Chapter 199 - Captain, Your Present Has Arrived

The difference was clear. One spoke of technique, form, and meaning. The other spoke of overwhelming an opponent through superior strength. Where one focused on swordsmanship, the other was a bundle of senses focused on instinct. Both mattered. Both were necessary. It was not as though Ragna never made instinctive moves, nor did Rem never borrow the forms of swordsmanship. 'They simply have distinct characteristics.'

Which meant there was something to learn. And the two shared something as well. Whether in swordsmanship, intuition, footwork, offense, or defense. 'Precision.'

Was it like embroidering with a needle? Or spearing a grain of wheat with a fork? What they shared was the precision to make minute adjustments to their stances, hand movements, and steps even while fighting like that. "You bastards."

Defeat had long since become all but certain. The halberd bandit's face had gone ashen. His mutter had lost its strength. He seemed to sense his own death. He had felt the gulf in their abilities firsthand. So had the five facing Rem. Two had drawn shortswords after their swords broke. The one who had been throwing daggers at openings had died with one of his own daggers adorning the space between his eyes instead. The fallen man had twitched at first, but now his body was going cold. Of the four who attacked around their dead companion, one had even lost an arm. All this despite Rem holding back his attacks to demonstrate them for Encrid. Meanwhile, the woman in the tree kept trying to shoot despite the dagger lodged in her thigh, only to stop each time she felt Encrid's gaze. Finding her a considerable nuisance, he threw another dagger into her forearm. He was busy enough watching those two without her constantly distracting him. "Urrgh."

While the bandit groaned in the tree, the halberd wielder charged, bloody tears streaming from his eyes as though their tiny blood vessels had burst. In his final moments, he cast aside his weapon and tried to wrap his arms around Ragna, prepared to die. Rather than the precision of the Righteous Sword Technique he had demonstrated thus far, Ragna showed his original specialty. His arming sword became a streak of light, slicing diagonally through the bandit's body. A downward cut of the Heavy Sword Technique. Strength and skill in harmony cut a human body apart like a bundle of straw. Then he moved sideways in an instant and punched the woman with the rapier in the face. THWACK! "Gurk!"

Several teeth flew through the air. As the woman staggered back clutching her face, he followed with a horizontal cut. SHICK! Her head flew into the air. Ragna did not stop. Abandoning the sword forms he had been demonstrating, he employed the Heavy Sword Technique as though he had traded places with Rem: rough yet precise, precise yet powerful. "Hiyah!"

The brown-skinned bandit could have been mistaken for a man at a glance. Her spear shot forward. Ragna evaded it with his footwork, a feat possible only because he had read its trajectory and speed perfectly. Dodging the incoming spear, he took a long stride forward. That bold step led into a cut to the crown. His sword struck the woman's skull with a snapping strike of the Heavy Sword Technique. THUD! Her skull shattered, crushed like a soft apple. That was the end of it. He had killed them all. Ragna calmly flicked the blood from his sword and turned his head. Naturally, his gaze went to Encrid. 'Did you get a good look?'

The words came across without being spoken. Encrid nodded. Precision, the meaning of swordsmanship, and the power that form bestowed. Once again, a signpost showed him the way forward. Encrid was delighted. Above all, because Ragna was not the end of it. "Why'd you finish first!"

Encrid had no idea why that warranted anger, but Rem suddenly flared up and swung his axe. After several blows that battered and shoved his opponent back through sheer strength, the man went entirely on the defensive. Another man's eyes darted about. Clearly, he was planning something. Rem abandoned his relentless, forceful assault and began slowly swinging his axe in a set form.

'Footwork, hand movements, stance.'

Then came the falling axe blade. It was not meant to take his opponent's life. Encrid realized that. The bandits did not. The man with the trident raised it overhead to block the axe. Meanwhile, another abruptly swung around to the side and opened his mouth.

"Pffft!" Poisoned sand. He had kept it in his mouth before spraying it out. It must have been his trump card, but Rem stepped back as though he had already prepared the movement. "Oh, fuck."

The bandit, his lips stained blue, uttered something akin to a lament. Rem smirked.

"You're obvious, you bastard."

His axe danced, slicing through the man's throat. One of the bandits abruptly stabbed his legless companion in the throat.

"Spare me! I'll tell you anything!"

An unsavory end. "Yeah? Good. You're saying you can take anything?"

Hadn't he said he would tell him anything? Rem's ears differed from other people's. Particularly in that they heard whatever he wanted them to hear. "Huh? What?"

"Where should we start? Hands? Feet?"

"... What?"

