Chapter 10 - The Stab Landed

"Ghk."

The axe thrower let out a death rattle. A poisoned knife was lodged in his side, and a spearhead in his throat.

"Grrrgl."

Blood foamed at his mouth as the light faded from his eyes. That was that. Encrid watched his eyes, then stepped back. "Raaaah!"

An ally right beside him roared. The enemy facing him roared back.

"Graaah!"

Both were huge. They crashed together like two wagons charging head-on, then grappled and began wheeling around each other. Watching them, Encrid backed away. What did it take to stay in one piece? He had learned far more than a lesson or two by throwing away his life over a hundred and twenty times.

The way to stay in one piece was to fight as little as possible. Encrid kept himself out of harm's way. "Die!"

"Fucking bastard."

Swords, spears, axes, and clubs came rushing in, their wielders spitting curses instead of battle cries. "Keep your hands off my little sibling, you fucker."

A dying soldier's last words.

"Bullshit. Saying that won't make me look after your sibling."

A soldier pretending to be unfazed as he heard his comrade dying. "Die! Die!"

A recruit driven out of his senses by the heat of battle.

"That crazy bastard."

"Leave him. Maybe he's playing berserker."

A veteran looking after his men as he watched the recruit run wild. "My name is Bar—ghk!"

An enemy soldier getting himself killed trying to look impressive by announcing his name. An ally sneering at him as he pulled out his spear. THUD.

A foot struck the ground, kicking up dust. He could see it drifting in the beating sunlight. Beside it, an enemy soldier spewed blood. Beside him lay an ally who had fallen and cracked his skull. Flesh lay scattered on the ground, and blood soaked the earth. No matter how carefully he protected himself, he couldn't survive in the middle of a battlefield doing nothing.

'In. Haaaa...'

A short breath in, a long breath out. Encrid controlled his breathing. He had barely steadied his breath when he saw a spearhead flying through the dust. Holding his shield loosely, he blocked it.

CLANG!

The spearhead struck the shield and bounced aside. His loose grip let him shed the force of the blow. At the same time, a club swung diagonally at him from the side. Encrid ducked forward beneath it and hurled himself at its wielder. His shoulder thumped into the man's chest. As they fell, he drew a knife and stabbed toward the man's thigh.

RRRIP!

The blade tore through thick cloth and gouged a long wound in his opponent's thigh. "You son of a bitch!"

The enemy shouted and shoved him. Encrid used the shove to regain his balance, drew his sword, and swung horizontally. A wounded thigh hampered movement. The man faltered, unable to dodge, and the blade struck his neck.

THWACK! The blade had sunk halfway in. Encrid pulled hard.

GRRUNCH.

It came free, cutting through muscle, nerves, tendons, and bone. As blood began gushing out, the soldier clapped a hand over his neck. Naturally, covering a wound like that with his palm changed nothing. Encrid didn't look back. He knew someone else would stop the spearman who had struck his shield.

"You goddamn bastard!"

Bell. Saving him hadn't been for nothing. Once saved, he would stay nearby and watch Encrid's back. A loyal fellow. CLANG! CLANG!

Metal clashed again and again. Encrid turned his attention from the man he had killed and picked up a stone. Then he turned and threw it at once. The enemy, who had been fighting Bell on equal terms, flinched as the stone struck his back.

CRACK!

Bell swung his spear shaft into the man's head. An excellent blow. "I'd say that makes us even."

Bell was panting.

"You really think so?"

Did he think a debt for saving his life was that easy to repay?

"Maybe only halfway, then."

Bell scratched vigorously at his helmet with a bloody hand. As if that would relieve the itch. Bell edged back. Having been knocked down once, he had learned to exercise a little caution. Encrid, too, shifted his footing with the flow of battle. "Help me. Grrgl."

He saw a soldier pleading as blood bubbled at his mouth. A familiar face: the dice gambler he had watched die over and over.

"I couldn't save you."

Encrid spoke calmly. He had tried countless times, but saving this man had proved impossible. As he made his way across the battlefield, he searched the approaching enemy soldiers for the pervert who cried mercy. It wasn't difficult. The moment he found him, Encrid drew his last knife and threw it in time with his running stride.

TAP. WHOOSH. SWISH!

Timed so that most men could never have dodged it, the throwing knife traced a line through the air. CLANG!

