Chapter 124 - Andrew the Lunatic

Naturally, Encrid intended to step forward himself. Wasn't that why he had come out?

He was itching to get moving, too. Wielding two swords at once might still be beyond him, and he needed to spare his right hand while it healed, but that didn't matter. Watching his opponent's stance, steps, and gestures, he felt certain.

His left hand would be enough. This man was no Mitch Hurrier. TAP. The flat of an upright axe pressed against Encrid's stomach. At the same time, Jaxon caught his sleeve and Audin laid a hand on his shoulder. Ragna stepped directly in front of him. "I can do it," Ragna said. "Where do you think you're going? I told you to recover first."

Rem spoke too. There was something unyielding in his sidelong glance. He would not let Encrid step forward here.

Encrid could feel the determination of every member of his platoon. Then would they take his place? Krais had said it would be best to avoid having Rem or the others step in if possible.

What, then? "For someone like that... Hey, youngest."

Rem spoke with his axe still raised. The curl of his lips suggested he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

And the youngest he had called was... "Andrew?"

At Encrid's voice, Andrew tilted his head. Why were they calling him? "Go kill him and come back," Rem said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and no trouble at all. Andrew blinked for a moment, then recalled his earlier anger.

That was the bastard who'd said his cock wasn't fully grown, wasn't it?

His opponent carried a spear. Short-spear infantry formed the backbone of the Kingdom of Aspen's army. He held his not particularly long spear pointed forward. Indeed, few weapons were as effective as spears in infantry combat. "Come out, you cowards!"

What were the most insulting words throughout history? Even if one couldn't rank them, "coward" would surely make the list.

Andrew summoned the anger he had briefly forgotten. "Gladly."

Andrew took a step forward, and his opponent did the same. The two closed the distance, watching each other warily. Behind them, Mac watched Andrew with concern. Winning or losing wasn't the problem. He worried they might end up decorated with arrows like flowers in an arrangement, turned into hedgehogs.

Their platoon commander certainly had a vicious tongue. 'If things go wrong...'

Mac tightened his grip on the buckler he had brought. It had been made larger than his old shield. Fighting with sword and shield was his specialty. 'I'll block and hold out.'

Unless their allies were fools, they would return fire if arrows came flying. With everyone at the front of both armies carrying sizable shields, an arrow attack wouldn't deal a decisive blow. 'Hold out and get clear...'

His worry was short-lived. Come to think of it, none of these worthies looked likely to get themselves killed anywhere.

He only needed to get Andrew out with him. Mac set his worries aside and tried to watch with an easy mind. In truth, arrows were his only concern. He had watched Andrew all this time. The young man had improved. Advanced. He had devoted himself ever more deeply to the sword. Their allies watched with mixed feelings. Had Encrid or the others stepped forward, victory would have been assured. Instead, a different soldier had gone out.

Andrew Gardner.

A noble-born soldier who had once risen to squad leader, only to volunteer as a member of Encrid's platoon. Some thought him an oddity. Others worried whether that mere babe even knew how to handle a weapon.

Unease slowly spread. How many soldiers had already stepped out confidently, only to fall? They couldn't help wishing Encrid or one of the others had gone instead. Andrew glared angrily at his opponent, who returned the look. "Hmph. He runs his mouth, then leaves the fighting to his subordinate."

That couldn't have been Encrid's intention. Andrew had never seen him avoid a fight. Besides, the difference in skill would be enormous. Even injured, his platoon commander wasn't someone this wretch could do anything to. To Andrew, Encrid was a genius. A true genius whose skills improved in great leaps within a short time. Someone with genuine talent, unlike himself.

He sincerely believed that. "My cock isn't fully grown? What did you say about it?" "Bring out the bastard who called me Ghoul-head!" Neither listened to the other. They merely voiced their own anger.

Soon that anger became spear and sword.

The cold mist had cleared, and sunlight poured onto the ground, with its sparse grass and gravel. There, the two angry men exchanged their opinions. Seeing the spearhead coming, Andrew briefly recalled the past few months. It hadn't even been that long. 'That crazy barbarian bastard.'

After facing Rem's axe, the enemy soldier's short spear looked like child's play.

Of course, it would still put a hole in him if it struck. It wasn't a blow he could casually swat aside, but... ["Any bastard who sees an opening and hesitates has no right to complain when he dies, brat."]

