Chapter 115 - Aren't You Going to Sleep?

With Rem, he sparred in high-speed sword strikes. With Ragna, he practiced countering different sword techniques, their blades barely touching. With Audin, he traded barehanded blows and joint locks. When the sparring was over, Rem said, "You've finally taken your first steps." First steps. It might have sounded dismissive, but Encrid knew it wasn't. A faint smile rested on Rem's face. To Encrid, he looked satisfied. "There's less wasted motion," Ragna added. That, too, was hard to take as praise. His words were unremarkable, but his eyes held an unprecedented eagerness. This was a man who usually went around with his eyes half-closed, no matter what happened. That look came from his utter satisfaction with their spar. A cold fervor radiated from his eyes. "You've kept up your sensory training."

Jaxon offered matter-of-fact praise. "You've taken a step closer to God."

Audin offered something rather odd. Encrid turned the words over a few times. Their implications were so unsettling that he stared at Audin, but Rem spoke before he could.

"Isn't that practically praying for him to drop dead?"

"Not at all, brother. It's a blessing."

How was that a blessing? In any case, the sparring was over.

"That's the troublemaker Squad Leader?"

"He's the Lunatic Platoon Commander now, you bastard."

"What the hell was that?"

"So that's the fellow."

"They said he was a training-obsessed lunatic." The spectators' voices drifted over. Until now, they had been silent, too astonished to speak. Encrid's shoulders heaved as he caught his breath. His wrist ached, and fatigue had drained the strength from his arms and legs. Still, he didn't feel bad at all.

Except...

'What a shame.' They had all gone easy on him because of his injured right wrist. That was deeply disappointing. Even so, he had learned something. His past experiences—the things he had encountered crossing Cross Guard's wall, and even the Frog he had fought after returning. It felt as though he had poured the sum of all those experiences into the spars. And now there were the things he had learned today, too. He wanted to mull them over.

In other words, he wanted to fight more. "Rein it in. Any more and you'll ruin that wrist for good."

Ever perceptive, Rem had noticed. Encrid knew. Rest mattered, too. Hadn't he learned that lesson long ago? He caught his breath and shrugged. The spectators began to disperse, and a few greeted him before leaving.

"You're back?"

It was Platoon Commander Vengeance. They were equals in rank now.

"Yeah."

Encrid was a couple of years older to begin with, so the casual response came naturally.

"That's good."

Why did the fellow look embarrassed? After exchanging nods and waves with Bell, the master seamster, and a few others, Encrid went into the tent.

"Right, then. Let's hear it. What have you been up to?"

Rem brought it up without preamble. He was curious. What on earth had this slow learner, who knew nothing but hard work, done to improve so much? Saying he had taken his first steps was Rem's way of praising a man who had overcome a wall. Though Rem had held back because of the wrist, he had felt a definite change. Encrid had repeatedly delivered cuts that seemed to bend like a whip. Did he have faith in his body, his weapon, his arms, his hands—in everything he had built up so far? That was the difference between Encrid now and Encrid before the reconnaissance mission to Cross Guard. Conviction. No hesitation. Conviction without hesitation. Some would call it experience. Others would say his techniques had become second nature. It felt as though everything he had accumulated had been refined. This sounded like a story worth hearing. What sort of fun had he been getting up to while Rem wasn't around? Ragna sat down in front of him, looking equally curious. Jaxon and Audin settled in as well. Andrew, Mac, and Henri also listened closely. "I feel like a storyteller," Encrid muttered, looking at the platoon members huddled before him.

A story? What was so hard about that? He gave a plain account of what had happened. The trap, the spearmen in front and the archers behind, Ranger Pin's keen eye. The Lycanthropes and the mage waiting atop the wall. Even the fight with the Frog. He told the truth about everything except repeating today, adding here and there that he had been lucky. One incident after another belied his calm delivery. "You under some kind of curse that makes you stronger every time you nearly get yourself killed?"

Rem asked with a chuckle. That was certainly how it looked to him. Whenever Encrid faced death, his skills took a leap forward. Was the Platoon Commander actually a genius? No. Absolutely not. Rem had taught him personally; he knew. Had facing death stimulated something, then? It was remarkable how he improved whenever his life was in danger, but Rem didn't care. Why should it matter?

"Anyway, that was fun." The others listening nodded along, more or less. Andrew, however, looked as if his soul had been threshed out of him.

