Chapter 97: Is He Really Hurting?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 97: Is He Really Hurting?
Night was falling by the time they reached the campsite.
The moonlight was generous, keeping the darkness at bay. As they walked, the gravel path gradually gave way to grassy fields. Hints of green were beginning to peek through the soil, a silent testament that winter was finally drawing to a close. Under the night sky, the fields shimmered with a faint, purplish hue.
The moon is bright.
Encrid looked up at the lunar orb hanging overhead before shoving the pebble he’d been fiddling with into his pocket. A faint tremor ran through his right arm. They had been marching for over half a day, and because he had spent the entire journey practicing Torres’s Hidden Knife technique, his forearm felt numb and stiff.
He clenched and unclenched his fist a few times. He knew he’d be fine by morning. Having pushed his body to its absolute limits through the Isolation Technique, he had developed an intimate understanding of his own recovery rate. In truth, he probably didn't even need until tomorrow; a short rest would likely suffice.
“Fiddling with a stone all day long... You’re a strange one, truly.”
Those were the first words Finn spoke upon their arrival. Encrid had felt her glancing back at him throughout the entire march.
“My hands were idle. It’s a habit,” Encrid replied casually as he surveyed the site.
It wasn't a conventional campsite with roaring fires and pitched tents. It was more of a hidden den. Several dug-out hollows were scattered across the area.
“Just pick a hole you like, crawl in, and pull a camouflage net over it. It’d be nice to have some Thermal Leather for a cozy night’s sleep, but those are rare, so we don't have any to spare,” one of the squad members said, tossing him a large sheet of cloth.
The fabric was a dull, clay-brown color, matching the earth so perfectly that a passerby wouldn't even notice a hole was there.
Thermal Leather, huh.
Encrid actually had one in his backpack.
I wonder if Esther is doing well.
She had hissed at him for quite a while when he tried to leave her behind. She had seemed thoroughly displeased about something, but since he couldn't bring her along on a scouting mission, he’d had no choice.
“It’s cold, so we’ll double up in the dens. Since you’re the newcomer, you can sleep with me,” Finn said, pointing a finger at Encrid.
Encrid glanced at the den. It didn't look particularly spacious. Maybe if it were two small-statured people—someone like Esther, for instance—it would be manageable. But while he wasn't a giant like Audin, Encrid’s frame was by no means small. It would be cramped.
Moreover, his partner was a woman. That made it even more awkward.
If word of this gets out, it’ll cause another uproar.
Judging by how fast rumors spread within the unit, it felt as though someone was constantly watching him and reporting back. Sure enough, he saw Torres staring intently at him from the side.
“I’m fine. I brought my own gear.”
Finn looked visibly disappointed.
“What about me? You’re telling me to sleep alone?” Torres chimed in, raising a hand.
“A Border Guard Platoon Leader came empty-handed? I’ll assign a squad member to you.”
“Why do I get a squad member?”
“The den is narrow.”
At those words, Torres glanced at Encrid, then looked down at his own body. No matter how he looked at it, his frame was definitely smaller than Encrid's.
“What the...”
In the end, Torres was the only one who got scolded.
As Encrid watched Finn organize the squad and pull supplies from her designated den, Torres approached him.
“Why do I feel like I’ve been slighted?”
“Because you’re tired?” Encrid offered.
“Is this really just fatigue? Huh? The Charming Squad Leader who captured the heart of the Company Commander—no, you’re a Platoon Leader now. Does the Charming Platoon Leader truly think so?”
“Yes.”
“You bastard.”
Torres spoke playfully before turning away.
The den wasn't actually as narrow as it looked. It was dug at an angle into the ground, with a layer of cloth laid inside to keep out the moisture. Crawling inside and pulling the camouflage net over the entrance made it feel surprisingly cozy. He crawled back out, retrieved his Thermal Leather, wrapped himself in it, and settled back in. It was quite bearable.
“You’re well-prepared. Want some?”
One of the scouts approached and offered him some jerky.
“No, I have my own.”
The jerky he’d been treated to before had been incredibly delicious. He had tracked down the source and managed to buy a few more pieces.
