Chapter 306 - A Wild Card

Whether it was good luck or bad, the sky was remarkably clear. There was little wind, either. The days had been warm for winter, warm enough to melt away the earlier snowfall. Green Pearl had never been a place where snow piled up easily, though the upper reaches of the Penn-Hanil Mountains were always blanketed in white. In other words, it was a damned fine day for a fight. Even the heavens seemed to be pushing them into battle. "The enemy is right on our doorstep."

That was the messenger's report. Even then, Encrid was still wandering among the rank and file. "We meet them in front of the palisade! Everyone out!"

Encrid moved at the commander's call. "Shouldn't you be getting back to your post?"

Helma turned to address Encrid, who had fallen in beside her. She was just heading out with her buckler and short spear. Matching her pace, he gave a casual answer.

"It's fine." Helma blinked. What exactly was fine about it? Could this fellow even fight? Pretty boys like him were usually hopeless in a scrap. She had known Encrid for all of two days, but she was worried about him. "Your superior will break your nose if he finds out."

Her warning earned another casual answer.

"I have permission." He had just asked himself again and received an answer. That was as good as permission. Besides, this was already part of the plan. What could they do to introduce an unexpected element into the battle? There was only one thing Encrid could do. "Hey, if you're going to do that, why not take the very front?"

One of the soldiers spoke with indifference. He was the same fellow who had kept grumbling earlier. His hostility was odd, but Encrid paid it no mind. They were about to spill blood together; a little whining like this was honestly endearing. Compared to Rem, it was no different from a child's tantrum. "Sure."

He answered and kept walking. He had been heading forward anyway. Helma moved that way too, apparently belonging to the vanguard herself. "Hey, worry about yourself."

Helma shot back at the soldier behind them. He said nothing more. He hadn't expected Encrid to actually go. By now, Encrid had a rough measure of the soldiers' abilities. Rem called it a damned idiotic system, but by Naurilia's soldier grading system, a few of them qualified as high grade. Helma was at least intermediate-grade. Their fighting strength was better than he had expected. Most were closer to low grade, and they had only infantry and archers, but their discipline was good. They kept horses but had no cavalry, and wagons waited along the supply route to the rear. Naturally, those were loaded with supplies. 'They're perfectly prepared to run if things go wrong.'

War criminals or fugitives, they wouldn't die like dogs here for nothing. Neither he nor his men would be allowed to suffer that fate. The formation and preparations practically spoke in Garrett's voice. Encrid liked that, too. As he walked, he swung his arms around loosely. The pain was faint. His right arm had healed reasonably well, and his left shin was fine now. Only traces remained of his other wounds. After examining him, Jaxon had said his face wouldn't scar, though his shin, forearms, and body would bear assorted marks. That had prompted more nonsense from Krais.

["A facial scar wouldn't be bad, but you're better off without one."]

He was determined to drag Encrid off to a salon someday. Ridiculous fellow. Encrid moved this way and that, feeling the soft armor around his shoulders, chest, and thighs. Thin as the leather armor was, it still felt stiff. The thin gambeson underneath made it stifling, too. But taking it off would leave him cold and halve his protection. A little discomfort was the price of better defense. "You're taking three swords? Look, fight up front and you'll get yourself killed."

Helma sounded worried. She was a good-natured sort. Encrid was about to reply when Jaxon approached from the side. No, he materialized. Encrid's keen senses had picked him up beforehand, but Helma's had not.

"I brought him." Helma jumped. The man seemed to have sprung straight out of the ground. He wore a thin cap instead of a helmet. A blond man joined them beside him, continually adjusting his leather helmet. "You're here?"

"Yes."

"Where's Dunbachel?"

"Big-eyes has her waiting separately with Sinar. Said we need to keep our cards hidden."

"Oh, did he?" It was an offhand exchange that Helma couldn't quite follow. But she realized that the man before her was no ordinary person. No, she had known that for some time; it would be more accurate to say it had struck her anew. He had caught her eye from the start, moving as though the tension hanging over the camp meant nothing. Encrid paid no attention to Helma's gaze. He focused on the task at hand. They needed a wild card. Something the enemy wouldn't expect. He had chosen the first day of battle to make his move. Krais had agreed. It was a method that had worked well so far. An unexpected blow would let them see how the enemy reacted and reveal some of its hidden cards. They didn't need to see everything. Even a glimpse would let them infer what might come next. That would be an entirely different situation from knowing nothing, as they did now. 'Oh, please.'

Krais was struggling to shake off ominous imaginings. Encrid remained calm. 'Quite a lot of them.'

Even with the enemy approaching right before him, he wasn't particularly tense. He didn't feel he was in any great danger. Whatever they had prepared, he felt he could handle it. His danger-warning instincts were quiet, and his body felt better than expected. His right arm was more than halfway healed, too. 'Feels good.'

Not bad at all. "Raaaaah!"

Shouts from both sides rang through the air. Aspen maintained its slow advance. The moment the approaching enemy entered bow range, the allied archers loosed first. TWANG-TWANG-TWANG! Arrows sliced through the air, announcing the start of battle. Aspen shot back. Black rain began falling overhead. It was as ordinary an opening to a battle as any. "Hoooold!"

"Shields up! Don't lower them!"

"Agh!"

"You stupid bastard!" Arrows rose in high arcs, black dots against the sky before they rained down. One lodged in an unlucky soldier's shoulder. A comrade pulled him down, while another raised a shield over them. Good coordination. Not bad. They were well trained. Still, it wasn't enough. They were weak compared to the Border Guard standing-army troops he had brought as reinforcements. The difference was that between solid rock and hardened mud. 'More rigorous training.'

