Chapter 194 - He’ll Handle It (2)

“Isn’t this a bit much, Captain? Seriously.”

Krais spoke with his eyes bruised blue and swollen. Encrid answered as he took off his boots. “Were your eyes always blue? That bastard Rem has talent. This is practically a disguise. I almost didn’t recognize you.” The blue bruising nearly hid his eyes altogether. Whatever Rem had done, both cheeks were nicely puffed up too. Surely he hadn’t set out to give Krais a beating, but he had gone a little overboard. There were even traces of red paint beneath Krais’s nostrils, as though his nose had bled. At Encrid’s words, Krais sniffed hard, swallowed, then sighed before speaking.

“Hasn’t Rem been a bit much lately?” If he meant touchy, Encrid agreed. There was something sharper about him than usual. He often reached for his axe over things he would once have let slide.

For instance: [“Watch where you point those eyes. Makes me want to split your skull with an axe.”]

He would say things like that out of nowhere to a soldier from the neighboring unit who happened to look at him. Sparks frequently flew between him and Ragna as well.

[“Hey, picky eater. Want your skull smashed?”]

When Rem abruptly said something like that, Ragna would humor him with a reply.

[“Get out here. I’ll split your skull and dip it in honey.”]

Then their vicious sparring would begin immediately. Encrid reacted differently now. Where he would once have stopped them outright, he watched first. There was plenty to learn from their sparring. Sometimes, while he watched intently, they even ended the fight on their own.

Did that mean they had grown up a little? Had they moved beyond being children who picked fights at every opportunity? [“Ah, feels good to work up a sweat. Want a go?”]

After they had fought it out, Encrid’s turn came. He called up what he had learned from watching them, reviewed it on his own, and put what he had practiced to use. It was a truly enjoyable time. Encrid fought more fiercely than before, and Rem was quite serious too.

[“Feet!”]

If his footwork lagged, Rem scolded him for it.

[“Where are you looking?”] Sometimes Rem vanished as though by magic. Naturally, it was physical prowess, not a spell. Even when Encrid lost sight of him, his senses barely managed to catch him. SWISH.

He swung his blade.

CLANG!

Met the axe. Rem’s seriousness was a good sign, and Encrid always felt refreshed after their sparring. But why was he growing so touchy?

Rem and Ragna’s quarrels were an everyday occurrence. His relationship with Jaxon was the worst. To Encrid, it seemed utterly pointless, but perhaps it meant something different to them. Once, Rem had been about to leave and Jaxon to enter when they came face-to-face in the doorway. Neither would move aside.

Rem slowly began stroking his axe handle, while Jaxon let his arms hang loose. Even Encrid couldn’t just watch that. ‘This is unnerving.’

How had he ever forced his way between them before? The air was murderous. Something akin to the “intimidation” wielded by the proto knight Aesia passed between them, and he had to push himself right into it to stop them. [“Enough.”]

Once he added that word:

[“Ahem.”]

Jaxon stepped aside with a slight clearing of his throat, and Rem trudged out without a smile or a word. Touchy. Very touchy.

Of course, Rem wasn’t the only one. Ragna sometimes gave off a similar air, and so did Jaxon. At least Audin seemed his usual self. Rem had gone out saying he would patrol, loudly wishing he too might run into a passing Manticore. Audin said he was leading evening prayers and preaching to soldiers from another unit. There was a group of devout soldiers who held him in considerable reverence.

Jaxon was absent, as usual, while Ragna slept in a corner of his bed. The usual sight. Encrid looked around the barracks and spoke.

“Seems that way.”

It was his answer to Krais’s question about Rem being touchy. On reflection, he really did seem to be. “Ugh. Anyway, what did the Battalion Commander want?”

Satisfied simply to have Encrid agree with him, Krais wasted no more words on Rem’s touchiness. Really, what good would talking about it do? He had always been that sort of lunatic. Ignoring it was the answer. “Escort a delegation to negotiate a mercenary contract with the Black Blade Bandits.”

At the matter-of-fact reply, Krais’s eyes went round, revealing his eyeballs between the blue swellings. Didn’t that hurt? It looked painful.

But Krais paid the pain no mind. Or perhaps he had only just felt it, for he asked with a solemn expression: “You’re going to do it, right? Become a knight.”

Encrid didn’t know why he was suddenly asking, but nodded. His answer to such questions was always the same. He understood the need to check again, too. His dream of becoming a knight was truly preposterous. Now that he had patched and stitched it back together, it no longer felt like a dream torn repeatedly to shreds. Even so, the road would not be easy. How could Encrid not know that? Krais wasn’t asking to mock his captain or bring him back to reality. Encrid was a madman. When he said he would do something, he did it. If he said he would save someone, he saved them. If he said he would fight, he fought. ‘He isn’t normal.’

