Chapter 26 - A Way Out

'I should have dodged there.'

Encrid mulled over yesterday's today, a day that existed only for him.

'No, dodging wasn't the problem. I was too fixated on that one strike.' Dodge what needed dodging. Strike when he needed to strike. Hadn't he been told time and again how important split-second decisions were? By countless swordsmanship teachers, and by Rem. ["What good is seeing everything with the heart of the beast? Make the wrong choice and you're dead."]

He could almost feel Rem standing beside him, snickering. If that bastard knew, he would certainly say something like that. Encrid went over the moment again and again.

'A slightly different route today.'

He changed paths every day. That was the privilege of someone whose today repeated. "We'll catch the enemy scouts beyond this grassland. How about it?"

Today, as always, the scout Squad Leader was leading everyone to their doom. Encrid had not the slightest intention of stopping him. No, he knew that changing their scouting route would accomplish nothing. Whichever route they chose, the result would be the same.

'This whole area is already full of troops lying in ambush.'

Enemy soldiers were massed around the tall-grass fields. If he wanted to survive, the answer was to return to the main force as soon as he opened his eyes.

'But that's never going to be an option.'

That would be disobeying orders. In severe cases, disobedience could warrant summary execution. Then was he supposed to abandon these nine men and desert alone? Was that how he was supposed to survive?

'Is that why I learned the sword?' A knight, a general, a hero. Even now, he swung his sword dreaming of things like that. Yet was the answer to abandon these men, knowing they would be slaughtered? Was that truly the best he could do?

'No.' Everyone had something they would not compromise on. Encrid knew he was neither a particularly good man nor a saint. But this was something he could not yield. Some would call it conviction. Others would call it stubbornness. And Encrid would not care what anyone called it.

'This is my decision.' Had he lived by other people's standards, he would have given up everything long ago and found himself a cushy post in some quiet village militia. He discarded running away as an option. His goal was to find some other way out of today. He fought again. Shed blood and killed enemy soldiers. This time, his sword broke as he used it as a shield, and a spear shaft struck his skull. The world spun. Naturally, death followed. He couldn't be certain whether it was the spearhead gouging into his chest or the shaft cracking his skull that killed him. Again, it repeated. He died, and died again. Through repeated life-or-death combat, he absorbed what he had learned in sparring and revisited what he already knew. Throughout all that time, Encrid kept just two things in mind. First, how could he keep fighting longer? Second, how could he escape this today? Reaching tomorrow. He knew it took relentless effort to reach that moment. That was how he had made it through two repeating todays already. But this time was a little different. 'I can't see a way out.'

Everywhere he went, there were enemy soldiers. Grasshoppers, katydids, other insects, tall grass that blocked the view, and damp, squelching earth. What was so valuable here that they had stationed so many men in ambush?

'Persistent bastards.' Worse, every last one was properly trained. They weren't some ragtag mercenaries fighting for coin, or conscripts dragged unwillingly into service. They were all salaried soldiers. In some quarters, troops like these were considered elite. The word might mean something different on a large battlefield, but in a fight of this scale, career soldiers certainly qualified. If men who ate their fill and did nothing but practice fighting with spears weren't elite soldiers, who was? 'This is a problem.'

With a surprise attack, he could kill three or four. Any more was beyond him. Fighting while fleeing with crossbowmen at his back was even less feasible. 'Enough strength to kill them all.'

Could he obtain that much strength if he repeated this today over and over? No. He couldn't. He knew because he had tried. During his first repeating today, why had he tried to get past that stabbing soldier and reach tomorrow?

'There's a limit to what I can learn in time that's standing still.'

Encrid knew himself well. To improve and experience the exhilaration of growth, he needed good teachers and something to spur him on. That did not mean he squandered these repeated todays. Hearing training, swordsmanship, combat Review. He repeated them again and again. His progress was slight, but it continued. "I'm confident in my archery, but I'm a coward. My hands shake when a fight turns into a melee."

Henri spoke beside him. Encrid had heard this several times before: he was timid, but still quite a good shot, and so on. "Good enough to hit an apple on someone's head from a hundred paces?"

Encrid made the joke to clear his head. "A hundred is out of the question, but within thirty, I could give it a try. Put an apple on our scout Squad Leader's head, and I'll take a shot."

