Chapter 142 - Through Coordination of Senses and Body

Having killed the sentries, Rem turned around. Encrid and Ragna had never even had a chance to step in. There was no reason to wait here for the enemy. "That was a letdown."

Rem twirled his axe in his hand as he spoke. Blood spattered from its blade onto the ground. Encrid turned at the sight.

"Ragna."

At the call, Ragna trotted after his Platoon Commander. Krais had stressed this repeatedly: never leave Ragna alone. Otherwise, he was sure to get lost and end up stranded. "You, barbarian. Learn when to hold back."

Ragna tossed the remark over his shoulder as he followed his Platoon Commander. To his mind, Encrid had been about to step in, only to lose even the chance. The barbarian didn't know when to get involved and when to step aside. How could Ragna not scold him? Naturally, Rem did not meekly agree.

"Huh? What was that? You want another mouth in your neck? Want me to slit your throat?"

"Enough."

Encrid stopped them, unruffled. They were only just getting started. They climbed back up the ridge. It should have been several times harder than the descent, but compared with all the grueling work he had done with the Isolation Technique, this was child's play. The same went for Rem and Ragna. None of the axe- and sword-wielding lunatics in the platoon would tire from so little. "Come on, Pin. Let's go."

Krais urged them on, as though to say this was no time for fighting. Pin nodded and set off. Their route took them over the ridges again. Pin led, with Encrid behind her and Ragna and Krais following him. Krais had plenty of stamina himself, so he never fell behind. Only Mac watched their progress with inward surprise. 'Fast.'

Their steps never faltered. It looked like a forced march that paid no heed to exhaustion, yet none of them seemed short of strength. Mac decided he need only worry about keeping up himself. "Take slow, long breaths."

This march—or was it a raid? A strike mission? Whatever it was called, it would not end quickly. They needed to conserve their stamina. At Mac's advice, Andrew nodded.

"I know." The brief reply meant he understood without needing every detail explained. It struck Mac anew how much had changed. When had he grown so much?

Once this campaign ended and they finally returned to the city, perhaps it would be time to go and reclaim his rightful place. "It'll be hard. But, well, I don't know. I'm looking forward to it."

Andrew spoke with his gaze fixed on his Platoon Commander's back. Mac gave a nod so slight that even Andrew would not notice. He, too, was looking forward to what lay ahead. Just how far would that Platoon Commander go? Would he truly grasp whatever it was he called his dream?

Mac had ears and could read between the lines. What the Platoon Commander wanted was something beyond his present reach. Andrew's dream, too, could fairly be called preposterous. Mac was here to help him, but whether Andrew could truly restore his family remained to be seen. "No giving up," Andrew murmured.

The young brat, the mere babe who had prattled on with such faith in his own skill, was gone. In his place was a man changed by watching his Platoon Commander's back.

"No giving up, indeed."

Mac's reply carried an unbidden note of pride. Encrid might not have intended it, but Andrew had changed, and that change had affected Mac as well. He would accept restoring the family as something they could, of course, achieve. Mac walked on, organizing what he would do upon their return. He had to breathe slowly and deeply, keeping unnecessary movement to a minimum. Beside him, Andrew walked while regulating his breathing in much the same way. While Mac and Andrew whispered, Encrid listened to his platoon members' breathing as he walked.

["Listen, and keep listening."]

Just as watching developed his ability to track moving objects, the same principle applied to hearing. It improved by increasing the speed at which he distinguished and identified sounds. The scatter of pebbles, footsteps on the ridge, and his platoon members' breathing.

'Shallow and long.'

That was Mac and Andrew. Both were preparing for what lay ahead. What about Rem? Rough. Without rhythm. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Difficult to make sense of. A perfect match for his personality.

Audin's breaths were so long that Encrid could barely tell where one ended and another began. Ragna's were ordinary. Jaxon's were entirely inaudible. And his own? Ragna's breathing was the closest match. Ordinary. He could breathe normally and walk with his accustomed stride without any trouble. "I've been wondering for a while. You haven't had ranger training somewhere, have you?"

