Chapter 143 - Through the Trap by Force (1)

Encrid was fairly accustomed to leading scout squads on small-scale operations. Added to that was the experience he had gained along the way.

Experience. There had been days like those: the day he crossed the tall-grass fields, the day he attacked the Gilfin Guild with his platoon members, and the night he fought wolf-men, a mage, and an ambush force. What mattered most? What should a commander prioritize?

'Awareness.'

It started with knowing. Knowing what he was doing, and what would come of it. He could not know everything, nor could he put everything into words. But he had a feel for it. Not so much instinct as a sense ingrained through experience. "Let's go farther in."

At Encrid's words, Pin changed direction, faithfully following her Captain's instructions. Beside him, Krais blinked at his Platoon Commander.

He desperately wanted to know what Encrid was thinking. His expression was the same as ever: so composed that it gave nothing away. Everyone quickened their pace. They could hardly let the enemy catch them from behind. "Can't we just fight? Kill enough of them, and I doubt they'll keep chasing us."

Encrid cut off Rem's grumbling.

"Don't go."

An outright order. That alone was still remarkable. And Rem actually obeyed without a fuss. How could anyone watch that without being astonished? "Ragna, keep your eyes on the back of the person ahead. Don't look anywhere else."

Ragna followed Encrid's instructions faithfully too. Audin and Jaxon needed no instructions at all. Audin merely said,

"Ho ho. You truly seem like a Captain now, brother." Had their attitudes changed because his skill had improved?

"Do I?"

Encrid's reply was as offhand as ever.

His manner, his actions, his tone. Nothing had changed. That was why they followed him. Even Krais found his heart moving before anything else. If he was like this—he who weighed every consideration and checked whether there was Krona involved—then the other platoon members went without saying.

Sometimes even Jaxon, who prided himself on keeping emotion off his face, failed to hide his expression. His dismay, regret, and sympathy were all plain to see.

Thinking of that made Krais smile again, though this was hardly a time for smiling. 'How can this feel so secure?'

Krais had weighed everything before proposing this operation, yet experiencing it was another matter. This platoon was even more impressive than he had thought. The enemy might have their Claws of the Hawk, or Fingernails, or whatever. But this side had the Lunatic Platoon.

Lunatics with outstanding mobility and enough fighting strength that anyone below knight-level could not even contemplate stopping them. That was Krais's assessment. Then why not use them as skirmishers? It would be a lie to say no adjutant had suggested it. The problem was:

"Would they even listen?"

Their fighting prowess was welcome, but these were no ordinary troublemakers. An excellent blade if one could wield it, but wielding it was the difficult part. What did they need? A focal point. One person who could control them.

Who else could that be?

Krais knew because he had watched from up close, right by their side. Something had happened recently that had driven his Platoon Commander's power firmly home. 'That sparring session.'

If Encrid, their Platoon Commander, had not appeared on the battlefield to cross swords with them and take a beating in the name of sparring, the Lunatic Platoon would probably have been finished then and there.

And this battle would have gone to hell too. That was how Krais saw it. Encrid had changed all of that with a single sparring session. He had even reversed the winds of battle.

'As long as they have someone to hold them together.'

An insane strike mission that made full use of their mobility? The Lunatic Platoon could pull it off. Krais lacked the eye to gauge their skill. Naturally enough, since he was hopeless with swords or weapons of any kind. But he could estimate what the Lunatic Platoon was capable of based on the facts and reality before him. Above all, he knew them well enough to judge.

And so he had reached a conclusion. This was his first ploy:

If the enemy fucked with them using arrows, they would fuck with the enemy using their feet. Krais had not meant to withhold anything, but he had only told Encrid part of the picture. Yet now Encrid had said they should go farther in.

Did his Platoon Commander understand his intention, then? The question struck him anew, and he was just about to ask when Encrid spoke first.

