Chapter 134 - The Ripened Heart (1)

Under Battalion Commander Marcus's direction, the infantry built a new camp a little farther forward than before. Encrid thought the location was an odd choice, but kept that to himself. Establishing camps and choosing positions were the commander's responsibility, weren't they? Besides, Marcus hardly seemed the sort to do a slipshod job. Calling Encrid the battle's greatest contributor was proof enough of that. MEOW. Esther complained about the move. MEOW. MEOW. She wouldn't stop grumbling. 'Come to think of it, isn't she a little strange too?' She was a spiritual beast, but there was something oddly peculiar about her. Almost human. At some point, the sounds she made had begun to register distinctly in his ears. It was as though he could hear human words whenever she spoke. Right now, she seemed to be saying,

"What a bother." He gathered the grumbling panther into his arms. She had been tiny when he'd first seen her on the battlefield. When he'd seen her again—when he'd stabbed Mitch Hurrier and she'd saved him from the mustached swordsman—he'd thought she had grown a little. She hadn't grown since. Just small enough to hold in his arms. That was where she'd stopped. Yet this little panther had dragged him along by the scruff of his neck, running incredibly fast. Where had that strength come from? "Come to think of it, you're a panther with monstrous strength too."

Encrid stroked her head as he spoke. HISS! Apparently, she didn't find that much of a compliment. Esther bit his finger. She didn't draw blood, only left a mark. If she'd meant it... 'My finger would have come clean off.' A whim to inspect Esther's sharp fangs made him peer closely at her muzzle, earning him a glare. It was things like this that kept making him think she was human. "Let's go, sir."

Krais called from outside. Establishing a new position was complicated, difficult work. They had to rebuild the camp and check supply routes. Sentry sectors had to be reassigned and scouting routes redrawn. The changes were endless. Yet they were going ahead with the move anyway. "Say, Platoon Commander. I feel like I did the most fighting, so is it just me, or are you getting all the cheers?" No, it wasn't just him. Somehow, that was how things had turned out. Hurrah for the Lunatic Platoon. Hurrah for Encrid. Recalling that moment—noon just two days ago—sent a pleasant tickle through his chest. It wasn't a bad memory. "Hmm."

When Encrid held his tongue, Audin smiled beside him.

"Ho ho. My mad brother, that's because all you did was kill one Giant."

"One Giant?"

"Brother, I struck down dozens of enemy soldiers." He hadn't merely struck them. He'd beaten them to death, with astonishing vigor. Encrid had seen that brutal club work himself. Terror for the enemy, reassurance for their allies. That was the impression it gave. Though some allies who had watched from up close said Audin had filled them with a peculiar dread too. Encrid had heard it directly from Vengeance. ["You know that fellow in your platoon? The really religious one. Why does he smile while he's killing people? Is he a bit wrong up here?"]

Vengeance had tapped his own head as he spoke. Encrid had denied it and offered a suitable excuse on Audin's behalf. He was so devout that making friends for his god brought him tremendous joy. ["That sounds even stranger."]

Vengeance had muttered that, but it was the best Encrid could do. Surely it was a hundred times better than calling him a murder-loving religious lunatic. "Ten mercenaries intoxicated with the Murderous Blade. Leaving them alone would have been fatal. Yes, it would."

When Ragna joined in, the atmosphere began to turn murderous. Then Jaxon, who had been quietly watching the three from one side, added a remark that struck their ears.

"Idiots." Three pairs of eyes turned toward him. Murderous tension passed between them, a dizzying pressure bearing down on their surroundings. If any one of them made the first move, all hell would break loose. In other words, the Lunatic Platoon was back to normal. In Encrid's absence, they had tested one another and kept within certain bounds. Now their mouths ran unchecked. Krais took it in stride. He felt no such dizzying pressure. Of course, it would have been a problem if Encrid hadn't been there. But he was right here with them, wasn't he? Watching from beside them, Andrew hesitated.

'Should I step in?'

He was a squad leader, wasn't he? Should he settle things before the platoon commander had to intervene? Andrew did nothing beyond considering it. Memories of the beatings he'd earned by stepping in before kept his feet planted. Just then, Mac caught his sleeve and shook his head, as though he'd read Andrew's mind. Encrid gazed up at the sky for a moment. The air beneath it had warmed. Blue, cloudless skies. It was spring. What a lovely day. And so... "Enough."

He decided it was a fine day to break up a fight. There was no need to squeeze himself between them as he once had. Instead, he swung his swords. SHING. One with his right hand. Then... SHIIING! One with his left. The sword drawn with his right hand descended in a cut to the crown. The sword in his left swept wide in a mid-level horizontal cut. He slid his left foot forward, bringing his right after it. This was the sword draw he had spent days pondering, a variation on a move from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. Originally, the double draw used the first draw as a feint. By wielding two swords, he had given both slashes a purpose. His right-hand sword targeted Rem. His left slashed at Jaxon. CLANG! Their reactions were starkly different. Rem drew an axe to block, while Jaxon had already stepped back out of reach. One sword stopped against the block. The other sliced fruitlessly through empty air. Encrid drew the latter blade back under control. "What are you doing?" Jaxon asked.

"Want to have a go? Sounds fun."

Rem snorted, his voice thoroughly delighted. The sudden twist and movement of his body earned Encrid a sharp smack on the chest from Esther, who was tucked inside his clothes.

"Let's do it when we get there," he said, swords still in hand. Fighting like this would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? His chest was bulging with Esther tucked inside. Rem lowered his axe and nodded his agreement. Another peaceful day, one might say. Encrid sheathed his swords, soothed Esther again, and walked on. 'At least there's that.'

