Chapter 90: It Was the Correct Answer
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 90: It Was the Correct Answer
The 4th Platoon Leader of the Heavy Infantry Company was a commander who had recently transferred to the unit from the central region.
‘What a total disaster.’
Having just joined the unit, he had set out on this monster-sweeping mission to acclimate himself and get some live combat experience. Of course, the scale of the operation was a bit large for mere training, as their original objective was to wipe out a massive pack of human-faced dogs.
Still, he hadn't been worried. The heavy infantry weren't called a "krona-devouring branch" for nothing—they were expensive, elite, and powerful. He had marched out with full confidence in the sheer might of his troops.
But then, the harpies had appeared out of nowhere.
It was a maddening situation. Why were there harpies here?
They had called for reinforcements and formed a phalanx. In the chaos, several support soldiers had already been killed. While crossbow bolts split the air uselessly, the reinforcements finally arrived.
Just two light infantrymen.
‘Are you kidding me?’
The duo fearlessly strode right into the harpies' attack range. It was suicide.
The commander didn't know Encrid, nor did he know Rem. Being a recent transfer, he was still adjusting to the unit's internal politics and atmosphere. He had heard rumors of the "Sorcery Breaker" and the "Senior Soldier who led the Troublemaker Squad," but he hadn't had the luxury of paying attention to such gossip.
In the heat of a failing operation, anger flared within him the moment he saw the two.
"Fuck!"
The curse slipped out naturally. Even with the subtle rivalry between the heavy and light infantry, he took no pleasure in watching his comrades die before his eyes—especially not seeing someone's head ripped off by a harpy.
The two light infantrymen were Encrid and Rem. They were alone because they had sprinted ahead of their squad to join the fray. Naturally, the archers—the actual reinforcement force requested from the main body—hadn't even arrived yet.
"Hey, get back—!"
In his urgency, he couldn't even finish the warning. He wanted to tell them to run, or at least duck.
His own men were equipped to withstand the harpies' talons. They wore chainmail over thick padded armor, topped with iron breastplates, steel gauntlets, and greaves. Behind their massive rectangular shields, they had formed a "Turtle" defensive formation. It was a strategic posture designed to hold out until help arrived.
To the harpies, these two unarmored light infantrymen looked like much easier prey.
A harpy spotted the new targets. It lunged downward at a terrifying speed. The commander saw a streak of red feathers plunge from the sky, drawing a long, lethal arc through the air.
Even if he wanted to help, he couldn't. All he could do was watch them die and promise to avenge them later.
Just as the harpy's talons were about to split the soldier's head open—
Clang.
Squelch.
The screech of metal on metal and the wet sound of tearing flesh reached the commander's ears.
All he could see was the harpy's back. Since the beast was the size of an adult man, its falling body blocked his view, preventing him from seeing exactly what the light infantryman had done.
All he saw was one of the harpy's wings tearing off. Its body slammed into the ground like a failed skipping stone, bouncing once before rolling through the dirt. Half of the harpy’s body—which had been boasting red feathers and a humanoid chest—was now drenched in blood and coated in dust.
"Kreeeeeee!"
The harpy sprawled on the ground and shrieked. The commander couldn't even blink.
What was this?
"...Huh?"
In a situation he couldn't comprehend, only a single, dumbfounded sound escaped his lips. His eyes scanned the scene, forcing the reality of what had happened into his mind.
‘The harpy dove.’
‘And he cut it down with a sword?’
Was that even possible? It was a feat rarely seen. What if the talons had been slightly off? What if his timing was a fraction of a second late? What if he lacked the strength to cut through the momentum? Any single variable would have spelled disaster.
Attempting such a thing was sheer madness. Who on earth would try that against a charging harpy? Even in the Border Guard, known as the Frontier Slaughterers, how many could actually pull that off?
Screeech!
‘A fluke. It was luck.’
He must have been incredibly lucky. As if the beasts above shared the commander's thoughts, two more harpies glided down, targeting the duo. They lunged toward the ground once more.
They were fast. The sound of their talons tearing through the air was audible even from a distance.
