Chapter 123 - Was Your Mother a Ghoul?

What was this supposed to be? The two armies faced each other across a field of small, rattling stones, with a river to the left and mountains and forest to the right. They were within arrow range. In fact, some archers on both sides were already watching for an opening. A bleak tension hung over the field. Any moment now, they should have been charging through a rain of arrows to drive spears into each other's throats, swing their swords, or smash skulls, helmets and all, with their maces. Yet this opening was... what would one call it? 'Provocation?' "Oh, you poor things! Going to die without ever getting to use your dicks!" Three men had stepped forward to shout. Their voices boomed, their diction impeccable. They seemed to be more than three hundred paces away, yet every insult reached his ears with perfect clarity. Just how loud were they? It seemed like a pointless exercise. 'Does this actually work?' It did. Morale was already at rock bottom, and now they had to stand and take this nonsense too. It was maddening. But what if they simply loosed their arrows and charged? With the armies so evenly matched in numbers, low morale meant a battle lost before it began. So... 'Holding back is the right thing to do.' But would standing and watching solve anything? They needed either some exceptional maneuvering or a small elite force to shake things up. Even with his poor grasp of the battlefield, Encrid could tell that something needed to be done now. Still, he was more at ease than the others. At least he did not feel he would die here, minor injuries or not, his platoon members beside him or not. It was simply a gut feeling. Seen that way, he really had come a tremendous distance. Once, he would have been frantically considering every possible way to survive at a time like this. Now he was surveying the state of the battle. 'Have I gotten too comfortable?' His thoughts were wandering. At least for now, this was not his problem to worry about. Such concerns were natural for someone leading a unit, or someone whose men's lives hung in the balance. But Encrid was not even sure he could claim to lead the Lunatic Platoon. They simply followed him of their own accord. For now, he should attend to the more pressing matter. "Andrew, don't get worked up."

Encrid raised a hand to block Andrew's chest. "What?" "There's no shame in being a virgin."

He soothed Andrew's wounded feelings with further reassurance. How had Andrew reacted before? They had met on a mission with a reconnaissance squad, and the loud-voiced enemy was using the very words Encrid had used to provoke him then. He needed to keep Andrew calm so he would not get carried away. "... It feels like you're taking a jab at me."

Andrew muttered, his eyes drooping. Not at all. He had misunderstood. Encrid spoke again.

"Hold it in for now. You'll get a chance to let that anger out." Marcus, was it? The newly arrived Battalion Commander would retain command unless a regimental commander or someone from a knight order showed up. Unless that Marcus fellow had a head full of flowers, he would not keep taking this lying down. "Take all the anger you're feeling now and put it into the fight." "I'm not angry. I didn't even think that had anything to do with me." "I told you, not yet. Hold it in." Encrid actively consoled Andrew, who was merely putting on a brave face. He even patted his shoulder and pushed him back. Andrew retreated a step, deflated. "Ahem."

Henri cleared his throat beside them. Mac looked uncomfortable. As for the rest of the platoon... "Pfft."

Rem was the first to start snickering. Even the expressionless Jaxon glanced at Andrew and let a faint smile show. "It's all right, brother. Devote yourself to God."

Audin went so far as to recommend becoming a monk. Ragna glanced at Andrew, then nodded.

"It's all right. You'll get your chance." What chance? It wasn't as if he hadn't done it because he couldn't. "Why are you doing this to me?" Andrew truly had not been thinking anything of the sort. In fact, he had forgotten what Encrid had said to provoke him back then. If Encrid had not brought it up now, he might never have remembered it again. He had to hone his swordsmanship. He had to restore his family. Anything else was a luxury. He was a laborer diligently filling his life with work. Why tease him over something like this? "We said it's fine, dumbass."