"You came back alive from all that?" Could everything he had just heard really be put down to luck? The sparring earlier was no different. Before, he had thought he might at least put up a fight. When had the gap grown so wide? Had he neglected his training?

'No. Absolutely not.' Keeping company with this band of lunatics had made every day an ordeal. His skills had improved in proportion. Mac had said as much.

["I hate it like hell, but credit where it's due. Rolling around with that bastard Rem makes you better."] Andrew had done his best, too. He had devoted himself to training as never before. Yet a gap had opened between them.

"I was lucky."

Encrid gave his usual answer. Andrew had nothing more to say. Encrid said it was time for bed and checked his wrist. Somehow, it seemed worse than after the fight with the Frog. "You'll have to stay in the tent tomorrow with that wrist."

"It doesn't warrant a trip to the Medical Barracks, but yes, fighting would be too much."

"No shit."

"I want to rest, too."

Jaxon spoke first, followed by Krais, Rem, and Ragna. Encrid had expected as much. With his wrist worse, they were bound to say he needed rest. If the higher-ups asked why he had sparred with it in that condition, Rem would answer with something like:

"It's our platoon's tradition. Didn't you know?" Whatever the case, rest was important. The Frog really had wrecked his wrist. He could swing his sword a few times, but pushing it would certainly ruin it. "Have you given up the shield?"

Ragna asked as he went to his bed. Encrid nodded.

"This is more comfortable." He took out his guard sword and showed it to him. The edge was a little chipped, and there was a gouge in the middle of the blade, but it was still serviceable.

"Some things just don't suit a person's hands."

Ragna nodded. It was the night of his return, and time to sleep. Once everyone was in bed, Rem spoke.

"Let's not lose to some mere Frog."

Wasn't it downright strange to put "mere" before "Frog"? "Quite right. You'll need more training. There's plenty to do," Ragna added.

Jaxon sent him a cool look without a word.

"Brother Platoon Commander, training makes anything possible."

Audin, with his devil's tongue, chimed in as well. "I'll win next time."

His bold reply drew chuckles all around.

"There's some confidence for you."

Rem spoke for them all. Just as Encrid settled into the darkness again and tried to sleep, they started up. "Once that wrist heals, let's have a proper go."

"I've got plenty to teach you once it's better. We'll fix a few bad habits, too."

"Training has no end, brother."

"There is more to be done."

From Rem to Jaxon, they all spoke again. Learning something new. Moving forward. Walking on, and then walking farther. It was everything Encrid had longed for. For now, though, he needed to concentrate on recovering. His wrist was terribly stiff. 'It feels like they're trying to keep me off the battlefield.'

It was a strange feeling. What an unusual assortment of people he had worrying about him. Would Rem and the others fight a little harder tomorrow morning in exchange for his staying behind? There was no telling. Encrid still didn't know exactly why they followed him so faithfully. He could only speculate and guess. Nor did he particularly want to make certain. He liked things the way they were; why stir up trouble by meddling? They would tell him if they needed to. He only had to treat them as he always had. "Let's do that."

He answered again and tried, this time, to get some sleep. But... "Anyway, a mere Frog..."

Rem propped himself halfway up and sliced his hand through the air.

"Block like this, hit like this. Faster than him. Just wait until that wrist heals. I'll drill it right into your bones. Frog-killing." "You'll need to learn basic forms besides the Heavy Sword Technique, then make those second nature as well."

"You must keep practicing the Isolation Technique without using your right hand, brother."

"... How not to let your guard down." None of his men would stop talking.

"Aren't you going to sleep?"

Left alone, they seemed likely to talk all night. What was this? Were they that happy to see him after so long? Or had they lacked someone to torment? Andrew's eye was far too bruised and swollen for that. "I'm going to. I was getting sleepy anyway."

Rem had the last word. Everyone settled down to sleep. MEOW. Esther, who had been keeping her presence hidden in a corner, slipped into Encrid's arms. Lying in bed, he went over the fight with the Frog and today's sparring. The spars had been incomplete. Even so, they had set his blood boiling. In a sense, they might have been no more than a test of everything he had done so far. So why did it feel as if he could see a new path forward? Between his review, his wandering thoughts, and Esther's warmth against his chest, sleep came naturally. Encrid drifted off. A little later, Andrew whispered a small lament.

"You said my talent would hold up anywhere." Beside him, Mac had no answer. By his own standards, Andrew was an excellent prospect. He could practically see the young man's skills growing. But this platoon...

