Chapter 210 - Marcus Kept Encrid Hidden

Jaxon had expected the cavalry to stop before they got very far. When men dropped dead in droves after a single charge, that was the natural choice for a commander. So instead of meeting the charge, he had lowered himself and begun moving. While everyone watched the charging cavalry, then the men who repelled them, Jaxon had headed ahead for the place where the riders were likely to stop. He had started before the horses did. Over a short distance, provided he ran in earnest, he was confident he would not fall far behind them. This was the result. As the man with the pierced throat tilted sideways, Jaxon kicked his calf to free his foot from the saddle and personally shoved him off. The commander fell with a thud. Jaxon was in no hurry. Settling into the saddle, he patted the horse around its neck, his strokes almost blows. The mount twisted as though in protest, then quieted. Without looking back, he rode to Encrid's side. CLIP-CLOP, CLIP-CLOP! The brisk sound of hoofbeats rang through the silence. The watching cavalry were so taken aback by his utter nonchalance that they missed their chance to attack. "That fucking alley cat. Keeping all the easy work for himself."

Rem welcomed Jaxon back. "Stick to your brainless fighting, you mad barbarian."

Jaxon offered his own greeting, dismounted, and slapped the horse's rump. The horse whinnied and galloped off with clattering hooves. Naturally, it headed where no troops were gathered. Dust rose behind it like a heat haze. Meanwhile, seemingly unconcerned that they stood in the middle of a battlefield, Rem and Jaxon followed their greetings with murderous glares. Encrid, who should have stopped them, had been lost in thought when he abruptly spoke. He had been mulling this over for a while. "Couldn't they have swung the shafts without hooking them in at the back?" Then they could simply have let go if his sword broke their weapons. Instead, they had fitted the rear ends of the shafts into loops at their sides and on the horse armor, slowing all their reactions. He thought that explained their poor response to the first blow. No wonder they had fallen victim. Rem sighed at Encrid, who had been spouting nonsense for some time now, and answered. At least it ended his staring match with Jaxon, who also shook his head and looked away. "If you brace with your waist as the pivot, you have to withstand both the horse's momentum and the impact. Would that break your back or wouldn't it?" Encrid's back would not break. But someone else's? Those with insufficient training might well suffer that fate. Understood. What Encrid had meant was this: the enemy's attacks had been too simple, too direct. And they tucked the shafts under their arms? For slashing attacks? It might work efficiently against weaker opponents, but of course they were helpless in a situation like this. That was why they could not cope with attacks like these. Without meaning to, Encrid had identified the enemy cavalry's defining trait. These glaive-wielding charging riders had never prepared for counterattacks. They specialized in slicing up weaker opponents. 'They should have trained their strength instead of hooking the shafts in at the back.' Having fought them, he could see what needed fixing. It brought a fresh realization: he could now recognize and identify his opponents' shortcomings. That offered another avenue for improvement. 'Good.' Quite apart from repelling the cavalry charge, something curious shone in Encrid's eyes. Watching him, the remaining cavalry hesitated, unsure what to do, until another order to charge came. "Charge! Kill them all!" In a sense, whoever gave that order had remarkable nerve. To think of attacking again after what had just happened. Encrid pointed his drawn sword ahead and faced the charging cavalry once more. He had done it once. Why not twice? The goddess of luck had played no part in repelling the previous charge. That outcome had owed more to skill than luck. "What is this, some insane antlion pit?" That was Marcus's assessment. Watching from the opposite side, the enemy commander Olf cursed the charging cavalry's stupidity, yet instantly made the best decision available. Withdrawing now would have been utter folly. "Charge!" Martai's infantry set off. The melee had begun. Before the infantry could charge in, cavalrymen fell in droves, and the survivors retreated. Five men alone had accomplished it all. Naturally, the charging Martai infantry's morale was at rock bottom.

* * *

["Ragna and I at the front. Rem on the right, Jaxon on the left. Audin, take the rear."] Before coming here, Encrid had considered a formation befitting the leader of a unit, rather than letting everyone fight at random. He had not given it especially deep thought. Each man would hold his position and fight without getting in the others' way. A melee would mean greater losses for their allies. He had discarded the idea of using defensive tactics to reduce those losses. That was not a job for a handful of elite fighters. Instead, they could reduce allied casualties by inflicting more enemy casualties in a shorter time. That was why he had devised this "serviceable formation." Fighting together seemed likely to be more effective than fighting apart. "Keep your spacing." These men were not accustomed to being bound by rigid rules. Audin, Ragna, and Jaxon were one thing, but would that mad bastard Rem actually listen? Encrid wondered himself. If Rem refused, he was prepared to let him go. 'Then Ragna takes the front, and I take the right.' Jaxon, Ragna, and Audin might refuse as well. If that happened, he would abandon the idea and fight. There would be neither time nor room to persuade them. From then on, he would simply let his sword do the talking with the enemy. By the time he spoke about the formation, Encrid had already made up his mind about all of that. And then... "Got it."