Rem tapped Andrew's shoulder with his fist. Andrew felt wronged, and anger he had not felt before surged up. Naturally, he directed it toward the enemy. If he lashed out at the men here, he would not live to see tomorrow's sunrise. Instinct changed the target of his anger. 'It's all because of those crazy Ghoul-looking fuckers.' The men shouting about dicks were the problem. He wanted to rip those enemy bastards' mouths apart. The insults continued to fly. A few men from their own ranks stepped forward, but somehow they seemed to be losing ground. A war of words, of all things. It seemed ridiculous, yet the enemy's strategy and intent were perfectly clear: drive their morale into the dirt. The way just a few words soured the mood in the allied ranks made that plain. Around Encrid, however, a warm camaraderie was taking hold. It might have been an insignificant change in the context of the entire battlefield, but... "Well, er, I'll introduce you to a good salon when we get back to the city." "Don't go losing your virginity in the red-light district." "An experienced older woman's best for your first time. I know an auntie. How about her?" Bawdy jokes began drifting in from the surrounding soldiers. "Will you shut up?"

Andrew glared fiercely in every direction. His sacrifice had lightened the mood, at least in this corner of the field. The best response to an insult was to ignore it. "Quite a talent you have."

Krais had read Encrid's intent. They needed a change of mood. Everything began with something small. Krais had been considering what he would do if he were in command. Normally he would have been lounging in the rear, wondering when the fighting would end, but here he was on the battlefield. Naturally, he had begun thinking about ways to survive—in other words, what it took to fight a winning battle. The first step was to change the mood. Encrid had just set that in motion. "Talent? I was genuinely worried. We were ordered not to start a fight." He was clearly joking. Had he planned all of this? No, that did not seem likely. It was probably a matter of feel, something he had done instinctively. 'What a peculiar man.' That was part of Encrid's charm. However fiercely he lived, he never forgot how to make such jokes, and he never tolerated a gloomy atmosphere. Andrew's face had gone red from the teasing, but the mood was changing around the Lunatic Independent Platoon. What were they going to do about it? Just fight. That sort of feeling, that disposition, was beginning to spread. It was a platoon full of men with that outlook to begin with. Rem must have been getting restless, because he spoke up.

"How long are we going to stand here watching?" A proper fight would at least clear the air. Both armies were brimming with tension, yet neither would begin. They were like bows held at full draw with arrows nocked. Supposedly, some of the more high-strung men could barely sleep, and others were retching. Understandable. This atmosphere had persisted for days now. Even Rem and the others were beginning to get irritated. Fortunately, the three newer members—Andrew, Mac, and Henri—looked well. They stood duty together, and banding together against the harassment from Rem and the other platoon members had brought them closer. Henri kept a little distance even as he joined in, but putting up with Rem and the others was no small feat in the first place. As a result, they had not been swept up in the defeatism pervading the army. Between being tormented and standing duty, they were far too busy to think about anything else. "Want to try running your mouth?"

Krais asked out of the blue. Their army's position was clear: wait for the enemy to attack. Krais's suggestion took advantage of that. Every member of the platoon acknowledged Encrid's ability, even the vicious-tongued Rem. His ideas and a single remark could be more than enough to make someone's blood boil. "I don't really have anything to say." Gifted with words or not, what was he supposed to say in an atmosphere like this? Encrid meant it. Still, Krais pressed him.

"Give it a try anyway. Just to change the mood." Why not? It did not seem particularly difficult. The two armies were fighting with tongues instead of swords and spears. Encrid quietly began to move. The Independent Platoon had no fixed position anyway. As they moved, a path opened naturally before them. A few familiar soldiers asked where he was going as he passed. He answered them in an even tone.

"Thought I'd put in a word." Up to that point, he had not given it much thought. The enemy was still busy spouting shit about dicks and loudly asking what the queen's male whores could possibly do. When he reached the front, he found Vengeance there.