“It’s my mother’s secret recipe,” the soldier had said with a modest smile. His mother ran a small restaurant behind the inn, and the food there was excellent. Their specialty was grilled meat slathered in a superb sauce—a skewer restaurant with a great reputation in the area.
I should get more when I go back.
He had already asked Krais to look into buying their jerky regularly. He pulled a piece from his pack and popped it into his mouth. A sweet sauce laced with a hint of spice swirled over his tongue. Whatever the secret recipe was, it made the meat remarkably tender.
Encrid had absolutely no talent for cooking. Whenever he ate something like this, he couldn't help but marvel. His only meager talent was swinging a sword. He had picked up various miscellaneous skills during his days as a mercenary, but he had never mastered any of them. It was always the sword; his only dream was to become a knight.
After swallowing a few pieces of jerky, drowsiness washed over him.
The land of demonic beasts and monsters.
Enri’s warning crossed his mind as he drifted off, but his first night in the "front yard" of Cross Guard passed without incident. He had half-expected to be attacked in the middle of the night, but nothing happened. Since it was his first day, they had even exempted him from the night watch.
Before dawn, Encrid’s eyes snapped open reflexively. He immediately stepped outside and stripped off his shirt. The biting cold air enveloped his skin, jolting his mind awake. That mental clarity became the fuel to move his body.
Wearing only his trousers, Encrid began practicing the Isolation Technique. He started by placing his hands on the ground, raising his toes, and pulling his knees to his chest in a rhythmic kicking motion, proceeding through a series of grueling movements.
“……What are you doing?”
The last night watchman, leaning against a tree between the dens, watched him with a bewildered expression.
“Morning training.”
“Do you even know where we are?”
“The front yard of Cross Guard.”
“And you’re doing that knowing where we are?”
None of the scouts here knew Encrid personally. To them, his behavior was absurd. When Encrid—after rolling through the dirt and pushing his body to the point of exhaustion—drew his sword and began swinging, Finn woke up and saw him. So did the rest of the squad.
Except for Torres, everyone stared with expressions that clearly asked: Is he insane?
“Is he really hurting?” Finn asked, almost to herself.
Torres, wrapped in a thick cloak he’d brought instead of a blanket, approached her. “That’s just his daily routine.”
“He does that every day?”
As she spoke, Finn recalled Encrid’s physique from the day before. The memory was still vivid—the sculpted muscles, the sturdy legs, and the... impressive weight nestled between them.
Ah, well, that part isn't something you can build through training.
Shaking off the stray thought, she focused on his physique. She felt she finally understood how that body had been forged. Life in this land was inherently grueling, so everyone’s physical conditioning was exceptional by default. But to stand out so starkly even among veterans?
One simply had to live twice as hard as everyone else. Just like him.
But even if one knew the secret, could they actually put it into practice?
“Will he even have the strength to fight if we run into monsters this afternoon?” she asked, watching him work through what looked like a recipe for muscle cramps.
“He did all that and still sparred with me over ten times, then marched all day yesterday,” Torres added, subtly trying to imply he had similar stamina, but Finn’s eyes never wavered from Encrid.
Every single swing of his sword looked as though he were burning his very soul.
“He seems like a madman.”
Though she said the words, Torres couldn't detect a hint of malice in her tone. It was filled only with admiration.
What has he even done to her?
Torres once again felt the sheer majesty of the Charming Platoon Leader. All the man had done so far was bathe, walk, sleep, wake up, and train. Yet, a veteran commander leading a scouting unit in this harsh land already seemed completely smitten.
Is this how he charmed the Company Commander, too?
Was it his physical attributes? Or the impression he’d left by the river? Torres’s idle thoughts were cut short as the sun began to crest the horizon.
“Let’s go fill our bellies.”
Finn’s unit couldn't light fires carelessly, but they didn't survive solely on jerky and dried fruit either. From their campsite, Cross Guard was half a day’s walk to the east. A short walk to the northwest led to a small forest. That was their dining hall.
“Aren't you going to eat? If we’re lucky, we might even catch a rabbit.”
