Chapter 62: A Knight Bears No Speck of Shame in His Heart
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 62: A Knight Bears No Speck of Shame in His Heart
“Wait here. I’ll send word shortly.”
Permission didn't mean they could set off immediately. When Encrid returned to the barracks, he found his squad members waiting like hatchlings for their mother.
“Get ready,” he said, summarizing the situation in two words.
“Ha! I knew I could trust ya. I knew the squad leader would pull it off!”
“Excellent.”
Rem and Sachsen chimed in respectively, and the rest of the squad began to move. They needed to pack at least the essentials.
“Stand by for now. The formal order will be down soon.”
“Understood.”
For once, the air between them felt warm. It was a rare sight to see the entire squad so perfectly in sync. Even when Ragna and Rem bumped into each other while moving, they simply passed by with indifference. Not a single sarcastic remark was traded.
“Hey, you sly cat, got a spare cloak? It’s freezing as hell out there.”
Rem, in particular, loathed the cold. Sachsen merely shook his head at the request. Normally, a brawl would have erupted on the spot, but they let it slide without a fuss.
My, aren't they getting along? Encrid thought.
How wonderful would it be if they could always be this accommodating? Of course, he knew it was merely wishful thinking. Watching his squad move busily, Encrid sat on the edge of his cot.
Soon, the messenger sent by the company commander arrived. It was the 4th Platoon Leader.
“What on earth did you do to get your entire squad drafted for an operation?” the platoon leader asked.
“We’re going to trace the assassin’s lead. To the thieves' guild.”
“...Be careful. Even the greatest knight can’t dodge a dagger in the back. Thieves are dangerous bastards.” The platoon leader spoke with genuine concern, citing an old adage.
A dagger in the back.
Once, a general who ruled the continent was killed by the blade of a subordinate he trusted implicitly. It was a tale from a very long time ago—not quite a legend, but not quite history either. An event that might not have even happened.
Just as Encrid was about to nod in agreement—
“Actually, a knight can dodge it,” Ragna said.
“Even if you’re not a knight, you can dodge it,” Sachsen added.
“If you get stabbed helplessly just because someone comes at you from behind, you’re a dumbass,” Rem finished.
The three of them bombarded the platoon leader the moment he finished his sentence.
“Forget I said anything.” The platoon leader shook his head and beat a hasty retreat.
In any case, permission had been granted.
“Let’s go,” Encrid said, standing up. The weather was even colder than yesterday, making the barracks feel like an icebox.
As for gear, Rem carried nothing but a single hand axe. Ragna had the arming sword he had previously exchanged with Encrid. Sachsen also carried only a single blade that resembled a shortsword. Audin tucked two short clubs, thoroughly soaked in oil and dried, into his belt and stepped forward.
“Stealing is a bad thing. Let’s go punish them,” Audin said gently. Rem chuckled at the remark.
“Right. A very bad thing.”
Everyone’s gear was simple, but Sachsen wore thick fur clothes that made him look bulky. Ragna wore a tattered cloak made of layers of patched cloth that even a passing beggar wouldn't look twice at.
But the most ridiculous of them all was, without a doubt, Rem.
“You’re going like that?”
Sachsen was within acceptable limits, and Ragna’s attire was something one could accept if they were feeling generous. But Rem? He had wrapped a blanket completely around his body. He was practically a walking mattress. He didn't even seem to have any intention of using his arms; only the tips of his toes peeked out from the bottom.
“I hate the cold.”
Would he listen even if Encrid tried to stop him? Encrid chose the most efficient method: he ignored him.
“Let’s go.”
The troublemaker squad set off toward the marketplace.
“This seems dangerous,” Krais muttered to himself as he followed. Given the choice between shoveling snow until his arms turned to lead or taking a risk, he chose the risk. He really, truly did not want to shovel snow.
*
Reviewing and reflecting on a fight countless times after it ended was Encrid’s long-standing habit and his primary means of survival. This time was no different.
The half-elf had drawn his attention with the whistling dagger and Rotten. It was a distraction—simple, but a powerful screen. What he had aimed for after that was close combat. He had tried to end the fight with a single move, a strike intended to be a sure-kill.
For some reason, the half-elf was obsessed with the heart. Because of that, it was possible to predict his target area, and through the repeated "Today," Encrid had already experienced the shape of his weapon. This meant he could fight with everything calculated.