"Stir them up, strike, then pull out. Their eyes and ears will be occupied with our main army's movements. Keep that up, and we'll be able to meet the skirmishers they've been using." What did it mean to be accustomed to small-scale operations? What perspective had all that experience given Encrid?

'I can see the intent.'

Krais's intent. The enemy's intent. What had to be done between the two.

There were things their side—or, more precisely, the Lunatic Platoon—could do. All they had to do was do them. Would this ultimately affect the course of the war? The main army's battle too?

'I doubt it'll go that far.'

Then again, who knew? Krais might see things differently. This big-eyed, Krona-loving fellow, whose dream was to open a ladies' salon and play with women until he died of old age, seemed to think along rather different lines. "Is opening a salon still your dream?"

Encrid himself did not know why he was curious. He simply wanted to ask. He certainly did not mean to mock him. Who was he to laugh at anyone's dream?

"Yes. Why even ask? Of course it is."

And a fellow like this devised strategies like these? He really was impossible to figure out. In any case, Encrid's unit picked up speed. They crossed mountain after mountain, until even Pin was left marveling, Andrew and Mac were breathing hard, and Audin was practically half carrying Krais as he supported him.

Encrid found it fairly taxing too. Speaking as a ranger, Pin called this an exceptionally grueling forced march. After traversing ridge after ridge, they descended a gentle slope and moved onto level ground. They had come down directly into the enemy's rear.

A small elite force exploiting the terrain. Of course, the enemy skirmishers had used this tactic first. "Let's go."

Rem moved eagerly, seemingly tireless. Somehow, the punishing schedule only seemed to excite them all. Well, Encrid felt the same.

What followed a brutal march? Battle. The kind of battle that sent blood spurting and split flesh to expose bone. "Fuck them up."

Encrid charged as he spoke. The enemy's rear had plenty of gaps. They had increased the sentries to three, but that posed no problem. TWEEP!

A whistle sounded the instant they spotted Encrid's party. At the same moment, Jaxon darted sideways. SHING.

In a single step, he drew his sword and thrust.

THUNK.

That was one.

He pulled the sword free and drove it in again.

THUNK.

That was two. After killing two men, he held his sword upright before him to block once.

CLANG!

Watching Jaxon fight, one could not help thinking how easily he killed. Two enemy soldiers fell with holes in their throats. After killing five or six enemies, Encrid's unit withdrew again. Next, they feigned a descent along the ridge, spotted a crossbow unit, and pulled back once more. They caught several of the scout units pursuing them and turned the tables, wiping them out.

When night deepened, they hid far into the mountains, made camp, and rested. Sufficient rest was essential. "Nice having a stream nearby, but it's a shame we can't light a fire."

Pin took off her boots and shook out the dirt as she spoke.

It was spring, with the mild weather of what was called the season of magic. Their meals might be a little meager, but they would not be shivering from cold. Even under these circumstances, though:

"Look here. Knew this would happen, so I came prepared."

Rem, the barbarian who loathed the cold, had brought a warming hide. Ragna lay down wherever he pleased and slept. Jaxon nimbly climbed a tree and slept on a thick branch.

They would take turns standing sentry, with Krais exempt. "I'll take the watch."

While the others had been busy fighting, Andrew had done nothing but guard Krais. He volunteered for sentry duty with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Encrid let him. A burdened mind could keep a man from performing even as well as he normally did. This strike operation still held dangers they could not ignore. Better to ease that burden.

Mac raised no objection either. By the following day, Krais knew for certain that Encrid understood his intent.

"Now, right?"

They had crossed several mountain passes when Encrid spoke, checking the enemy's position once again. A trap. Krais spotted something the enemy had prepared. The terrain was ideal for an ambush, as well as for striking and pulling out. And there they found an enemy supply unit stationed.

Several supply wagons stood on a patch of level ground nestled among uneven knolls. Once they went in, blocking the way behind them would leave few avenues of escape. There were other grounds for calling it a trap too. They had deployed no crossbow unit. They had made it look like tempting prey.

