Chapter 91: Special Platoon
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 91: Special Platoon
Human-faced dogs.
They were creatures that existed somewhere in the liminal space between monsters and demonic beasts. Some were four-legged abominations with the faces of old men; others were canine beasts with hauntingly human features.
In truth, the distinction hardly mattered.
Both monsters and demonic beasts preyed on humanity. To a soldier, they were simply targets to be put down.
No one knew the true origin of these creatures. But for as long as Encrid had been alive—no, for as long as this world had existed—their shadow had always loomed over civilization. They came in endless varieties: ghouls, harpies, skeletons, and worse.
The difference between a monster and a demonic beast was simple: while demonic beasts resembled twisted animals, monsters exhibited unique, individual characteristics.
Among them, human-faced dogs sat right in the middle. They were beasts that lost all sense of fear the moment they formed a pack.
“Advance.”
The pack numbered well over fifty. They were scattered in a ragged line, letting out low, guttural growls. The moment he spotted them, the heavy infantry commander barked the order.
Heavy infantry was the most expensive branch to equip and train. Their massive plate armor sacrificed mobility, and for that same reason, they couldn't carry javelins or serve as archers. The sheer weight of their gear restricted dynamic movement, making swift charges impossible.
Yet, with full-body armor, rectangular tower shields, and long spears bristling from the gaps, the heavy infantry displayed overwhelming efficiency in open-field battles.
This was no exception.
The heavy infantry’s march across the wasteland was slow and deliberate. They didn't even kick up much dust. They simply advanced, step by steady step, an unstoppable wall of iron.
There was nothing the pack of human-faced dogs could do. Their primary weapons were their claws, but here, those claws were utterly useless.
It was an overwhelming slaughter.
Even harpies circling in the sky struggled to dent a heavy infantry formation; a mere pack of hounds stood no chance.
Thud!
No matter how many times they lashed out, their claws were caught by the shields. Even when a stray claw managed to slip through a gap—clang—it merely left a shallow scratch on the iron plating.
Not even one in ten beasts managed to get that close. Most were simply rebuffed by the advancing wall of steel.
“Screeech!”
A grating shriek tore through the air. A beast that had lunged at a shield had its flank pierced and its torso impaled by a long spear thrusting from the formation. As the carcass dangled from the spearhead, a frontline soldier used his shield to shove the body off, smoothly retracting his blade.
The monster, now sporting a gaping hole in its side, collapsed onto the dirt. Its whimpering yelps quickly faded into a death rattle.
The heavy infantry marched right over it, crushing the life out of it.
Thud, thud.
Given their collective weight, simply stepping on a fallen foe was an excellent way to confirm the kill.
Block with the shield, thrust with the spear. It was a simple, devastatingly efficient strategy. Their opponent wasn't human; it was a monster. There was no room for mercy or complexity.
While the heavy infantry ground down the main pack, the special task force—the border guards who had seized the hill to the left—poured down ranged fire. It was a combined unit of five longbowmen and fifteen crossbowmen. They sealed off the flank, raining down arrows and bolts to funnel the human-faced dogs into the path of the heavy infantry.
Encrid and Rem didn't just stand by and watch. Behind the initial pack of fifty, more beasts were pouring out from the shadows to join the fray.
“Looks like those ones are ours to kill!” Rem shouted, his voice unusually thick with excitement.
Instead of answering, Encrid took off. He dashed forward even faster than Rem, the fire in his chest refusing to cool.
This was the time to swing his sword again and again, proving that his training had become second nature. He was beginning to realize how precious this time truly was—fighting with his life on the line, yet without the suffocating fear of death.
When had he ever experienced something like this? It left Encrid with a strange, exhilarating sensation. Surrounded by a dozen human-faced dogs, he felt no threat.
Why was he so certain? Was it because Rem was at his side?
No, that wasn't it. He could ponder the reason later.
He ran. He moved with a speed and dynamism that the heavy infantry could never hope to match. With cold boldness and absolute concentration, he lowered his stance mid-stride and swung.
The blade hissed parallel to the ground.
Slash! Thud!
The snout of the first dog to rush him was sheared off. The sword, continuing its arc, caught the second beast square in the head. Its skull shattered, eyes and forehead bursting under the force of the blow.
