Chapter 96: Those with Something to Show and Those Without
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 96: Those with Something to Show and Those Without
If Encrid let his guard down for even a second, Torres would exploit his weaknesses with uncanny precision.
Reading an opponent's breathing and condition came as naturally to Torres as drawing breath. When Encrid asked how he did it, Torres simply shrugged.
"Just fight as many different kinds of bastards as you can. That’s the fastest way to become an elite soldier, and it’s the core philosophy of the Border Guard."
There wasn't much actual philosophy behind it, so his final remark was likely half a joke. Torres smirked after speaking.
Watching the rippling waves of the river, Encrid fell into thought.
It’s different.
Just as the teachings of Rem and Ragna differed, so did his sparring matches and conversations with Torres. The Elf Company Commander was different as well.
They are all so diverse.
Every single one of them had something to teach him. There wasn't a single detail he could afford to miss.
In a way, Torres’s Hidden Knife was mere sleight of hand, but Encrid now understood that depending on how it was utilized, it could become a lethal strike. To achieve this, he had even partially learned how to deceive an opponent’s perception.
This was Torres’s practical method of combat.
"It’s all thanks to my old man being a gambler. He wanted to make me a second-generation shark."
Perhaps that was the origin of the Hidden Knife technique. To Encrid, however, those words sounded like the result of outstanding talent honed by relentless effort.
"Want me to teach you?" Torres asked.
It was just before the ferryman was due to arrive.
"Didn’t you say it was your secret technique?"
"I’ll teach you if you want it."
Why was he offering? Encrid didn’t know. However, rather than searching for the reasons behind a person’s sudden change of heart, he was far more accustomed to simply seizing the opportunities presented to him.
He nodded.
"Good. Watch closely. You hide it inside your sleeve like this..."
Torres went on to explain how to conceal the knife and how to draw it with a simple flick of the palm.
"You really have no knack for this, do you?"
Encrid’s fingers were clumsy enough to draw complaints from Torres, but because he now knew how to apply Single-Point Focus when learning something new, he fared much better than he would have in the past.
It was certainly several times better. If it had been the old Encrid—before he had mastered Single-Point Focus—would he have given up long ago?
Would I have quit by now?
And wouldn't Torres have shaken his head and walked away? After all, wasting time on someone who showed no potential was foolish.
"You can have a blacksmith make a dedicated knife for you later. Until then, it’s best to practice with a thin stone or something similar."
Torres picked up a flat, thin stone from the ground and handed it to him.
"You really are slow, though."
Another jab. Since it was a fact he was well aware of, Encrid let the insult slide. He didn't have the luxury to waste energy caring about such remarks anyway.
"At least you’re persistent."
Encrid tuned out Torres’s voice and tried a few more times. Of course, it didn't come easily. He focused his concentration on the process of concealing the stone. He let his sleeve hang loose, slipped the stone inside, and then—this was the crucial part—turned his hand so the back faced the sky, then flipped it toward the ground with a sharp flick.
Naturally, it was far from easy.
"It’d be easier if you had a practice sheath," Torres muttered.
He explained that when practicing this technique, one usually used a specialized sheath strapped inside the sleeve to hold the dagger in place. It was highly recommended for beginners before they got the hang of it.
"It’s an application of a technique gamblers call 'palming,'" Torres said as he watched Encrid train.
"Palming," Encrid repeated.
It was a technique that required several conditions to be met. The blade had to be shorter than an open palm, and the concealment had to be timed perfectly. Even just learning how to grip it properly would take time.
This is tough.
It was several times harder than swinging a sword. Still, it was better than trying to get used to a shield.
After spending some time practicing and then resting, drenched in sweat from another round of sparring, the ferryman finally arrived. The ferryman had traveled along the main road, which was regularly patrolled by soldiers tasked with clearing out monsters. Thanks to those patrols, he had been able to make the journey alone.
"They say they’re going to build a cabin here by the end of the year," the ferryman chatted. "Once that’s done, ferrymen and fishermen will probably start settling down. It’d be nice if a small fishing village formed here."
The ferryman was a talkative fellow. Encrid offered polite, brief responses as he stared out at the water, listening to the rhythmic creak of the oars.
The Pen-Hanil River.
It was the lifeblood of the local villages and, on a larger scale, the neighboring nations, including Naurilia.
In the distance, low grass and a few scattered trees lined the riverbanks. Looking to one side, he could see waterfalls cascading between rocky cliffs and a handful of cabins built along the shore. While their current side was a gravelly path, the opposite bank revealed fields of grass that would surely turn a vibrant green once spring arrived.
"Whoops, the current is slow and the water is shallow here, but things like that are still dangerous," the ferryman muttered, steering the boat.
He steered the ferry away from a dark gray rock protruding from the middle of the river. If they hit that, a fragile wooden boat like this would easily splinter to pieces.
The boat drifted leisurely along the current and soon reached the opposite bank.
