Chapter 213 - After the Soot Settles

Marcus was a political schemer through and through. Olf only learned of his approach after returning to the city, and the report made him nauseous. His head reeled. Had the retreat been perilous? No. There had been no danger. A portion of the cavalry had simply followed to escort him. 'He herded me into the city.'

And then surrounded it? Had the bastard truly lost his mind? After the shock came the inevitable anger. Even so, he kept thinking. Losing his head now would be the end. Could he reorganize inside the city and drive off Border Guard's army? Not a chance. They had just suffered defeat after committing themselves to an attack. Morale had hit rock bottom, and properly reorganizing would take time. Marcus had robbed Olf of that time. Time to collect himself. Time to prepare. Time to summon reinforcements. Nevertheless, Olf barely managed to hold himself together and convene a war council.

"Get everyone in here!"

Urgency raised his voice. He was fortunate it did not shake. Soon, everyone involved in military operations had assembled. "I'll go out and drive them off. Give me a hundred infantrymen and the cavalry!"

One of the adjutants spoke angrily. Was this bastard sane? If the enemy could simply be driven off, would they have taken such a beating in the last battle? He was Greg's replacement. "Shut up."

Olf turned away from the adjutant after answering. No matter how carefully he picked his men, there were bound to be some clueless fucking idiots. The only surprise was that a bastard like this had risen to adjutant. "It was political maneuvering. He only succeeded because he hid his strength so well."

An adjutant with some talent for flattery tried to soothe him, but there was no way those words would reach Olf now. His rump felt heavy against the chair. His chest felt heavier still. His hands and feet would not obey him. Whose troops had those men without insignia been? Count Molsen's. Viscount Vantra's army, which served under the Count, had made up the bulk of them, but the swordsman the Count had personally sent was dead as well. Some survivors of Viscount Vantra's army had headed home as soon as news of the defeat reached them. How utterly routed they had looked as they left. The same was true of Martai's army, of course. The corners of Olf's eyes twitched. Was he simply going to be swallowed whole? Outside the city, that bastard Marcus was slowly drawing his encirclement into place. When had he begun preparing? Had he planned all of this from the start? They were setting up camp. They had begun pitching tents, and he was told those five bastards stood out front, watching Martai's walls. Pins lay scattered haphazardly across the strategic map. One had toppled onto its side. To Olf, it seemed to embody his own predicament. 'Crazy bastards.'

Fresh irritation surged as he recalled the five men who had rampaged across the battlefield. They were the ones who had ruined the battle, weren't they? Olf clenched his teeth and suppressed his rising nausea. When did a man lose a fight? When he lost his grit and his guts. The spirit of the eastern mercenary roused him. Even if he could not win the battle now, he had to at least break Marcus's dagger. "Everyone out," Olf said.

It was time to bring out his trump card—the people he had prepared as insurance, yet never managed to use. "Sir?"

The clueless adjutant asked again. Once this battle ended, Olf would make certain to kill that bastard. He suddenly missed Greg. Of course, Greg was fucking dead. The assault Company had been the first to be annihilated, and Greg had commanded its Battalion. The only one still more or less intact was Zimmer, the Second Battalion Commander. After gauging the mood, Zimmer spoke.

"The General has spoken. Everyone out."

At his words, the adjutants streamed toward the door. Zimmer, the last to leave, turned back.

"General."

"Let me think. Wait outside."

Though he wore no sword, Zimmer placed his hand at his waist and bowed. Olf gave him a perfunctory nod. Once the adjutants had gone, he said, "Come out."

He spoke into empty air. Behind him, something long protruded from a shadow beyond the reach of the light. The jutting shape might have been part of the shadow, or soot spreading from a fire. Whatever it was, the black mass rose from the ground and took on three-dimensional form. Then it became a person in a black robe. No face was visible within the robe, making it questionable whether this was a person at all, but the exposed backs of the hands were pale and smooth. "Have you made your decision?"

The man in the black robe spoke in a voice like a clarinet, clear and sweet. People often said that dealing with a mage was much like dealing with a devil. That was what Olf had heard. Nothing came without a price. "I have," Olf answered.

The price of the pact was steep. But was he supposed to simply take this beating and lose his city? He could not do that either. 'Encrid.'

He remembered the man who had announced his name on the battlefield. Black hair poking out beneath his helmet. Around him, Martai's troops had been sliced and cut down. Olf knew what had caused his defeat. Thus, he judged that if he could break the blade responsible, the outcome might still be uncertain.

