Chapter 193 - He’ll Handle It (1)

When Marcus received the midnight report, he began with an expression of admiration.

“You astonish me every time.”

Then came thanks bordering on excessive courtesy.

“We have you to thank.” How could a battalion commander bow his head like that to a mere soldier—even if that soldier was now a company commander?

Encrid said it had been a coincidence, then simply laid out the facts. That was all. “I see.”

With that parting acknowledgment from Marcus, Encrid left the office. The rest was for the man responsible for Border Guard—Marcus—to handle. After he finished his report and stepped outside, the Fairy Company Commander fell in beside him as though she had come to meet him. She spoke while staring blankly ahead, her gaze and tone equally perfunctory.

“Shall we spend tonight together? We must remain chaste until the wedding, so we can only hold hands while we sleep.”

“I’ll sleep without holding hands. Alone. In my barracks.”

“I see.”

Did she really consider that a joke? After parting with her and returning to the barracks, Encrid washed off his sweat, came back, and settled on his bed. Water dripped from his wet hair. As he shook it out with his hands, he realized his hair had grown quite long again. “All they did was ruin my sleep. If you’re coming, make a proper fight of it, you bastards.”

“All things lie within the Lord’s will. Pray, brothers and sisters.”

“I hear something happened?”

“Rrrow.”

“Ugh, if Black Blade is coming after us like this, things really have taken a nasty turn.” Everyone put in a word before going to bed as usual. No, they did not simply sleep. Encrid, at least, did not. He closed his eyes and began his Review of the fight. Win or lose, whether he overwhelmed the enemy or not, every battle had something to teach him. That was what he had been taught, and how he had always approached them. This time was no different. Literally slicing his opponents apart changed nothing. He fell asleep repeating his Review, and ten white lions attacked him in his dream. But even then, he held firm. He could handle them. He could fight them.

Suddenly, Encrid felt just how far he had come. ‘Should I call it ridiculous?’

What had battlefields once been to him? Places where he struggled desperately to survive. Places where he kept out of the action so he would not die. Where surviving meant hanging back and watching for danger, not stepping to the front.

And now? Even knowing this was a dream, he felt a tickle around his heart. He had spent so long training and practicing. What had he wanted in the first place? With all these thoughts intruding, the dream should have begun to unravel. Was this thanks to the ferryman? Even in his dream, his mind was almost as clear as when he was awake. The strange thing was that Esther was fighting beside him, but she was not a panther. Her skin was smooth and so white it looked pale. She wore a black robe that gleamed despite its dark color. It looked as though it had been made from expensive fabric. “Is that what you really look like?”

“... Would you mind not acknowledging me in the Other World?”

What was that supposed to mean? Even Encrid found it rather remarkable that he recognized her face when she was not a panther. But wouldn’t anyone recognize that black hair and those blue eyes?

She had asked him not to acknowledge her, so he obliged. He ignored her, even in his dream. ‘But isn’t this my dream?’

He did think it was a little troublesome for someone conjured from a corner of his own mind to act like that. Soon the white lions began to charge. Ten of them swung their claws and scimitars, but what had initially promised to be a bloody fight eventually became a dance. Come to think of it, he had not asked how she had learned the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. It had not seemed important at the time. What had struck him instead was this:

‘She wanted to die, then suddenly looked as though she had all sorts of reasons to cling to life.’

An odd Beastman. Even her appearance was strange. She did not look like an ordinary Beastman. Dreams were dreams, and work was work. Despite the lions, it had been little more than a nonsense dream, and it soon faded away. Encrid opened his eyes, looked at the barracks ceiling, and sat up. It was summer, so it was already light outside despite the early hour.

What should he do, then?

Start with the Isolation Technique. Sword practice afterward, with time between exercises to strengthen his concentration. He did not neglect the Throwing blade technique or sensory training, either. Hadn’t Jaxon told him?

[“You train every day. Especially with sensory training, each day builds on the last. You do not skip it.”]

