Chapter 107 - If It’s One-on-One

Encrid knew his plan had worked. Turn the battlefield into a complete shitshow.

And look at it now. Everything had come together perfectly, making this one of the better todays he had repeated. It was a shitshow to end all shitshows. 'That did it.'

He had engineered a chaotic melee, and thanks to that, the wolf-men were being slaughtered. Several soldiers had died as well, but however recklessly they had charged in, the soldiers had the advantage once they gathered in small groups and established rudimentary formations. 'The soldiers will win.'

He was catching his breath on the outskirts of the chaos he had created when Roger charged him. The man lunged without hesitation, his spearhead appearing as a mere point. It was a fearsome stab. Rather than make a large movement, Encrid merely twisted his body slightly. His gambeson was already in tatters, but he trusted the toughness of his leather armor. WHOOSH. SCRRRAPE.

The spearhead grazed his flank. There was no sting of pain. That meant the armor had held. Encrid clamped the shaft against his side. "Hmph!"

Seeing Encrid pin the short spear against his side, Roger exerted his strength. He meant to yank it free in one pull, ripping through his opponent’s arm and flank. Catch a spearhead with your side? He would tear him to shreds. FWEEEE!

The instant he pulled, a strange sound rang out and he sensed a chilling threat before his forehead. He threw his head back. No, that alone was not enough—he arched backward at the waist too. His reflexes and quickness were remarkable. 'Fucking bastard.'

A blade skimmed his hair and the brow of his helmet with a ping. A throwing knife. It cut a long line through the darkness. Of course, he could not actually see it. He had sensed it by instinct alone. It sent a chill through him. That chill soon turned to rage. As Roger straightened up, fueled by his blazing fury, he felt the resistance against the spear in his hands somehow vanish. "Time to be reunited with your hair."

As the voice reached him, he saw a shadow looming overhead. Encrid. He had already leaped forward and was descending upon him. 'This bastard.'

Why was he so fast? That agility did not suit his bulk.

A blade plunging down from above. That was the last image left in Roger’s eyes. THWACK!

His crown split, along with the helmet that had covered his head and concealed his hair. Blood and brain matter spilled from the cleaved skull. TAP.

Landing on the ground, Encrid checked himself over. Catch the spear, throw a whistle dagger at his forehead, then leap forward into a vertical cut. The movements and the result were exactly as he had envisioned. 'Not bad.'

No serious injuries. His side ached from catching the spear a moment ago, but he probed his ribs with his fingers.

'Nothing broken.'

Then he was fine. Probably just some bruising. "Fuuuck! Captain!"

An enemy soldier shouted. Some of them had seen Roger die, but what could they do about it? Bloodshot eyes did not mean they could abandon the Lycans they were fighting and charge him. The wolf-men targeting them still bared menacing fangs. In any case, that single sword stroke put an odd turn on the battle. Perhaps Roger’s death had taken some of the fight out of the spearmen. They still clearly held the advantage, but here and there, men were dying to the wolf-men.

It was happening even now. While one soldier grew wild and red-eyed at the sight of his bald commander’s death, the one-eyed Lycanthrope sprang out of hiding and struck him in the head. THWACK!

The one-eyed creature had used its fist, not its claws. Rather than instinctively relying on teeth and claws as weapons, it threw punches. Yes, that was the least one should expect from the leader of a colony. They did not let just anyone lead a monster colony. Not that it used only its fists. It made full use of its natural weapons too. Facing several soldiers, it swung its claws to knock aside their spearheads with a rapid clatter, then broke a couple of shafts. After killing two men that way, it slipped back behind its colony. In the shadows of trees, behind enemy soldiers, behind the other rampaging Lycans. It hid wherever it could and waited to ambush its prey. It had been using similar tactics for a while, repeatedly hiding in the darkness and striking at openings. Encrid gave up searching for the creature hidden among its pack and quietly steadied his breathing. Meanwhile, a spearman charged him. "Vengeance!"

What nonsense. His captain had died coming at Encrid one-on-one, and now he thought he could do it alone? These were opponents Encrid could have beaten from the outset in single combat. That was why he had created this mess. Encrid knocked the incoming spear shaft aside with the flat of his sword, pushed off the ground, and drove his blade along the shaft. SCRRRRAPE.

Stripping away the wood’s surface as it advanced, the blade reached the spearman’s throat. SHLUK.

The keen edge cut into the enemy’s neck. Blood fountained from the half-severed throat. Following through on the cut, Encrid used the centrifugal force to whirl around and bring his sword upright before his eyes. 'I was wondering when you’d come.'

Behind him, a Lycan crouched near Roger’s corpse. The leader of the wolf-man pack had crept around to his rear. It had circled behind him before he knew it.

The one-eyed Lycanthrope. Its yellow eye gleamed as it met his gaze. "You coming first? Or should I?"

The wolf-man leader was indeed a trickier opponent than Roger. But Encrid had not taken a single one of his seventy-eight todays lightly. Relaxing his shoulders did not mean he had stopped struggling with everything he had.