In a single draw and swing, he had neutralized two of them.
Encrid immediately dug his left foot into the ground to kill his momentum. Pivoting on his heel, he drew his right foot back, snapping his body sideways. As he spun, he raised his sword vertically and brought it down with crushing force.
It was a vertical slash of the Heavy Sword Style, so perfect it could have been a diagram in a manual.
Crack!
The head of the dog caught in its path split wide open.
His heart pounded wildly. Slashing, swinging, moving. He punched the head of an approaching beast, and as another tried to snap at his shin, he drove the tip of his sword straight down, punching a hole through its skull. The sensation of bone giving way vibrated clearly through his arm.
Just as the pack tried to swarm him before he could recover his blade, an axe flashed in a wide, silver arc beside him.
It was Rem.
A magnificent charge followed by a magnificent strike. Any beast caught by that axe was ruthlessly severed, head from torso.
Encrid turned his gaze to the remaining monsters. In the past, such a sight would have filled him with dread, but not anymore. Because his heart beat with boldness, he could fight with a calm, icy mind. Even as he visualized the optimal paths to cut down the charging monsters, he calculated his footwork to maintain the upper hand.
His head was cold, but his heart was burning.
Elation.
The sensation heightened his senses, sharpening the world around him.
It’s working.
The lessons he had carved into his soul while fighting the mage in the sewers were integrating into his body. The techniques he had practiced until his brain ached were finally crystallizing through real combat.
Watching from the side, Rem looked at Encrid and was reminded of the construction of a fortress wall. He had once been conscripted to build a wall while disguised as a laborer. It was a process of hauling heavy stones and stacking them one by one—a tedious, grueling process with no end in sight. A process that demanded infinite patience.
It really is strange.
Watching Encrid’s growth left him in a state of wonder. Because he watched him closer than anyone else, it was a continuous series of incomprehensible events.
A man who couldn't even stack a single stone a day had suddenly, overnight, begun stacking dozens. How was such a thing possible?
Rem didn't know. Nor did he care to know. It simply piqued his interest further.
Amusing. Truly amusing.
“Squeal!”
A bolt embedded itself in the head of the last remaining human-faced dog. It was Torres, who had approached after finishing off the monsters on the flank.
Torres smacked his lips and spoke. “What a waste. You should have transferred to our unit. Why are you still playing squad leader?”
That was something the 1st Company platoon leader was also curious about. With skills like that, why stay in the mud?
When a few soldiers who had a history with Rem began to glare, Encrid subtly stepped in, blocking their line of sight. Rem was the man who had beaten his superior in the 1st Company; relations had always been toxic, especially since Rem tended to provoke them further.
Only after de-escalating the tension did Encrid speak.
“There is no one else who can take responsibility for my squad yet.”
Encrid pointed out the practical reality. If he became a platoon leader, who would take charge of the 444th Squad?
“Anyway, good work.”
The elation began to subside. Encrid had answered the question, but his mind was already elsewhere.
I need to organize this.
Having fought, he realized he needed to neatly categorize his abilities. Over time, he had woven several techniques together to create synergistic effects, applying them to his swordsmanship on the fly. Because he had been improvising to suit the situation, he felt a desperate need to establish a proper system.
Since this kind of self-actualization was a first for him, Encrid felt a fresh wave of joy. Finding what he needed on his own was a rare gift.
Before, the path ahead had always been pitch black. But now? Signposts were appearing on that once-invisible road. He was so happy he could hardly contain it.
That was why Encrid smiled without realizing it.
Even Rem couldn't fathom his thoughts. Naturally, the same went for Torres and the heavy infantry platoon leader.
The battle was over. Was he reveling in the intoxication of victory? This wasn't that kind of fight. It was a routine subjugation where winning was a given. Yet, a soldier drenched in blood was smiling as if he were soaking in a hot bath in the dead of winter.
“...Is he, well, a bit off in the head?” the 1st Company platoon leader whispered to Torres, gesturing to his own temple.
“He’s certainly hard to call normal,” Torres trailed off.
He wasn't just talking about the smile. He was thinking of Encrid’s daily life. After all, no matter how crazy someone was, no normal person swung a sword as maniacally as that "troublemaker squad leader" did within the barracks.
“What are you looking at?”