What if I had failed? Encrid wondered. Did I rely on luck?
The half-elf might not have moved as he intended. For his calculations to work, luck had to play a part to some extent.
Encrid questioned himself. On the first "Today," when he killed that stabbing freak, Encrid had used a full-power thrust as his primary weapon. It was an act that didn't consider the aftermath—literally putting his life on a gambling table. He reviewed that moment and reflected on his mistakes.
Had he made the same mistake this time? No.
Even if I had used a different move...
In the end, he would have been the victor. He had overwhelmed the assassin in terms of individual tactics, but even before that, he had the confidence to overwhelm him in pure skill. Even if the half-elf had fought with everything he had and Rotten had remained in the back, the odds of winning were still in Encrid's favor.
Of course, it would have been difficult to win as cleanly and without major injury as he had now.
Review, reflect. He repeated the process countless times. As he walked, he visualized the images and applied them to different scenarios.
The patrol soldiers who saw Encrid were startled twice. First, they were shocked to see the corpse, and then they were shocked again to see the troublemaker squad leader, who had reached the level of a senior soldier.
They called him a senior soldier, but in reality, how many common soldiers possessed this level of skill? Especially considering he was someone whose skills had been abysmal until this battle. To put it simply, it was universally acknowledged that his swordsmanship was no longer scraping the absolute bottom.
Even so, Encrid pondered. There might have been an easier way.
It was an attitude hard to believe for someone who lived through a repeating "Today." Yet, perhaps it was precisely because he maintained this attitude that he was always able to greet tomorrow.
One thought led to another, and Encrid even recalled his dream from last night.
Does he have nothing better to do?
No matter how he looked at him, he was an incomprehensible being. He was referring to the Ferryman of the Black River.
The Ferryman who appeared in his dream didn’t sneer like before. He had merely stared blankly before tossing out a single question.
“What are you?”
It was the voice of a mouthless being. Because of that, the emotion embedded in the voice was clearly conveyed. No, it was conveyed because the Ferryman wanted it to be. Encrid felt this instinctively.
The emotion contained in that single question was bewilderment. Pure curiosity, unmixed with any trace of disappointment, anger, or malice.
Encrid couldn't give an answer. Because it was a dream—though, of course, it wasn't an ordinary dream.
“Squad leader.”
Perhaps he had been too lost in thought, for Encrid only stopped walking after someone grabbed his arm from behind.
“Sorry, what did you say?” He had tuned out whatever had been said to him just a moment ago.
“I said, if ya go in with your head in the clouds like that, you’re askin’ to get stabbed by a thief,” Rem said.
More than anything, Rem looked like he would be the one to get stabbed and die wrapped in his blanket if they charged in right now.
Sachsen ignored Rem and spoke. “I asked if you have a plan.”
A plan? What plan?
The same emotion he had encountered in the Ferryman appeared in Encrid’s eyes: bewilderment.
“Are you planning to just ask around blindly and storm the thieves' guild? Do you even know where their headquarters is?” Sachsen asked, crossing his arms. Thanks to his thick clothing, his elbows were raised in a ridiculous manner, but Sachsen remained nonchalant.
Their opponents were bastards who did everything from pickpocketing to human trafficking. The name of the guild was Gilpin. Literally, it meant an organization led by a man named Gilpin. Though commonly referred to as a thieves' guild, they were essentially a criminal syndicate.
Would such bastards operate with their headquarters out in the open? No. Like the bugs that parasitized the darkness and back alleys of the territory, they hid themselves.
“I don’t.”
“I think we need to establish a plan first.”
“Did ya really have absolutely no plan?” Rem chimed in.
Ragna didn’t intervene, merely looking up at the sky and repeatedly puffing out white breaths of condensation. Audin only wore a gentle smile.
“You really didn't have a plan?” Krais stared at Encrid with wide eyes. “I thought you would at least know where their headquarters is.”
“How would even I know the location of this guild? If I approached them trying to find that out, it’d be slash.” As he spoke, Krais made a slicing motion across his neck.
A criminal guild killing a member of the standing army? Were they really in a position to do that? In truth, Encrid hadn't cared. He had neither the time nor the energy to pay attention to such things.