The man twisted, taking the knife on his shoulder. Striking at an angle, it glanced off his pauldron. A reflexive response, yet almost the perfect defense. Encrid felt the man's glare. He had located the thrower and turned toward him the instant he blocked the knife? Encrid kept coming back to the same thought: that stabbing pervert was no ordinary man. The man charged. Each pounding step kicked bloodstained dirt behind him. Only a few strides separated them.

It was time to test everything Encrid had learned through his repeated todays. He was in better condition than ever. His preparations were complete. The man brought his sword straight down. Encrid raised his shield.

CRACK!

He felt the weight behind the blade as it struck the oiled wood. ["The foundation of swordsmanship? Strength."]

So one of his sword instructors had said.

["Skill beats strength? Hah, what a joke. Try beating a Frog with skill alone."]

["Do you know how many idiots have died trying that deflection shit against giants?"]

["The foundation of swordsmanship is muscle. Muscle. So get moving."]

Thanks to that teacher, he had built his body properly. With his shield raised, Encrid was not easily driven back. In strength, at least, they were evenly matched.

"Hmph!"

The stabbing pervert snorted. With Encrid's view blocked by the shield, he kicked at his ankle. Encrid caught the man's toe on his shin guard. An iron-plated boot was a weapon in its own right.

THUD.

A sharp pain shot through his shin, but the bone didn't break. That was enough. He pushed his shield outward, drew his sword, and swung upward.

WHOOSH!

As if expecting it, the stabbing pervert was already out of reach. Then he sprang forward, covering even more ground than he had retreated, charging into the opening left by Encrid's swing. "Hah!"

With a shout, Encrid swung his shield like a bludgeon, putting all his strength behind it. The charging pervert tucked his chin in tight.

CRACK!

Struck in the head, he toppled sideways. Encrid was about to swing again, but stepped back instead.

WHOOSH.

From the ground, the man drew a dagger and slashed diagonally. Had Encrid rushed in, he would have taken the blade just above his shin guard. In that brief instant, the man had spotted the guard's position and found a gap. The world would call that talent. Encrid had needed to die countless times and learn the heart of the beast to do the same. His opponent had not. But the man lacked the practiced ease of someone who had weathered countless battles. Even Encrid could see it. His opponent was a recruit, or a soldier with little battlefield experience. Otherwise, he wouldn't charge in so recklessly.

He had been the same at their first meeting, when Encrid had nearly caught him with a stab. No experience to speak of, but dazzling talent. Encrid wasn't envious, though. 'I can take him.'

He could do it. His confidence grew. He sensed that all those todays would not have been in vain. It was time for the effort he had paid for in deaths to bear fruit. "You bastard."

He saw the venom in the man's eyes. The man struggled to his feet, and in the meantime, another ally stepped between them. Without hesitation, the stabbing pervert ducked and struck the ally's shin with his sword hand.

CRACK.

The sound of breaking bone. Whenever an ally intervened, he used that same sequence. The dagger to the ally's throat that followed was part of the same motion. An attack sequence as fluid as running water. One Encrid already knew. The stabbing pervert drove his drawn dagger forward. The startled allied soldier could only stare wide-eyed. Just before the blade pierced his throat, his body was jerked backward.

SLICE. SCRRAPE.

Instead of piercing his throat, the blade stabbed into his cheek, skimmed his temple, and scraped his helmet. "Hup!"

The startled ally fell flat on his backside. He was so shocked that he could only sit there gasping, unable to speak. Encrid stood in front of him, flexing the hand that had gripped the man's nape instead of his sword.

"Get back."

This was his fight. That was his opponent—the one against whom he would measure what he had achieved. THUMP.

His heart beat. A tangle of emotions filled Encrid: uncertainty over whether he should move beyond this today just yet, doubt that he could win, an unreasoning surge of competitive spirit, and an inexplicable conviction that he had to overcome the opponent before him to move on. "No more going easy on you."

The stabbing pervert spoke. Just look at that pathetic display. Proof that, for all his talent, he lacked experience.

If he truly meant to take this seriously...

'You should have shown me an opening instead of talking.'

He had taken a hit. He should have feigned weakness and counterattacked. That was what he should have done if he wanted to win. So Encrid did it instead. "Hah, hah."

He deliberately breathed hard and flinched at the slightest movement of his opponent's hand. Those eyes, which had looked red at certain moments, were a plain brown. They gleamed. The stabbing pervert strode up and slashed.

WHOOSH!

His speed was nothing like before.

THUMP.