"I'll mince you. Into pieces this big."

Still holding his axe, Rem indicated a gap between his thumb and forefinger. "... What?"

The bandit did not understand. Still smiling, Rem swung his axe.

WHOOSH! THWACK!

A flying head. A falling body. "Just kidding. I don't have hobbies that nasty."

He looked as if he did. It certainly seemed plausible. Encrid was watching him with that thought when Rem turned around and spoke.

"Get a good look?" That single question laid bare his intent. Both Ragna and Rem had fought this slowly so their captain could watch. 'These two.'

Just how good would they be if they truly showed everything? Whenever he thought he had caught up, they seemed to move farther ahead. When he knew nothing, he had thought they were about as good as high-grade soldiers. Once he gained a high-grade soldier's skills, he had judged them beyond the soldier grading system. And when he reached special grade or higher and stepped toward his dream... 'Strong enough to kill a proto knight.'

In other words, he had concluded that their strength was at least on a proto knight's level. Rem himself had said he could not kill every single one. But Encrid was not sure. When Rem said that, he had seemed to mean that with some other means available, he could certainly kill them. He had not looked as though he considered defeat a possibility at all. Not conceit or arrogance, but an attitude that slipped through because he saw and understood reality clearly. Ragna was the same. Audin and Jaxon were much alike. All four were monsters. Encrid marveled anew at his good fortune. 'Four monsters.'

Four teachers, too. Four times as much to learn. Really, what could be better? "Mm."

As Encrid nodded in silent admiration, Dunbachel, who had watched the whole fight, found her mouth hanging open. Drool trickled down and dripped to the ground. She was so astonished she had not even realized her mouth was open. 'Black Blade's ten-man squad.'

Ten people who could handle practically any job. Aside from the branch leader, they were its strongest force. Those were the opponents the two had faced. What was more, the halberd wielder had once been a mercenary, and a fairly renowned one at that. He had loudly boasted that he could take on anyone below a proto knight's level, then cemented his reputation by actually surviving an altercation with a knight order's squire. 'They toyed with them.'

Dunbachel had eyes, too. She could see Ragna's skill. It was abundantly clear that his swordplay was nothing ordinary. No, he had outright toyed with them. Once again, she realized their skills lay beyond anything she could measure. Rem noticed her astonishment and spoke.

"Shut your mouth. It stinks."

Only then did Dunbachel close it. Encrid approached the woman with holes in her thigh and forearm. Writhing like a worm beneath the tree, she spoke.

"I-I'm good at it. Spare me and I'll... Please? I mean it." What was this mountain of a woman talking about? Did the words "female bandit" conjure up an image of a lovely woman? If so, there was something wrong with your head. This woman looked every inch a bandit. Blackened front teeth, one missing. Viciously rough skin. Eyes that reeked of blood. She smelled sour, as though she had not washed in days. Now the stale reek of urine began mingling with it. The woman stared at Encrid, having pissed herself. How to put it? Was he supposed to see life in her eyes? Or find something of the will to survive? Not long ago, he had looked into Dunbachel's eyes and spared her. Encrid neither regretted that choice nor dwelled on it. Right or wrong, he had acted because his heart had moved him. There had been no soot-dark stain in Dunbachel's eyes then. And now? THUNK! He drove his sword straight into the bandit's throat. Asking to be spared was no different from asking to be treated. She was already badly wounded. She would have a chance of survival only if he treated her and took her along. The daggers had struck bad places, in both her thigh and her forearm. He had thrown them to restrict her movements, severing the muscles she needed to move. In other words, her plea meant, 'Call a high priest here at once,' or, 'Take me with you, treat my wounds, and care for me.' She was a bandit. Black Blade might sound impressive, but did these people belong to some grand organization? Hardly. Not a chance. The bandit gang had originally gone by names like Red Blade or Blood Blade. Over time, it had become an entrenched group that caused trouble for years. Its blood had turned black, so to speak, and it had become Black Blade. A bandit who numbered among its main fighting force was bound to be a fucking bastard, regardless of sex. Of course, he was relying partly on his Sixth Sense, but this was also a world where killing and being killed were a matter of course. A world rife with battlefields, monsters, and bandits. Besides, the people here were more than qualified to be called experts in slaughter. Even knights were disparaged as killing machines. As someone working toward becoming one, Encrid saw no particular need to turn away from that disparagement. He withdrew his sword. Nothing troubled his heart. No, he shook it off and turned away. "So that's it?"

Rem asked. Having worked off some energy, he looked less savage than before. Encrid did wonder why he had been so ferocious lately, but rather than ask, he said what he had to say.