Pin glanced back as she asked. Encrid answered as casually as ever.

"Picked it up watching a ranger I know." It wasn't a lie. He had learned by watching Pin.

But hadn't he had this sort of question and given this sort of answer before? It was the same as with Henri. The memory came back to him. Henri had asked where he had learned about the plains, and he had given a similar answer. He wondered whether Henri had made it back to the city safely. He had left with the unit escorting the captured enemy troops, so he should be fine. Even as his thoughts continued, Encrid never stopped what he was doing. Listening, watching, feeling. He walked while training his senses individually. With the ridge stretching straight ahead as their reference, the enemy lay to their right and the allied camp to their left. Their own camp had probably begun moving by now. Encrid need only do his assigned part. Continuing his training as he walked, he asked Rem a question.

"What was that charge earlier?"

"If you're asking how I did it, I reckon I'm going to want to smack you upside the head, Platoon Commander." Rem's response was oddly cool. There was a clear reprimand in his tone. Why?

Encrid soon understood.

'I asked without even thinking.' He had asked reflexively because asking brought answers. Perhaps it was because he had recently grown accustomed to giving orders. People were imperfect, and Encrid was no exception. He might have a knack for dealing with people, be accustomed to forging ahead alone, and have the spirit to crawl forward rather than turn back, but those were separate matters.

'I'm still lacking. I forgot to think it through.' He made mistakes. That was human. What set Encrid apart from others was how quickly he changed course. He admitted his mistake, recognized it, and corrected it. Without replying to Rem, Encrid began walking, sinking into his own world. Rem meant that he should have known without asking. The answer lay in what he had already learned. A sprint, a charge—what did they require? Strength. Muscular power. Thigh muscles. The Heart of the Superhuman. What would happen if he multiplied the strength of every muscle in his body and launched himself forward?

Of course, it would take practice and time spent training. Still, simply seeing the path brought him joy. Ah, so that was it. A delighted smile crossed Encrid's face. Seeing it, Rem gave a little smirk.

Why the hell ask when it's that obvious?

That was what his smile said. With Pin in the lead, they walked briskly on. As they went, she found herself amazed anew. Every one of them was a monster. Not one lagged behind. Was this easy? No. It most certainly wasn't. They hadn't even had ranger training. 'There's more to this one than his pretty face.'

The platoon member nicknamed Big-eyes was particularly impressive. She had heard he wasn't a fighter, yet he kept pace. Compared with the others, he was simply relying on his stamina to doggedly follow along, but even that was impressive enough. They continued over the ridges, then stopped upon sighting a patch of low scrub.

"I'd say we've reached their rear." What was the advantage of moving in a small group? Mobility ranked foremost. They were making full use of it. Another descent. This time, Audin and Jaxon came along.

"Oh, come on. Why?"

Rem pouted, but they had agreed to take turns. If things went wrong, they would have to break away with evasive maneuvers, so someone needed to cover their rear. Krais needed guarding, too. As Encrid walked downhill, he wondered whether Esther was watching from somewhere. He had certainly brought her along, but the moment they started up the mountain path, she had hopped out of his arms and vanished.

Was she off hunting somewhere? He didn't know. There was no particular need to concern himself. Encrid followed the slope down and came face-to-face with the enemy sentries. They were less lucky this time. TWEEEET! The moment an enemy soldier spotted the suspicious figures, he blew his whistle. It was a quick response. Then he leveled the spear in his hands and shouted.

"Who goes there? Stop!" Encrid approached without a word. One of the sentries swept a hand across his waist. He seemed to have some skill at throwing knives. The hand emerged holding a throwing knife in a reverse grip. 'See it with your eyes.'