* * *

"I don't think surrounding them like this will solve anything."

Encrid spoke as he gauged the height of Martai's walls. 'Do we have to climb over?'

Their army had no siege engines—no mangonels, siege towers, or trebuchets. That left ladders as their only means of assaulting the walls. Yet they did not seem to have brought any ladders either. In other words, they had no intention of scaling them. Then, brute force? The gate was visible. There was no moat here, either. If Audin put his mind to swinging a hammer, couldn't he break through somewhere? The gate was thick, dark-brown wood. It looked sturdy, but Audin's arms looked just as sturdy. No, perhaps even sturdier. 'If we climb over under cover of night, we might not even need ladders.'

Weathered by the years, the wall was pitted and uneven. There were handholds. Scaling it would not be impossible if they committed to it. Ladders were not strictly necessary. Encrid imagined how the night might unfold.

'If I can climb over...'

Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin should be able to as well. Just the five of them would need to cross. Audin would open the gate while the others held their ground. 'What if they have archers waiting?'

How would they stop that? Dodging alone did not seem enough. Should they bring shields, then? It scarcely deserved to be called tactics, but they had fought while maintaining formation. He had often used similar formations before and fought as part of them, but this time had been entirely different. The destructive power. His own position at the center. The way every movement had remained under his control from beginning to end. It was a new experience. Experience made people grow, and Encrid was growing once again. Tactics and strategy—what was possible with the strength of the five of them, himself included? What could they accomplish? A handful of people deciding the course of a battlefield. That was why knights changed the tide of battle. Encrid was learning it firsthand. "Why are you worrying about that?"

Beside him, Rem picked his ear.

"Playing commander."

Rem snickered at Encrid's uncharacteristic joke.

"Well, esteemed commander of a Company with fewer than ten men, let's get something to eat." They had pushed their bodies madly, wreaking havoc amid a battlefield strewn with blood, corpses, brains, bones, eyeballs, severed arms, and fingers. He had no appetite at the moment. But he could hardly face another battle hungry. He had to forget what needed forgetting and eat when it was time to eat. "Let me wash first."

There was a well used by the people who farmed outside the gates. Poison would have been a problem, but would the enemy have had the presence of mind for that? He drew water and washed himself thoroughly. Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin threw off their armor and poured water over their heads as well. The falling streams splashed everywhere. Stones had been laid on the ground, sparing them from standing in mud. Encrid was quite pleased with that. "Looking good."

Pin had appeared at some point and was giving them a thumbs-up. All of them were covered only below the waist.

"Indeed. A pleasing sight."

The Fairy Company Commander and Krais stood beside her. Behind them, Dunbachel stood impassively. PURRR. Esther, too, had arrived unnoticed and settled in, blinking her blue eyes. She almost seemed to be examining each of the five men's bodies. "Where have you been?"

Encrid ignored the surrounding stares and the murmurs from Pin and the Company Commander as he spoke. The black panther raised a forepaw to scratch her neck. 'Not listening to a word, I see.'

Well, what did it matter? It wasn't as though Esther's absence would get him stabbed to death. "Company Commander, if a spot opens up in your unit, please take me in."

A few soldiers made idle remarks while waiting their turn to wash. They had been given time for personal upkeep. With no fighting imminent, everyone had relaxed to a degree. That did not mean they would neglect their vigilance. Border Guard's standing army was highly capable. Its soldiers did their jobs properly. "Do you mean that?"

The soldier merely grinned. Encrid gave a faint chuckle and walked past. Even if the man meant it, he could not accept him. It would not instantly give them a Company's worth of troops, and what good would a few random additions do?

'They'd be lucky not to end up as that bastard Rem's playthings.' After washing, he tended to his armor. The leather was already soaked with blood; neither the smell nor the stains would come out. He simply applied a little polish and left it at that. This would do. After tending to his gauntlet and boots as well, he took up his sword. A sword was metal. Without proper care, it would soon rust. A bloodied sword required particular attention. "Use this, sir."

A soldier from the First Company handed him a palm-sized earthenware bottle made of fired clay.

"Linseed oil. It's precious stuff."

"... Why give me something so precious?"

"Please use it."

The soldier simply left the bottle with him and hurried away. "Watching you fight like that, even I couldn't help admiring you. He's just paying his respects. It's respect and admiration."

Krais, who had been watching nearby, offered the explanation. Was that so? It was hardly a big deal. As he wiped his sword with linseed oil, Rem approached and held out his axe.

