there were a significant number of half-giants. There were also Froks, elves, dwarves, and beastmen.
Encrid believed that merely looking at someone was not enough to judge their skill. One had to observe their stamina, swordsmanship, posture, and attitude under pressure. This was exactly what he was doing now. By pushing them to their absolute limits, he observed their true character.
Well, to be honest, half of it was also the amusement of teasing the injured soldier. Had she shrunk back in intimidation, he would have stopped, but Clement was gritting her teeth and pushing back.
Whenever her name was mentioned, a few others would grimace. Those who were short-sighted believed this grueling training was entirely Clement’s fault. Rem singled those men out.
"You, step out. Fall out and join over there."
Encrid had told his squad members to pick out the soldiers they liked and train them. Rem’s criteria was simple: he selected the nasty bastards he wanted to beat up—the ones who would still throw a tantrum even after a thrashing. He found it much easier to teach by beating them into shape.
Audin selected the devout—those who called upon the Lord even while gasping for air. Physical limitations could be overcome, but piety was something he couldn't force.
Teresa selected those of a similar build to herself: half-giants and those born with monstrous strength. These were men who had been called "mighty men" in their homelands.
Ropode looked only at technique. When dealing with monsters while exhausted, a soldier's true habits surfaced.
Pel found group training awkward. He was a shepherd, not a drill sergeant, so he declined to lead a unit. Encrid didn't press him; he never forced his people to do what they hated. This was why those around him looked at Encrid with such admiration. Rem, Ragna, Sachsen, and Audin knew the Encrid of the past—the one who had struggled desperately with pathetic skills. His core remained exactly the same, even now that he was a knight whose skills had finally caught up to theirs.
Sachsen, busy managing his own subordinates, also opted out. Sinar already commanded the scout unit. The most unusual case was Esther; she had already selected a few soldiers with magical talent to form what Krais called the "Magic Infantry." She was teaching them with surprising diligence, and their numbers had grown to nearly twenty.
"Run," Encrid commanded, his eyes tracking a few specific soldiers. He looked for those who gritted their teeth, refusing to show exhaustion. He looked solely at their attitude.
One day, two days, three days, four. Some of the standing army quit. It couldn't be helped.
"This is madness," they muttered.
Surprisingly, not a single person chosen by the mad unit members quit. Perhaps they all had an excellent eye for talent. In the case of the bastards Rem took, it was more accurate to say they couldn't quit.
"From today on, you are the Axe Unit. Everyone uses axes," Rem declared.
"Why axes? I’ve used a spear my whole life!" one complained.
"A bastard who can't even fight worth a damn is talking back?" Rem didn't explain; he showed them. An axe was short, but the destructive power it displayed in close quarters was superior for the kind of aggressive chargers Rem had recruited.
"Just do what I tell you to do. If you run, I’ll kill you."
He spoke with such genuine killing intent that everyone shut their mouths. They soon realized he was right; once they picked up the axes, their effectiveness skyrocketed.
"Hey, do you guys want to learn sorcery too?" Rem asked, getting greedy. However, not everyone learned like Encrid. Most people wouldn't work themselves to death for a technique that might never click.
"You just do it like this, see? Why isn't it working?" Rem grumbled. He was not a natural teacher.
Krais, observing the chaos, wished they had more pedagogical talent. Ropode was doing well, but the others were mostly just tormenting the soldiers. Still, Krais drove them into the mountains regardless. There was a real-combat training ground right in their backyard; there was no reason not to use it.
By this point, "Clement" had become a proper noun within the ranks.
"If you fall behind, you'll be another fallen Clement!" the sergeants would bark.
Clement, gritting her teeth and training relentlessly, was eventually selected to join the guard under Encrid’s direct command.
"Whew... Once I get promoted, I’m going to beat every single one of them to death," she muttered. She had developed sheer, unadulterated spite.
A month flew by. They spent the entire time doing nothing but training.
"Well then, I’ll leave things in your hands while I’m gone."
Before departing, Encrid entrusted his direct guard to Pel, who had acted as his adjutant during the month. It was time to head to the royal palace.
"Safe travels," Graham and Krais said, seeing them off.
Encrid, Rem, and Audin stood together. Ragna was left behind due to his injuries, and Sachsen had no intention of going. Sinar was absorbed in her scouts, and Esther remained an enigma.
The three of them set off toward the palace. It was a journey with a vastly different atmosphere compared to their last trip to the capital—such was the power of the Safe Road that Krang and Krais had established in the interim.