Chapter 95: The Secret to a Youthful Face is Endless Training
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 95: The Secret to a Youthful Face is Endless Training
"At this rate, we must have been husband and wife in a past life."
Torres likely said it because their paths kept crossing whenever there was work to be done. After all, they had only just seen each other during the recent monster hunt.
"Couldn't we have been mortal enemies instead?" Encrid shot back.
There were two ways past-life connections usually manifested in old tales: either two souls were destined to meet, or they were an ill-fated match where nothing good could come of their reunion.
"We aren't an ill-fated match, are we?" Torres chuckled.
"I suppose not."
The two men lightly bumped fists. No matter what lay ahead, a familiar face was better than a stranger’s.
And so, they set out.
Step by step, they left the northern gate behind and stepped onto a gravel path. Only the two of them were departing from the Border Guard.
"Are we the only ones going?"
"We're supposed to meet an allied scout unit across the river."
Was it not a particularly dangerous mission? Was that why they were only sending the two of them? Various thoughts crossed Encrid's mind, but he didn't voice them. In any case, Torres was the one in charge. Knowing only what he was told was enough for now.
They had been on the road since the break of dawn. By the time the morning sun rose, Encrid's diligent pace had left the cloth garments beneath his armor damp with sweat. Even if the winter chill hadn't fully receded, marching in full gear was bound to make anyone break a sweat.
He wore a sleeveless undershirt made of thin cloth, topped by a thicker, long-sleeved outer tunic. Over that went his magic-resistant leather armor, complete with his Whistle Dagger Sheath. Once he donned his gambeson, boots, and leather gauntlets, his attire was complete. He wore relatively thin trousers; thick ones would hinder his mobility, so this was a necessary compromise.
At his waist, he carried a thick-bladed dagger known as a Guard Sword. His newly acquired longsword hung on his left hip, while a shortsword was fastened to his right. And that wasn't all. In an emergency, the more weapons, the better. He hid two knives around his ankles and tucked two more throwing knives into his left forearm sheath.
He was classified as light infantry, but his gear carried a heavy weight. On top of that, another piece of equipment had been added to his usual loadout.
"Your left hand is idle. You need to fix that."
That had been Ragna's instruction. Thanks to that, he was currently carrying a buckler slung across his back.
Could I use this as a makeshift pot?
In a pinch, it seemed entirely possible. If he stripped the leather attached to the handle side, wasn't it just a thin sheet of iron? That was how much of an unnecessary burden he felt it was.
Well, nothing can be done about it.
Since he had been told to do it, he had no choice but to comply. He would try using it as a shield, and if it didn't suit him, he could think of something else later.
"Whether it's sword and shield or just a single sword, it's time to move on to the next step. But before that, we must balance you first."
Ragna was endlessly lazy in his daily life, but the moment he began instructing Encrid, he transformed into an incredibly diligent instructor.
If anyone asked if Encrid found that annoying...
Not at all.
If anything, he was only grateful.
Encrid walked with his sixth sense wide open, scanning his surroundings while mentally replaying Ragna's words. To an onlooker, it was a rather peculiar sight.
Torres had no visible armaments other than two shortswords overlapping on his left hip. It was a relatively light loadout.
Torres glanced sideways and thought, He's keeping up well.
Even carrying all that heavy gear, Encrid kept pace effortlessly, without even panting. His eyes were unfocused, as if lost in thought, yet he reacted instantly to any presence around them.
What on earth is he thinking about while he walks?
Torres found himself growing curious. And that wasn't the only thing. Having participated in various operations over his career, Torres thought, It's almost disappointing that he isn't asking a single thing.
When embarking on a mission shrouded in so much secrecy, most people would have endless questions—what was going on, what was the objective, what were they doing once they crossed the river? If Encrid had asked, Torres had his response ready:
'We are soldiers. Don't you think our only job is to do as we're told?'
It would have been the perfect opportunity to give him a sharp, stern lecture. But Encrid truly asked nothing.
"Ahead," Encrid spoke up.
Torres cast his gaze forward.
They had been walking northwest for quite some time, keeping the river to their right. Two soaking-wet ghouls came into view. The few remaining strands of hair clumped together and draped over their pale skulls, looking exactly like seaweed. They were hiding behind a large boulder, watching the pair. Their skin tone was so similar to the color of the rock that one could easily miss them without a close look.
He spotted them before I did?
Was his intuition better than expected, or was he just lucky, as the rumors said? There was no telling.
