Chapter 289 - Duty and Responsibility (1)

To Krais, this was only natural. Why stake their lives on a fight they couldn't win? Why should they fight here prepared to die? 'It might be different if reinforcements were coming.'

Given the circumstances, that was unlikely. But unlikely wasn't impossible. To live long enough to see so much as a glimpse of those reinforcements, they first had to abandon what needed abandoning. Green Pearl, for instance, or Border Guard's fortress. They had built watchtowers and dug new moats, but all of that would be useless if they were attacked from both front and rear. 'What we have now means nothing.'

Living to fight another day was a wise choice, too. Holding out wasn't always the answer. That reasoning had brought Krais to his conclusion, and he had voiced it.

They should run. Encrid stared at Big-eyes and thought,

'His eyes look fine this time.'

He didn't look terrified or consumed by anxiety. So he was asking with a clear head. Did he not know what would happen if they fled? Encrid widened his gaze to take in the tent. Beyond Big-eyes, every member of the company had their eyes fixed on him. Whatever choice he made here, they would follow his word. That was how it seemed. Even Odd-Eyes, poking around outside the tent, would do the same. Esther went without saying. And Rem, absent and sleeping sprawled out somewhere—if Encrid was gone when he returned, wouldn't he find some way to follow? Ragna, too, seemed likely to find his way back to him, even if they became separated and he got lost again and again. Why? Who was he to deserve that? What had they seen in him to follow him like this?

He couldn't force his wishes on them. He couldn't force them to protect what he had decided to protect. Encrid couldn't do that. "You can go."

That was why he said it. Krais brightened, but waited for him to continue. "And you?"

Jaxon, whose speech lost its courtesy when something displeased him, asked bluntly. Sometimes it seemed the bastard was just waiting for the right opportunity to drop all respect. "I'm not going."

"Why not? You've done more than enough."

Krais had subtly dropped his respectful tone, too. Encrid didn't take him to task. Instead, he said what he had to say. "A man who sells his sword for gold is a mercenary."

They all watched in silence, even as they wondered what nonsense this was. Seeing them wait for his next words, Encrid realized that just as he had learned from them, they had learned something from him.

How to listen.

Everyone's ears were open. Closed ears wouldn't have stopped him from saying his piece, but having them listen was better. "And I'm going to be a knight."

He swallowed. The thoughts he had always carried, the thoughts he'd had on some distant day, had been hewn and polished into a solid pillar. Encrid pushed himself into a crooked sitting position. Pain surged through his shin and right arm. It wasn't agony. He could bear it. At least it was far better than dying.

The persistent ache only reminded him that he was alive, that he hadn't wasted the day. "I hear that a lot."

Jaxon spoke as if prompting him to continue. Encrid drew his legs in and adjusted his position to something a little more comfortable. "If I won't sell my sword for mere gold, I must sell it to duty and responsibility. And this is my duty and my responsibility now." What was a knight?

One who protected.

What should a knight protect?

The knights of legend and myth, the knights of old who shone like the sun, had said:

Protect the weak.

Defend justice.

Keep your oaths. Which of those came first? Encrid had reached his own conclusion.

Chivalry.

Was giving one's life for a lady chivalry? If a knight had sworn to do so, yes. If that was his chivalry, Encrid would readily acknowledge it. But he would not sell his sword for mere gold. Nor would he become a murderer who delighted in killing people.

Intangible values. Protecting what one believed in. Those who swore oaths to that end and kept them. People who seemed utterly foolish to an ordinary person.

That was Encrid's dream. That was the path he had kept his eyes on and walked all this time. The reason he hadn't given up, despite dying countless times, and hadn't settled for today. If Encrid fled now, how many people inside Border Guard would die? Children, women, the elderly, young men—a massacre might claim hundreds or more, without distinction. Fewer might die. Or the deaths might be far more numerous.

