Chapter 203 - Amid the Summer God's Mischief

Once he had put on the clothes of those entering the gates, Encrid headed straight outside. “Hey! Where are you going?” A soldier helping direct the residents at the wall shouted at him. Encrid lifted the battered, broad-brimmed hat covering his head, revealing his eyes, and met the soldier's gaze. Those vivid blue eyes, the bridge of his nose and the lips beneath them—it was not hard to recognize him. “For a walk.”

“Captain Encrid?” These days, few people in the city did not know Encrid's face. “Shh.”

Holding his forefinger before his nose to signal for silence, Encrid went outside. He had left Krais behind. The fellow was useless in a head-on fight. Moving against the stream of incoming residents was bound to draw some attention. It felt like being a fish swimming upstream. He did not care. What did it matter if his own side saw him? What mattered was remaining unseen by the enemy. It was still too early for them to be within the enemy scouts' line of sight. In other words, the perfect time to slip outside and hide. “Let's go.”

Encrid broke into a run. “An ambush?” Pin asked, drawing alongside him.

“Yes.” Pin offered no comment either way. Nor did she question what an ambush by fewer than ten people would accomplish. She knew, too. Her occasional sessions with Audin had taught her plenty. Everyone in the Lunatic Company was a monster.

Encrid included.

* * *

Marcus had climbed to the gallery atop the wall and was stroking his beard when the adjutant who had accompanied him from the kingdom asked a question. “Will this be all right?” He did not doubt Encrid's fighting ability. He trusted him. But trust aside, the situation certainly looked precarious. Whatever his faith, that was how it looked from the outside. Wasn't that why they had prepared a fallback? “I don't know either.”

“Then why are you smiling?” The adjutant could read neither worry nor concern on Marcus's face. He found it utterly fascinating. He had never known Marcus could speak with such passion, or smile like this. 'No, perhaps I've seen it a few times.' When Marcus found tea leaves he liked, joined an auction and won them, he would sometimes smile that way. It was the smile of someone who had discovered something truly precious, with nothing left to do but enjoy it. “Whatever happens, it'll be interesting.” Marcus was not a man who treated the battlefield as entertainment. There had to be a reason for him to say that. The adjutant realized his expectations of the Company Commander named Encrid were extraordinary. At times, he seemed less expectant than simply delighted. “The troops without insignia will be Viscount Vantra's army. Count Molsen may have sent some men as well,” the adjutant said. Molsen was also known as a collector of talent. He had many highly capable people under him. Marcus had anticipated this, too. They would have concealed their insignia because they could not openly provide support. That bastard Count Molsen was just as eager to carve himself a slice of the meat called Border Guard. It meant trouble. A sizable jackal had joined the fray. And Molsen was a devious bastard; there was no telling what he might do. Marcus did not dwell on things beyond his control. He could not ask the capital for help anyway. If this was a gamble, it was only natural to stake everything on the one card he trusted. And the fact that he did not actually consider it a gamble said it all. “Why hasn't the Independent Company Commander come up?” Marcus asked.

All the commanders should have assembled on the gallery by now, but Encrid alone was absent. “There.”

The sharp-eyed Fairy Company Commander raised a finger the moment he asked. Below the wall, residents who farmed or did other ancillary work outside were filing in. A few figures could be seen moving against that flow. No amount of disguise could easily conceal Audin's bulk. Though it was Encrid whom the Fairy Company Commander had recognized. “They're heading out.” Marcus had not issued any orders yet. He had merely given Encrid authority. “... Hah.”

A soft sound of admiration escaped him. He had a fair idea of what Encrid intended. And if it worked, the enemy would have a great deal to worry about right from the start. He could not help smiling.

* * *

Martai's commander was named Olf. He wanted to be called General, and he had the ability to warrant it. Besides his personal prowess, he had accumulated distinguished service as a commander. All his adjutants called him General. In effect, Border Guard's mayor went by Battalion Commander, while Martai's went by General. Well, it hardly mattered what they chose to call themselves. “General, we're ready.”

“The mangonels?”

“Eight in total. N-no problems, sir.” A mangonel was a catapult operated by six strong men to hurl stones. It had the advantage of being mobile and requiring no assembly. Less powerful than trebuchets, but easier to operate, these wheeled engines were effectively mobile siege guns. Trebuchets, by contrast, had to be set up separately. Olf thought eight mangonels were more than enough. And he had the reinforcements without insignia, too. The commander of those troops approached.

