Chapter 149 - A Sense of Honor

Petals in shades of red and pink fluttered among the leaves of the tall trees behind the platform. Yellow flowers displayed their bright blooms in the flower field behind the parade ground. A flower field in a place reeking of sweat, where spears and swords clashed. Hadn't someone said it was a remnant of the days when Border Guard was still a trading city? Maintaining it afterward had become something of a duty for the Battalion Commander responsible for the city. Something about it being proof that the city was safe. Winter had passed, and spring had come. How long had it been since he last looked at flowers? ["They're a symbol of this city's safety."]

A florist had once told him that. Several florists in the city tended Border Guard's flower field. Looking at the flowers brought a thought to mind. It was important to relax his shoulders, too. Not to grow too rigid. To stay loose without becoming slack. He didn't think it suited him, but perhaps he needed to look at flowers and loosen up now and then. Once he relaxed his shoulders, he noticed that the petals resembled straight blades. What was that flower called again? The one with the pointed red petals. He remembered its nickname clearly enough. Sword flower. A flower named after a sword. He'd also been told it responded only to the magic of spring. Looking at the sword flower's petals, he wondered, 'How can I make my vertical cuts cleaner?' The question set his mind off on a search for an answer. That mustached man. A man who had walked an entirely different path from his own. There had been something refined in his swordsmanship that Encrid had never felt even in Ragna's. Swordsmanship built through effort as well as talent. He had felt it firsthand. And so he wanted it. Wanted to hold it within him. To make it his, swallow it whole, and digest it. He still yearned for it, still thirsted. A mouthful of water for a traveler crossing the desert. For Encrid, that was the sword and knighthood, dreams and techniques. 'Slowly.'

Run too hastily, and wasn't it only natural to stumble and fall? Besides, when had rushing ever worked out for him? There were things he could see precisely because he refused to let his lack of talent discourage him or drive him to despair. Neither hurried nor leisurely. A midpoint between those opposing speeds. Loose, but not slack. Only then could he run as fast as his own legs would carry him. With these thoughts passing through his mind, Encrid walked onto the platform. His train of thought ended as he reached it. Marcus stood before him. They stood facing each other and exchanged looks. The corners of Marcus's eyes curved gently, as though he were playing some amusing prank. The parade ground was quiet. How to describe it? The very atmosphere was different. A mild breeze blew through the warm sunlight, stirring the petals. It was a peaceful, tranquil afternoon. It reminded him of the time Audin's divine power had touched his body. That same comforting peace enveloped his surroundings. "I've been thinking," Marcus began.

His voice rang out in the quiet, not loudly enough to reach every corner of the parade ground. Only those nearby would hear. "About what, sir?" Encrid asked, standing straight. "What would satisfy you? What should I give a soldier who has accomplished so much?" A fine sword, Krona, and the like crossed Encrid's mind. But would those truly satisfy him? Surely not. Not at all. He would be reasonably pleased, of course. What about something a step beyond that? 'Enchanted armor?'

He now had a rough understanding of the value of the leather armor around his torso. And of the fact that its value was steadily declining. Spells did not last forever. He had heard that enchanted equipment had its limits. It was only something he'd picked up here and there, so he had wondered whether it was true. But hadn't using it himself proved it? His leather armor had little life left in it. The leather gauntlet seemed to be some sort of enchanted equipment, too. How else could it be so tough? Without it, he would have lost a hand in his fight with the Frog, rather than merely injuring his wrist. 'That's horrifying even to think about.'

If he died with a hand severed at the wrist, wouldn't he become something like a one-armed swordsman? Losing a hand might be better than losing an arm. No, either would be the worst. Now that he thought about it, there were so many things he needed to watch out for. Losing his life? Painful, but that was something he could welcome instead. But if he suffered a devastating injury and passed beyond today into tomorrow... 'That gives me a lot to think about.'

Not that Encrid dwelled on it. He wasn't the sort to overthink things to begin with, and in truth, he had no room for it. 'Idle thoughts.'

This wasn't simply relaxing his shoulders. These were distractions. Forget them. Even devoting himself entirely to his sword and his dream would hardly be enough. Could he truly become a knight? It remained his question, still unanswered. "So I decided," Marcus continued.