One of their enemies was the Cultists. There were lunatics among the forces facing them. Of course, even taking all that into account, retreating now could be considered the more efficient choice. Giving up what they must and reclaiming it later might be the better course.

But he wouldn't do that. Encrid's emotions did not churn. This wasn't something to become emotional over. He had decided to do it, so he would.

Border Guard stood behind him, and he had sworn to protect its people. Though he wasn't a knight, he had kept that oath ever since the day long ago when he had sworn to live that way. That was how he had lived all this time. That was the man Encrid was. Krais went pale again. The corners of his eyes drooped. He didn't seem to like this at all.

"You're being foolish."

"Agreed."

Answering Krais, Encrid recalled a day from his past.

* * *

SHHHHHHHH!

["What a goddamn downpour."] The mercenary captain didn't particularly dislike rainy days, but slogging through a sticky swamp on a job was making him irritable. Fortunately, their route led through the small wood beside it rather than straight through the swamp, but that hardly made this enjoyable. The little swamp-side wood kept gifting them long bugs that crawled into the gaps in their armor, and fearless mosquitoes bit the backs of the marching mercenaries' hands. ["Fuck!"]

SMACK!

One mercenary slapped the back of his hand and swore in anger. Where the hell were these fucking mosquitoes coming from in this rain? ["How much farther?"]

A fierce-eyed mercenary shouted. Their guide swept back his sodden, drooping black hair and answered,

["Nearly there."]

["You've been saying that for a while now."] The captain approached. His large frame and rough features made him intimidating on looks alone. Yet the guide's blue eyes remained calm as he faced him.

["The rain has slowed us down."]

["Whew. Fine. Keep going, then."] TAP.

The captain gave the guide a light smack on the back of the head and shook his own. Then he soothed his mercenaries.

["You goddamn bastards. Quit running your mouths before I toss you in the swamp."] As he spoke, the captain chopped at a long, hanging vine blocking his way with a thick blade. It parted with a thud, falling to either side and opening the path. His words were rough, but they quelled the complaints. Watching him, their guide, Encrid, thought this mercenary company was a decent outfit.

For one thing, despite his appearance, the captain looked after his men, and the mercenaries had their own lines they wouldn't cross. At least they weren't the sort to stick a blade in a comrade's, friend's, or client's back in the middle of a job. Without at least that much judgment, a guide was all too likely to end up feeding the bugs or fertilizing a tree. If he didn't want to die by the roadside, he had to choose his company well.

He seemed to have chosen well this time, too. ["But why hire him instead of a proper pathfinder?"]

Did he know Encrid could hear every word? Or was that the point? One of the mercenaries had drawn up behind the captain to ask. SHHHHHH! PATTER-PATTER-PATTER!

Their conversation carried perfectly well through the downpour. The trees overhead sheltered them from some of the rain. ["He's cheap."]

["What?"]

["That bastard's cheap. Not as good a guide, mind you. But he does know how to use a sword."] He was useful as half fighter, half guide. For the usual price of a guide, they could get an extra fighter as well. Taking everything into account, the mercenary captain had called Encrid cheap.

Of course, his dim-witted subordinate prattled on about how he wasn't cheap. He claimed to know plenty of guides who charged less. ["Can any of them actually find the way?"]

A comrade sneered from behind him.

["Want me to kill you? Cheeky bastard."]

After that came a parade of pointless jokes. Jokes about killing one another or letting each other live. Ordinary conversation among rough mercenaries. The job required them to stay in a small village in the forest. It was reasonably safe, with hardly any monsters or demonic beasts nearby. Surrounded by swamps, it seemed like the sort of place that would have a lizard colony, but hadn't they said some wandering swordsman had come through ten-odd years ago and cut them all down? Ever since, the village hired mercenaries whenever the lizard monsters began gathering. A few gold coins a year kept it free of the threat. SHHHH!

