Chapter 125 - Today's Victory Does Not Guarantee Tomorrow's (1)

"Shoot! Kill them!" the commander of Aspen's lightly armored unit shouted. Three men running at the front aimed their loaded crossbows and fired.

THRUM-THRUM-THRUM!

Three crossbow shots. Dodging bolts fired from this distance was said to be a feat among feats—something only a master could even attempt.

THUD, THUD-THUD.

Rem evaded the shots simply by rolling forward just as the bolts came flying.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK.

The bolts struck where he had been an instant after he rolled. It looked like a close call, but with Rem doing it, it hardly seemed dangerous. He barely lost any speed, rolling with all his forward momentum, pushing himself upright with an axe, and continuing his run.

What kind of bodily control made that possible? Even Encrid, watching from behind, could hardly help marveling.

"Just watch, please."

Encrid would have liked to lend his blade if Ragna hadn't kept restraining him from beside him. But there was no opportunity. Rem and the others finished everything themselves.

Before the three crossbowmen could reload, Rem was almost within arm's reach. They reflexively drew their shortswords. Their equipment was different from that of spearmen.

Would even three or four spearmen forming up together give Rem pause? Not likely. And these were three shortswords? They didn't stand a chance. The scene unfolded exactly as Encrid expected.

SWISH-CHOP! THUNK! CRACK!

An axe sliced through the air, sending one soldier's head flying. Rem moved like a storm, his axes tracing streaks of light around him. Everyone caught in those paths died.

The axe strokes were so swift and savage that blood and brains only spilled to the ground after the axe had already left the skull it split. One soldier with a cleaved head thrust his shortsword feebly into empty air. Dead before his body could finish reacting, he pitched forward. Blood poured over the ground.

Leaving the fallen behind, Rem went on a rampage. Meanwhile, Jaxon had vanished from sight and slipped behind the enemy commander. As the commander gaped at Rem in shock, Jaxon drew a dagger across his throat from behind.

SLICE.

Blood spurted from the cut in the commander's neck. More precisely, it sprayed from his severed carotid artery.

Jaxon moved again, quietly, without a sound. His priorities were clear: the crossbowmen aiming at Encrid first. He acted accordingly, slipping behind them to slit their throats or drive his dagger into their lungs.

"Ghk!"

A soldier holding a crossbow turned his head back. There he found indifferent brown eyes tinged with red. Killing people was nothing more than manual labor. It was the height of numb indifference. The soldier died looking into those horrific eyes.

Audin only batted away enemies who charged him. Literally, he merely swung his palms left and right to knock them aside, and that was enough.

SMACK! CRACK!

A single slap sent soldiers flying to either side. Yellow teeth flew out of the mouth of a man who had charged screaming with a shortsword, scattering through the air. This was no contest. What could they do when one slap lifted them off their feet and sent them flying?

Mac moved as well. He was a soldier who could pull his weight. He and Andrew fought back-to-back, while Henri took up position between them and loosed arrow after arrow from his shortbow.

Ragna went without saying. One step forward. He walked on, advancing. Only death awaited those caught by his swinging sword.

One scout came at him with a shortsword in each hand, but even he took only two sword swings to finish.

CLANG.

Ragna blocked the first strike, and his sword rebounded, gliding through the air like a swallow before striking the soldier's neck with a sharp chop and passing through. A second mouth ripped open in the man's throat.

After a few more swings, Ragna shook his head and flicked the blood from his sword. He seemed thoroughly displeased with the weapon. The fact that he still hadn't found himself a proper sword made it clear he wasn't normal.

Encrid had nothing to do. There was no need for him to intervene, and the fight was over in an instant. In the time Mac, Andrew, and Henri killed two men, the rest were slaughtered.

"Let's pull out."

Encrid spoke rather than marveling. What good would it do to get caught between the two charging armies? They needed to circle aside, fall back, and assess the situation first.

As they moved aside, enemy infantry with arrows decorating their shields met the allied infantry. Like lovers reunited after a long separation, making love and exchanging affection, the two armies came together. Only instead of love, tongues, and affection, they gouged at each other's eyes with spears.

THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!

Spearheads tore through bodies on both sides. Allies died, and enemies died, but the battle had already tipped in their favor.