Living like that got a man killed young. He should have struggled to reach twenty, but wasn’t the Captain thirty-one this year? Krais almost wondered how he had survived this long.

At any rate, that was the sort of man he was. And that man said he would become a knight. Knowing he wasn’t the sort to give up, Krais had made some general inquiries into the process of becoming a knight of the kingdom.

What sort of people normally joined a knight order? Who could become a squire, the stage before proto knight? Most were children of nobles, or associates of great trading companies. Political power or wealth—and aside from those, there were members of collateral royal branches.

What about someone who was neither a noble nor the child of a respectable family? Even then, occasionally, very occasionally, very, very occasionally, geniuses were born who awakened an absurd degree of talent. Such people sometimes earned the kingdom’s recognition and became knights through ability alone. Though they would need a little luck too, of course. ‘So, is that common?’

Not remotely. Absolutely not. Those people hailed as geniuses wherever they went? They usually got beaten senseless when they met someone born to a distinguished family and properly, systematically taught from childhood. The capital offered an advantage in both the swordsmanship one could learn and the awakening of talent. Its standards were far higher than the frontier’s—in instruction, spirit, and sparring partners alike.

Skilled people gathered there, so those with talent naturally congregated around the royal court, and their talents developed further among that company. A true genius. Unless one could stand entirely on one’s own ability, it was no ordinary challenge.

For anyone not born into such an exceptional family, the knight’s path was generally far too arduous. Difficult. Agonizing. A road of adversity. Then, looking at it the other way, suppose there was a genius. What would they need to become a knight?

Ability? That went without saying. “You didn’t turn it down, did you?”

“Hmm?”

“The mission. You didn’t turn it down, right? Right? Surely not? You have to do it. Absolutely. You must.” What was needed beyond ability was a record of distinguished service. Proof of efforts made for the nation. Such deeds would become honor, and that honor would establish the worth of the person who bore it.

In Krais’s view, the first task for an outsider, especially a former itinerant mercenary, seeking to become a Knight was to build that record, ahead of ability. So if he truly wanted to become a knight:

“Tell me. Did you refuse? You didn’t, did you?” The Battalion Commander’s mission might not appeal much to Encrid. Krais could see that too.

Escort a delegation? Who would be the envoy? From Encrid’s plain statement, Krais’s extraordinary mind read the surrounding circumstances. The men going were obvious: that half-wit noble bastard and his weird-eyed bodyguard. Those two would form the core of the delegation.

Encrid’s martial prowess would substitute for what should have been an escort of at least a full platoon. Why? Why specifically put Encrid beside that noble?

‘He has something in mind.’

And that something was all too clear. Bringing the man under control. He wanted him dead, or something close to it.

The problem would be the noble catching on and backing down. ‘Was that why?’

Marcus was a fox. Warmonger, his ass. To Krais, the Battalion Commander was the slyest of foxes, though he looked as if he belonged arm-in-arm with a mountain bandit. The battle against Aspen, at Green Pearl. Since his exploits there, Encrid had cut down a thousand Knolls. He had killed the colony’s leader and a Cultist. Just last night, he had defeated ten skilled fighters from Black Blade.

Audin had killed a Manticore too. Krais had pocketed the Manticore’s carcass in the process, yet his superiors had said nothing. He had expected to give them a cut if they wanted something in return.

Starting with the Knolls, the Battalion Commander had buried all of it. No, he had quietly let it pass without an announcement. He let those who believed believe, but also let false rumors spread unchecked. Why? Because he disliked Encrid? Not a chance.

‘The reason you bend your knees and crouch down...’

Was to jump higher. Concealment and deception. He was deceiving people about just one thing: the strength of Encrid and the Lunatic Company.

What could he gain from hiding it? Krais’s mind raced. Anyone else’s head might have started steaming, but this was easy for him. Why wouldn’t it be? He had sometimes acted with far more things in mind just to survive. Compared with that, all he had to do now was sit safely and think. Following that chain of thought led to an answer. What dictated the course of battle on the continent today?

The creatures called “knights” shattered strategy and tactics. Didn’t the “knight-level” fighters among mercenaries do the same? Hadn’t the term knight-“level” arisen because other races had their own equivalents to knights? Thus, a small elite force of powerful fighters. Such forces had long been central to strategy.

Of course, no commander would swagger about on a large battlefield relying on a single knight. Hadn’t Border Guard’s standing army changed the course of the entire battlefield in the previous battle against Aspen, despite winning what was ultimately only a peripheral engagement? ‘War, then.’

All of this was preparation for war. Concealing their own strength would make it a correspondingly devastating move against the enemy.

‘And this is the opening move.’ The swelling seemed to have vanished from Krais’s eyes. That was how it looked to Encrid.

‘What’s he getting so bright-eyed for?’