That sounded rather like Audin’s philosophy. Wasn’t the Isolation Technique based on the same principle? [“Brother, you cannot skip a day and make up for it by doing twice as much the next. That only damages your body. You do it every day. Every day, every day, every day, every day. Did you hear me, brother?”]

He had emphasized it so often that it was burned into Encrid’s ears. That did not mean he found daily training a torment. Encrid, too, considered it only natural. And so his day began with taking stock of his abilities, Review, and training. While Encrid went through his usual day regardless of what had happened yesterday, Marcus, the man responsible for the city, who had marveled at Encrid the previous night, was discovering just how shameless the bastard who had gobbled up Black Blade’s gold could be.

In a sense, that was something to marvel at, too.

* * *

Dunbachel told them everything she knew. That did not change once she was locked in a cell. “Go to a place called Border Guard and stir up some trouble. Those were my orders. Me? I’m practically a mercenary. I wouldn’t know how this started. But I’m certain they have a connection to someone inside the city.” Marcus did not even ask the Beastman who that someone was. Instead, he summoned the bribe-taking noble bastard to the prison. The man came down with his bodyguard, and when Marcus asked whether he knew anything, this was his answer.

“I know nothing about it.” The bastard frowned briefly, then spoke again.

“You Beastman trash, answer properly. Are you really with Black Blade? You believe the nonsense of a mercenary who’ll do anything for a few gold coins?” He even had the nerve to get angry. Hearing the gold-gobbling bastard say that with the Beastman right in front of him left Marcus utterly incredulous.

Couldn’t he just cut him down? Marcus looked away from the noble altogether. If he kept looking, he might genuinely want to kill him on the spot. That did not mean he intended to leave him alone. How could he let someone get away with causing this much trouble? ‘I can’t cut him down inside the city.’

He was still a noble. If something like that happened within Border Guard, it was likely to cause trouble, even if everyone let it slide for the moment. No matter how Marcus smoothed it over.

‘It might become a vulnerability when I’m active in the capital. No, it would cause trouble.’

Considering what lay ahead, that would not do. ‘What should I do, then?’

His Warmonger nickname led people to think he knew nothing about political intrigue. They could not have been more wrong. Intrigue was essential to being a noble in the capital, especially one who held on to power. Marcus was a political player, too, with a talent for stabbing people in the back. He made up his mind, thought it through, and reached a conclusion. Since he could not act here, why not send the man away for now—and assign him the fellow who produced more than he was asked for every time Marcus gave him a job?

‘Somehow, I feel he might sort it out himself if I just send him along.’

Encrid. That fellow. Marcus had not even sent him on patrol. He had merely left him in the barracks, and Black Blade’s elites had been cut down, a Manticore beaten to a pulp, and the Cultist who came with it left without a head. All of that had happened last night. ‘Shall I just try sending him along?’

And if nothing happened? He could leave that as it was.

‘For now, that will be the official purpose.’

Those Black Blade bastards had been playing games, too. He could not let that go unanswered. With sinister intentions in his heart, Marcus spoke upright, proper words.

“Martai has assembled an army.” That was true. The son of a bitch calling himself the General in the mercenary city was indeed preparing for war with Border Guard. Only a few well-informed people knew yet, but rumors of an impending war between the cities would soon begin to spread. “And we have no reinforcements coming.”

As he spoke, Marcus stepped to one side. FWOOSH. They were underground, and the torch mounted on the wall lit half his face, casting the other half into deeper shadow. He looked like a man agonizing over his city’s safety. Martai had a clear military advantage. Marcus knew that, and so did the noble bastard. Wasn’t that why he was spouting bullshit about bringing in Black Blade? It was certainly cause for anguish for the city’s commander and representative. “What about hiring them as mercenaries?”

