Chapter 147 - If You Are Certain of Your Path

"Where the hell are they?"

The Principality of Aspen's detached force, which included three proto knights, could find no trace of the enemy. Wasn't the army guarding the rear supposed to be around here? Or at least some sign of it?

They were supposed to be heading for Cross Guard. So where were they? There weren't even any scouts watching their movements.

Normally, before a proper battle, the scouts would meet, trade insults, loose a few arrows when they had the chance, and let things develop into a clash. But they had to find the enemy to fight them. They had diverted part of their fighting strength for that very purpose.

Three whole proto knights. They had pulled members away from the knight order. Even with a Giant and several special combat assets left with their allies, this was a substantial chunk of the main army's strength.

They needed to fight. They needed to, but...

CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

Gravel scattered under the commander's feet. Nothing. All they'd seen on the way were a few Ghouls emerging from the riverbank. And traces of camps abandoned some three days earlier.

"What about Hawk's Claw?"

"We've lost contact."

And now the skirmishers who were supposed to watch this area and join them had disappeared too?

"Dead, you think?"

The commander, himself a proto knight, asked. His adjutant gauged his mood before answering.

"Yes. It appears so."

What did he mean, it appeared so? They were all fucking dead.

The commander considered attacking the rear anyway. What would happen then? Would Naurilia buck like a horse with its tail on fire? He was beginning to want to see their reaction.

Just as he made up his mind...

"A signal fire has been lit!"

A sharp-eyed messenger came running with the news. They had just crossed the mountain. The commander looked back toward the main army.

When did they light signal fires? When the main army was in danger. What else could this one mean?

"We're going back."

The commander didn't hesitate. That proved a stroke of genius. Returning straight to the main army saved it from annihilation.

* * *

After rejoining Marcus's infantry, Encrid rarely spoke. Soldiers stole glances at the Lunatic Platoon, but few readily approached them.

"You're back?"

Vengeance was about the only one who came over and tossed him a word.

Encrid gave a vague nod and walked on. He thought as he walked, turning things over and over, sinking deep within himself as he looked back on the fight.

'I couldn't use the dodging sense.'

Drawing on the Heart of the Superhuman had taken considerable preparation, too. He had fought by piecing together everything he had.

'Plant my left hand in his mind, then cut with my right.'

The foundation had been Preview and the Heart of the Superhuman. The fight itself had thrilled him. Part of his method for using two swords had worked.

So what came next?

Review. He went back over the fight. Did winning mean there was nothing to learn? No. There was plenty. There was always something to learn.

CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

The troops crossed the gravel and continued toward the main army's rear. The march went on. Only after three full days of eating, walking, and sleeping did they reach their old encampment.

Not that Encrid cared whether the encampment appeared or not. He was too busy Reviewing, again and again. He neither saw nor heard what was happening around him.

'Fundamentals.'

What had the mustached man's swordsmanship been like? Faithful to the fundamentals. Sharp and delicate. Heavy and nimble. It changed precisely as much as needed, precisely when needed.

That was the difference in their fundamentals.

Was winning or losing the issue? Of course that mattered too. Losing would have meant death. Deliberately losing a winnable fight would be pointless.

Always do his best. Make even half a step a firm one. For a today better than tomorrow.

Victory did not erase his yearning or thirst. Had he thought mastering the fundamentals once meant he was done?

'Was I getting arrogant?'

So life could bring even this. It would have been unimaginable in the days when all he could do was struggle desperately.

Encrid reflected on his mistake. Honing the basics should have been a given. Didn't his practice of the Isolation Technique prove that? Repetition every day. The same movements, over and over.

Whether Balaf-style martial arts, the Heavy Sword Technique, or the Flowing Sword Technique. Whatever aspect of The Oniak Sword Technique it was, the fundamentals came first. Then the fundamentals again.

Once that thought struck, he couldn't hold back. His hands itched, his heart pounded, and his skin twitched. Even though they were still marching.

SHING.

He drew his sword. Then came that straight, true vertical stroke, honed until it resembled a master's work. A cut to the crown, like the mustached man's.

WHOOSH.

He had suddenly started swinging a sword in the middle of the march. Someone might have objected, except this was Encrid.

"Where? What is it? An ambush? Oh, it's Platoon Commander Encrid?"

"He's a little... you know, too, isn't he?"

One soldier circled a finger beside his ear.

"The Lunatic Platoon Commander?"

"Yeah. Keep moving."

Everyone took it in stride. It wasn't as though this was the first time. Above all, everyone knew what the Lunatic Platoon had done in the last battle. They were practically heroes now.