Rem was the first to take his position. On the right, about three paces away. Far enough that a sword swing would not reach him, but close enough to lend a hand if he wished. "Three paces apart, then. Understood."

Jaxon moved to the left. Following Rem and Jaxon, Ragna stepped two paces forward. Audin took the rear last. "... You're not running off on your own?"

Encrid found himself asking Rem. They had listened so readily that he could not help being surprised. "What are you on about? Those bastards are coming right at us. You have time to stand around flapping your gums?" He did not. Enemy infantry were bearing down on them like mad. There was no time to question the others, either. "... Forward."

Encrid spoke softly, but his voice reached those around him with unmistakable firmness. Ragna matched his steps. Whatever anyone might say, Encrid was the center of this formation. Was it really going to work like this? They were actually following his orders this well? Bewildering, but hardly something to argue about. "Raaaaah!"

Amid the enemy's battle cries came shouts.

"Kill them all!"

"Die, you dumb fucks!"

"Fucking bastards!" Some soldiers at the front showed fear, others madness, still others composure. Everyone was different. Among those frightened, frenzied, and calm soldiers, curses and battle cries rang in harmony. It was the orchestra of the battlefield. Encrid did not run. He merely quickened his walk, and his companions moved in step with him. His side's morale was far higher. The spirit spreading through the troops was different. He could feel it on his skin. "Raaaaah! You dumb fucks!"

With his allies' shouts rising behind him, Encrid met his first enemy. The second cavalry charge had made a greater impression than the first. The first had left everyone stupefied, but the second was different. Even knowing what to expect, they had watched the same scene repeat itself. Worse, more riders had died than before. The decimated cavalry had fled outright. Had they charged again, they would have deserved to be called the greatest idiots on the continent. So it was no one else's fault that the soldier before him had lost both composure and madness, leaving only fear in his eyes. Blades came flying, hot air rushing between them. Encrid brought his sword down. A straightforward cut to the crown, from top to bottom. THUD, CRACK! His first blow struck the soldier's head. The snapping strike shattered his skull as though it had burst, spraying blood and brains in all directions. Drops of blood pattered onto Encrid's leather helmet. While those drops were still falling, he was already slashing horizontally through another soldier's chest and left arm. THWACK! If swordsmanship mattered, couldn't the weapon itself be part of one's technique? With that thought, Encrid put his sword's capabilities to full use. A blade of extraordinary sharpness and strength split the oncoming waves of soldiers again and again. The formation's effectiveness? He paid no attention to any of that. He focused on just one thing: staying reasonably close and fighting together. His intent was clear. Encrid drove into the enemy like the point of a blade. Naturally, Rem and the others followed with him at their center. The Lunatic Company's advance was like a knife sinking into a soft apple. Soon they would be in the enemy's midst. What happened when they drove that far in? They would be surrounded. Put another way, they would fight with enemies filling the space all around them. A bad tactic? Not necessarily. "To heaven with you, brothers!"

Audin shouted from the rear. His fist and club moved faster than breathing. WHOOSH, WHAM! SWISH, THWACK! On the right, Rem cackled and swung his axes. Flashes of steel swept in every direction, battering enemy swords, splitting skulls, and cleaving armor. "Come on, give me more. I'm all excited now."

Rem spoke drenched in blood. Amid the red of his helmet and face, only his gray eyes blinked. As terror settled over the enemy, the soldiers charging from the front faltered. "You bastards!"

Someone suddenly rushed in from the left. Encrid did not know it, but this was Greg, the First Battalion Commander. Jaxon barred the path of General Olf's trusted champion with a slender sword. This opponent had not drawn Greg's notice even once before. He did not underestimate the man, but neither did he build him up into something greater in his mind. He swung his hexagonal mace. It was a weighty blow on a difficult trajectory, aimed diagonally at the collarbone. Dodging would break the formation, but blocking would be difficult. The difference in strength looked obvious. Encrid caught it from the corner of his eye, but felt no concern.

'Not a chance.' Had Jaxon looked like the easiest opponent to face head-on? The man had clearly been lingering near Rem. Yet instead of attacking him, he had deliberately circled around to the left. He had singled Jaxon out. The auburn-haired soldier met the mace with his slender blade. If he could not dodge, he need only deflect. SCRIIIIING! He received the heavy mace on the flat of his blade and applied force to guide it aside. Steel scraped against steel, throwing sparks. Jaxon's face remained expressionless, as though he were simply doing his job. For all that, it was a remarkably advanced deflection. His firm mastery of the Flowing Sword's fundamentals showed. "Huh!"