In any case, monsters—enemies—had appeared.
"One each?"
"Sure."
At Torres's suggestion, Encrid stepped forward first to draw their attention. Unslinging the shield from his back, he gripped it in his hand and drew his longsword.
Shring.
Nice sound.
Anyone who lived by the blade was bound to be sensitive to weapons, and Torres was no exception.
Instead of drawing his weapon, Torres measured his distance from the ghouls. Ghouls had poison in their claws; there was no need to get close if he didn't have to.
As the two ghouls lunged off the ground toward the advancing Encrid, Torres swept his hand past his waist and thrust it forward. Taking a step, he planted his right foot firmly. His fingertips, driven by the spring-like extension of his elbow, snapped forward.
The weight resting on his fingers left his hand. A knife sliced through the air and embedded itself in a ghoul's skull. With a wet thud, the skull split halfway open, and the blade deflected to the side.
Ghouls lingering near water were often half-rotten, which was why they smelled so foul. The sound meant the blade had torn through putrid flesh and shattered the bone before bouncing off.
After throwing his dagger, Torres checked on Encrid. There, Encrid—who had awkwardly raised his shield to deflect the ghoul's claws—was swinging his longsword. A well-timed slash cleanly severed the ghoul's rotten neck.
The ghoul's blood was black. The headless torso collapsed forward onto its knees, spewing a torrent of dark ichor.
"Wasn't this area supposed to be almost free of monsters?" Encrid asked.
Even though they were both platoon leaders, Torres belonged to the Border Guard, a unit directly under the kingdom's command. Although Encrid had also been promoted, he still showed proper respect.
"They can't be completely gone. Especially since we haven't had any spare troops to deploy here recently due to the human-faced dog packs. Still, you won't see many of them."
Encrid nodded silently. Seeing this, Torres suddenly grew curious.
"Aren't you curious about where we're going?"
"Isn't it across the river?"
"First of all, speak comfortably. A platoon leader of a direct unit and a platoon leader of a regular unit are basically the same, aren't they? And we seem to be around the same age."
"I'm thirty."
"In that case, I'm actually younger."
"Well, then." Encrid didn't see a reason to refuse the offer.
"So, what's the secret to your youthful face? We've both been rolling around the battlefield, but looking at your face makes me feel a bit cheated."
Based on appearances alone, anyone would think Torres was the older one. Moreover, Torres had rather plain features; he could easily pass for a tavern errand boy.
As Torres spoke, he casually rinsed his fallen dagger in the swirling green and blue river water, wiped it dry with his sleeve, and tucked it away. The knife vanished into his clothes. It seemed he had a custom sheath sewn inside his tunic, but the way it disappeared in an instant looked like magic to Encrid.
"Endless training."
Hearing Encrid's answer, Torres let out a dry laugh. The guy certainly has a way with words. I really should have brought him into my unit.
With that thought, Torres brought up the main point.
"You know this isn't going to end just by crossing the river, right?"
A nod.
"But you aren't asking anything."
"If I ask, will you even tell me?"
He couldn't. Torres didn't know the details either; it was all just speculation.
"It probably won't be a walk in the park."
Encrid blinked as he spoke, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to gleam. At least, that was how it looked to Torres. It overlapped with the image of Encrid previously declaring he wanted to fight more monsters.
Is this bastard... actually looking forward to this?
Because the other side of the river was the land of monsters and demonic beasts?
"This is strangely interesting."
Torres was also someone who enjoyed danger. It seemed his companion was cut from the same cloth.
"Let's go."
The two resumed their brisk pace. By the time they neared the ferry dock, Torres spoke again.
"We got here faster than I thought. We'll have some time to spare."
To cross the river, they needed a ferryman. Near the dock, they could see roughly piled heaps of stones and a rudimentary path. The sun had now risen high and clear in the sky.
As Torres found a suitable spot in the shade and sat down, Encrid began swinging his sword beside him.
"Aren't you going to rest?"
"This is my way of resting."
No wonder they call him a training maniac.
Torres watched Encrid swing his sword through the empty air. He stepped and swung. From bottom to top, top to bottom.
An opening.
Just as Torres thought that, Encrid pulled his sword back, using his arm muscles as a lever to strike upward with the pommel—the opposite end of the blade. It was a perfect application of the basics.
Clean.
If a jaw caught that blow, they would be eating nothing but porridge for days. If they were unlucky, they would never chew anything hard again.
Oof.
Just imagining it made Torres's own jaw ache.