“Have you never conducted a small-scale operation before?” Sachsen asked. It felt as though he was scolding Encrid for moving in such a haphazard way when the entire squad was mobilized. Encrid found himself increasingly at a loss for words.
What had his life been like until now? He had been too busy struggling desperately just to survive. They were days spent cutting into his sleep just to swing his sword one more time. He had no leisure to learn about strategy.
Of course, he had experience as a mercenary. He had experience serving as a squad leader. He had participated in small-scale operations several times. However, the flow of a battlefield and a small-scale operation conducted in a civilian area were entirely different matters.
Furthermore... his past successes were the results of pondering how to survive, not actions based on a meticulous plan. They were all things he had figured out by throwing his life on the line.
Did he have to do that this time as well? Did he have to throw away his life again and repeat "Today"?
Encrid stopped walking. A bitterly cold wind passed through his draped cloak and brushed against his flank. It was a freezing, biting wind.
I don’t want to do that.
He didn’t want to use his regression as a tool. The pain of death was not particularly pleasant. Above all, his instinct told him there was no need to do so.
Then what should he do? It wasn't that he had come with absolutely no thoughts. He had considered conventional means.
“If we ask around, won’t we find out? No matter how well they hide, the locals will know.”
There are no secrets in this world, for a secret is only perfected by death. If the only person who knows a secret dies, then no one will ever know it. A criminal organization wouldn't be able to hide itself completely. Therefore, someone knew.
“It will be difficult that way. The Gilpin bastards are famous for cutting off their tails quickly. Even if you catch the low-level grunts and grill them, they won’t know anything. And even if they did know something and accidentally spilled it, they say Gilpin would break all their limbs and cut out their tongues.”
It meant they ruled through fear of retaliation.
Then how? No method came to mind immediately. If it were a struggle to survive, he could ponder it endlessly. If this were a battlefield, he knew how to hold his position. But this was different.
“Squad leader, give the order.”
As he was lost in thought, Ragna, who had only been looking at the sky, spoke. Encrid’s eyes turned to him.
A genius of swordsmanship who had few rivals once he held a blade. That was Ragna in Encrid’s eyes. Normally, Ragna was a lazy, sloppy person—the kind of man who would get lost at the drop of a hat and constantly drop things from his pockets.
But sometimes—very rarely—Ragna knew how to grasp the core of a matter and pierce right through it. Just as if he held a sword in his hand.
“The leader only needs to give the order. As for the method to execute it, you leave that to the one who knows how.”
That single sentence carried immense weight for Encrid. Ragna had called him "leader."
Originally, that was his position. Squad leader—the head who leads the squad. But had Encrid truly been the head leading the squad until now?
Was I really the squad leader?
No. A person whose skills were terrible and who was too busy struggling to survive could hardly lead a group—especially when every single one of his squad members was exceptionally talented.
But now, Ragna’s words changed the situation.
“That’s right,” Rem acknowledged.
Sachsen nodded slightly.
“Indeed. That is correct. Brother, that is how a leader does it,” Audin agreed.
“He’s right, so why are you looking like that?” Only Krais was out of sync with the atmosphere, mostly because he had already accepted Encrid as his leader in his heart.
“Right. He’s correct. Sachsen, you have a way, don’t you?”
Sachsen of Equivalent Exchange was also an information broker. If Krais’s information was shallow and broad, Sachsen’s was narrow and deep.
“I do.”
“Tell me.”
“If you secure a room at an inn in the marketplace and wait, I will return before the sun sets.”
He had asked for the method, but Sachsen was saying he would handle the execution himself.
“Leave it to me. I will find them.”
“Good. Let’s go find an inn.”
Once a decision was made, Encrid did not look back. On the way to the inn, before they had reached the heart of the marketplace, Encrid spoke the rest of his thoughts.
“We’re going to find the guild’s headquarters and wipe them out in one fell swoop.”
Their opponent was a criminal organization. Even if there were no official charges, no one would complain about crushing them with brute force. Of course, it would end up tearing holes in the back pockets of the high-and-mighty nobles or the battalion commander...
But what does that matter?
A knight bears no speck of shame in his heart. Just as he had seen, heard, learned, and dreamed of since childhood. Because Encrid had lived his life that way, he intended to do so now as well.