"A shame we don't have an apple."

"Yes, a shame indeed."

Henri knew how to enjoy a joke. "But I really am quite confident within thirty paces. Not about hitting an apple on a head, mind you. The head itself."

He added that with a rather serious expression. "One arrow per head, and you'd take down about ten enemies."

Encrid glanced at Henri's quiver as he spoke. The flat leather quiver at his waist held roughly ten arrows. To keep it from shifting, leather straps ran around his thigh and waist, securing it in place. The straps also wrapped around the bundle of ten arrows. Loosening them later would make the arrows easy to draw. As befitted a former plains hunter, Henri seemed equally practiced at handling a bow and moving with arrows on him. "Hey. What are you snickering about? We're on a scouting mission. Honestly. Tsk."

Ahead of them, the scout Squad Leader glared and clicked his tongue. Encrid paid him no mind, of course. He had heard the brat butt in like this several times during his repeated todays.

'It would help to take down a couple with arrows first.' The fierce-looking soldier walking behind the Squad Leader gave Encrid a look. He seemed to be asking him not to answer back. Just as before. There was no need for an argument, so Encrid had no reason to press the matter. 'Then it would be much easier for us to launch a surprise attack.'

An imaginary battle played out in his head. The information gathered through his repeated todays made that imagined battle quite realistic. In the end, he died. In most scenarios, he would die. Even if he were clearly more skilled than his opponents, the disparity in numbers was too great. It might be different if his side had better equipment.

'But we don't.' What would Rem have done? He would not even have needed to think. He would have charged in with an axe in each hand and swung away. With his skill, even if he couldn't kill all hundred men, he could kill as many as possible and get out. He was that quick, and his ability that extraordinary. 'It's absurd that someone like him is just a soldier.'

Not that Rem seemed particularly dissatisfied. In a way, Encrid seemed to be the only ambitious one in the troublemaker squad. He seemed to be the only one who wanted to rise beyond Squad Leader. What good was thinking about squad members who weren't here? Encrid changed tack. A slender snake darted through the short grass. The grass underfoot was growing steadily taller, a sign that they were nearing the tall-grass fields. 'I'm not Rem.'

He pictured the battle again. As he did, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

'How good is the Squad Leader?' So far, things had been too frantic for him to get a proper look. He had only registered that the man wasn't bad. The scout Squad Leader, the fierce-looking soldier, Henri, and the rest of the scout squad. One thought led to another, until an answer emerged. "I don't have to protect them."

"... What?"

Henri questioned the words that had slipped out beside him.

"Nothing." He had been a fool. All this time, Encrid had tried to break through alone. He had fought with the idea of protecting everyone himself, merely reacting whenever they encountered the enemy. He had thought he'd tried every means available, but one remained. A means that could change the entire game. CRACK. CRACK.

Encrid tilted his neck from side to side. They still had some time before reaching the grassland. He strode forward, grabbed the fierce-looking soldier's shoulder, and pulled.

"Hm?"

The man instinctively braced himself.

"What is it?"

"You were glaring at me earlier, weren't you?" Encrid knew. The look had been an appeal for understanding, not a glare. But for a fellow whose face was a weapon, simply looking at someone amounted to glaring. "No, listen, that's not—"

"You sure do run your mouth." WHOOSH!

Encrid swung a fist. The fierce-looking soldier leaned his head back to dodge. "... What the hell? Have you lost your mind?"

The scout Squad Leader asked incredulously from ahead. "Come on."

Ignoring him, Encrid kicked at the soldier's ankle. The man dodged that too, then frowned.

"I thought you had some sense."

"I do. That's how I picked up on that nasty look of yours, isn't it?" Rem had acknowledged it: when it came to getting under people's skin with words, Encrid might be the best on the continent.

"Come at me, you bastard. Even a passing cow wouldn't give you a second look." And so it proved. Just a few words had turned the face of this seasoned soldier bright red.

"All right. Time you took a beating." Encrid fought him. Instead of drawing his sword, he made blades of his fists and clubs of his feet. They gave and took roughly equal punishment. No, to be honest, he was losing a little ground. 'He's good.'

By the kingdom's standards, he was at least on the verge of advancing from intermediate-grade to high grade. "You're supposed to be a lowest-grade soldier?"