He would have to draw up a training schedule for whoever survived today. An idle thought, perhaps, but not a bad one. Looking toward the future, toward later, toward what came next, always helped. Such thoughts were another form of preparation. They steadied the mind. Tightening one's sword belt and adjusting one's grip weren't the only ways to prepare. Encrid watched the incoming arrows and dodged them with little effort. He could dodge daggers thrown right in front of him; this was nothing. He hadn't even brought a shield. Being properly armed was important, but... 'Just the three swords for now.'

That seemed the better choice. A glance aside showed Ragna dodging arrows without even looking, bounding away to give himself space. Jaxon had already disappeared.

'He'll manage on his own.'

Was there any reason to worry about Jaxon? He couldn't think of one. Encrid focused on his own task. "Whew."

He steadied his breathing. Whatever the battlefield, whoever the opponent, whether he was in good condition or bad, danger existed. Threats must not be ignored. As always, Encrid brought forth his very best. He would start with a single sword, held in both hands. SHING. Bluish steel slid free of its scabbard. He raised the sword into the brilliant winter sunlight. Its edge had a few chips, but it was still sound. That was despite his efforts to maintain it. He had used it too roughly. Only its quality had kept it in this condition; an ordinary steel sword would have broken long ago. A good sword was always worth having. 'One more time. I'm counting on you.'

Encrid addressed his sword. When its time to rest came, he would see it off with care. But not yet. The running infantry of both armies were gradually closing the distance. Encrid moved with them, striding straight ahead without hesitation. Half a step ahead of his allies, then farther, out of formation. The gap grew from one pace to two in no time. Naturally, he soon looked as though he were charging out alone. "Hey, where are you going?"

Someone shouted behind him. It sounded like the soldier who had been grumbling.

"Crazy bastard! Hey!" He ignored it. Now it was time to draw every eye. ["Shake them with the opening blow."]

Krais had asked it of him, but Encrid's own heart was already boiling. What had they prepared? A proto knight? A demon sword? Magic? A spell? Had they brought an actual knight? If not, how would they stop him? Those thoughts flitted through his mind. Then he crossed the arrow-studded frozen ground and met the enemy. He was the first to reach them, faster than anyone else. "You crazy bastard!"

A soldier, rigid with tension, thrust out his spear. Encrid varied the speed of his charge. In an instant, he lowered his hips and accelerated. Before the soldier's eyes could follow the change in pace, Encrid's foot was already striking his shin, a kick delivered without breaking his run. THUD! CRACK! The bone broke in a single blow. The soldier's body flew into the air and fell to the ground.

"Agh!" Leaving the scream behind, Encrid smashed his elbow into the head of the soldier beside him. The kick and elbow strike were almost simultaneous.

"Ghk!" A death cry rang out.

THUD! CRUNCH!

The soldier's neck bones screamed, and blood ran through the gaps in his helmet. His skull had shattered in one blow. Only then did Encrid swing his sword. Pivoting on his left foot, he cut once from his right hip to his upper left. The heavy blade swept diagonally with a rush of air: the Heavy Sword Technique's spinning cut. He added a variation. Using the swing's momentum, he shifted his pivot from his left foot to his right. As he did, he lowered the sword from his upper left, then swung from his lower left to his upper right. His feet crossed and traded places. Between those movements, his sword traced the symbol for infinity. Everything caught in that blade broke and shattered, was sliced and slashed and flung aside.

"Aaagh!"

"Aaargh!"

Those who screamed were the ones who hadn't died outright. For those whose necks or heads lay in the blade's path, that was the end. Two sweeping strikes killed nine enemy soldiers. Switching his footing from side to side had widened his sword's reach. "Kill him!"

A nearby commander's eyes were bloodshot. Even after seeing that, he didn't retreat. He gritted his teeth. 'Better discipline than our side.'

Better training, better soldiers. There was a difference in the commanders' abilities, too. Focused on the fight, Encrid couldn't assess everything. But his intuition told him to cut down the commander who had just spoken. He knew it in his skin before anything else: doing so would improve their chances of victory. As he moved again, spearheads pressed in from every direction. Long spears stabbed at him, again and again. Encrid knocked aside what needed deflecting and dodged what needed dodging. He pushed through a forest of spearheads until he was close enough to the commander, then delivered a single cut to the crown. He struck with a sharp, checked blow. Rather than splitting, the man's head burst with a thud. It was the work of monstrous strength. As the blade struck and passed through the helmet, shattered skull fragments pierced the scalp. Blood and brains naturally followed. "Whew."

He swept his sword in a broad, threatening arc, and the enemy soldiers faltered. Steadying his breath, he unleashed the Heart of the Superhuman. This strength wouldn't last forever, but now was the time to stab, strike, cut, and smash. "Fuuuck! What the hell is this?"

An enemy soldier howled. Encrid's blade never stopped. He was death itself, a collector of lives weaving through the enemy ranks. "This is insane!"

An enemy soldier shouted. A meaningless cry. Encrid's blade held not the slightest hesitation. As he cut down dozens alone and kept cutting, the enemy formation inevitably began to crumble. "Are you just going to watch?"

At an enemy commander's bellow, someone stepped forward. If left unchecked, Encrid would shatter their formation and ranks alike. A warrior who had been steadying his breathing on Aspen's side stepped out. He started toward Encrid, then stopped to assess his opponent's skill. 'Heavy Sword Technique.'

A fighting style that emphasized weight and ignored minor attacks. Assessment complete. Time to fight. The man, too, advanced.