Encrid focused on the words of the man before him. He listened attentively, giving him his full attention. "That I should give you a gift with some sincerity behind it, too. You can look forward to it, Platoon Commander." Look forward to it, he said. Encrid knew himself well enough to know that ordinary things rarely stirred him. Honestly, he had no expectations. After that, Battalion Commander Marcus gave him Krona and an ornate dagger. Apparently, it was awarded only to those who had rendered great service to the royal house. Taking it in hand, Encrid found its balance atrocious. It had no practical use; it was merely a dagger to attest to his status. "By bestowing this royal dagger upon you, I guarantee your standing. Present it in the capital at any time, and you shall be received as a guest of the royal house." Encrid truly thought it was nothing special. He meant that. But the soldiers watching from below the platform thought otherwise. "... Encrid."

"Encrid."

"Encrid." There were no childish cries of hurrah. Every soldier simply chanted Encrid's name. No cheers, no shouts. Just a recitation. An everyday murmur. Words leaving their mouths. But with hundreds of soldiers speaking as one... "Encrid."

It struck his ears like a roar. "Heh heh. They seem happier than you do. Turn around." At Marcus's words, Encrid turned. It was quite an interesting sight. The fighting was over. Ten days had passed since their return to the city. He did feel closer to the men of his unit than before. Those who had once made filthy remarks about him offering up his ass now bowed their heads. Those seeing him for the first time looked at him with respect and admiration. He had already earned recognition on the battlefield. Back then, the Battalion Commander had told them to cheer. Who had those cheers been for? He had thought it quite a good experience. But this was different again. The platform was high. As high as a person was tall. From above, he could look down and see the fervor pouring from every soldier. It was as though that fervor had taken shape and wrapped around him. As he realized anew that his own accomplishments had brought this moment into being, a question returned to him.

["What makes a knight?"] Skill? He had been told that being good with a sword alone did not make someone a knight.

["If that's what you wanted, you should have become a mercenary."]

The words of a swordsmanship instructor in one city still lingered in his mind. He had asked then. What made a knight? What was it that made people call someone a knight? ["Skill goes without saying."]

Someone who proved himself by building honor and achievements upon that skill.

["Things are a little different these days, but look back through history to the legends, and that was what it meant."] Had he merely wanted to become someone who could swing a sword well? No. He hadn't. His childhood dream had begun that way, but then he had grown older and discovered the limits of his talent. A boy far younger than him had run a sword through his belly. He had lost companions. He had learned that skill and character did not go hand in hand. Knowing his limits, he had still swung his sword. With a single-minded devotion, as though this very moment might be his last. As though he lived a today that would never bring tomorrow. He had thrown himself into the waves of repeating time. Even as they swept him away, he had never forgotten his sword. He had held fast to his faded, tattered dream. Where had the resolve that sustained Encrid for so long begun? A knight was someone who upheld the standards he set for himself. That was what Encrid believed. Someone who moved forward without forgetting honor. He had decided to become such a person. Perhaps it was only natural, then, that this occasion should make him happy. Standing before these people, proving himself. Feeling that sense of honor. "This is fun," Encrid murmured quietly.

It was difficult to discern any emotion from his voice alone, yet Marcus, standing behind him, felt something unfamiliar in those words. It was just as before. Something he had forgotten for a time. The sword and the light.

'Is this what they call passion?' Marcus smiled. What a fascinating fellow. He was intensely curious what effect the gift he had prepared would have on the man before him. "That is all," Marcus said.

Encrid turned back and saluted. "Encrid."

He stepped down among the soldiers who kept murmuring his name. They parted to either side, opening a path. "Must be nice."

His platoon members were there to welcome him. Rem grinned, while Jaxon watched indifferently with his weight on one leg. "You looked like an incarnation answering our prayers, brother."

Audin said something difficult to understand. "Are we going back now?"

Ragna found occasions like this tiresome. "Very nice."

Krais had no interest in anything that didn't look likely to earn him Krona. Beside him, Andrew and Mac called out to Encrid with flushed faces.

"Encrid."