'This is, well... Really...' Could people like these be common anywhere? He doubted it. Mac had never seen anything like it. How had so many people who fought this well ended up together? Even Platoon Commander Encrid was no exception. His improvement was unrecognizable. He had already been good enough that Mac had warned Andrew not to fight him. Now, didn't he seem to have crossed some threshold? At a loss for words, Mac answered in the spirit of the Lunatic Platoon.

"Instead of wasting time comparing yourself to others, swing your sword one more time."

Andrew let out a long, weary sigh.

* * *

Morning came, and Encrid opened his eyes.

'Did I oversleep?' MEOW. Esther was rubbing her cheek against his chest. He reflexively raised his right hand to stroke her head, then switched hands. With the splint on, his right was unusable. He stroked her fur with his left fingertips, and she purred contentedly. She had slept in, too. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the tent. As Encrid sat halfway up, Krais came through the entrance.

"You're awake?"

"I overslept."

"No wonder you're tired. You think a day or two of rest will get rid of the travel fatigue? After all that?" Krais had heard everything that had happened to Encrid the night before. He knew his Platoon Commander's stamina was monstrous, but anyone who could endure such a grueling pace without tiring wasn't human. "Let's get you fed first."

Encrid got up, did little more than rub the sleep from his eyes, and ate. Breakfast was well-cooked potatoes and thin slices of bacon, salted and grilled. "The food's good."

"They're looking after us in all sorts of ways. Oh, and the rest of the squad members have already headed to the front."

Krais pointed upward as he spoke. Did that mean the higher-ups had high hopes for this platoon? Was that why they were getting special meals? Rem and the others had left ahead of him? Was that good news or bad? It did seem they had made an effort to get moving early so they could use his wrist as an excuse to let him rest. But would his men actually do what the commander wanted? That he couldn't say. Even his personal coaxing didn't work. They might fight hard for today, at least. They might do that in exchange for letting him rest. Had Rem said he normally killed three men? Perhaps he would kill five today. That was about as much as Encrid could hope for. But would they fight the battle their commander actually wanted? There was no knowing. Nor did Encrid know how necessary his men were in terms of strategy and tactics. He left his thoughts there. He had never learned to direct large-scale tactics in the first place. The commander would do his own job. Marcus the Warmonger. Surely he would live up to the name. After breakfast, Encrid practiced the Isolation Technique only to the extent that it wouldn't strain his right wrist, then began his review. Recalling and turning over what he had learned—it was a continuation of what he did every day. 'Did I make any mistakes?'

If so, where? Don't repeat the same mistakes next time. Every experience gained in a fight for your life was an asset. An instructor he had met in a small fishing village during his wandering days had told him that. Those words stayed with him still. As he reviewed the fights alone, his body grew restless. Unable to sit still any longer, he stood, but the splint and bandages on his right wrist kept him from properly gripping a sword. Standing with his eyes half-closed, Encrid pictured it all. Audin, Ragna, Rem. Starting with yesterday's spars in reverse order, he worked back through the Frog, the night he faced the mage, the moment the Lycanthropes surrounded him, and the moments he had faced the elite soldiers and escaped. 'Luck.'

Luck had played a part, too. Of course, he had brought that luck about by repeating today, so it could be called calculated luck. He kept thinking and moving his body. His blood began to boil of its own accord. He simply couldn't bear not to swing a sword. "A training-obsessed lunatic."

Hadn't someone called him that?

'It might just be a perfect fit.' At the end of his wandering thoughts, he could resist no longer. He drew his sword. SHING. His right hand was injured, so he used his left instead.

'I already use a sword one-handed.'

He felt he might manage with his left hand alone. What if he built up more strength? Still thinking, he held the sword in his left hand and cut downward. WHOOSH. It was a clumsy cut. Even he could feel it. It was nothing like using his right hand.

'It feels like starting over, but...' It was many times better than doing nothing. Right now, he needed an outlet for the eagerness, the urges, the desire boiling inside him. "That bastard's completely insane. Hurts his right hand, so he pulls the same shit with his left."

Vengeance, who had stayed behind to defend the rear, spoke as he watched Encrid from off to one side. Of course, Encrid paid him no mind. No—he hadn't heard him at all. Utter absorption. Retracing with his left hand the path he had taken with his right, he was seeing the things he had missed.