There were eight members in the scouting unit, including Finn. It was a small, mobile group. They managed their meals like hunters—foraging and hunting on the spot.
“There’s a stream further in, so you can wash up there too,” Finn said, looking at Encrid.
“Can I wash my clothes as well?” Encrid asked.
Since he was now an Independent Platoon Leader, the two of them were technically equals in rank. However, a scouting platoon leader with the title of Ranger carried weight closer to a company commander. She was more like Torres in terms of actual authority.
“Washing, eating, and maintaining your gear whenever you have time is a soldier’s duty.”
Soon, they reached the forest to the northwest, set up a temporary camp by the stream, and gathered dry twigs. Along the way, they encountered two demonic beasts, but Encrid merely watched.
“Kieeeek!”
Demonic beasts were mutated animals—creatures that had warped into monsters. This one was a deer. Its skin was peeling in patches as if afflicted by a plague, and its flesh had a sickly bluish tint. The moment its unfocused black eyes—characteristic of the corrupted—stared blankly at Encrid...
Thwip, thwip, thwip.
Three scouts raised their shortbows and fired simultaneously. Two arrows pierced the beast’s forehead; one struck its neck. Whether it was a demonic beast, a monster, or a human, they all died when their brains were pierced.
The deer collapsed with a final shriek, its head slamming into the dirt. The scouts approached, nudged it with their boots, and retrieved their arrows. One of them clicked his tongue.
“Tsk, it broke.”
The shaft of the arrow in the neck had snapped when the beast fell.
They’re experienced, Encrid noted.
If he had to fight these scouts in a life-or-death struggle—excluding close-quarters combat—victory wouldn't be guaranteed. In a head-on clash, he would win, but against a coordinated group at range? It wouldn't be easy. They hadn't survived this land by luck.
“I heard you’re a Senior Soldier. Do you have any hunting experience?”
“A little.”
He had learned some from Enri, and more during his mercenary days. He wasn't a master hunter, but he was skilled in other ways.
Suddenly, a scout who had gone ahead returned in a hurry.
“Damn it. Ghouls. Should we move camp?”
“How many?”
“I counted ten, but more were coming behind them. I backed off immediately.”
Ghouls. They weren't a daily occurrence, but they weren't rare either. Ten ghouls were a heavy burden for a small scouting squad, especially since the ghouls in this region were notoriously fast. If they couldn't thin the pack with arrows, they’d be forced into a dangerous melee.
There were only three bowmen in the squad. Avoiding them was the logical choice.
“What a pain,” Finn grumbled.
But Encrid stepped forward.
“Which way?” he asked.
His gaze was fixed on the scout who had spotted the pack. The soldier blinked, failing to grasp the intent behind the question.
“The ghouls,” Torres clarified, stepping up.
Torres knew Encrid’s capabilities. More importantly, he knew Encrid’s specialty was heavy swordsmanship. Compared to Torres, who used daggers, Encrid was built for hunting monsters. He had seen him take down a Human-faced Dog and a Harpy, after all.
“The ghouls around here aren't exactly docile,” Finn warned, sensing Encrid’s intent.
“You probably don't need to worry,” Torres added, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Encrid. “I only need to support you, right?”
“Just slow them down,” Encrid replied. It was a declaration: he wouldn't let a single one escape.
“Sure thing.”
Encrid wanted to prove himself. Finn and the scouts exchanged glances. Ten swift ghouls were a formidable threat; a single scratch from their venomous claws could cripple a soldier.
“Hey—” Finn started to stop him, but Encrid was already twitching his nose.
A rotten stench.
As he heightened his senses, he could pinpoint the direction of the rot.
Can I hunt like this?
I should be able to track them by scent and sound alone.
It was time to slay.
Encrid kicked off the ground and vanished into the trees.
“Uh, hey!”
Finn, Torres, and the scouts scrambled after him. There was something about Encrid’s presence—a gravity that forced people to watch, to see what he would do next. Whether he lived or died, they had to witness it.
They wanted to see exactly what the man who trained like a demon at dawn was truly capable of.
Encrid did not disappoint.
And as she witnessed the slaughter, Finn’s eyes widened in pure shock.