Greg tried to wrench his mace back by force as it slid in a direction he had never intended. "Idiot."

Jaxon murmured as he watched. Greg heard him clearly. This bastard! Cursing with his eyes, Greg brought the mace under control and stamped his foot hard into the ground. He meant to crush the man with brute force again. If his opponent tried another deflection, he would simply drop the weapon, rush in, and break his neck. Greg was confident in his unarmed combat as well. In an instant, he mapped out the course of the fight, picturing himself breaking the enemy's neck. The only strange thing was that the same scene kept playing over and over. Drop the mace and rush in. Break his neck.

CRACK! Drop the mace and rush in. Break his neck.

CRACK. Drop the mace and rush in. Break his neck.

CRACK. Then the world suddenly spun. Looking down, he saw that the bastard who had called him an idiot was already thrusting his sword elsewhere. He watched a blade plunge through a soldier's visor, piercing his eye and skull as he screamed. "Aaargh!" 'Why can I see all this?' Puzzled, Greg looked down and saw a body spurting blood. Devoid of strength, it splashed red paint everywhere before falling forward with a thud. Blood gushed from the place where its head had been, like water from a tipped bucket. The armor on the fallen man looked very much like his own. That was the end. Thought ceased, and darkness swallowed everything.

* * *

Ragna had struck the moment the man attacking Jaxon was pushed aside. There was no need for Scission, so he used Steel Cut. The armor covering the man's neck looked fairly tough, but that meant nothing. THWACK, SHICK! He cut through armor, neck bones, and tendons. The Heavy Sword Technique's Steel Cut. The head flew through the air, looking oddly as though its eyes were blinking. He paid it no further attention. Ragna's excitement was rising.

'Entertaining bastards.'

He meant all of them, Encrid included. Where else could anyone gather men like these? Something born of coincidence piled upon coincidence. A prank by the goddess of luck. Something like that must have brought this about. 'No, perhaps there's no such thing.' Wasn't life something that began in chance and ended in inevitability? Perhaps this had happened independently of luck. Without Encrid, he would never have stayed here. That made it inevitable. But did that mean Rem and the others had played no part? In his tedious life, he had found people roughly his equal in skill. Naturally, that would make him stop. Chance and inevitability. Those useless thoughts faded. Exhilaration. Enjoyment. Things Ragna rarely felt while wielding a sword drenched him. Exhilaration filled him, then overflowed. That was why his sword became fiercer, more precise, and busier. At some point, even Encrid had to adjust to Ragna's rhythm. As he took the lead and began swinging, he was death itself. Something began to enter the enemy soldiers' eyes, beyond ordinary fear, as they faced a terror they could not comprehend. "Aaaaaah!"

"Spare me!"

"Monsters!" Not battle cries, but sobs. Screams and cold sighs began to stain the battlefield. The orchestra was coming to an end. "... What kind of monsters are they?" The squad leader who had once tried to trap Encrid with a trick along the supply route had just joined the battle. A despondent sigh escaped him. Had he survived, he might have become a fine commander and an outstanding soldier. But he would not survive, either. An axe was upon him before he knew it, striking his chest and passing on. "Guh." His breastbone caved in and his heart burst. Terrible pain raced through his body. The squad leader collapsed, weeping tears of blood. By then, the dead numbered well over a hundred.

* * *

"Fuck." Olf sensed defeat. No, it was more than a sense. They were not even remotely a match. 'Five proto knights?' That fucking bastard had hidden them well. Beyond despair, Olf felt dizzy. Five proto knights? This was no knight order. What the hell was this? Even if they weren't proto knights, how had Marcus concealed five men with that much power? Olf could not accept it. He had not lost at war. This was a victory for politics. A victory for the man who had hidden his assets well. This had happened because Marcus had kept Encrid well hidden. "Keep the melee going."

Amid all this, the commander without insignia who had accompanied them spoke as he ran past. There was nothing for Olf to keep going. The course of the battle was no longer his to command. From now on, his life, the beginning, and the end all depended on Marcus's whim. Beyond morale and the advantage, everything on the battlefield had fallen into that politician's hands. "What an utter son of a bitch." He had been defeated absurdly by a blow backed by nothing but the martial might of his opponent's subordinates. Who could understand Olf's devastation? Could this even be called strategy or tactics? Merely keeping the strength of five men well hidden? If anyone named this battle, only one name would truly fit: Marcus Kept Encrid Hidden.