"There'll have been even more trouble at their base." "Something else is happening?"

Rem tilted his head, and Ragna asked the question. Encrid was no fool. He had already picked up on the atmosphere before Krais spelled everything out for him. Why wouldn't he have? There had been an unsettled air about the barracks even before he left. The unobservant might have missed it, but even someone like Vengeance had begun to notice.

["Something going on lately? Doesn't the atmosphere feel a little strange?"]

He had asked that sort of thing. Encrid had felt it too, and knew where that feeling came from.

'They aren't coming.'

One unit had entirely disappeared from among those who occasionally asked him to spar. The Border Guard. Despite its name, the Guard was a combat unit deployed on special operations. Its border defense captain nominally held the standing of a company commander, but in practice he was the highest-ranking commander after Battalion Commander Marcus. 'Then it's obvious who would be sending them out.'

From there, Krais's careful deductions had filled in the picture. ["Bold fellow, this Marcus."]

Leaving aside when the battalion commander had become his fellow...

["I think he's planning to weed out Black Blade first. While someone else draws their attention."]

As he spoke, Krais had looked at Encrid. There had been no need to ask who would serve as the distraction, the bait. ["Hit them from behind. Brilliant. He's a schemer, isn't he?"]

Encrid had found it more remarkable that Krais had figured it out. Thus, he had concluded that something bigger would be happening at Black Blade's headquarters. And both his intuition and Krais's prediction were correct.

* * *

"You think you can make an enemy of Black Blade and live out your days in peace on this land?"

The branch leader responsible for the area spoke through a mouthful of blood. Bright red blood streamed down from his lips. He felt as though he were burning inside. Not merely figuratively: the physical pain was much the same. His internal organs were damaged. "What do I care?"

The border defense captain spoke placidly, toying with a knife. Its blade reflected the torchlight as it spun in his hand. It was more than sharp; it was chilling. He considered his opponent the sort of man who might have any trick up his sleeve. There was no reason to close the distance. "You kingdom bastards."

Resentment steeped the branch leader's words. He probably had his reasons, but they were none of the captain's concern. The captain's knife cut through the air. THUNK! The knife struck squarely between the branch leader's eyes. His body toppled backward and hit the floor with a thud.

"Take everything worth taking and burn it." This had happened while Encrid was heading toward the ambush site and enjoying his fights. The border defense captain had led the Guard out under cover of night. Its troops were exceptionally capable at this kind of work. While Black Blade focused on the front, on that halfwit noble Vancento or whatever his name was, and on Encrid, they had closed as much distance as possible, then advanced straight on Black Blade's headquarters. The bandits had made their base in a stockade halfway up a mountain. Since they also had to contend with monsters, its defenses were quite sturdy.

'But fortifications can only do so much when the fighting force is pathetic.' Above all, their main fighters were all absent. There was not a trace of the so-called Black Blade ten-man squad.

"What about the ones who escaped?"

"They knew the area inside out. We lost them." 'That's not good.'

While the captain searched Black Blade's stockade and followed a narrow path behind it up to a cave where they kept their treasure, more than twenty men had fled. The one at their head had looked fairly skilled, yet he had run without hesitation. 'If their leader ordered it...'

That would be another sign that Black Blade was no ordinary bandit gang. In any case, the fugitives were gone. Rather than dwell on what he could not catch, the captain focused on their success. "We won."

Marcus's operation had worked brilliantly.

* * *

One of the Black Blade members who escaped had been dispatched from headquarters.

'A raid. This branch is finished.'

As he fled, he racked his brains. What was the best way out of this? 'Black Blade's ten-man squad.'

The branches adopted the same system headquarters had used for generations. He had heard this branch's ten had gone out to lay an ambush. Determined not to botch the job, the branch leader had committed more strength than necessary. As a result, their headquarters had fallen easily. Leaving the blazing stockade behind, the fugitive ran straight for the ambush site. Some twenty-odd bandits followed him. They would join up with Black Blade's ten-man squad, get clear, then return to the main army. That was the plan. They gasped and panted, their short breaths tinged with fear as they pushed along a shortcut through rough mountain terrain. A cleverly concealed forest trail served as their escape route. After struggling along the treacherous path and reaching the ambush site, they saw...

"This looks useful."

People rummaging through the dead. Among the men with black, gray, and blond hair...

'Dunbachel?'

There was a bitch whose name even he knew. A Beastman they had employed as a mercenary. The gray-haired man was the first to spot him as he emerged with a rustle.

"Captain, your present has arrived."

The man who had spotted him spoke with a broad grin.