Chapter 219 - I'd Like to Fight Him

Even with the entire city in high spirits, guards remained on duty. Under their escort, two carriages crossed the city and entered the heart of the marketplace. There would have been no grounds to stop them. Officially, this was an ally, and one of the great nobles at that. A coachman with well-muscled forearms climbed down and opened the carriage door. A man sporting a handsome mustache emerged from the first carriage. "Count Molsen?"

Marcus murmured the name, then went to greet him. "I heard you were celebrating a victory, so I stopped by on my way." He was the last person anyone had expected to appear here, much less in the middle of Border Guard's marketplace. The Squad Leader in charge of the guard detail hovered uncertainly, unable to intervene. At a glance from Marcus, he withdrew without a word. The peculiar air surrounding the Count and his retinue sealed the lips of everyone nearby. In the silence, the Count's voice rang out, carrying an unmistakable core of steel. It was full of the confidence of a man who trusted himself and knew his own authority. "I stopped by because I wanted to see the face of this fellow they call the hero of the battle." Count Molsen was bold. Direct. It made him seem all the more confident. Despite his lofty rank, he wore neither expensive satin nor silk, yet there was a certain dignity to his thin cotton clothes. The trained muscles visible beneath them suggested that he had not neglected his own conditioning. Even standing on earth turned muddy by the liquor spilled by excited revelers, he had an air that left no doubt he was a noble. An impressive man. Encrid had never met anyone who gave him quite this first impression. "Well? I hear he's a jewel you've kept hidden. Let me have a look too." The Count spoke with complete ease. Even then, Marcus was slow to answer. They seemed to know each other. Watching from a few paces away, Encrid naturally heard the unexpected request to see him. 'Should I step forward?'

Or leave things alone? A glance at Marcus revealed a stiffness in his face Encrid had never seen before. Hadn't the man kept chuckling even during the battle? "That bastard's got the kind of skull you just want to split open from behind." Rem muttered beside him. His speech wasn't slurred, but suddenly wanting to split open the head of some noble bastard he'd just met could hardly be called normal. Leaving the drunken Rem where he was, Encrid gestured to Audin and Ragna to take the bastard away. Left alone, he looked liable to cause serious trouble. Encrid also intended to spare Marcus his predicament. He had no desire to keep himself hidden. That had been Marcus's scheme, not his own wish. He had gone along with it, but everything was out in the open now, wasn't it? So stepping forward was the right thing to do. No, since things had come to this, why not encourage the swordsmen under Count Molsen to come see him later? He had taken quite a liking to Krais's little scheme. Make them come to him, rather than going to them. Above all, whatever sort of air Count Molsen projected, Encrid found him no threat. Even before he began repeating today, he had lived with half his life on the line. Since the repetitions began, he had truly staked his life on everything he did. In sheer resolve and nerve, he might well have been the greatest on the continent. That was why Count Molsen's arrival looked something like an opportunity to him. 'They say collecting talented people is his hobby.' He had heard that Count Molsen was nicknamed the Collector of Talent. Then surely he had plenty of skilled swordsmen under his command. Skilled spearmen too. Some would be martial artists, others expert with blunt weapons. No, there would be plenty of those as well. Rumors that he had men akin to knights in his service were everywhere. The Elite-Slaying Blade who had targeted Encrid in the previous battle had also served Count Molsen, but Encrid had no way of knowing that. He didn't even know the dead man's nickname. In any case, he began to hope that once Krais spread the rumors, some of the Count's men with a competitive streak might take an interest. Perhaps a few swordsmen would come to see him. "Was his name Encrid?" Count Molsen spoke again. By now, Marcus would have had to act, but Encrid stepped toward them first. "Stand back, soldier." A man acting as a bodyguard blocked Encrid's chest with his arm. No, it was closer to a blow than a block. He struck him, roughly and viciously, as though looking for a fight. That well-muscled arm belonged to the man who had been driving the carriage. His developed chest muscles were visible, and his eyes glared fiercely. 'He's picking a fight, isn't he?'

