Chapter 24 - Three

“The wind is blowing this way right now, isn't it? But see how these shorter grasses are bent the opposite way, in a circle?” Henri stepped on the base of the tall grass, pushing it aside to expose ground thick with shorter blades. Looking at the traces left there, he explained without hesitation. “So they are.”

Encrid studied the ground as he answered. He could see it once it was pointed out, but finding it on his own? That would be another matter. They were in the tall-grass fields now. Everywhere he looked was a feast of green.

A Bard traveling the continent had seen the plains here in midsummer and named them Green Pearl. A pearl of green.

The stretches of tall grass were said to have looked darker still, like the depths of the sea. No wonder. This damned field was hardly a pleasant place for a human to push through.

Let your guard down, and windblown grass slapped against your cheeks and eyes alike. Insects clung to you from every direction. Crickets and katydids sprang out and hopped about, and here and there, frogs appeared in pools of standing water. The frogs reminded him of the Frog that had kicked him.

Of course, he knew Frogs claimed to be entirely different creatures. They wouldn't react even if you killed a frog in front of them. Threaten to burst their hearts, though, and they would come charging at you with fire in their eyes. 'One blow to the side.'

He had blocked on reflex, but that single blow had sent him flying.

How long would it take to match a Frog's strength? He couldn't now, but would he someday be able to fight that Frog? Doubt crept in. He couldn't help it. Refusing to give up didn't mean never having doubts.

But he had no time for doubt, either. He would rather swing his sword once more. Encrid shook off the negative thoughts as soon as they arose. He had no time to dwell on that nonsense. Wasting mental energy on something he couldn't resolve right now was foolish.

With that, he returned his attention to Henri's explanation. The soldier, who said he had been a plains hunter, was decidedly positive. Whatever idiotic thing the Squad Leader did, he took it in stride and even told Encrid to be patient.

Not that Encrid needed patience in the first place. He was used to taking things in stride himself. Even here, Henri kept putting his hunter's skills to work, inspecting one thing after another. He was interesting to listen to. “There aren't many animal droppings. Why is that?”

Henri tilted his head. “Is that a problem?”

Encrid pushed away a long, thick blade of grass that kept drooping over his head. “To us, this might look like a field of useless weeds, but it isn't. For animals that live on this grass, it's a natural treasure trove. Usually, they leave plenty of signs behind, but there's hardly anything now.” Fewer animals. Why? Listening with half an ear, Encrid plucked an insect off his cheek. It wasn't even a leech, yet something sharp protruded from its mouth as it tried to suck his blood.

Between the insects and the grass blocking his view, he felt a sudden urge to bring a razor-sharp scythe and chop the lot down. “Shh. You talk too much.”

The scout Squad Leader looked back as he spoke. A cricket flitted past his eyes, making him frown, but he didn't complain. 'That's a surprise.'

Encrid had expected him to throw a fit about the place, despite being the one who had insisted on coming. A feast of green, perhaps, but a closer look revealed plenty of grass fading to pale brown. A sign that autumn was approaching.

Come winter, these lush fields would vanish as though falling asleep, leaving only traces behind. Then, when the weather warmed again, the tall grass would grow anew, nourished by its dead predecessors.

It happened every year, year after year. 'Dying, then growing again.'

Was that the law of nature?

Then what was happening to him? The repetition of today.

Even when he tried not to think about it, it kept circling through his mind. He couldn't help it. A repeating day wasn't something he could simply shrug off. Encrid had simply settled on a course of action.

'Use everything I can.'

This was no exception. He didn't think of it as a blessing. Calling it a curse wouldn't change anything, either. They had been pushing through the grass for quite some time when someone tapped Encrid's shoulder. It wasn't Henri. It was the soldier who had been glued to the Squad Leader's side. “Our Squad Leader must seem pretty immature, but try to understand. He has his reasons. He needs to distinguish himself, but they keep sticking him with the scouts and such. He's frustrated.” What was this all of a sudden? “You're a Squad Leader yourself. I'd appreciate it if you'd forget that asshole business.” An odd time to bring that up.

Still, Encrid more or less accepted the apology. What good would bad blood do them on a mission together? There was no reason for it, anyway.

His thinking hadn't changed. Rather than waste mental energy on something like this, he would put a little more time into training. “All right.”

“That's generous of you, Squad Leader.” The soldier smiled. He had faded blond hair and a face that looked made for fighting.

The opposite of Big-eyes, in other words.

Put more simply, he was ugly. Encrid nodded, turned back, and habitually focused on his hearing.

At that very moment, an out-of-place sound caught his ear. RUSTLE. HISS! RUSTLE. His steady practice since Jaxon's lessons had paid off.

'That sounds different.' The ten scouts weren't quite shoulder to shoulder, but they stayed close enough to see one another's backs. By now, he knew the sound they made pushing through the tall grass.

What he had just heard was different. It came from farther away. It was unmistakably a person pushing through grass, mixed with an animal's hiss and the sound of grass being trampled. People. And they couldn't be allies.

The tall-grass fields themselves were of little use. All that mattered was the enemy territory beyond this damned grass.

But the moment you emerged, you were on open plains with nowhere to hide. Moving through here wasn't particularly clever.

Did the other side have a Squad Leader just as stupid as theirs, sending scouts into this place? “There's someone else here.”

At Encrid's words, the rough-looking soldier ahead of him blinked. “What?”

He frowned and cocked his head, plainly wondering what Encrid was talking about. “I think I heard it too,” Henri added from the right. “What's that?”

When Encrid stopped altogether, the scout Squad Leader backed up from the front to ask. “The enemy.”