It was the first large-scale engagement. Between the Border Guard's surprise attack and an excited Rem running wild for a bit, it ended in a resounding victory.

Where had the victory begun? With the Lunatic Platoon, of course. From the Platoon Commander who ran his mouth to Andrew, who actually swung his sword.

"Raaagh! Get lost!"

"We won!"

"Lunatics!"

Really, there was no need to call them crazy quite so openly.

The infantry—the allied soldiers—fixed their eyes in one direction. On the men splashed with blood: Rem and the Independent Platoon. All of them bore some trace of combat except Encrid, who stood unscathed in their midst. He wasn't even breathing hard.

He hadn't actually swung his sword once. He hadn't even been allowed to throw a dagger. Recover first. Every member of his platoon had made that intention clear.

"It's the Lunatic Platoon!"

"Encrid! Enkie! You're handsome!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

The men, drunk on victory, showered Encrid and his companions with cheers. Whoever had done the fighting, this Independent Platoon was Encrid's. That was why some were calling his name.

Should he do something? Raise a hand, perhaps? But he hadn't swung his sword once. Apart from the opening engagement, they had stayed back, leaving the actual fighting to the infantry, the pride of the battlefield. Why give him such a welcome?

"An Independent Platoon with fewer than ten men, and we've made this much of an impression? I'd say we've done our job."

Krais slipped out from wherever he had been hiding and joined them as he spoke.

"True enough. But why doesn't anyone seem to be calling for me?"

That would be his past deeds catching up with him. Encrid kept the thought to himself. There was no need to spoil Rem's mood now. Instead, he clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good work."

Rem chuckled. Ragna put away his chipped sword.

"I'll need to find a sword."

That was his assessment. His attitude made it clear that the cheers around him were none of his concern.

The infantry, still savoring their brief cheers and the joy of victory, had just been pulled back. The allied commander did not press the pursuit. Morale was now higher on their side. Their positions had completely reversed. Which army would find the battlefield more uncomfortable starting tomorrow?

Watching events unfold, Krais considered the variables.

'What might they have?'

Surviving and picking up a little something along the way required all sorts of calculations. Krais made them. It wasn't particularly difficult, after all.

The enemy's intentions.

'They pulled that trick with a spell in the previous battle.'

Might they try something similar?

"Let's rest," Encrid said once they were back at their tent. It truly was time to rest.

"You're all exempt from guard duty and every other duty."

A messenger came to deliver the news. Encrid wondered whether the Fairy Company Commander might visit again, but she didn't.

Would today's victory become tomorrow's? No one knew. Taking the advantage did not guarantee a win. So they would be hard at work in a strategy meeting about now, planning how to keep winning.

Encrid's guess was correct. Marcus was not drunk on victory.

* * *

"Seeing how they just pulled back, those bastards must have something up their sleeves. You said they used some spell to pull a trick before? Any sign of that?"

"None, sir."

They stood in a circle around a broad table. An adjutant had just answered Marcus.

Spells? They couldn't fall for the same trick twice. Their side had hired a shaman as well. She was an old woman from their homeland. While she had no talent for actually casting spells, she claimed she could sense it if the enemy tried something. That was enough.

Marcus had no interest in the world of spells. All he needed was for the following assurance to be true.

"If Aspen brings in asymmetric forces, a contingent of the Scarlet Cloak Knight Order will come to our aid immediately."

If the enemy deployed knights or mages, their own side was prepared as well.

Marcus nodded. He was the sort of commander who felt the battlefield's atmosphere on his skin. He used his head, but tended to follow the mood. Even so...

'I didn't want to go in.'

The enemy had withdrawn as though inviting pursuit. But the thought of following sent a chill up the back of his neck, as if a banshee had breathed on him from behind. When a monster whose wail froze human hearts came to mind, that certainly counted as a bad feeling. Marcus had ended the battle there.

"The Border Guard's losses?"

"Two dead."

However exceptional a special-grade soldier might be, sword cuts and arrows could still kill them. Even so, losing only two was a good result. The Border Guard had killed dozens of enemy soldiers, inflicting particularly devastating losses on the longbow unit.

Under normal circumstances, the battle was won. The enemy now had only two desperate options left: retreat, or deploy asymmetric forces. Thus, all Marcus needed to do was keep sending out scouts and watch for signs of enemy activity.