That seemed a fair interpretation. Besides, the man had hit him first. Didn't that give him grounds to use violence too? It seemed it did. Deep down, he hoped that making a powerful impression here might improve the caliber of the people who later came looking for him. So Encrid didn't give it much thought. Rem's influence probably had something to do with it. So did the few drinks he'd had. That was why he caught the arm barring his way and pushed. Naturally, the other man pushed back. In an instant, Encrid switched from pushing the man's hand with his right to pulling it, while his left foot swept the man's heel. Breaking his balance: the Balaf-style martial arts he had learned from Audin. Caught off guard, the man fell for it. His kicked foot flew up, his backside lifted, and he landed on his rear with a thud. Whether the Count had intended to create it or not, Encrid seemed to have deliberately torn apart the curtain of silence he had cast over the gathering. The surroundings seemed even quieter than before. One soldier involuntarily let out something like a groan: "Oh dear." "That must hurt." Uncomfortable with the silence, Encrid offered the comment quietly. The fallen man's face turned red. As he started to rise again, eyes fierce, Encrid spoke. "I believe you've come to see me." He didn't even look at the man he'd knocked down. Instead, he turned to the Count, who was looking his way as well. Back on his feet, the coachman clenched his fist, debating whether to hit him. In the end, he couldn't throw the punch. His lord was watching the man. Encrid had demonstrated his strength first; conversation followed. The little disturbance seemed to have thoroughly captured the Count's attention. Since attracting that attention had been part of his intention, Encrid could meet his gaze calmly. There was not the slightest trace of intimidation in his manner or actions. It seemed half-mad, but the Count himself was busy studying Encrid in silence. Encrid did the same. 'That's a nicely groomed mustache.'

It looked as though he employed a barber specifically to maintain it. Behind the Count, Marcus started to intervene, then closed his mouth. Encrid's initiative had left him no opening. "Are you Encrid?" the Count asked. "Yes, I am," Encrid replied. Their eyes met. Encrid watched him placidly, and the Count calmly met the black-haired man's blue eyes. Was beating up his coachman on their first meeting rude? The thought suddenly occurred to Encrid after the fact. He didn't consider it much of a problem. After all, didn't they have something of a grievance already? Everyone in the know knew that Count Molsen had secretly poked his fork into the battle. They couldn't openly demand an explanation, of course. The troops with their insignia removed hadn't attacked for no reason. Besides, the moment Martai started losing, they had all pulled back and fled. Not a single one had been captured. Chasing down a few would have been easy, but there had been no need. No, they had been told they mustn't. Krais had said that capturing them would only cause trouble, and supplied an eminently reasonable explanation. ["What happens if we uncover it and confront him? Will the Count happily admit it? Don't be ridiculous! Wouldn't he accuse us of framing him instead? Then we might end up having to bow and scrape to him. It's better to leave it unknown."] The point was simple: might was law. Perhaps Marcus had anticipated that too, since he hadn't bothered pursuing the fleeing men. In any case, Encrid judged that it wasn't as though he'd knocked down the Count's son. Embarrassing a single coachman-like bodyguard couldn't be that serious. "Are you all right?"

The Count addressed the coachman standing awkwardly behind Encrid. "Yes, Father." Hmm? Encrid reflexively wanted to clean out his ears. He seemed to have misheard something. "You begin by disciplining my son on our first meeting? Your nerve is formidable indeed." At the Count's words, Encrid realized there had been a major misunderstanding. "Well, um. Yes. So it seems." Silence again. It felt as though the torn curtain of silence had been carefully stitched back together. "Did you know he was my son?"

This time, the Count tore the curtain himself with his question. "I didn't." "Then now you know." Was he demanding an apology? The Count turned fully to face Encrid. Something like a faint glow shone in his eyes. How to put it? Looking at them gave Encrid an odd feeling. Were those eyes peering into his innermost thoughts? A gaze that pierced beneath the surface, into what lay within. It sounded strange when put into words. Should he apologize? Encrid knew it wouldn't be difficult. What was so hard about a few empty words? It wasn't as though he had been ordered to cut off a finger and leave it behind. Yet, strangely, he couldn't make himself speak. Had his arrogance grown along with his skill? No. Something about the man before him simply kept grating on him. It felt like encountering a monster on a deserted road, and a supremely devious one at that. Those around them had begun watching the pair warily, and a chill had just settled over the gathering when the Count spoke. "Hahaha! It's all right. The fool is the one who let himself be taken down." The Count burst into laughter, his face wreathed in smiles and his laugh hearty. Encrid silently acknowledged his generosity with a military salute. "I said it's all right. I truly only stopped by to see your face. The rumors certainly weren't unfounded. Certainly not." As he spoke, the Count scrutinized Encrid's face. "Quite apart from your skill, I heard you were remarkably handsome. Every maiden in the vicinity must have trouble sleeping." "The local maidens must all have insomnia."