He did not specify whom he meant, but the noble’s ears pricked up. They could not openly acknowledge Black Blade as an ally. But didn’t the bandits also take mercenary work? Marcus was suggesting they hire them on suitable terms and use them for this conflict. Vancento, the noble who had gobbled up Black Blade’s money, pricked up his ears but tried not to show it. His expression did remain impassive. At last, the words he had been waiting for. He almost answered at once, then swallowed his reply for fear of appearing too pleased. He had thought the failed attack might have ruined everything, but apparently not. Had it worn Marcus down instead? Perhaps it had.

‘If we hire them as mercenaries first, then bring them inside later...’ Vancento, who had once kept himself alive by reading people as a child, had grown into a man and gained power. Its intoxicating sweetness had steeped his brain. He no longer grasped the situation properly. The skill of the Black Blade bodyguard at his side contributed to that, too. [“The bitch they caught is a Beastman woman called Dunbachel. Dealing with her wouldn’t be difficult, but the claim that he stopped ten attackers alone must be a lie. Even I would need time to deal with those ten, and he stopped a nighttime attack alone, without any preparation? That whole Lunatic Platoon must have been involved. A Manticore? I don’t know about that. Wouldn’t you be better off questioning whether they’re simply spreading false rumors?”] The Gilfin Guild had immediately whisked away and concealed the Manticore’s carcass, leaving only rumors behind. A high-tier monster’s corpse was valuable in its own right. Krais intended to butcher it and sell the parts, so naturally he had merely hidden it inside the guild. But that readily invited misunderstanding. ‘A Manticore, my ass. Who do they think they’re fooling?’

It was a common prewar tactic: making yourself look bigger because you knew you would be at a disadvantage in a fight. It must be Marcus’s scheme. Since they had been attacked, he would exaggerate the whole affair. That would also explain why he was building up this Encrid fellow. Vancento did not even try to uncover the truth of the situation. Neither did the bodyguard Black Blade had sent. He knew Encrid had changed. He also knew the platoon members under him were fairly capable.

‘But if it came to a proper fight...’ Being strong did not guarantee survival. Those who survived were strong. The bodyguard was not certain he could win a fight, but he was certain he could kill them.

He was arrogant. Vancento was already picturing a rosy future. These things hardened both men’s thinking and narrowed their vision. Turning those thoughts over, Vancento looked toward Dunbachel rather than agreeing outright.

“She doesn’t seem to be a particularly famous mercenary.”

That was generally how mercenaries without an epithet were treated.

“Have her executed. When would be a good time to depart?” Looking at Vancento, Marcus wondered how this bastard had ever made it this far. Well, that was the trouble with the frontier. There was no talent. Or very little.

Though the barracks seemed to be overflowing with it at present. “Tomorrow would be best. Before Martai marches.”

Marcus offered that excuse. Vancento’s face brightened with satisfaction. Marcus was satisfied inwardly as well, but kept his expression grave. Left behind, the Beastman called Dunbachel simply sat in silence, swallowed by the darkness.

“The execution can wait until later.”

A brief reprieve from death was all she gained.

* * *

It began like this.

“Have you heard? Apparently Martai has made some outrageous demands. I’d think the capital ought to send reinforcements.”

It was Vengeance. He had come to see Encrid and struck up a conversation, apparently off duty today. Listening beside them, Krais unleashed a torrent of words. “Reinforcements? They can’t come. No, they won’t come. Why? Do I really have to explain this? All right, here goes. A major war against monsters has broken out in the south. Monsters alone would be one thing, but Rihinstetten, the great nation on our border known as the strongest in the south, has quietly intervened. In more ways than one, the nation’s fate is now at stake. We’d have our hands full with the Demonic Realm’s monster hordes alone, and now Rihinstetten? Meanwhile, by holding Aspen off, Border Guard has proved its military strength and bought time. If it’s an internal conflict rather than Aspen, there’s no particular reason for the capital to intervene. Even if another group got involved here, we still have Viscount Vantra and Count Molsen to the west. Normally, requesting reinforcements from those two nobles’ armies would be our best option, but I don’t think it’ll work. Vantra is essentially Count Molsen’s hunting dog, and Count Molsen is notorious for not lifting a finger unless there’s something in it for him.” Once again, Encrid could only marvel at how Krais figured all this out without leaving his seat. More than anything, that mouth that chattered without a pause was remarkable. “Doesn’t your throat hurt?”