"Platoon Commander." Well, this was more than merely not bad. It would be strange not to enjoy it. "Let's head back."

Still, nothing had changed. Border Guard had been quiet in the ten days since their return. Honors and Rewards were over. What came next? Training, of course. He was in the middle of working out how to swing his sword. "Hey, we're having a party today! Let's eat till we drop!"

Up on the platform, Marcus revealed his true intentions. Was a Battalion Commander really allowed to run so wild? Weren't those people standing at the back nobles? Sure enough, when Encrid turned, he saw a group of nobles frowning. Yet none stepped forward to object. Why was that? Had Marcus threatened to cut their heads off if they did? 'No, only someone like Rem would do that.'

Marcus was a commander from the capital. He would have neither reason nor need to do anything so reckless. Then why were they reacting that way? Encrid left it there and decided to ignore the nobles' affairs. There was no need to dig into them, really. What would knowing accomplish? It wouldn't change anything. "A party!"

"Woohoo!"

"Yes! Sounds great!"

The soldiers yelled so loudly it felt as though his eardrums might burst. "What, is he serving something good? If all we get after this is cheap wine, I think I'll want to bury my axe in that bastard's skull."

Rem grinned at the mention of a party. The bastard seemed to be in a good mood again. The trouble was, whenever he was happy, he wanted to split his superior's head open.

'Or should I just be glad it's not my head?' Come to think of it, Encrid didn't think Rem had ever seriously said he wanted to split his head open. He sometimes joked about cracking it open to see what was inside, but there was no sincerity behind those words. "What a nuisance."

Ragna spoke his mind honestly. Encrid was inclined to agree. He just wanted to train. He wanted to make the mustached man's swordsmanship, which he had seen and experienced firsthand, part of himself as soon as possible. "A rigid mind can only see rigid things. When it's time to rest, you should rest."

As Encrid was thinking this, Jaxon spoke beside him. Was it thanks to his keen senses? He seemed to have recognized Encrid's state of mind. "Enjoy your rest, everyone. I'll, ah, be off for a bit."

Krais's voice came from behind them, growing more distant even as he spoke. He was talking on the run. Wherever there was a party, gambling naturally followed. Which meant this was Krais's element. His aim wasn't to gamble himself, but to build up the games and take a cut. He still couldn't understand people who squandered Krona on gambling. ["Think about it. Why throw your Krona at cards that turn up at random? Why throw it away like that? And if you meet a professional gambler, it won't even be random. You're guaranteed to get fleeced."]

There was no reason to spend Krona on gambling, he maintained. Fair enough. Krais disappeared among the soldiers. Encrid watched his retreating back. Once again, it felt rather strange to think that this soldier, whose only distinguishing feature was his big eyes, had come up with such an ingenious strategy. "There will be no need to split any heads, my barbaric brother," Audin murmured behind him.

Ahead, the Battalion Commander could be seen hoisting a bottle with gusto. "This is good stuff! Everyone drinks the same wine today! Any objections? Anyone who has one can come at me!"

That man didn't seem entirely normal, either. Marcus held out the wine and shouted for them to enjoy themselves. As Encrid watched, Pin approached. "Care for a drink?"

"Hm?" It seemed like quite some time since he had last touched alcohol. There had been no occasion for it. He had been too busy training. Drinking dulled his control over his body, which meant he couldn't train properly. Enjoying a party and drinking were two separate things. He was about to decline politely when a voice came from behind. "Now, human woman, I believe that's my place. He's my fiancé."

The voice came from behind him. Hm? "... Engaged? Isn't that a Fairy?" Pin muttered.

Encrid took a step back. The Fairy Company Commander approached on silent feet. "Drink with me."

Was that an order or an invitation? As a peculiar tension arose with Pin and the Fairy Company Commander there, Esther joined them. "Hiss!"

She slipped between them, let out a rather fierce cry, and darted into Encrid's arms. This situation was getting a little... "... Fucking irresistible," Rem muttered at the sight. Before Encrid could call it a misunderstanding, the watching soldiers began cheering for him with a different name this time. "The irresistible Platoon Commander!"

Damn it. Just when he'd thought they had finally forgotten. There was that word again: irresistible.