"I’ll be off, then," the ferryman said, turning back.
"Should we wash up before we head out? We still have some time before the meeting," Torres suggested, glancing up at the sun high in the sky.
"Sounds good."
Encrid agreed. Now that his sweat had cooled, an unpleasant odor was beginning to waft up. He didn't know how many days this operation would last, but there was no reason to start it feeling filthy. Eating, sleeping, and washing whenever the opportunity arose were, after all, the basic survival skills of a soldier.
"Well then."
Torres stripped off his clothes and waded into the river. The rippling water was a shade somewhere between blue and green, looking remarkably clear and clean.
Encrid soon followed suit, removing his armor piece by piece before stepping naked into the river. The moment his feet touched the water, a chill shot up his spine, raising goosebumps all over his body.
Torres turned to look at him, and his eyes went wide.
"What... what the hell are you?"
Was there something to be surprised about? Torres’s jaw dropped. He stared down between Encrid’s legs, abruptly cut himself off, and shut his mouth tight.
Encrid looked down at himself. Well, there was one thing to be surprised about.
"You bastard... You really have everything, don't you?" Torres sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "You should’ve just stopped at having a handsome face."
"When you put it like that, it makes me want to thank the parents whose names I don't even know," Encrid replied.
"Are you an orphan?"
"Yeah."
In this place, not knowing one’s parents was nothing unusual. Most of those who joined the military were in the same boat.
"Maybe it’s better than having parents who beat your palms to teach you things," Torres muttered.
"Maybe."
Encrid had never craved parental affection to begin with. He would rather spend that time swinging a sword. Back when he had nothing—absolutely nothing—the only things that had kept him going through those dark times were his dream of becoming a knight and the cold weight of a sword.
Would the world ever be kind to an orphaned child? Hardly. The world wasn't built that way. It was a miracle he hadn't died. He was only alive because the villagers of his hometown had been simple, decent folk.
A knight.
He had lived with his eyes fixed solely on that goal. Instead of yearning for affection, he dreamed of becoming a knight. He dreamed to forget his hunger. He swung a wooden club as if it were a sword to forget his pain.
That was why Encrid did not crave affection. Instead, he craved the sword. And from that craving, his dream was born. The Knight of the End of War—the very beginning of Encrid’s dream.
Suddenly, the faces of a few villagers from the place he called home flickered through his mind. They hadn't cherished him like parents, but they weren't the type to leave a dying child to rot, either. Yet the world was a place where even people like them were swept away by war.
War devours everything.
So, if he could end that war, it would be for the best. What did he have to do to play a part in that?
The sword.
He just had to swing it, and keep swinging it. That was the only way Encrid knew. The sword was his parents, his brothers, his sisters. It was his dream, his goal, and his everything.
Glub, glub.
Bubbles rose to the surface of the water. As Encrid remained submerged, lost in his thoughts, Torres tapped him on the shoulder underwater.
"Phew!"
Encrid broke the surface, gasping for air.
"They’re here," Torres said, gesturing toward the bank.
Encrid turned his head. He saw a soldier standing with her weight shifted to one side, flanked by two others holding clubs even shorter than shortswords. At a glance, their gear could easily be mistaken for that of bandits or highwaymen. They carried blunt weapons and wore worn leather armor. Their equipment was light; forgoing the thick cloth armor of a gambeson meant they prioritized mobility.
Naturally, Encrid began to gauge their combat capabilities. It was a habit he had developed through his training with Audin and the Isolation Technique.
The balance between her arms is excellent.
Even though she stood with her weight shifted, her hands hung loosely at her sides, ready to move at a moment’s notice. When would someone adopt such a stance?
If things go south, she’s in a perfect position to throw something.
She likely possessed a decent hand with throwing weapons. As if to prove his theory, a throwing axe dangled from her waist. Judging by her physical conditioning, she probably had other tricks up her sleeve as well.
The two soldiers behind her wore daggers at their waists instead of axes. Aside from the clubs in their hands, they didn't particularly stand out.
Orange hair.
Encrid’s gaze finally settled on the face of the lead soldier. She had freckles, orange hair, and a petite build.
"Well, aren't you two relaxed? Enjoying a nice bath, are we? Is the water refreshing?"
The orange-haired woman greeted them with a casual, cocky tone. Seeing her, Encrid realized once again that his Sixth Sense still had a long way to go.
I didn't even sense them approaching.
Perhaps it was only natural. He hadn't expected anyone to show up here, and he had been deeply submerged in his own thoughts. Had he let his guard down too much? No. He had still taken basic precautions. They were right by the riverbank, and their gear was within arm's reach. It was also likely that these newcomers were exceptionally skilled at concealing their presence.
Standing on the slightly elevated bank, the orange-haired woman spoke.
"Aren't you guys going to get out?"
Torres spoke up first. "You plan on keeping your eyes on us?"
She smirked. "There has to be something worth looking at first."
Ouch. That’s harsh, Encrid thought.