React with your body. Move in response to your senses. The point was to improve reaction speed. That was the technique called the dodging sense. WHOOSH. The knife flew at him. Timing his movement to its approach, he lowered his stance and charged. This was different from dodging with Concentrate on a Single Point. He was using reaction speed, not concentration. Calmly, without fuss. That was the key, so that was what he did. Without activating the Heart of the Superhuman, he imitated the stride of the knight he had seen running toward battle. As he drove his feet into the ground and advanced, the enemy soldier thrust his spear. Its tip shot toward his chest. See, react, evade, and deflect. He fitted it all into a single breath, binding the actions into one continuous movement. Encrid stepped forward with his left foot and twisted away from the spearhead, pushing the shaft with his palm. The sharp slap against it threw the spearman off balance.

"Huh!"

The man's startled eyes drew nearer. Encrid hadn't slowed his run. Just as Rem had once shown him, Encrid rushed forward, knocked the spear shaft aside, and closed in against the enemy's chest. Naturally, the rest of the fight was anticlimactic. THUNK! Encrid drew his dagger, drove it into the back of the soldier's neck, and pulled it free. Blood spurted from the slanting wound. With his dagger withdrawn, Encrid felt reasonably satisfied.

'It works.' He could call this a technique he had learned without repeating today. The dodging sense was an art that improved his body's coordination. This training had taught him something else, too: it changed his body's basic reaction speed. What did that achieve? Even without Concentrate on a Single Point, he could move faster than his opponent. That meant striking first—the beginning of gaining control of the space in a fight. Of course the fight had been anticlimactic. Even if his opponent had been terrible, even if Encrid himself felt he had only just taken his first steps...

'It works.'

That alone was a joy. Jaxon was pleased by what Encrid had shown. Yes, that was how it was done. Basic, but clean.

Put unkindly, he had trained with mindless persistence. Put kindly, it was the reward for doggedly staying the course. That was the essence of this training. Steady persistence, again and again. Wasn't it a technique perfectly suited to Encrid? The more he repeated this training, coordinating his body with his senses, the faster his reactions would become. 'Did he say his dream was to become a knight?'

Just because a dream was absurd didn't mean one couldn't pursue it. The same applied to Jaxon. If he had spoken of what he had wanted as a child, of the goal he had kept hidden inside, everyone would have laughed. His thoughts continued, but his hands performed their task as faithfully as ever. At some point, he had slipped behind an enemy soldier and drawn a dagger across the man's throat. SPURT. There was no need to send blood spraying like a fountain, as Encrid had.

"Ghk!"

The soldier whose throat he had slit kept his spear in his left hand and clutched his neck with his right. Pressing a hand over the wound? Pointless. He had already severed a major blood vessel in the neck. Through countless experiences, Jaxon had seen people die when that vessel was cut. Soon, blood streamed between the fingers clutching the man's throat. Jaxon gave the back of his knee a light kick and sent him to the ground. The soldier dropped his spear and slowly died like a fish out of water. He would have no strength left to shout or blow his whistle. "Let's go."

They had disposed of the two sentries in moments. The whistle had begun to stir movement within the enemy force. It was time to pull out again. "Let's."

Encrid answered with visible satisfaction and turned. Time to move through the mountains again. They moved once more, walking briskly. Their withdrawal, too, was swift as ghosts. All the Aspen troops responding to the whistle saw were their backs climbing the mountain. "After them!"

Aspen's enraged rear commander shouted, and enemy soldiers set off after Encrid's party. But how could they catch a small elite group that had vanished over the ridge? How were they to deal with an enemy faster on foot, one that would counterattack if pursued by a similarly small force? To Krais, this outcome was only natural. Why wouldn't it be? If the enemy could strike with a small elite force, then of course their side could do the same. Though it would only really work with people of the Lunatic Platoon's caliber. "At a quick march."

Encrid's voice followed. Krais gazed steadily at his Platoon Commander. Had he read all of Krais's intentions? He found himself wondering anew.