Some of the looks directed their way held admiration and respect.

'He's that obsessed with training.'

Was that why he fought so well? Thoughts like that lingered in the soldiers' minds.

The nearby platoon commanders and other officers left them alone too. Battalion Commander Marcus had issued specific orders, after all. Anyone could see they were receiving special treatment. Exemption from all duties, even meal duty.

For all those reasons, everyone looked the other way. The Lunatic Platoon's members paid no particular attention to the stares either.

Watching his platoon commander suddenly swing his sword, Ragna thought of what he had meant to say when they returned. There would be no point now.

"Make the fundamentals part of your body again."

He had demonstrated Scission, but had yet to even begin teaching it. There were things Encrid needed to build up first, things Ragna needed to tell him again. Would they become a wall of despair, or a new signpost? He needed to explain and demonstrate.

There was so much to say. Things people often forgot once they improved. He had meant to remind Encrid of them.

Ragna had given it serious thought. What did his platoon commander need now? After all that consideration, he had finally worked out what to say, but...

CRUNCH.

They were nearing the end of the gravel. Ragna stopped walking.

"Yes. That's right," he murmured.

His platoon commander needed no lecture. He reflected on his own and made up for what he lacked. That was the kind of man he had always been.

As Ragna stood there murmuring, a thrill ran through his entire body.

Things Ragna had quickly forgotten, passed over, never even needed to revisit. His platoon commander built them up one by one, making every one a foundation stone.

Once again, Ragna felt the flame of motivation rise unbidden in his chest. Absurd as it seemed, watching his platoon commander made him want to swing his sword.

"Have you lost it? What's right?"

It was Rem, walking beside him. The mad barbarian tilted his head.

"Ho ho. Were you offering a private prayer? Did the Lord answer?"

The hulking religious nut spoke from his other side.

Ragna didn't want to answer. He didn't want to spoil this good mood. But Rem was persistent, and Audin was diligent.

"Hey, what's right? Got a ghost in your head? Hey, big guy. Shouldn't you exorcise him or something? Huh? Got a ghost-punching fist?"

"Ho ho, brother, possession is not so easily accomplished. It is especially rare in a unit as disciplined as this. I believe he was offering a prayer. So, what did the Lord say?"

He wished they'd just piss off. Ragna was growing desperate. It didn't take long for that desperation to turn into killing intent.

'Should I cut them all down?'

Rem and Audin reacted simultaneously to the sudden surge of killing intent.

"Hey, planning to leave your head here? Need a hand?"

"Brother, are you sulking because the Lord did not answer? In that case, working up a sweat would do you good."

When killing intent rose, they fought. It was practically an iron rule in the Lunatic Platoon. Of course, Encrid could stop them, but he was currently lost in his own world.

SHING.

Ragna drew and swung. Rem reacted too.

CLANG!

Axe met sword. Sparks flew, along with the killing intent crackling between Ragna and Rem. Audin couldn't remain still on the other side either. Ragna saw to that.

Using the rebound from striking Rem's axe, he slashed straight at Audin's chest. Audin retreated, slapping the flat of the sword aside with his palm to divert it.

A feat of skill, and a highly advanced one at that. What was truly remarkable was how casually Rem, Ragna, and Audin performed such feats.

Soon all three were fighting.

Watching from one side, Jaxon thought all three were utter morons. His gaze naturally left them and settled on his platoon commander.

He was a little dissatisfied. Only a very little.

Encrid seemed to understand how to use the dodging sense. Was improving his body's coordination that difficult? It wasn't easy. Certainly not.

But wasn't this a little like playing favorites? He had learned the Heart of the Superhuman so quickly. Why was the dodging sense taking so long? Was he paying it less attention? Putting less effort into Jaxon's technique alone?

"Annoying."

Jaxon muttered, but no one answered. The three were busy fighting. Andrew and Mac had moved away to avoid getting caught up in it. Pin was busy questioning whether this platoon was functioning properly at all.

Only Krais, accustomed to it all, went about his work. He received orders through the Fairy Company Commander in his platoon commander's place.

"Why you?"

To the company commander's needless complaint, he replied,

"If you disturb him when he's like that, neither he nor the platoon likes it. Then things get chaotic."

"More than this?"

Encrid was walking along, swinging his sword by himself. The other three were busy fighting. And Jaxon's face was stiffly expressionless. It was only a hunch, but disturbing him now probably wouldn't earn a pleasant response.

Well, it was certainly chaotic enough already.

"Yes. More than this."

Krais spoke with conviction. Stopping them would only make things worse. He knew that from experience.

"I see. The main army is returning."