Encrid answered with a Fairy-style joke. "Haha! This fellow has wit." After a few more inconsequential remarks, the Count offered Marcus something resembling an apology for recent events. "The hordes of monsters and demonic beasts coming up from the south were no trifling matter. Defending one's territory is a duty entrusted by the sovereign, is it not? Holding them back wasn't easy. That is why I could not help. Those Martai fellows... Eastern influence ran too deep in that city. You have done a great service." He sounded as though he were king himself. As Encrid watched with that thought, Marcus replied with his usual gentle smile. "I shall receive praise for my service from my liege, this nation's rightful queen." You're not the king, bastard. That seemed to be what Marcus was saying. "Until we meet again." Count Molsen paid him no heed. No, he withdrew as though he hadn't heard him at all. His stay had been brief, but the atmosphere he left behind lingered. As soon as he left, Marcus spoke with a twisted smile.

"Obnoxious bastard." The words revealed a feeling deeper than the contempt he usually showed Border Guard's nobles. "Are you on bad terms?" "Do you know what that bastard dreams of?" How could he possibly know? Before Encrid could so much as ask with his eyes, Marcus continued. "Usurpation. He wants to usurp the throne. He's completely mad." Encrid was still in no position to mock another person's dream, so he couldn't join in the condemnation. But... 'His dream can't be what makes his eyes strange.' Marcus himself seemed not to have noticed, but those eyes had really bothered Encrid. The party, its mood altered by Count Molsen, regained some life through the efforts of a few soldiers. But that didn't last either, and soon it cooled like a campfire that had gone out. The day after the party, a simple appointment ceremony took place. "I hereby appoint Company Commander Encrid as training company commander!"

Marcus proclaimed it himself from the platform overlooking the training ground. Most people took it in stride. "Is he training company commander because he trains so hard?" Some soldiers chattered like that, but the more perceptive ones expressed misgivings. Platoon Commander Vengeance in particular. "Surely not?"

It was the sort of "surely not" that could be the death of a man. When they returned after the ceremony, Rem was deep in thought. Then he suddenly clapped his hands and spoke. "That's the bastard!" What was with this bastard? Once again realizing that Rem's head worked differently from ordinary people's, Encrid asked, "What?" "That Count bastard." "Yes, that Count bastard." "Didn't I tell you before?" "You talk quite a lot, Rem."

He had said an awful lot of things over the years. "No, I told you why I ended up all the way out here." What had it been? Encrid searched his memory. He remembered hearing it. Rem had said he'd beaten a man to death for raping commoner women and committing murder as a matter of habit. After killing him, he'd discovered that the bastard happened to be a noble's son. "He was that son's father." "... Count Molsen?" "Ha! I knew I'd seen him somewhere."

Rem nodded, looking relieved to have solved it. Walking into the quarters, Encrid thought,

'It must be a coincidence, but...' Had Count Molsen failed to recognize Rem? If there was something like a bounty on Rem's head, surely he wouldn't have let it pass. There was no way to know. Encrid didn't know. Count Molsen, in particular, seemed capable of harboring not merely hundreds of scheming serpents within him, but a Hydra, the nine-headed monster of legend. Above all, those eyes. "Hmm." They were different from the eyes of the panther staring at him in the quarters, yet similar. In other words, he was a mage. A suspicion Encrid was half convinced of. And with that physique, could the man be a spellsword? If so, if he really was...

'I'd like to fight him.' Encrid scratched his head for no particular reason. Esther watched him closely. The panther gave him a look that seemed to ask why the man was half-mad again. It was his eyes. They looked as though something was burning in them. "Let's spar. Come on."

Rem, standing beside him, suddenly spoke. "Hmm?"

Encrid looked at him, simply surprised that Rem had said it first. "Why've you got that crazy look in your eyes? I said let's spar." And so Encrid fought Rem. He brought out what he had learned and practiced before, giving it fresh expression through his body. He enjoyed himself as never before. Two days later, as scheduled, every company except the soldiers on duty assembled for training. That included First Company, the heavy infantry. Some of the heavy infantry wore needlessly disgruntled expressions. Every unit trained differently, after all. They, in particular, had undergone harsher training than any other unit. So a few could be forgiven for looking insubordinate. Of course, Encrid, standing on the platform, paid them no mind whatsoever.