They shone even more brightly than the Battalion Commander’s eyes had earlier. “If you turned it down...”

Turn it down? Hardly.

“I said I’d do it.”

“Wow. Ah, thank goodness. This matters right now, you see. Because—”

“I know.”

“No, there’s more to it than meets the eye. This escort assignment isn’t really an escort—”

“He wants me to kill that man.” Krais blinked at Encrid’s words. His two blue, swollen eyes said it all.

Oh, right. He wasn’t an idiot. “That’s an impertinent look in your eyes.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He couldn’t hit someone who had already been beaten this badly. Encrid let it pass. “Distinguished service. A step toward knighthood. I know.”

That was why it mattered. Marcus was better connected and held a higher position than one might think. Though the delegation’s stated mission had no direct connection to distinguished service, Encrid knew this affair would not end as simply as that. He knew it not through reasoning or conjecture. It was simply a feeling. Intuition and Sixth Sense.

Since his senses had grown sharper and more sensitive, he sometimes felt a jab of intuition in his mind. This was another such occasion. This was something he must not leave alone.

So there was no reason to refuse. “No, I was just worried you’d turned it down because it would interfere with training. Exactly. Distinguished service. Right now, that’s what you need to collect above all else. It matters more than ability. In fact, there are probably men like that in the knight orders, aren’t there? Men who got their names on the rolls on the strength of their records? Even the mighty Scarlet Cloak Knight Order can’t be free of politics.”

It was cynical, but Encrid privately agreed. “So I decided to take two people along.”

Would he kill the man if the chance arose? Or act according to circumstances? How far had Marcus thought this through? And what would Encrid choose?

He had agreed to the mission. What happened next would also depend on his choices. “Two? Who?” Krais asked.

“Not you.”

Encrid gave Big-eyes a light tap on the head, then turned. Esther would probably follow without being asked. “Ah, not me. I’m busy.”

Pin declined before he could ask.

Would this task require a ranger? Probably not. A good ranger was always an excellent companion, but this time they likely wouldn’t even need someone to show the way. “I’m taking Rem and Ragna.”

Their touchiness concerned him. He would separate Jaxon and Rem, and if he kept Rem and Ragna at his side, surely they wouldn’t cause any major trouble. At least Jaxon and Audin got along without much fuss. At that calculated choice of personnel, Krais nodded and said:

“So you’ve decided to kill them all.”

“... Hmm?”

That wasn’t Encrid’s intention. A mission was a mission. Outwardly, he intended to perform his escort duties faithfully. “Rem, of all people. Whew. You’ll have to keep him in check at least until you’re outside the unit and away from prying eyes. The bodies, yes, you’ll need to bury them. I’ll pack a folding shovel.” Hmm.

Encrid was about to deny it, then remembered thinking a few days ago that he mustn’t let that noble bastard run into Rem.

Well, he would stop him somehow. It wasn’t as though Rem never listened. “When do you leave, then?”

“Tomorrow.” FWEEEP.

Krais tried to whistle and failed, his swollen lips unable to produce the sound properly. “What a hurry.”

Substituting words for the whistle, Krais soon muttered that the haste made sense. Meanwhile, Encrid was considering taking the prisoner as a guide.

With Rem and Ragna along, fighting strength should hardly be a concern. Above all...

Encrid looked down at his palm. He could see the calluses. Countless swings of the sword had split and healed the skin so often that his palm had become an ugly, misshapen thing. In places, the fingerprints on his fingertips had worn away entirely.

He had used his fingertips a great deal while practicing the Throwing blade technique. Wanting a return on one’s efforts, wanting some reward—that was only human. And what if, after enduring and enduring, one finally grasped a reward that had barely brushed one’s fingertips? ‘Not bad.’

Encrid murmured the habitual words. What he had built up over time had filled him with a little confidence. And he still wasn’t relying on repeating today.

The ferryman was not in his thoughts. He was simply taking stock of tomorrow once again. The road he walked, moving forward. A road with signposts now, its destination clearer than before.

Beyond his training, he naturally had no intention of ignoring distinguished service. Nor would he shrink from standing at the forefront of the battlefield. He was no longer in the days when he had to rack his brains merely to survive. When he charged the Knolls. When he stepped out before Black Blade. THUMP. It had been exhilarating. Honestly, so very exhilarating. That moment of stepping forward rather than hiding behind others. [“I want to become a knight.”]

When he had first put his dream into words as a child, Encrid had dreamed of standing in front of someone. Of standing at the forefront of the battlefield. His willingness to stand at the forefront of battle, to stand where he could prove his ability, was itself proof that his ability was no longer what it had been.

At the root of his dream of becoming a knight was a little boy who had pictured himself fighting on a battlefield.

That boy born in a country village had finally reached a piece of his dream, and even now, he was moving forward.