The commander's eyes locked onto the two light infantrymen. Because the angle of the harpies' descent was different this time, he could clearly see their response. He saw it, but because their movements defied his understanding, he was left speechless.
The soldier holding the axe twisted his body to dodge the incoming talons, then swung. The commander only registered the blur of the swing, but before he knew it, the harpy's head split vertically with a wet crack.
The beast crashed to the ground, leaving a smear like a burst tomato. A long trail of blood followed its slide—a harpy with its skull blown wide open.
Another one was dead. That was the reality the axe swing had wrought.
The other soldier did something similar. The one who had first torn the harpy's wing raised his sword and delivered another vertical slash.
How could he do that? As he swung, it looked as if the harpy was actively throwing itself onto the blade. It was the result of a strike delivered while perfectly predicting the monster's flight path.
If this wasn't a feat of pure skill, what was?
Thwack!
However, perhaps his aim was slightly off this time, as the blow struck the harpy's chest. The soldier's sword split half of the beast's body, but the impact forced him to lose his grip on the weapon.
Not that it changed the outcome.
Kriek.
The sword remained embedded deep between the harpy's breasts. The monster tumbled to the ground with a heavy thud, spraying blood once more. With its internal organs split and crushed, it was as good as dead.
The commander unconsciously looked up.
There were eight harpies left. His entire platoon hadn't managed to kill a single one, yet three had died the moment these two appeared.
‘Are they from the Border Guard?’
The commander misunderstood their identity. Their skills were far too overwhelming for regular soldiers. Was this what a top-tier combatant was capable of? He had heard rumors about the Frontier Slaughterers before transferring, but he didn't think they were this good.
As the commander watched, he saw a group approaching from behind the duo. They were armed with javelins, longbows, and crossbows. They wore cloaks and eagle epaulets.
They were the real Border Guard.
The guard leading them had also assessed the situation. He had seen it with his own eyes.
‘Their skills...’
They had improved even further. To the point where he could no longer confidently say he could easily defeat them.
The man leading the reinforcements was Torres. He was a platoon leader of the Border Guard who shared a complicated history with Encrid.
It was usually foolish to judge someone's skill solely by how they killed monsters. However, Torres knew he didn't have the confidence to pull off such a stunt against a diving harpy—much less twice in a row.
‘Was it just luck?’
Torres shared the exact same thought as the heavy infantry leader. But at that moment, a third harpy swooped down.
Torres's gaze shifted from the sky to the ground. There, he saw Encrid pulling his sword from the chest of the freshly killed harpy.
"Hey!" Torres shouted, a warning for him to look up.
*
How should he describe this?
Encrid had connected point to point. He had split time itself. He had swung his sword exactly as his intuition guided him. As a result, he had severed the first harpy's wing.
"Whew."
Beside him, Rem whistled. The thrilling resistance lingering in Encrid's grip conveyed the heavy mass of the charging harpy. It was entirely cuttable. It wasn't too much of a strain.
Afterward, he had raised his sword again. Another harpy flew in, and this time, he slashed it right down the center of its chest and let go of the hilt. If he had kept his grip, the counter-force would have torn his palm open.
His judgment was precise. A strike connecting point to point, a blow packed with perfect force. The result was the monster's death.
The harpy's talons swept over Encrid's head as he bent his waist to deliver the downward strike. The sharp whistle of the wind slicing through the air was chilling, but it didn't feel dangerous.
‘All I have to do is dodge.’
It was a simple attack pattern. Dodge, slash, thrust. It was the fundamental application of swordsmanship.
Stepping forward, he placed his foot on the dead harpy's chest—right where the collarbone would be on a human—and wrenched his sword free.
"Kriii..."
What tenacious vitality. Even though its chest was split open and its entrails were spilling out, it still blinked. It was still alive.
Encrid was looking down at the harpy he had slain, but his senses were focused entirely on his surroundings—especially the harpy diving from above. Even without looking, he could feel the ripples in the air. His senses were sharper than they had ever been.
"Hey!"
The shout reached him, but he was already moving. He drove the tip of his sword into the dying harpy's wing and channeled his strength.
Crack!
The muscles in both his arms strained; power surged through his waist and thighs. With that momentum, he hoisted the dying harpy upward like a shield.