Encrid had asked as he looked down at it, and Krais answered.

"Yes." Was mobility the Lunatic Platoon's only strength? No. Their true strength lay in the fighting power to land a devastating blow where the enemy least expected it.

This one battle could throw the enemy's thoughts into confusion. Krais could see their reaction: a prediction, a foreseeing.

'And then.'

The main army's movements would have significance too. "Let's go."

Encrid steeled himself too. Make all the predictions one liked, a battlefield was still a fireball that could fly anywhere. Fire could turn on you and burn you as well, couldn't it?

Then was this like jumping into a fire with straw on their backs?

'I don't think so.' There was something Encrid knew that the enemy did not. They were badly underestimating him and his men.

A soldier who had killed a Giant? That was probably the extent of their knowledge. That was nowhere near enough. Encrid took the lead. As he ran toward the supply wagons between the knolls, the soldiers making a clumsy show of sorting food and supplies reacted.

If one was going to lay a trap, this was how to make it count. Instead of hiding the soldiers, leave them in view, but arm them well. He saw the enemy soldiers. Among them was a welcome face.

"You."

The mustached man. Encrid remembered him belonging to the Gray Hounds.

Keeping his eyes on the man, he met the enemy. An enemy soldier thrust his spear. Encrid's hands moved.

SHING! SHING!

Two sword draws.

CLANG, THUNK!

Two different sounds.

He knocked the spear aside with the sword in his left hand and thrust the one in his right through the soldier's heart. 'Would the Frog freak out if he saw this?'

With that stray thought, he pulled his sword free, and the enemy's gambeson bloomed red. His blade had pierced the cloth armor made of packed padding and cotton. Blood and bits of thread clung to the steel.

There was no need to worry about what was on the blade. He would have to keep swinging it and killing. SHING.

Encrid sheathed the sword in his left hand at his hip again. He could draw it when he needed it, at the right moment.

With that, he stood holding a single sword in both hands. At that sight, that daring, that force of spirit, the enemy soldiers hesitated to approach. "Good! This is good!"

Beside him, Rem swung his axes with delight, and Audin brought out his club with a smile. Jaxon made no particular effort to advance. He merely swung his sword indifferently at enemies who charged him.

Two men drew the most attention: Encrid and Ragna. "Hmm."

Ragna came up beside Encrid and began swinging his sword without mercy. Despite the two extra swords at his waist, his movements were unimpeded, as though they were no encumbrance at all.

His sword traced a chilling line through the air.

WHOOSH.

The Heavy Sword Technique. A basic downward cut split an enemy soldier's skull with a thud. He then pulled his sword free and swung it horizontally, cutting the throat of another soldier who had taken a step back.

Ragna's feet never stopped moving. In a fight between spear and sword, which held the advantage in reach? The spear, of course. Ragna's footwork removed that advantage. Erased it.

With each nimble step, enemy lives vanished one by one. The faces of those who had laid the trap darkened. What was this? Men this skilled were operating as mere skirmishers?

No, wasn't something different from what they had expected? Was this right? There were over forty enemy soldiers, by a rough count. Nor were they inept fighters.

"Everyone, form up!"

The mustached man's shout rang out among them. Those who had underestimated Encrid and his party changed the way they moved. The mustached man himself stepped in front of Encrid. "You, you bastard."

Encrid nodded at the furious mustached man. Since the man had acknowledged him, there was no reason not to return the greeting.

"Right. Um, been well?"

His tone was so cheerful and familiar that the man's pupils shook all the more wildly. His eyes seethed with anger. He looked ready to lunge at any moment. Encrid braced himself, but the man let out a great breath and regained his composure.

Impressive, really. This was no trifling opponent. He did not let his feelings dictate his behavior. Instead of giving in to anger, he steadied his breathing.

Which meant:

'That'll make the test all the more worthwhile.'

Fighting with two swords. Would it prove worthwhile against a skilled opponent?

It was time to find out.