So... "Let’s make this quick."

He did not think killing this creature would be particularly difficult either. Claws sliced through the air. In the fleeting instants between them, his blade linked point to point, clattering against those claws. After several exchanges of attack and defense, Encrid’s sword severed the one-eyed wolf-man’s arm. 'The advantage of a better weapon.'

Never had he felt it so keenly. The sword he had invested his Krona in proved its worth. It battered and broke the creature’s claws each time they swung at him. In the resulting opening, he had cut off its arm and seized the advantage. The one-eyed Lycan swept its foot claws upward with a whoosh, cleaving vertically through the space Encrid had occupied. He stepped his left foot to the side to evade and spun, keeping his weight centered on the axis running from his crown to his groin. Adding muscle power to the centrifugal force traveling through his toes, knees, and waist, he unleashed a mighty blow of the Heavy Sword Technique. His sword swept out with the spin, cutting through the moonlight and the wolf-man’s neck at once. SWISH.

A strike that left no resistance in his hands. The blade met its target at exactly the right point and severed the neck. SHICK.

The sound of the sword slicing through the air and the wolf-man’s head flying free—all happened in an instant. Silence did not descend. Few had even watched the fight. If the spearmen had formed up and attacked him, Encrid would have been the one to die. It would have been much the same if the wolf-man pack had swarmed him.

But one-on-one amid a melee... 'I don’t think I’d lose.'

That was why he had created this situation. Besides, he had experienced both the commander’s and that one-eyed Lycan bastard’s habits and fighting styles time and again. Of course, knowing their habits would mean nothing without the skill to back it up. The half turn with his sword extended created an illusion of moonlight swirling around Encrid. Only an illusion, of course. He quietly withdrew. It was time to catch his breath.

After all, his “today” was not over yet. There was still a wall ahead.

* * *

Uh, wasn’t something odd about that? Had he always been like that?

Torres was running to help, thinking Encrid was in danger, but he could not charge straight across the battlefield. He was circling around the side. He saw Encrid cut Roger down and slice off the one-eyed Lycan bastard’s head.

That was what made him think: something had changed. They had sparred more than a dozen times on the way here. The Encrid from those bouts was different from the Encrid before him now.

'What’s changed?'

Had his skill improved by leaps and bounds? That did not seem right.

'His sword strokes seem a little more chilling.'

He seemed more at ease, too. "Has he always been, uh, that good in a fight?"

Pin asked beside him. Such skill was rare. Anyone watching would surely think so.

"He’s fucking amazing." Still marveling, Pin’s eyes sharpened. Suddenly, she planted her left foot well ahead and kicked a stone up with her other foot. Catching the stone as it rose off her instep, she flung it sideways without breaking stride. It flew straight into the back of an enemy soldier’s head. The stone struck with a crack. The instant the man ducked his head, a wolf-man raked its claws across his back. THUD!

The blow did not punch a hole in his back. His armor was remarkably sturdy. But the soldier, struck after leaving himself open, had to roll aside to escape, disrupting the formation. Two Lycans slipped between the soldiers who had been fighting in formation. Once that formation broke, the Lycans had an overwhelming advantage. Torres glanced that way, then looked back. Pin was an odd woman too, throwing stones at a time like this. But right now, Encrid was far stranger to him. Unfamiliar. A peculiar feeling pricked at his chest. He could find no words to express it.

It was simply strange. Extremely, very, terribly strange. 'Why?'

Thinking it over, everything was strange, but to single out just a few things...

'First, his skill.'

Torres did not want to fight one of the moon-drunk Lycans before him. Not alone. He could win, certainly, but he could also die. What if he tried to drive a dagger into its throat and those claws caught him in the wrong place? 'Ugh.'

Gooseflesh rose all over him. He should not have imagined that.

Then what about Encrid?

'Is his heart made of stone?'

That boldness went well beyond mere courage. He had put on an acrobatic display of evasion between wolf-men and enemy troops—troops he had thoroughly enraged, at that. Then he had killed their commander with a single cut. 'And sliced right through that one-eyed Lycan, too.'

A few blows of his sword against its claws, and then he had taken off its head. Such skill made Torres’s lower belly twinge. The sword sweeping out with that spin had even seemed to bend like a whip.

What kind of man was he? 'Ah.'

Only then did Torres recognize the difference between the Encrid he had sparred with and the man before him now.

'His proficiency. That’s what’s different.'

He was certain there had been awkward, clumsy elements before. He had exploited those openings himself, even advising Encrid that the more he fought, the better he could close them. Yet now he seemed thoroughly accomplished. At least, that spinning cut had. 'In just a few days?'

Was he a genius? No. Torres knew from spending time with him. Encrid’s aptitude for physical movement was nothing special. Frankly, he was so slow on the uptake that comparing him to anyone else would be embarrassing. 'Well. What can I even say?'