The company commander made no silly jokes or unnecessary remarks, sticking to the point. On a mischievous impulse, Krais asked,

"You want our platoon commander, don't you?"

The company commander looked at him. The Fairy's green eyes were like jewels completing an inhuman beauty. And like jewels, they were inorganic. Reading emotion in them was beyond Krais.

Still, there was something he could sense.

"I do."

That did not mean wanting him as a man.

The company commander turned and left. For some reason, Krais had goose bumps. He rubbed his arms.

Then he waited for his platoon commander to return to normal. Encrid only stopped when nearly the whole day had passed, when it was time to halt and make camp.

Did swinging a sword while walking actually help? Krais wouldn't know.

The three-way fight involving Rem had ended surprisingly quickly. Perhaps all three knew they would never settle it like that. Or perhaps it wasn't fun without their platoon commander stepping in at the right moment.

Who knew? He didn't particularly want to find out.

"Captain."

Drenched in sweat, Encrid looked at Krais.

"We're to march back to the city."

"Hmm?"

Krais knew his captain disliked long explanations. He was itching to talk, but what could he do? Simple and clear was the way to go now.

"When our plan worked, and the enemy diverted part of their strength around the flank, the main army launched an offensive."

What had been the essence of Krais's original plan? Have the Lunatic Platoon hit them from behind. Lure in that Hawk's Claw or Hawk's Fingernail unit and wipe it out. Meanwhile, Marcus's battalion would pretend to head for Cross Guard. Pretending alone would be enough.

'They're already losing ground.'

What would he think in the enemy commander's place? Would he want to bear the humiliation of having his city attacked? Perhaps he would, perhaps not.

Either outcome cost them nothing. They stood to gain plenty just by making a show of it.

Krais's objective had been to ensure their safety. Making that show would also provide a convenient excuse for Marcus's battalion to return to its original position. He had treated putting distance between themselves and the enemy as the one sure thing.

The variables had dwindled with time, and things had fallen into place as he intended.

Of course, some things had been entirely unlike what he expected. The Lunatic Platoon's fighting strength, for one.

'I knew they could fight.'

But weren't they ridiculously good at it? As an Independent Platoon, a small elite force, they seemed in some respects even more impressive than the Frontier Slaughterers.

Afterward, they had rejoined Marcus's battalion. Meanwhile, part of the army stationed on the Green Pearl plains had advanced, spearheaded by the knight order.

That had also deviated somewhat from Krais's expectations.

'They actually went on the offensive?'

Ending things there would already have meant more territory, and Aspen seemed to have suffered a crippling blow. Yet they had pressed on, doing more than seizing the advantage: they had dealt a devastating strike.

An unrelenting charge had led straight into close combat. He had heard that the gap in fighting strength was substantial. It had been an overwhelming victory.

Thanks to that, Marcus's battalion, Border Guard's standing army, had been ordered straight back to the city. They would need troops to defend it if some enemy force went mad and attacked. There was probably also an intention to reward a unit that had distinguished itself.

Rather than explain all of that, Krais kept it short and simple.

"They say we can go home."

"Not bad."

Had Encrid, his platoon commander, understood all of that? Who knew? He could explain it at leisure later. For now, they were allowed to return, and Krais was quite pleased with that.

Above all, the map tucked against his chest made him feel warmer still. It was one of the treasures the enemy had hidden, and he knew instinctively.

'This is real.'

Encrid had no objection to returning either. In fact, he was pleased. He had learned and acquired so much in this campaign, in these battles. He wanted to go over it all and engrave it into his body.

For that, he needed time.

The untalented had to struggle and run to keep up. Encrid resolved to do just that.

Yearning and thirst. They burned in his chest, making it impossible to remain still.

'But why does that bastard...'

Encrid turned toward the killing intent he occasionally felt. Jaxon. Every time he nearly forgot about it, another prickling stare came his way.

He seemed unhappy about something, but it was obvious he wouldn't answer even if asked. What could Encrid do? Leave him be. These bastards had always had their grievances.

"We're going back? Bet you're disappointed. Didn't get to see a knight fight, did you?"

Encrid nodded at Rem's idle needling.

"I am disappointed, but..."

On the other hand, he felt it didn't matter.

TAP.

As he walked, Encrid looked at his hands. His callused palms. The weight of the two swords at his hips. The armor covering his body.

MEOW.

The panther walking to one side, back before he had even noticed, and his platoon members. Encrid himself was walking too.

And if he was certain of the path he walked, there was no need to check the destination.

"It's all right."

Encrid answered and raised his head. Spring's magic spread, and gentle sunlight settled on his shoulders.