“I don't think there's any need to drag this out.” Olf knew neither the man's name nor his face. The fellow had brown eyes and an unkempt mustache, and looked to be in his early thirties at most. He observed the courtesies, but did not seem to respect Olf. Well, he must have something to rely on to have come here. Olf did not care. The man was one of Viscount Vantra's commanders. He seemed wholly uninterested in actually commanding anything, but that was none of Olf's business. Studying the battlefield was more useful than worrying about this nonsense. Better to assess the enemy's strength than waste time on idle thoughts. Naturally. So Olf focused on those who had distinguished themselves in previous battles. Fortunately, if that was the word for it, Viscount Vantra's army had two commanders. The other one could at least be reasoned with. In fact, he handled all the troops. That second commander had said: [“Encrid? Ah, that fellow? Half of it's bluster. He goes about trumpeting ridiculous achievements. If I meet him on the battlefield, I'll put a hole in his throat.”] The pointed estoc at his waist lent weight to his words. Olf had nodded. They were fighting on the same side, after all. Still, they were an odd pair. The first commander merely trailed after him looking bored, occasionally telling him to hurry. 'Whatever the case.' Victory in this battle was assured, and he would be its leading figure. He would swallow Border Guard whole and make this region a new foothold for the East. His grand dream soared through the sky. Around then, rain began to patter down. Rain from a clear sky. The summer god's mischief. Olf sat mounted at the rear of the battlefield. Ahead stood several houses outside Border Guard's walls. There was no sign of life in the homes their residents had vacated. The mangonels moved along the well-kept road, which naturally ran between the houses. Watching the siege engines roll through in a line was reassuring. They needed to make haste before the pattering drizzle turned the ground muddy. “Hurry.”

At Olf's command, the soldiers quickened their pace.

* * *

The summer god's mischief was what people called rain falling from a clear sky. It was a kind of superstition. No gods embodied the individual seasons. Well, different regions had different names for it. In the West, wasn't it some shaman's mistake? Encrid had once heard Rem call it that when they saw rain like this. Encrid was not particularly nervous. He thought of it simply as doing what needed doing. That did not mean he intended to make a halfhearted effort. 'Is the summer god helping us?' The timely rain made visibility a little worse. Good conditions for anyone in hiding. Predicting their route had not been difficult. Experience had taught him that. With catapults in tow, he had expected them to take the well-kept road between the houses. He had been right. Wheeled things needed a good road. RUMBLE. Soon he heard wheels rolling. He had opened the door of a house built of earth and timber and concealed himself behind it. Audin could not hide that way, so he was inside the house itself. Rem, Ragna, and Dunbachel were behind the door of the opposite house. On this side were Encrid, Jaxon, and Audin. Pin was farther back. 'Destroy the catapults and pull out.' Encrid drew on past experience. There was no need to burn everything up in a single battle. They could wear the enemy down bit by bit. This was not some military doctrine grounded in strategy and tactics. He had merely applied what he learned fighting the Knolls, but it seemed workable. [“Sounds good.”]

Krais had nodded, too. Then that settled it. Hidden behind the door, Encrid watched a mangonel rattle past. “Fuck, now it's fucking raining.” An enemy soldier grumbling as he pushed the mangonel met Encrid's eyes. Encrid spoke calmly.

“Audin. Break it.” The soldier's eyes widened. As his mouth fell open in surprise: WHIZZ! THUNK! A knife flew from Jaxon's hand and buried itself in the man's forehead. His back thumped against the catapult as he fell. His limbs went limp and he crumpled to the ground like an old wooden puppet. “We're under attack!” More than ten men were hauling the catapult. They could not silence them all. Encrid sprang out as well. Planting his foot firmly and drawing his sword, he executed a movement that marked three points. A short, sharp stab diagonally left, withdraw, another straight ahead, and finally one diagonally right. Three stabs made three casualties. “Ghk!”

“Urk!”

“Aaargh!” Three screams erupted together. He had driven a hole through the first man's mouth, pierced the second's throat, and deliberately poured his strength into the third stab to punch through leather armor and pierce the heart. It was skill, a technique blending finesse and power in equal measure. Audin burst out in the meantime. His crashing through the wall startled the enemy soldiers all the more. “Aaah!”

“What the hell!”