The soldier, whose looks suggested repeated failure at finding a mate, spat blood from his split lip as he asked.

"That's right. Lowest grade."

"I hear getting promoted comes with more money and all that. What are you doing staying there?" Encrid knew perfectly well that he was above the level of a lowest-grade soldier. He had been above it when he first joined the army. He simply hadn't felt any need to raise his grade. He knew his abilities and limitations precisely. There had been no need to attach the label of low-grade soldier to himself. Of course, things were a little different now. He would seek promotion when the opportunity arose. He simply didn't consider it his highest priority. The standards separating third-rate, second-rate, and first-rate mercenaries, or those dividing soldiers here into grades—what did any of that matter? "You're a good fighter."

Encrid was genuinely impressed. Yes, this was the level he needed. The man was even better than he had expected. He would be the sort who fought better in real combat, provided he got a proper chance to fight. "What do you think you're doing?"

The scout Squad Leader's face had turned red, then livid, as he watched them fight. He spoke with a glare, looking ready to lunge at Encrid any moment. Before he could, Encrid spoke first. "Sparring. That was an excellent warm-up."

The reply went beyond shamelessness into outright confidence. The scout Squad Leader started to say something, then stopped. It was enough to leave anyone speechless. "Let it go. There weren't any real hard feelings."

The fierce-looking soldier restrained the Squad Leader. Encrid shrugged. "Watch your mouth, troublemaker Squad Leader. That tongue will get you into trouble one day."

"That's my problem."

Encrid answered, turned, and returned to his place. Henri drew close beside him and spoke, looking at the swelling around his cheekbone.

"Didn't you say you were a lowest-grade soldier?"

"I am." Did they all find that so surprising? Several of the other scouts were glancing his way too.

"You were awfully good."

"I trained hard."

That wasn't a lie. Hadn't he worked tirelessly through his repeated todays? Even after that commotion, the scout Squad Leader insisted on entering the tall-grass fields. He must have hidden a pot of honey in there. Either that or a lover. HUFF! CRUNCH.

Hearing those same sounds, Encrid once again detected the approaching enemy. He faced a new today. This was where it began. "Enemy."

He spoke through his split lip and nudged Henri.

"Over there. Shoot." He wanted to see Henri's archery. Henri did not react immediately.

"What?"

The mention of the enemy seemed to have frozen him stiff. Encrid never saw him shoot properly afterward, either. Perhaps he really was as timid as he claimed; once the fighting began, he did little but scramble about in a panic. Still, judging by the few arrows he fired in quick succession, his form seemed sound. 'This won't work while I'm just a squad member.'

The men moving with him needed to respond to his orders, but he hadn't established that kind of relationship. Encrid considered his position.

'I'll set that aside for now too.' In the end, he repeated much the same thing: a desperate struggle, followed by death. Encrid repeated today a few more times. In the process, he was able to assess the Squad Leader's skill. Not bad. It was clear he had learned proper swordsmanship somewhere. "I'll accept your challenge anytime."

On a few of those repeated days, Encrid picked a fight, humored him for a while, then let him win. The boy got quite excited. After facing the Squad Leader several times, Encrid had learned to recognize his habits and patterns.

'He hasn't had much real combat experience.'

That was probably why the fierce-looking soldier stayed glued to him like a nanny. Then what was the relationship between them? When he casually asked, the fierce-looking soldier gave a blunt reply.

"The son of someone I respected a long time ago." The man was overflowing with loyalty. He was here entirely for this brat's sake. He really was a nanny. "A noble?"

"Don't you know fallen nobles don't get treated as nobles?"

The scout Squad Leader was a fallen noble.

"I see." Encrid paid little heed to the conversation that followed and looked at the sun overhead. The noon sun. The breeze was pleasantly cool. It was neither hot nor cold. All the scouts wore light armor. Naturally, if they wanted to move quickly. Minimal weaponry and light armor. Those were the basics. He took stock of his allies' equipment, abilities, and what they had available. He needed to account for everything else as well. Encrid gathered everything he knew about their current circumstances in his head. The weather, the wind, the location, the situation, his allies, and the enemy. If he could actively put all of these things to work, he felt he might finally see a way out.