Every swing of his sword seemed to kill a man or a beast. Even after he killed the commander and the one-eyed creature, wolf-men and enemy soldiers occasionally charged at him. A step and an uncompromising downward cut split their skulls. His committed horizontal cuts did not slice through armor, but struck with crushing weight, wrecking ribs and internal organs. Just because the edge did not penetrate did not mean the impact disappeared. Those horizontal cuts demonstrated exactly what the Heavy Sword Technique was. 'Aren’t they scared?'

Torres thought he would be frightened to fight Encrid as an enemy. Of course, he was not the only one who thought that. The commander, the leader, then another three or four dead. After that, no one charged Encrid. Even the Lycans, driven senseless by the full moon, began treating him as though he did not exist. They saw him and passed him by. They took wide detours around him.

'I’d do the same, I’m telling you.' That left only the fight between the enemy soldiers and the Lycans, and even that was nearly over. Encrid alone stood aloof, bathed in moonlight. It did not look particularly unnatural, either. With the air of a man accustomed to it, he steadied his breathing beneath the moonlight and calmly watched the rest of the battle. The sight sent gooseflesh sweeping over Torres’s body. Seeing wolf-men and enemy soldiers avoid a single human was astonishing enough, but another question had occurred to him as well. That sense of something being wrong kept tormenting him. 'Let’s set his skill aside.'

Then what about this situation? There was more than one strange thing here. Starting with the Lycans and the Gray Hounds running into each other. And in the Tunnel, he had kept asking whether something might be behind them. 'How does he know the commander’s name?'

That really made no sense. It could not be dismissed as coincidence. Once questions began, one inevitably led to another. That was what was happening to Torres now. As he kept repeating how strange it was while they ran around the battlefield, Pin asked beside him, "What is? You keep saying that."

Her eyes scanned their surroundings as she ran. She was assessing the course of the battle. Whichever side survived, they would have to finish them all off. The humans had held the advantage at first, but now it looked as though the Lycans might win. The Lycans had long since begun avoiding the nightmare named Encrid. The humans had not. They had gone after him several more times, further thinning their numbers. How had it come to this? One man had created this entire situation. Encrid, the Platoon Commander of some Independent Platoon, with the lovely body and lovely face.

Was he some sort of tactical genius?

That was what Pin thought. "Everything’s just strange."

Torres kept grumbling as he ran beside her. The two men had seemed quite close, yet he was looking at Encrid with eyes that said he understood nothing—not this, not that, not any of it. "Get your head straight. We need to finish off the rest."

As she spoke, Pin seemed to make up her mind and threw the axe from her belt. She had just met an enemy soldier’s eyes. WHOOSH!

The hatchet spun from her hand and buried itself in the enemy’s chest with a thud. He staggered one step backward, then crumpled to the ground. "Hurts, doesn’t it, asshole?"

Pin kept running as she spoke. Beside her, Torres continued muttering that it was strange. That was how the two rejoined Encrid. The detour had taken them some time, but they had at least followed his instruction to stay within sight and then join him. "Let me ask you something."

Torres had to ask. What was this situation? How had it happened? Setting aside the peculiar change in his skill, the most urgent question came first.

"How do you know the commander’s name?" There could not possibly be a plausible excuse for that. Encrid was unruffled, as though it hardly mattered.

"By chance."

"Chance?"

What were the odds of learning an enemy commander’s name by chance? "Krais once told me about a strange fellow in the enemy army."

It was a lie. But could Torres check? No. And it sounded plausible.

"Ah."

"He laughed about how famous the man was for keeping his head covered." He was no city-level fighter, but he was an enemy, and his behavior was unusual. Rumors could have reached them through any number of channels. Some men in Aspen would know the name of the Border Guard’s captain, after all.

Then it was possible. Possible, at least. "Then you meant for this to happen?"

"Of course it was a coincidence. Who could have predicted a pack of wolf-men would come here?"

His eyes said Torres was asking the obvious. That irritated Torres immensely, but... "Does it matter? A plan just occurred to me."

Pin listened, wondering whether Encrid was some kind of born tactical genius. Torres felt that peculiar ease in his tone again, and it unsettled him, but both listened. They had to hear him out, at least. "Let’s climb the wall. No one would expect anyone to try it now, would they?"

The Tunnel had plainly been an enemy trap, and they had barely escaped. What if they slipped over the wall before the enemy soldiers returned to the city? "That’s brilliant."

Pin agreed first. It sounded convincing. Naturally. The plan had been developed through repeated todays. It would have been strange if it were flimsy. "Tsk."

Torres clicked his tongue, but he had to agree too. Their mission was still underway, after all. What Encrid had proposed did seem likely to become an exceptionally sharp dagger—one that would stab the enemy before they even realized they were being pierced. "Let’s go."

And so, before the fight between the wolf-men and the enemy soldiers had even ended, the three moved out. "Shit, they’re running!"

A soldier shouted as he drove his spear into a Lycan’s skull. But he could not give chase. Only twelve soldiers remained. They could still fight in formation, but honestly, he did not want to fight the man who had cleaved Captain Roger apart. "Damn it."

All he could do was curse in frustration.