Encrid's heart beat. He neither panicked nor closed his eyes. The heart of the beast was always dauntless. ["Just watch it right to the end, then slip out of the way."]

Rem always said that. Encrid had thought he was teasing. He wasn't.

He could see it. Bracing his ankles, he twisted his body. The blade whistled past his shoulder. Immediately after dodging, he slashed horizontally. TING.

His opponent held his dagger upright. Encrid's sword crossed it.

CLINK-CLINK-CLINK!

He pulled his blade across with force, sending sparks flying as the edges ground together. The man angled his dagger, deflecting the sword to the side. Encrid broke off his sword attack and brought his shield close against his body.

CLANG!

A blade struck the shield's rim. Sparks flew from there as well. The stabbing pervert had already drawn back his sword and swung again. Encrid had fallen for that more than once or twice. The sequence was familiar. He snapped his head around, but the enemy had vanished from sight. Without hesitation, Encrid raised his sword vertically and drove it toward the ground. The man charging in low stopped short. The sword point sank into the blood-soaked earth.

Still bent awkwardly at the waist, the man raised only his head. The murderous intent in his eyes was chilling. "Cheap tricks."

He ground his molars as he spoke. Cheap tricks were skill too, you little bastard.

Encrid didn't answer. Instead, he dug his toe into the dirt and kicked it at his opponent.

THUD!

"Ugh!"

The man swiftly shielded his face with his forearm. Blocking that on reflex, too. Still, Encrid had seen it more than once or twice. It was nothing special.

"You bastard!"

When he had the upper hand, he postured and spoke of mercy, his eyes brimming with vile delight. But put him on the defensive, and he quickly lost his temper. Encrid had worked out his disposition long ago. The man straightened and charged again.

CLANG! CLACK! CRACK!

Encrid blocked the relentless sword blows, and soon his shield began to creak. Amid the barrage, the man closed the distance and thrust his dagger at Encrid's side. In a previous encounter, that attack had left him gasping until he died. Encrid raised his elbow.

THWACK!

The tough leather guard stopped the blade. At the same time, he drove his forehead forward. A close-range move from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique: Headbutt.

CRACK!

"Gah!"

He had rammed the man with all his strength, and his head spun. Normally, this was when someone swung a club at him from behind. Not today. Nor was there anyone to throw an axe. Instead of those two, he had Bell.

"Fuck, I'll help!"

At Bell's shout, I replied,

"Just keep the others out of it."

'He's my opponent.' Swallowing the urge to vomit, he steadied himself and heard his furious opponent mutter,

"You crazy bastard."

'Right. If my head's spinning, yours must be too.'

The dizziness soon passed. "I'll enjoy watching you writhe as you die."

The stabbing pervert took his stance. One foot forward, the other back. A stance like a charging cavalryman. From that stance came a stab as swift as an arrow. Tension constricted Encrid's heart, and he loosened that grip with his breathing.

'Be dauntless.'

Could these repeated todays carry him over the wall called talent? It was time to find the answer. The man moved. A mere point. That was all he could see. No matter how many times he experienced it, that never changed.

The point became a flash, then a blade, piercing Encrid's body. No—he barely dodged it.

WHIZZ!

The blade grazed his side. Read the target from the stance, then dodge in time with the blade's movement. Encrid's body faithfully followed his thoughts. Searing pain followed the graze along his side. He ignored it. Instead, he put his left foot forward and his sword hand back. He drew his right elbow back as far as he could, like an arrow on a bowstring. Bracing his left foot, he shifted his weight.

He had learned by watching. He had learned by being stabbed. He had perfected it by sparring with Rem. TAP.

As he moved forward, he focused on balance rather than strength, filling his blade with determination.

'Stab.'

That unwavering determination filled his sword. He released his tightly drawn muscles and drove the blade forward. THUD!

The sword point, honed over and over on a whetstone, struck over the pervert's heart. It pierced leather and thick cloth armor, reaching the heart beneath.

A sense of fulfillment, as though sword, hand, and arm had become one. The moment to savor the achievement his efforts had earned. "Hey!"

Someone shouted. Before Encrid could even register the cry, before he could revel in his victory—

WHAM!

A tremendous impact struck his left side, and he felt his body leave the ground. 'Huh?'

What was this? In a hundred and twenty-five todays, he had never experienced anything like it.

"Frog!"

He didn't know whether it was Bell or someone else who shouted. That was Encrid's last memory.

He lost consciousness.