Thwack!
The diving harpy collided with its kin and tumbled away, its momentum shattered. After using a harpy to block a harpy, Encrid rolled to the side, applying deflection techniques to disperse the impact. It was a deliberate, calculated movement to bleed off the residual shock.
The moment he rolled back to his feet, Encrid sprang forward and brought his sword down toward the head of the fallen harpy. Like splitting firewood, the blade struck home. The harpy's head split wide open.
That made four. Rem had killed one, and Encrid had killed three. The first one that fell had already been finished off by a nearby soldier who drove a crossbow quarrel into its skull.
Flapping their wings, the pack of harpies hovering overhead began to retreat one by one. Harpies were creatures that never fought a losing battle.
As the beasts fled, Encrid let his arms hang loose, swallowing his disappointment.
‘A few more times.’
He wanted to fight more. He needed to accumulate more experience. He was still in the process of mastering and reflecting on what he had learned in the sewers. He needed more real combat to adapt. If he did, he felt he could completely integrate those gains into his body.
"Feeling good?" Rem chuckled beside him. Being a quick-witted barbarian, he had already noticed Encrid's state. "Anyone else would call you crazy, but at this point, I'd say your skills are extraordinary. Still, it's pretty fascinating. I knew you needed real combat, but how did you pull this off in just a single day?"
He didn't pry too deeply, but he voiced his curiosity. It was only natural. How could someone with the "worst talent" make such a massive leap in growth in a single day?
Encrid offered his usual excuse. "I got lucky."
Rem knew that skill couldn't be honed like this through mere luck. But he had no intention of pressing the matter. What did it matter anyway? Seeing this guy swing his sword with such excitement was entertaining for him, too.
"I was once chased by harpies and barely survived," Encrid muttered.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
His words carried no particular emotion. It was just a statement of fact. Encrid recalled the comrade who had died back then, then shook the thought away.
‘Though this might not be revenge...’
At the very least, there was a sense of satisfaction in killing them. Though he couldn't help but feel a lingering regret that there weren't more.
"You two, what's your unit... No, wait."
The heavy infantry commander, who had been holding the phalanx, approached them. He looked utterly dumbfounded.
"Encrid, 4th Squad Leader of the 4th Company, 4th Platoon," he replied with a crisp military salute.
"A squad leader? Not the Border Guard?"
He wasn't.
"The Border Guard is over here," a familiar voice called out.
Torres approached, raising a hand as he spoke. Even so, his gaze never left Encrid. His eyes swept over the man from head to toe. He desperately wanted to ask what on earth Encrid had done. How had his skills improved so much?
"We came to reinforce you, but..." Torres trailed off. They hadn't even fired a single arrow. What in the world was this?
Soon, the Heavy Infantry Platoon Leader and Torres exchanged brief greetings and began wrapping up the situation. Encrid listened to their conversation and suddenly asked a question. It was a rather important matter for him.
"Is it over?"
"...What do you mean?"
"I was wondering if the monster sweeping is finished now."
The platoon leader blinked. Why was he asking? Two light infantrymen had just killed four harpies and saved a heavy infantry platoon. While it wasn't a legendary achievement, it was certainly worthy of a reward. Yet, one of them was seriously asking if this was the end, while the other—the foreigner—was busy snickering beside him.
What a pair of lunatics.
The platoon leader thought for a moment before replying. "Our primary target is to wipe out the pack of human-faced dogs, so no, it's not over."
The platoon leader hadn't forgotten the purpose of their deployment. Because a pack of human-faced dogs had gathered near the Border Guard's jurisdiction, merchant guilds and peddlers had been stranded. That was why they had set out in the first place.
Although the human-faced dogs hadn't appeared on the main road yet, the fact that scouts had spotted them nearby meant trouble was brewing. Their mission was to sweep the surrounding area to ensure the safety of the territory.
"I would like to join you," Encrid said.
The platoon leader stared at him. ‘Does he want to fight more? He looks absolutely itching for it. Are my eyes playing tricks on me?’
His eyes weren't playing tricks on him; they were perfectly accurate. What the platoon leader saw was the correct answer.