Encrid kept moving even after that, even though the march here had been a forced one in its own right.
His stamina is insane.
He swung and swung again. Watching him, Torres unconsciously gripped the hilt of his shortsword and drew it slightly.
Ching.
The blade slid halfway out, letting out a sharp metallic ring.
Ah.
He had gotten too absorbed. At the sound, Encrid halted his swing and turned his head. Their eyes met.
"A round?" Encrid suggested.
This wasn't really the time or place, but Torres didn't care. He didn't know why, but looking at Encrid stirred a strange competitive urge within him. It wasn't out of hostility; it was a pure desire to test his skills. He wanted to settle the match they hadn't finished during the promotion duel.
I'll have to take this seriously.
He had seen how Encrid handled the harpies and human-faced dogs. He had also just watched him train. It was hard to say Encrid was definitely below him anymore.
He's in a growth spurt. A literal growth spurt.
To show this kind of growth at thirty years old was unheard of.
"Sure, let's do it."
Torres sprang up from his seat.
Encrid sheathed his sword and drew the entire scabbard from his belt. Even getting hit with the scabbard would break a bone or two; Encrid used a heavy-hitting style of swordsmanship.
"Good. Very good."
Seeing how dead serious Encrid was, Torres muttered to himself and let his arms hang loose.
Should I throw a dagger?
No, half-hearted tricks wouldn't work on him. He calculated and analyzed. Realizations forged through countless real battles flashed through Torres's mind.
In a single strike.
The moment his foot kicked off the ground, Torres glided forward, his body nearly brushing the dirt. Low and fast. At a speed that brought Audin's tackle to mind, Encrid reflexively bent his knees and braced himself. At the same time, he swung his sheathed sword downward. Whatever approached would be struck.
But then, Torres's body sprang to the side. Encrid's sword chased after Torres's shifting form—with his eyes, his hands, and his feet. He heightened all his physical senses. If he lost track of him, he would lose. That was the lesson he had learned from their previous duel.
At the same time, he had to deny him distance. It would be a battle of attrition. Could he win then? If they fought a prolonged battle while measuring distance, and if this were a fight to the death, Encrid felt he could kill him.
But this wasn't that kind of fight. Encrid intentionally closed the distance.
Instead of panicking, Torres unleashed what he had prepared. Having closed in to a distance where a half-extended arm could reach, Torres simply flicked his wrist near Encrid's neck. That was all. He had no weapon in his hand, nor did he grab or strike the neck.
Encrid reacted purely on instinct and snapped his head back.
Flick.
That was where the match was decided. Before he knew it, a knife with a span-long blade was resting in Torres's hand. If this had been a fight to the death, a simple twist of Torres's wrist would have dealt a fatal wound.
"I was planning to leave a nice little scratch on your cheek."
"...What was that?"
Encrid was astonished. And with good reason. Torres's hand had definitely been empty.
"It's my secret technique. Do you really think I'd tell you just because you asked?"
"Probably not."
Encrid expected him to keep quiet, but surprisingly, Torres spoke quite freely.
"It requires sleight of hand. It's not something you can learn overnight."
As he spoke, he flipped his wrist, and the knife in his hand vanished once more. Then, with another flick of his hand, a dagger slipped out of his sleeve with a soft click. Looking closely, both the hilt and the blade were relatively thin. It was clearly designed to be concealed inside a sleeve.
"A Hidden Knife. It's my secret technique."
Torres let out a sigh after speaking, then added, "Tsk, I don't just show this to anyone."
"Yeah, I can see that."
Encrid stood back up and cast his gaze into the distance. There was still some time left before the ferryman was scheduled to arrive.
"Another round?"
At the question, Torres shook his head as if exasperated, but then stood up anyway.
"Sure, let's do it."
It had been a long time since he felt a passion like the one from when he first picked up a sword burning in his chest. Swept up in that feeling, Torres went along with him. For the first time in a very long while, he felt his skills improving through a mere brief sparring session. It was a result of a combination of factors: a sense of exhilaration, and the tension of knowing he would soon embark on a life-or-death operation.
Of course, the biggest reason stood right in front of him.
It's strange.
Because all of this was thanks to Encrid. Torres realized this instinctively. Thus, he couldn't help but find it incredibly strange and fascinating.
By the time the ferryman arrived at the appointed hour, two sweat-drenched soldiers were panting heavily.
"I heard this was a standing army mission, but was it actually a training session?" the old ferryman asked.
It was a question to which they had no answer.