Encrid stepped out of the river, water cascading off his body. In truth, had Torres really been surprised only by Encrid’s manhood? No.
The Isolation Technique had completely reshaped Encrid’s physique. Audin’s teachings, engraved into his flesh through countless repetitions of the same day, had left their mark. The accumulated weight of time was clearly etched into his body.
His shoulder muscles were sharply defined, and the powerful, elastic muscles of his arms rippled as he moved. Below his firm chest, his chiseled abs flexed, and the deep cuts of his quadriceps caught the female soldier’s gaze.
And finally, the impressive sight dangling right in the center filled her field of vision.
"...Well, looks like he actually has something worth looking at," Torres grumbled from the side, watching the female soldier’s reaction.
"Ahem. Just put some clothes on," the orange-haired soldier muttered, clearing her throat.
Torres and Encrid left their sweat-soaked clothes aside and pulled fresh garments from their packs. Their discarded clothes had dried, leaving visible white streaks of salt.
I should wash these when I get the chance, Encrid thought as he stood up, once again fully armed.
"Scout Platoon Leader Finn," the orange-haired woman said, extending her fist.
Torres stepped forward first. "Border Guard Platoon Leader Torres."
They bumped fists, and then Finn turned her fist toward Encrid.
"Independent Platoon Leader Encrid."
The Elf Company Commander had given Encrid a rather unusual assignment. Since he couldn't actually put Encrid in charge of a standard platoon, he had detached him entirely, designating him as an "Independent Platoon" directly under the company’s command.
"An Independent Platoon? What’s that? Well, whatever. Good to meet you."
Finn bypassed Encrid’s fist and lightly jabbed him in the stomach instead. "Nice abs, by the way."
"I have nice abs too," Torres muttered from the side. He spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, so it clearly wasn't meant to be a private thought.
"Shall we talk on the way?" Finn asked. "If we move now, we can reach the camp before sunset."
The two soldiers behind her were clearly Finn’s subordinates. They offered quick military salutes, and soon the group of five set off. As they walked, Finn finally began to brief them on the details of their mission.
"You guys didn't come all this way without knowing where we are, right?"
"I heard it’s a land of monsters and demonic beasts," Encrid replied.
Using his exceptional memory, he recalled the words Enri had spoken to him. Enri had warned him that the region north of the Pen-Hanil River was teeming with the dens of monsters and demonic beasts. It was a territory shunned by all but the most skilled pathfinders and hunters.
"It’s also right under Cross Guard’s nose," Finn added, her tone turning serious. "Our original objective was simply to receive information from a 'cat.' Well, at least that was the plan until recently."
'Cat' was slang for a spy. It was a common term used across the continent. Both nations had planted spies in each other’s territories. This was true for both Naurilia and the Azpen Principality. Since Encrid had already fought and killed several of those spies himself, their existence was nothing new to him.
"But our cat has been out of contact for four days past the scheduled date," Finn said as she walked.
If that was the case, what would happen next? As Torres and Encrid listened intently, Finn continued.
"Orders came down from command. We’re to go in and extract them ourselves. The cat’s last transmission stated they had acquired critical intelligence."
A sudden shiver ran down Encrid’s spine. Goosebumps erupted across his skin as a primal warning of danger flared within him.
This was...
This is dangerous.
No, "dangerous" didn't even begin to cover it. He would die. He would undoubtedly die, and not just once. The survival instincts he had forged through countless repetitions of "today" screamed at him. If they followed Finn’s lead, it meant they would have to infiltrate the interior of Cross Guard itself.
"Phew, a real shit mission, right? Fuck, I know," Finn said with a dry chuckle. "But there is a way. There’s always a way."
Her laugh was self-deprecating.
Encrid had already learned his lesson when he fell into the mage’s trap. Could he escape "today" simply by running away? The answer was a resounding no. Whether he tried to stay awake all night, fell asleep, or fled to the ends of the earth, the result would remain unchanged. Fleeing would only exhaust his body.
He had realized that there was no avoiding it. And if it was unavoidable, his only choice was to embrace it.
Encrid smiled. It was a completely different kind of smile from Finn’s. It was a grin of pure anticipation, a smile of sheer, thrilling excitement.
Finn’s eyebrows twitched as she stared at him. "Did the main army send me a fucking lunatic?"
Torres nodded in dead earnest. Even to him, Encrid was clearly not right in the head. Torres himself was sweating bullets, yet this guy...
Of course, Encrid was nervous too. But more than that, his mindset toward facing a new tomorrow was fundamentally different.
I will overcome this.
Overcoming a wall meant growth, and that realization filled him with joy. Of course, he would fight tooth and nail. He would struggle with everything he had to avoid being trapped in "today" forever. It wasn't that he didn't find the prospect terrifying; he simply chose to look beyond the fear.
As he walked, Encrid’s shoulders tensed. It was the physical manifestation of tension and anticipation, coiled tightly together.