Had they been told to carry baggage too, the irritation would have made them even fiercer. Every platoon member, Encrid included, carried a much lighter load than the other soldiers.

["They're the heroes of this battle. Even giving them a wagon wouldn't be enough."]

Battalion Commander Marcus was generous. He had told them to walk unburdened, carrying only their own arms and armor. The other units carried tent supplies on top of their personal baggage. Naturally, that slowed their pace, but Marcus acted as though there was no hurry. The commotion Encrid and his men had caused drew the surrounding soldiers' eyes, but they soon looked away again. This was hardly the first time those men had squabbled. As he walked, Encrid sketched out a rough idea of what would happen next. Would they strike the enemy's rear from here? When he mentioned the thought to Krais, Big-eyes shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Why?"

With victory in their grasp, wouldn't striking the enemy's rear be to their advantage? "Because occupying the enemy's position and holding it can make the battlefield much more favorable for us." Encrid tilted his head. Why wouldn't they fight? How was that an advantage? If they were behind the enemy, surely they ought to strike. Under Encrid's steady gaze, Krais began to explain in an offhand tone. "If we attack their rear now, we'll reveal both our position and the full extent of our strength. They'll respond accordingly. At the very least, they'll send enough to deal with a force this size. Their preparations—the Giant, the Fairy assassins, the mercenaries—all failed. What do you think they have left? Especially with their Independent Company, the Gray Hounds, half destroyed." What did they have left? It wasn't a difficult question. Saying the answer aloud simply felt strange. But it wasn't a word to shun or avoid.

"Knights." "Squire-level fighters at the very least. Either that, or they'll come in greater numbers. Though I'd say they're much more likely to send a small elite force."

Krais's eyes gleamed as he spoke. Without waiting for Encrid's reply, he went on. "We've taken the advantage of terrain that's difficult to approach. Their main army's morale must have suffered after their small force of special troops was defeated, so they'll try to repay us in kind. Of course, we're not holding off on attacking their rear because we're afraid of knights or something comparable coming. As I said, it's a question of advantage. Look at the battlefield as a whole—from a commander's perspective—and it's a contest of gains and losses. What if you lose on one front but gain much more on another? You can lose a battle and still win the war. From that perspective, the answer is to hold here, not attack their rear. We don't need to expend our troops. We just let them know we're behind them. What will they think then? I can't say for sure, but their heads will be spinning. While they're wrestling with that, our main army advances. So we don't even need to fight. Besides, Aspen has to face our main army. They won't have troops to spare for us. That's why we don't need to fight. It's also why we're establishing our camp in such an odd spot. There's no need to move closer just to strike their rear. If the enemy tries something? We run. Fall back, then occupy the same place again a day or two later. Setting up camp here now lays the groundwork for that." Encrid made a virtue of honesty. He had always treated his squad members that way.

"Short and simple."

He had understood about half. The rest hadn't quite sunk in. The gleam still in his eyes, Krais paused for a few breaths. Yes, he'd been rattling on without stopping to breathe. Once he'd caught his breath, he spoke again. He didn't need to agonize over his choice of words. "Someone's behind you with a hand raised to smack the back of your head, Captain. Someone else is holding both your arms in front. How does that feel?"

"Like shit."

"Exactly. That's the position they're in." What if he shook off the grip on his wrists and defended his back? If the people in front and behind attacked at once, he could quickly block both. But if they simply stayed put, their mere presence would keep him uneasy. Sometimes—very rarely—Krais didn't seem like an ordinary soldier with big eyes and modest ambitions. How did a man whose dream was to open a ladies' salon have such a sharp mind? Was he secretly some strategist's son? Or a hidden disciple? Seeing him predict the enemy commander's thoughts from events unfolding before him, then anticipate their own commander's decisions and the main army's movements, naturally brought such thoughts to mind. "Well, that's just my prediction. A guess. If the enemy decides, 'Ah, fuck it. I'm killing those bastards first,' then they'll come for us, knights or whatever else." That wasn't going to happen. Whatever his mouth said, Krais's eyes said the opposite. An odd fellow. Encrid nodded. So there would be no fighting. Knowing that was enough. It wasn't as though staying here would be dull. Building the new camp was the other units' job. While they pitched tents, lit fires, and set pots over them, Encrid's Lunatic Platoon settled off to one side. No sooner had they done so than Encrid called out.

"Rem." It probably didn't matter who went first. Nevertheless, by tacit agreement, Rem came first. Otherwise, who knew what that plain mad barbarian would do? Ragna turned to look from his seat on a pleasantly warmed rock. Jaxon, Audin, Andrew, and Mac all looked at Encrid too. "Let's begin."

At Encrid's words, Rem grinned, showing the tips of his canines. That's right. That's my platoon commander. That was what his smile said. Rem was still satisfied. And with that came another feeling. He hoped this man wouldn't die here. "I'll warn you now. You could die."

"As many times as it takes." Death was no obstacle to Encrid. His was a life that repeated today. A dream torn apart, trampled, faded, and lost lay before his eyes. His eyes shone, still passionate and full of longing. Facing him, Rem's eyes held a similar light. When had he ever seen a human like this? Never. This human, this man of the continent, was an absolute mad bastard. Rem cackled. "All right. Let's do it. Let's see you die."

Rem nodded as he spoke. It was time to learn something new: what Rem had demonstrated against the Giant. A thrilling elation coursed through Encrid, yet he grew calmer. Excitement and composure arose together in that strange state. It was a sign that the heart of the beast had truly ripened.