There was no fighting the next day. Marcus sent out twice as many scouts as usual, but learned nothing.

Turtle was supposed to be the nickname of Naurilia's heavy infantry, yet it was the enemy holding out like a turtle tucked inside its shell. They revealed nothing of what lay within, and even encounters between scouts were rare. They seemed determined to pull back and stay within their fortified camp.

Was it an invitation to come in? The lingering chill made Marcus reluctant to give the word.

"If we strike now, we'll win outright. Even if they've prepared something in their camp, can't we just hammer them with arrows first?"

"We don't even need arrows. Surround them, set a few tents on fire, and send spearmen in to probe their defenses."

"What about sending the Border Guard around behind them to cut off their retreat?"

His adjutants offered their opinions, but...

'Something doesn't sit right.'

"We wait."

Marcus decided to maintain their current position. It was an instinctive judgment. The instincts that had saved him on countless battlefields told him the enemy still had something in reserve.

* * *

Aspen's commander had seen the enemy's strength clearly. Naurilia's methods hadn't changed.

'Let the Border Guard tear through us.'

That bastard Marcus's tactics were obvious, too. Concentrate the strength at his disposal and turn the battlefield around in a single blow. It had worked. The blow had come from an unexpected quarter and reversed the momentum.

So? What of it? He had seen everything the enemy had prepared. Now, what would they use to stop what he sent at them?

Imbeciles who spent their lives hiding behind skirts. The commander inwardly cursed Naurilia and anticipated victory. It was time for his battle to begin.

He could start by killing that insolent bastard from before. The one they called the Lunatic or whatever. The one who had run his mouth with that novel insult, Ghoul-head. The one carrying axes.

The breed known as knights had already proved that a handful of fighters could change the course of a battle. But did those few have to be knights? Aspen's commander had seized upon that idea and prepared a dagger.

No, it would not remain a mere dagger. His dagger would become a mace that smashed the entire battlefield apart.

* * *

One day was enough for Encrid's injuries to heal completely. A day of undisturbed rest, with no duties and good food to fill his belly.

He had a brief dream during the night, but soon forgot it. A ghost from his past had appeared: the mercenary who taught him that skill and character did not go hand in hand. It was not a pleasant memory. There was no need to dwell on it.

In any case, Audin's divine power combined with medicine made by a Fairy. He wondered whether he would ever enjoy such luxury again.

"It seems the medicine I sent did the trick."

The Fairy Company Commander had come to see him early that morning. Encrid was in the middle of training, drenched in sweat.

The Isolation Technique. Specifically, Audin said it was now time to condition his joints. Sometimes Encrid thought the man made him do every bizarre thing imaginable. But in the end, it always helped, tempering his body and making it stronger. Hadn't his own body already proved that?

Facing down with his toes and palms on the ground, he pushed his body up, straightening and bending his wrists. He had thought it easy at first, but after a few repetitions, it was quite an ordeal. It felt as though a heavy weight bore down on his wrists.

One pair of eyes belonged to the Fairy watching with her arms folded. Another belonged to the panther, who had quickly regained her liveliness, apparently having recovered her strength. Behind her, a hulking sadistic pervert watched with satisfaction. Right in front of the tent, a crazy barbarian squatted and watched.

There were also those sinister reddish-brown eyes, and Big-eyes, who kept scrawling something in the dirt and erasing it, lost in thoughts no one could guess. Finally, the lazy genius swordsman who got lost at the drop of a hat waited beside him with a sword in hand.

"Didn't you have some business here?"

Finishing his morning conditioning, Encrid asked the Company Commander. She looked straight at him with her green eyes and answered.

"No."

Then why was she still there instead of leaving? He tried saying it with his eyes, but it had absolutely no effect.

"Shall we begin?" Ragna asked from beside him. They had settled the order with a wager, and he had won.

And so Encrid decided to spar. He was fit to fight now. Moving no longer put much strain on his body.

He turned his gaze to Ragna, who looked like an impatient child. Why was he so eager to spar? Encrid didn't know. It didn't matter. Had he ever understood these men when dealing with them?

Encrid took up his sword. Just one for now, its grip held in both hands. The point angled toward the sky. Another sword hung at his waist. Everyone had noticed it, yet none said a word.

Encrid wanted to live up to their expectations. The desire surged within him.