"See this? The edge is chipped."

Wasn't it more remarkable that the axe was still in one piece after all that swinging? "This fellow says he wants some oil too. Oiiil. Giiive me oiiil."

Having actually met an evil spirit trapped in a demon sword, Encrid doubted any demon sword would talk like that. "Help yourself."

There was enough to share. Once he finished wiping his sword, he drew the one he had picked up on the battlefield. SHING. It was nothing special. Wearing just one sword had felt a little empty, so he had picked it up when he spotted it. It had belonged to someone of commander rank, but its owner had died with his throat pierced by Jaxon before he could even draw it. 'That technique.'

Was it the Intentless Stab? Erase killing intent and presence, leaving nothing but the action itself. There were moments like that, weren't there? When something was plain to see, yet you could only stare, wondering whether it could really be happening. Jaxon's stab gave that impression. It moved at a speed that seemed unlikely to reach you, that seemed easy enough to dodge. A slow stab on a simple trajectory. Except that by the time you came to your senses, it would already have pierced your throat. How was that possible? He had seen it from right beside Jaxon. His improved discernment had opened a new perspective.

'Instant acceleration.'

Just before the stab landed, Jaxon's sword became faster than ever. Fast enough to vanish for an instant. As fast as Rem's light-streak axe strike, or faster. 'I think I could adapt that.'

Looked at a certain way, it seemed possible. And lessons poured in from Ragna, Rem, Audin, and everything around him. That was not all. The enemies he killed, the enemies passing nearby—everything was full of things to learn. He could now see what had once been invisible to him. It was a Review that began reflexively after battle, and preparation for another leap forward. "Back to swordsmanship as soon as it's over?"

The Fairy Company Commander had approached without his noticing. Her face gave no clue to her thoughts. But he had been swinging the edge of his hand through the air as he thought, so anyone who knew Encrid would know what he was doing. "It's fun."

"I see. There will be no fighting for a while. Everyone has orders to rest, my betrothed."

"Yes, understood." The sun was setting. Border Guard's army had erected numerous tents. Still, pitching tents hardly seemed to be the end of it.

'We haven't even secured a supply route.'

Did they have four days of food left? He doubted they even had that much. He wondered what Marcus was thinking, but there was no strategy meeting for the moment. Some units would stand sentry and guard duty. For the rest, it was time to put victory aside and surrender to exhaustion. No alcohol had been issued, so Encrid sipped cider he had stashed away. "You said you'd drunk it all."

At Rem's grumbling, he handed over a small bottle.

"Good work today."

"You fought well yourself, Captain. Trembling fingers and all." He had seen everything, then. His muscles had indeed trembled from overusing the Heart of the Superhuman. How could they not? He had done it to pull his own weight among these men. That was the kind of strain he had put himself under. Of course, he was fine now. He recovered faster than before. Encrid idly clenched and unclenched his hand, checking its condition. Perfectly fine, as expected. "Our Captain's really grown."

Rem murmured the words. Sometimes a silly remark slipped out without thought. This was one of those moments for Encrid.

"I was always taller than you." "You call that a joke?" Rem said, shaking his head.

Jaxon pretended not to have heard. Ragna spoke nonchalantly.

"You can train your sense of humor too." What kind of nonsense was that? When it came to wit rather than swords, being compared with these men was an insult in itself. "Pray."

Audin began praying beside him, so Encrid simply shut his mouth. Hadn't these men followed his orders faithfully today? He suddenly wanted to ask why, but decided to keep quiet. It would be a pointless question. If he had lived his life scrutinizing their every action and asking why, they could never have gotten along as they did now. He merely met each man's eyes in turn. "I can fight too."

Dunbachel spoke as his gaze moved over to her.

"I know."

But sending her out there earlier would only have gotten her killed. If he had wanted a meat shield, he would not have taken her in to begin with. Now that he had, he ought to put her to proper use. Resting his chin on his hand, he looked around at everyone, then lay down on the thickly layered cloth. He would get a good night's sleep. He could faintly feel the stones and uneven ground beneath him, but not enough to keep him awake. As he closed his eyes and drifted off, he felt Esther slip into his arms. He gently cradled the black panther. Time passed. In the hours before dawn, when everyone was asleep, Esther—who should have been sound asleep herself—slipped out of Encrid's embrace. A strange energy was settling over the tent. Something intimately connected to Esther's own world. Something of mysteries and spells.

Magic.