The words that bastard Rem had repeated again and again had become ingrained in him. As Mac acknowledged, Andrew had talent. Rem had recognized it too. Teaching him was rewarding in a different way from teaching Encrid.

Of course, Rem had only gone so far. He had neither demonstrated nor even mentioned the heart of the beast or anything of that kind. Such techniques were not to be taught lightly. Even that had been enough for Andrew. He truly had talent. Quite exceptional talent.

Seeing the short spear coming, he swung his sword from right to left. His blade struck the tip of the spearhead, not the shaft. CLANG! If a spear had the advantage in straight attacks, a sword, being shorter, had the advantage in lateral ones.

In the brief instant the short spear was knocked aside, Andrew stepped forward onto the gravel. CRUNCH. Close the distance. A fight began with the feet, and ended with them too. "Gah!"

The enemy soldier pulled back his spear and swung his elbow.

Andrew swung his sword without slowing his advance. The rising blade split halfway through the man's forearm. RIP! Blood sprayed from the gambeson-clad man's forearm. Through the patter of blood droplets, Andrew's eyes gleamed.

Why stop after cutting him?

No. This was a fight. This was war. Andrew moved his feet again. One step left, another sword swing that cracked against the spear shaft.

He drew his sword back and calmly thrust.

It was neither fast nor slow, but it was fast enough for an enemy reeling from the pain of his slashed arm. SQUELCH. He felt a measure of resistance through his grip.

The sword had driven into the gap between armor and helmet. Andrew pulled out the blade, which had sunk about half a handspan deep, and blood welled out. "Grrgh."

The enemy soldier staggered and dropped to his knees. He tried to cover his throat with his hand, but what good would that do? The difference in skill was stark.

That was because Andrew was exceptional. The enemy soldier was a well-trained regular himself, one who had been killing most of their allied challengers until now.

But he was no match for the talented Andrew, tempered by Rem's torment. The man slumped forward from his knees, neck outstretched, hands flailing. He had little life left. He would die even if left alone, but Andrew stood behind him and drove his sword straight down. SHUNK. Make certain of the kill. With that determination, his sword entered the back of the man's neck and took his remaining breath.

Only silence and quiet sunlight remained. Watching from a little farther back, Krais thought this had turned out even better than having Encrid fight.

Someone entirely unexpected had distinguished himself. "Andrew the Lunatic!"

He shouted, making the name that had been eating away at allied morale sound instead like the enemy's nightmare.

Soon Andrew's name rang out from every side, celebrating his kill. "Woooo! Lunatic!" "Andreeeew!" What was this?

Encrid shrugged as he listened. This was working better than expected.

Somehow, it felt as though they were cheering him too. Among the cries for Andrew, he heard "lunatic" and "the hero who killed Ghoul-head." Rem snickered.

"See? The youngest's enough for someone like that."

Since when had Andrew been their youngest? "Andrew, fall back!"

Mac shouted to him. It was time to withdraw.

Andrew took several steps back, never easing his glare at the enemy. "My cock's fully grown, you bastards!"

Good grief. What was that supposed to be?

Mac was dumbfounded. "Pfft!"

This time even Encrid couldn't hold back his laughter. He had only teased him to lighten the mood. Had Andrew taken it that much to heart? "Come back, Andrew."

Having slain his enemy, Andrew returned to cheers.

As the mood began to change, what Krais had hoped for began.

Battalion Commander Marcus finally unleashed the blade he had held back all this time.

* * *

Marcus's mouth was beginning to go dry. 'Something needs to give.'

By his reckoning, their numbers and degree of training were much the same. But the Aspen bastards had done a fine job dressing things up.

They had sent out their most exceptional soldiers and started these contests as though they were duels between knights.

Thanks to that, morale was at rock bottom. Still, that was all right. He only needed a moment when the mood changed. He had pinned his hopes for that on the Lunatic Platoon.

Yet when the barbarian soldier named Rem stepped forward... 'Why did the atmosphere become even more Ghoul-like?'

A filthy, hideous, poisonous mess of a mood.

He had heard that both allies and enemies had reacted coldly. Would he have to look elsewhere for a way to turn things around? It happened while he was turning those thoughts over.

A Lunatic Platoon member whose name he didn't even know, one of the volunteers accepted merely to fill out the ranks, easily defeated the enemy soldier.

Not narrowly. Overwhelmingly.

Now was the moment. "Send them in!"

Both messenger and adjutant sprang into action at Marcus's order. Soon a small flag rose above the battalion commander's tent.