“What? From this little bit? I once played five roles by myself in a puppet show.”

That was an impressive talent, too. Carrying a play while imitating five people on his own could hardly have been easy. Knowing Krais, he would not have done a halfhearted job, either. He would mortgage his soul if there were Krona in it. “And how many peddlers pass through this city? Border Guard may be a fortress city, but its unique characteristics also make it the greatest trading city in northern Naurilia. All you have to do is listen, and you hear things. Though that’s both the problem and the crux of this whole affair.”

Krais cupped a hand behind his ear. His tone suggested it was obvious, but how could this be obvious? People who predicted the future generally went by one of two names: fortune-tellers or swindlers.

Krais was neither. He simply had an innate eye for the way things were moving. “Add those Black Blade bastards coming here and Cultists showing up, and things look bad in all sorts of ways. You wouldn’t consider leaving Border Guard and transferring to another city, would you, Captain?”

Encrid paid no attention to the final question. Even if he left, what about those who remained? “Are you serious? Instead of thinking about defending the city!”

Vengeance flared up. Krais had not been serious, and Encrid knew it, too.

“Yes, yes. We have to defend it.”

“You’ve been fed. Earn your keep, Big-eyes.”

Encrid sided with Vengeance. “At times like this, I want to react like Rem. You taking someone else’s side now? That might hurt my feelings, you know. Is that right? You sure that’s right?”

His puppet-show experience had evidently been genuine; the imitation was quite convincing. He slouched, rested his weight on one leg, and stuck out his lips as he spoke. It was a good likeness. “Oh? So Big-eyes wants an axe planted in his head instead of a flower. Is that it?”

The only problem was that Rem happened to be stepping out of the barracks just then.

“... Not really.” “Looks like Venzon’s back, too. Bored?”

Rem added that remark, casually rewriting Vengeance’s name. Vengeance did not even acknowledge him. It was then that the Fairy Company Commander spoke from just outside the training yard, her face and upper body showing over the low fence.

“Fiancé, you’ve been summoned.” Somehow, he saw her more often than messengers these days. Why was a company commander delivering the battalion commander’s summons?

“I volunteered because I wanted to see you.”

“... Did you?”

Encrid had grown accustomed to Fairy humor. By now, he could let this much pass without so much as a smile. “Big-eyes, I think you need some training, too. Off you go. I’ll make this bastard a fine special-grade soldier while you’re gone.”

Behind him, Rem handed Krais something close to a death sentence.

“Let me come, let me come with you! Captain! Captain!” Encrid prayed for Krais’s departed soul and turned away. Rem seemed frustrated on several fronts lately. Letting him blow off steam like that now and then was probably important. “Aaaaiiieee!”

Soon a noise like a pig being slaughtered came from behind him, but Encrid ignored it. “Murder within the unit is strictly forbidden.”

The Fairy Company Commander glanced back as she spoke.

“He won’t kill him.”

At Encrid’s answer, she thought for a moment, then said,

“He’ll handle it.”

For some reason, her tone was full of trust. When they entered the battalion commander’s office, Marcus spoke at once.

“I have a mission for you. I’d like you to go with a delegation.”

Encrid had not even saluted yet. Marcus sounded distinctly urgent. “A delegation?”

“Ah, we ought to hire some mercenaries, shouldn’t we? So...”

Delegations and mercenaries. An odd pairing of words. It also sounded as though the battle with Martai truly was imminent.

But was that really a threat? “I’d like you to accompany a delegation to the Black Blade Bandits. Ah, not as an actual envoy. As an escort.”

Now there was a combination even stranger than delegations and mercenaries. Envoys and bandits. With escort duty thrown in. But why were the battalion commander’s eyes sparkling so much that it made him uncomfortable? They brimmed with something like anticipation, shining as though someone had put stars in them.

Encrid found it exceedingly odd.