“...You son of a bitch.”
While Encrid was distracted, a dispute broke out between Rem and the 1st Company. Encrid quickly turned back to hold Rem back, while Torres and the others began to clear the field.
*
Two requests had been completed. Since the first had been buried at the company commander's level, no one knew about the killing of the mage.
However, everyone knew about the monster subjugation.
From him and Rem cutting down a demonic wolf together, to him facing harpies with nothing but a sword. Few people were surprised by Rem’s feats; those who knew him accepted his skill, even if they hated his personality.
“That bastard Rem? He’s always been a monster.”
“If he just had a decent personality, wouldn't he be a battalion commander by now?”
But when the rumors spread, it was Encrid who truly astonished the men. He was a Senior Soldier, yes—the upper tier of the grading system. But not every Senior Soldier could pull off such feats.
Swinging a sword against harpies? Why would anyone do something so reckless? And yet, he had killed three of them.
The rumors spread like wildfire.
“No, seriously, how did he do it?”
“I knew he’d make it big sooner or later.”
“Encrid? That troublemaker squad leader?”
“Didn't they say he broke a sorcery last time?”
“Hah, when I sparred with him before, I thought he was barely a Senior Soldier.”
It was only natural that the talk eventually reached the Battalion Commander’s ears. He couldn't ignore it. Consequently, the Elf Company Commander was summoned.
“Is it right to keep him as a mere squad leader?” the Battalion Commander asked.
“His squad is... unique,” she replied.
“Since we don't have the budget for a monetary reward, it seems right to raise his rank instead.”
The system of the Naurilia Kingdom was clear: merit was rewarded with either gold or honor. To save the budget, the Battalion Commander proposed rank.
The Company Commander knew the "troublemaker squad" too well. Promoting Encrid to a standard platoon leader would leave the squad uncontrollable. She had to find a different way.
“Very well.”
Offering a military salute, the Company Commander turned away. She had a scheme that would satisfy the commander while maintaining the current organization.
And so, Encrid was called in.
“The members under my command only number ten, though,” Encrid noted.
“Regardless, starting today, you hold a rank equivalent to a platoon leader. Any objections?”
“None.”
It was an order. Encrid had no reason to argue. Moreover, his opponent was the Elf Company Commander; it was better to obey than to become the target of her "humor."
“Dismissed.”
Just like that, he received the rank.
“Do we have to call you Platoon Leader now?”
“Oh, Platoon Leader, did your pay go up?”
“Then what about us?”
“Brother, congratulations.”
“The blade of my sword is completely chipped, by the way.”
Encrid wasn't sure if those were actually congratulations—especially Ragna’s comment about the sword.
In reality, nothing changed. They were now officially the Independent Platoon under the 4th Company, no longer the 4th Squad. He was told he could add more members if he wished, but he saw no point.
The only real privilege was that a platoon leader didn't have to stand regular guard duty.
“That’s a bit unfair, isn't it?” Rem grumbled, but once he heard the squad would stay together, he let it slide.
Despite the promotion and the rumors, Encrid’s daily routine remained ironclad.
“You want to learn more?”
It started with Audin. Aside from organizing his current skills, Encrid hated wasting time. He had to keep mastering new things whenever he had a free moment. That was the core of how he believed one should utilize a repeating "today."
He sought out Audin for the next step.
“Have you ever heard of Bed Combat?” Audin asked.
Encrid blinked. “What kind of nonsense is that?”
“It’s a training method created by the Paladin Valaf,” Audin explained.
Valaf-style Martial Arts. It was a feast of grappling and joint-locking techniques rather than striking. It involved a daily routine of being pinned and twisted in confined spaces.
Audin wasn't the only one teaching him. Before long, the bitter cold of winter began to recede.
Encrid remained unchanged. His routine was so repetitive that if the Ferryman appeared in his dreams, he would have asked, "What kind of lunatic are you?"
Then, new rumors began to circulate. A full-scale war, rather than localized skirmishes, was looming.
It was inevitable. In the previous battle, the enemy had revealed sorcery, and the kingdom had revealed a squire. The tide of the battlefield was shifting.
A spring fiercer than any winter was approaching. And before that spring arrived, Encrid spent his days in a blur of motion, barely having time to breathe as he forged his skills into a weapon.