The signal reached the commander of a unit waiting near the river, among scattered rocks. If Aspen had the Gray Hounds, Naurilia had the Frontier Slaughterers.

Every one of them was worth ten soldiers. 'Idiot.'

Marcus welcomed the enemy commander's clumsy ploy.

The mood of a battlefield could change in an instant. And when morale soared after hitting rock bottom, the impact was all the greater.

Besides, Marcus believed that battles were won by whichever side killed better.

So... "Kill them all."

His mutter reached no one, but the order had already been given. The Border Guard, Naurilia's proud Independent Company, moved as one and struck the enemy flank.

From concealing themselves among the rocks and water's edge near the river to make their force look smaller, to charging and making contact with the enemy, the entire attack took Aspen's commander by surprise. "Sweep them away."

The border defense captain spoke, and his troops obeyed.

Torres was among them. An approaching enemy soldier thrust his spear. Torres seized the shaft and pulled. The man tried to resist, and Torres used that opposing pull to close in and drive a dagger beneath his chin. THUNK. With that brief sound, the enemy soldier toppled sideways, a beard of steel jutting beneath his chin.

Without even time to retrieve his dagger, Torres lunged at the next opponent. The other guards were busy fighting too. Among them was Hyoun, a remarkable longsword wielder.

The northern soldier's sword flew as though dancing. Two thrusts took two enemy lives in an instant, then he spun halfway around and swept out his blade. WHAM! The enemy soldier who blocked that ferocious strike with his shield was lifted off his feet and hurled backward. It was a heavy, weighty blow.

Aizen finished off the flying soldier. Aizen specialized in the trident. A former fisherman, he handled the three-pronged weapon superbly.

His trident stabbed the soldier in the back. Piercing the gambeson, the middle tine passed through the man's back and emerged from his belly through his armor. Barney's specialty was her speed. Being a woman put her at no disadvantage whatsoever.

She darted among the enemy, throwing daggers, then sprang back and used a sling to launch what looked like rounded stones. TWANG! WHIZZ! THWACK! Struck in the head by a stone, an enemy soldier crumpled sideways. A leather helmet could not absorb the impact of a sling bullet. Carving these missiles from stone made them labor-intensive consumables, but they were extraordinarily effective. Each member of the Border Guard had a distinct specialty. They excelled at skirmishing rather than formation combat.

And that was what they did.

They tore through the enemy, killing as they advanced. Directing his platoon, Torres began driving into one section of the enemy. Hyoun came alongside him, repeatedly swinging his sword to hold off the soldiers.

Their target was a group carrying longbows. More precisely, their aim was to slit the archers' commander's throat. Each Border Guard platoon moved toward its own target. Their movements sent a great convulsion through the battlefield.

The enemy commander did not overextend himself trying to reverse a battle that had already turned against him. "Retreat."

He sent the Gray Hounds to block the Border Guard and withdrew the rest of his forces.

* * *

If it were wind, it would be a storm.

If an earthquake, a powerful tremor.

If a wave, a tidal wave.

That was how violently the tide of battle normally shifted. The prolonged standoff had been the strange part. Encrid sensed the changed mood too. Even if he hadn't seen the Border Guard move, something had begun.

Otherwise... "Loose!"

Their missile troops wouldn't be acting like that. THRUM-THRUM-THRUM. Arrows arced over Encrid and the Lunatic Platoon's heads.

The enemy's return fire, by contrast, was miserable. Barely a few arrows came their way.

Instead, a swift-footed unit specializing in reconnaissance pursued Encrid. "Kill them all! Don't let them get away alive!"

Their pursuers carried crossbows and light equipment.

Encrid took stock of their surroundings. "About-face. Hit them, then break off to the side," he ordered. Their pursuers numbered twenty at most. There was no need to avoid them, then.

A mere two squads or so.

They only had to clear them away. "Sounds good!"

Rem shouted excitedly, waving his axes. He was so excited, and swung them so wildly from side to side, that Henri scrambled out of the way. "They're armed with crossbows!"

Henri shouted after looking back. Would that be a problem?

It wouldn't.

Encrid himself had dodged incoming arrows time and again. Would his platoon members lack even that much skill?

The more he learned, the more skilled he became, the more he could see.

These men were strong. With Rem at the front and the Lunatic Platoon falling in behind him, they halted, turned, and charged back the way they had come.

Somehow, they had become the vanguard of their army. And at the head of that vanguard was Rem.