“... Ghk!” Their cries of surprise came in all varieties. Audin planted himself beside the catapult, seized it with his left hand, then drew back his right fist and punched. Encrid recognized elements of Balaf-style martial arts even in that movement. Audin slid his left foot forward and stamped down, adding the rotation of his ankle, knee, and waist. The fist that followed was like a cannonball. BOOM! The explosive report of his punch rang out amid the summer god's mischief. Rain scattered in every direction. CRACK! A mangonel was no delicate catapult. Rugged simplicity was its strength. That did not make its catch, trigger, or wheels unimportant. A weapon with a mechanism had clear weak points. Of course, Audin paid no attention to any of that. He punched apart the thick timber that formed its load-bearing frame, sending splinters flying through the rain. A few punches destroyed the catapult. This went beyond monstrous strength. Could an Ogre or a Giant, monsters among monsters, do such a thing? Even a Frog would struggle to manage it. “Bless your humble servant!” To say that while destroying a siege engine with his bare fists. Encrid marveled at his piety once again. Something similar was happening across the road, with Rem filling Audin's role. His axe smashed the mangonel's basket and severed every stout cord that served as its trigger. Ragna strolled along, cutting, slashing, and stabbing the enemy soldiers who approached. “Form ranks! Don't rush them blindly!”

A commander among the catapults shouted. They had lost the two leading engines, but he could not let the attack continue unchecked. He meant to pull back and mass his men for a counterattack. With that in mind, he was just opening his mouth. “Grrrgh?” Whatever his intentions, however, the meaning in his heart would never become words. Encrid saw a shadow rise abruptly behind the commander. It was Jaxon. He slit the commander's throat from behind with a smooth stroke of his dagger, flung the corpse aside, then stabbed a soldier near a siege engine farther back. Dodge and stab. Simple movements, and the dead multiplied. Rather than fight the enemy soldiers, Audin concentrated on smashing their weapons. BOOM! BOOM! Exhilarating crashes rang out one after another. Naturally, every eye turned to Audin. In that brief distraction, Jaxon vanished. All that remained was: “Ghk!”

“Fall, fall back!” A shadow cutting the throats of those shouting orders. Combining bursts of speed with his dagger, Jaxon singled out anyone trying to rally the soldiers. Encrid swung his sword, thinking this was a familiar sight. Plenty of enemies stood before him, too. Dunbachel stayed beside Ragna, fighting only those who closed in. Pin had kept her distance from the start, stationed in a house farther back. Her role was to observe the whole situation from the rear rather than join the fighting directly. Those were Encrid's orders, of course. They drove forward relentlessly. Destroying the eight siege engines advancing in a line was not particularly difficult. A soldier approached to stop Audin. With overwhelming strength, Audin seized the man, hurled him aside, and charged. CRASH! He rammed his shoulder into a siege engine and toppled it onto its side. It scarcely seemed possible, yet it was happening before their eyes, making it all the more bewildering. It took only a little over ten minutes to destroy all eight engines. The summer god's mischief was always brief. And during that brief prank, Martai lost eight siege engines. TWEEEEET! Pin blew the whistle she had prepared. The enemy's main army was beginning to stir. At the sharp-eyed ranger's signal, Encrid withdrew. Naturally, the others went with him. Dunbachel was the first to run, and everyone pulled back as the Beastman sprinted away. The battle had not even properly begun. They had not even reached the point of standing before the walls and demanding surrender. Martai had lost its siege engines, and the Border Guard soldiers, whose shoulders had been rigid at the sight of the enemy army, began to relax. Encrid turned and ran. All they had to do now was get away, and they could call the operation a success. But in mid-stride, he suddenly stopped. “What're you doing?”

Rem noticed. Instead of answering, Encrid turned all the way around. Behind him, the enemy troops had come to a standstill. Some had yet to grasp what had happened. Some stared blankly at him. Some shouted that they had to pursue. Some stood wide-eyed, and some lay on the ground, their eyes dazed. What had made them this way?

What had stopped them in their tracks? Something hot surged from his lower belly to his throat. “Aren't you coming?”

Pin raised her voice. Everyone stared at their Captain's back, wondering what the man was doing. How could he put it? Encrid simply wanted to do it. He wanted to let that heat out. “My name is Encrid.”

Standing where he had stopped, he announced his name. “Withdraw now, and you can live.”

He raised his voice calmly. It was neither a roar nor a shout. Just the right resonance. Even so, it carried far, deep, and loud. The eyes of the enemy's front ranks fixed on Encrid. Dozens, hundreds of pairs. He met their gazes. It was boldness. A sudden surge of expansive spirit. That was what made him speak. A declaration of war and a warning, bearing his name. Every gaze converged on this unprecedented display of initiative. “Has he lost his mind?”

That was Rem's response, but the allied soldiers watching felt something utterly electrifying. “Waaaaah!”

Naturally, their cheers swelled. The nerve to halt before more than a thousand enemies. The spirit to call out in their faces. It was like watching the hero of a story. “Get a grip. Are you on fucking drugs?”

And Rem kept running his mouth behind him.