Pouring rain. A wavering view. Unpleasantly sodden clothes and armor. With his gambeson this wet, he might as well throw it away. Weather that made him glad he'd worn a cheap one. But whenever the rain let up a little, the bugs ran rampant. And it was hot. What was wrong with the trees around here? Rather than providing refreshing air, they seemed like totems that kept the humidity in. It was a job like any other. Exterminating lizards and repairing the village's surroundings. Encrid had already spent more than half a year scraping by and training in a nearby village, and was working as a guide to earn his living. ["We're here."]

His guidance was imperfect, but he had brought them to the village along a route he more or less knew.

["Welcome."] The village chief, a middle-aged man, greeted the mercenaries. Afterward, they dealt with the lizards drawn by the swamp's scent and hung bark ropes that gave off a smell the creatures disliked from trees throughout the swamp. They drove stakes into the ground, too, though looking at them, Encrid wondered whether they would do any good. ["Wisdom handed down from our ancestors."]

The village chief seemed to believe in it wholeheartedly. With so many different tasks, there was plenty of work for the mercenaries. If a lizard they hadn't managed to drive away appeared, swords were needed again, and hardly anyone besides the mercenaries could step up. A few villagers could serve as fighters, but most looked far removed from combat. Encrid had come as a guide and had no particular reason to get involved, so, as always, he was swinging his sword in a clearing at the edge of the village when someone spoke to him.

["Mister."] It was a child with gentle eyes and pale skin. Twelve years old at most, perhaps. He had once been beaten by someone that size, so he didn't underestimate the young. Still, this didn't look like the body of someone who used a sword. ["Why do you work so hard?"]

What followed was a familiar story. Idle talk, a child who kept coming back—a little girl, to be precise. And so Encrid befriended a child. ["I'm leaving the village in three years."]

["Your dream is to die far from home?"]

Calling going out into the world to get herself killed a dream. She had some nerve. Where was she planning to go alone at that age? ["No, damn it, that's not what I mean! You've seen the herbs that drive away lizards, haven't you? Do you think this is the only place in the world with things like that? The herbs that grow in this swamp are different."]

He had heard that medicinal herbs were the swamp village's main source of income. ["Ah. So your dream is to die far from home?"]

["Oh, damn it! Seriously!"]

Then what was she leaving to do? ["I'm going to find some really amazing herbs. And I won't go alone. I can go with one of the mercenary companies that comes here later!"]

She called it her dream. Passing off plants people didn't know as medicinal herbs and selling them.

Encrid didn't mock other people's dreams. He did worry, though. ["So your dream is to die far from home while looking for herbs?"]

["Oh, come on!"] He didn't think they were particularly close. A casual friendship, a way to spend his spare time. Something to pass the time while he rested his training-weary body.

Hadn't the little girl thought much the same? Among the mercenaries visiting the village, whose faces were all terrifying, here was a relatively mild-looking fellow who did nothing but swing his sword in a corner every day. She'd tried talking to him and found him decent company for idle chatter. That was probably all. The mercenaries' work lasted over a month, and the two kept up their trivial conversations.

["Mister, is your dream to be a guide?"]

["No. A knight."]

["A knight? Those nightmares of the battlefield?"]

["Yeah."] ["... I think gathering herbs together could be nice. You could come along later."]

["Let's just stop talking."]

["No, I respect you. Really. I mean that."]

["Then look me in the eye when you say it."]

Why was she staring off into the distance? ["Huh? What did you say?"]

["Oh, now you're pretending you can't hear me?"]

She was an utterly ridiculous child. And trouble always came without warning.

["Hey, what will be left if your lot and ours fight here? I'll make this simple. If you've been paid everything you're owed, leave. Clear out. It's not like you've taken a job to fight us."] Encrid thought the mercenary captain was a decent man. For a mercenary captain, he was. Encrid meant that. Fifty bandits had appeared out of nowhere. Some bullshit about hearing a rumor that a jewel was hidden in the swamp village.

The mercenary captain had to choose.

And the villagers had to despair.