He had spoken as soon as he heard them, but getting the others to grasp it was another matter. TWANG! THUNK! The attack reached them before they even registered the enemy's presence. “Aagh!”

A short arrow lodged in the skull of the soldier who had taken the lead when the Squad Leader stepped back. Encrid located the direction of the shot by sound while his eyes took in the arrow's shape.

'A bolt.'

A short arrow, ideal for close range. Not something fired from a longbow.

'A crossbow.' The conclusion came quickly. The instant a hole appeared in the lead soldier's skull, Encrid shouted.

“Get down!”

At the same time, he seized the Squad Leader by the collar and dragged him down. “Urk!”

The Squad Leader let out a grunt. As they flattened themselves against the ground, more grunts and choking death cries followed. 'Ahead, right, and left.'

Keeping low might spare them the first volley, but they were still certain to die.

Then what did he need to do?

Rush out. Pick a direction and break through. That meant he couldn't stop. Keeping so low his belly nearly brushed the ground, Encrid hurled himself to one side. RUSTLE! The grass parted, betraying his movements to the enemy. Naturally, a hail of crossbow bolts came flying at him. “You fool!”

Henri cried out in alarm. It looked like suicide. THUNK-THUNK-THUNK. It was probably half luck, but Encrid avoided most of the bolts. One lodged in his left shoulder, yet he had the enemy in sight now.

They had cut back enough of the tall grass to give themselves room to move. Between the grasses, he saw a man in green holding a crossbow. He drew his sword at once.

'At any time, from any stance.'

Deliver the best attack possible. He acted as he had been taught. He kicked off the ground and closed the distance. The enemy tried to reload his crossbow.

A mistake.

The instant he came within sword's reach, Encrid planted his left foot and delivered a one-handed stab. The tip of his arming sword cut through the air and skimmed the enemy's neck. Its sharp edge split the thin skin.

Blood spurted from the cut, then began gushing in thick, crimson surges. The soldier clutched his slashed neck, tipped sideways, and fell. Encrid didn't stop. He immediately darted left.

Too close for a bolt. A spearhead shot toward his chest.

He feigned a charge, then stopped short, letting the enemy's spear stab empty air. He saw a short infantry spear and the eyes of the soldier holding it. A strange mix of excitement and surprise filled those eyes. A soldier's eyes on the battlefield.

Crossbows, short spears, clothes dyed green. Equipment chosen specifically for an ambush. He crammed what he saw into his mind in an instant, stepped forward again, and swung horizontally.

The spearman retreated out of the sword's arc, pulled back his spear, and thrust again. Watching the short spear thrust toward him, Encrid pivoted on his right foot rather than dodge away. He turned halfway around on the spot and stabbed again.

An evasion and a stab, defense and offense combined in a single strike. The sword pierced the enemy's torso. Encrid felt heavy resistance through his grip as it sank in.

The enemies all wore thick cloth armor. With enough strength, skill, and a sharp blade, it wasn't difficult to pierce. “Grrrgh.”

The enemy soldier dropped his short spear and seized the sword embedded in his belly with both hands. The blade sliced his palms, drawing blood. 'Can't pull it out right away.'

Think briefly, act quickly. An iron rule for surviving the battlefield.

He released the sword in the enemy's grip and bent to pick up the fallen spear. WHOOSH. Meanwhile, another enemy soldier swung his crossbow like a club. Encrid's lowered posture let it sweep over his head.

The end caught the arming cap he wore instead of a helmet, stripping it off. Cold air touched his scalp, cooling it. Encrid drove the spear he had retrieved into the foot in front of him, giving the crossbow wielder's instep a splendid new ornament. THUNK! “Aaaaagh!”

Pain brought screams. Screams drew attention.

Which made screaming a useful way to damage the enemy's morale. He lunged in, seized the knee of the leg without a spear through its foot, and bent it backward. CRUNCH! “Uaaaaagh!”

It was a technique he had learned from his religious fanatic of a squad member. His execution was terribly clumsy, but now wasn't the time to worry about that. Encrid drew the shortsword at the fallen man's waist. Then he straightened, set his stance, and pressed it against the throat of the man with the spear through his foot. “Ghk!”

Before the man could resist, he smoothly pushed the blade in and drew it sideways. SLICE. He felt resistance through his hand as the blade cut through flesh. Blood bubbled with a gurgle. The soldier clutched his slashed throat and slumped to his knees. Encrid was gasping for air. He crouched awkwardly behind the kneeling, dying soldier, using him as a shield while he caught his breath. 'That's one side, at least.'

They had been surrounded on three sides. He had opened up one of them.

Now there was a way to escape if things went wrong. “... I thought you said you were a lowest-grade soldier?”

Henri had come up behind him without his noticing. “I am.”

Encrid answered between breaths. Henri shook his head. “A lowest-grade soldier, with skills like that?” “Damn it, I'm the asshole.”

Even in the middle of this, the scout Squad Leader managed to say something idiotic.

What was going through that fool's head? “Stay back. Don't get out in front.”

The rough-looking soldier stepped in front of the Squad Leader. Those four were the survivors. The rest of the scouts were dead.

There seemed to be more than twenty enemy soldiers glaring at them right in front of them. “... What the fuck?”

An Aspen soldier spoke. With startled eyes, he looked at Encrid, then at the dead soldiers.

Three dead. Encrid didn't care whether the man was surprised. As always, he simply found the best move available and acted on it.

The crossbows were still a threat. The enemy had numbers. And he had lost his sword. “Run!”

It was time for the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique: running for your life.

Without hesitation, Encrid turned and ran.