"Straight to the front as soon as you're back from the rear?" "Our unit is the closest to full strength." It looked as though the platoon had replaced the archers once mixed into its ranks and now consisted entirely of spearmen. Was this Second Company's Third Platoon? That put Encrid in front of Second Company. He looked at Vengeance, then at the enemy standing in the distance. He thought he knew what to say. Encrid took several more steps forward. Rem, Ragna, and Jaxon came up beside him. He was bold, despite being not merely within arrow range, but close enough to end up a pincushion if the enemy chose to loose in earnest. If they were going to fight with words anyway, and low morale was the problem, why not show some daring? "You there! Come out!" He stepped forward and shouted a challenge. It was also a bold question: Here we are. What are you going to do? How had the fighting gone so far, again? A war of words followed by a duel challenge from a rank-and-file soldier. They had said the enemy gained the upper hand through fights between men who were not commanders. Then why not do something similar on this side? 'I'll do it myself.' Instead of following him, Krais had offered a few words. They had sounded reasonable to Encrid.

["You can take down five or so in a row, can't you? That should do it."] The gist was this: Encrid would enter a rank-and-file duel, ignore any complaints about a commander stepping in, and crush his opponents. 'Overwhelmingly.' He was to kill them one after another and demonstrate the gap in their abilities, force the enemy to send out a commander too, and defeat him. The look in Krais's large eyes suggested he had something in mind. Some scheme to accomplish something by raising morale. Encrid trusted his brains and his tricks, so he stepped onto the battlefield. His provocative advance stirred murmurs in the allied ranks. "What's this?" "Oh, it's the Lunatic Platoon Commander." "Encrid?" "The Spellbreaker?" Those who knew him recognized his face. He was a known figure within the army, and, more importantly, he had recently proven that his skills were nothing to scoff at either. A strange feeling came over the allied ranks. Even Vengeance felt something was about to happen as he watched Encrid step forward. Why? He did not know. The atmosphere on the battlefield was like a honed blade. Until now, that blade had seemed pointed at their own army. Now, he felt the wind beginning to blow in another direction. Krais thought his plan would work. 'Then he'll manage something, one way or another.' He thought he had a rough idea of what their commander was waiting for. The rumors he had heard about Battalion Commander Marcus had also given him an idea of the man's style of warfare. He would be preparing something. Krais had decided to help get things started. If he had guessed wrong, they could simply withdraw quietly. In any case, he was steering his thoughts toward minimizing losses and gaining something. As Encrid's advance stirred the mood, one of the enemy men who had been running his mouth stepped forward.

"Here I am, you bastard." Encrid had set out thinking he had nothing in particular to mock the enemy about, but he had passed Vengeance on the way. Why had Vengeance disliked him again? When it came down to it, hadn't it been his face? "What are you supposed to be? Why have you got a Ghoul's head on your shoulders?" He shouted the offhand remark, and it drifted on the wind, echoing faintly as it reached the ears of friend and foe alike. There was nothing particularly special about it. But they were close enough to make out each other's features vaguely. The enemy soldier, Ghoul-head, looked at Encrid's face. 'The fuck?' He was handsome. The sort of face that made irritation surge up for no reason. "What?" "Was your mother a Ghoul?" Encrid wondered whether the enemy soldier's mother might have belonged to another species. Considering it a reasonable suspicion, he pointed a finger at the man's face. "What, you fucking bastard?"

The soldier immediately erupted in anger. A miracle achieved in just two remarks. Audin could not help marveling at what he heard. 'Words even God would punish.' Rem burst out laughing. The others were no different. Andrew, who had stubbornly followed despite Mac telling him not to go, finally brightened. Yes, who was that man to talk with a face like that? Hadn't his features been given a little too much freedom? His nose turned up so far it looked as though his nostrils would catch rainwater. And what was wrong with those eyes? They were so small that one could barely make out their color without looking closely. Why did he have so many sores on his face? Anyone could mistake him for a Ghoul. "Hahahaha!"

Andrew burst into laughter, utterly radiant. "Fuck it. Let's see if your hands hit as hard as your tongue." The enemy soldier had taken the bait. What began with tongues would proceed to spears, swords, and blood.