Chapter 325 - Thanks

My thanks.

Only after Krais left did Encrid sink to the ground. His legs had lost all strength; he could no longer hold himself up. He landed bottom-first with a thud, the heavy impact traveling up through his buttocks. 'This feels harder than being trapped by a thousand soldiers.' In terms of the strain on his body, that day of desperate struggle against so many enemies had been worse. Naturally. All he had done this time was swing his sword once. But the exhaustion packed into that brief instant was immense. He was dizzy, his mouth dry. He felt drained, as though all the strength had left his muscles, quite apart from the pain in his dislocated shoulders. Compared with his previous today, the strain relative to the time spent was absurdly different. The ferryman had not been singing his refrain of despair for nothing. Sometimes he went on so much that Encrid wondered whether he was actually composing verse and singing it. Still, he had withstood it. No, more precisely, he had seized control of the situation and made it through. He had turned the very idea of withstanding a blow on its head. By striking first, he had survived that “one strike.” In the end, it was no different from withstanding a knight's sword. After all, his dislocated shoulders and trembling body were proof that he had survived, that he had overcome it. 'Luck.' Luck had played a part, but thought and effort had played a greater one. Encrid tried to lie back, only for someone's hand to stop him. “You should be careful around braziers.” It was Sinar's hand. Lying on his back would aggravate the burns. Her palm gently cradled the back of his head. His hair had not all burned away, but the singed strands crumbled, falling to the ground like graphite dust. “How extraordinary.”

Sinar was looking toward the place where the knight had disappeared. “Yes, it is.”

Encrid answered, looking in much the same direction. “What monstrous strength.”

Ragna muttered to himself. Hearing that from Ragna brought home just how unreal, how inhuman, a knight's strength was. Even Ragna called it monstrous. Meeting the knight's sword had let Ragna confirm his path once more. The path revealed by his breakthrough was clearer now. What he needed to do was obvious: maintain his present motivation. Fortunately, that would take no effort. “Next time...” Encrid was already muttering those words. Having faced a knight's sword, he was looking ahead to next time and speaking of glory. Watching him, Ragna felt an urge not to fall behind. He found that rather amusing, and laughed. “What's so funny about taking a beating?”

His captain made a needless remark. “Then why are you smiling, Captain?” Encrid himself was smiling as he said it. As though he felt no pain, he sat there grinning with a scorched back, unable to stand. “If you want to laugh, laugh. Hahaha!”

Dunbachel chimed in from beside them. No one answered her.

* * *

The knight Jamal left with Krais showing him the way. No one stopped them. “Captain Encrid's orders. Move aside. Don't block us. Clear a path. A path!” Krais went ahead, clearing the way. In the encampment now, Encrid's name was like a peerless sword that could cut through anything. Who would dare stand in its way? Even Battalion Commander Garrett could do nothing. It was effectively power founded on the soldiers' respect. Even so, here and there a few soldiers glared with murder in their eyes. The knight's unruffled manner as he walked must have grated on them. There were hotheaded soldiers everywhere. “I said move.”

Krais deliberately glared back. Jamal paid no attention to any of it. Why should he care? These were all soldiers he could cut down if they attacked. Starting something himself would be dishonorable, but if anyone came at him, he could stab and slash without mercy. Fortunately, no one attacked, and Jamal asked out of genuine curiosity, “Does he always do such insane things?” There was no need to say whom he meant. Krais understood at once. The more Jamal considered it, the more it seemed that this Encrid had recognized what he was before attacking. Since he had asked about Jamal's affiliation, he probably had not known his identity, but he must have roughly gauged his strength. That would explain why he had opened with a strike imbued with Will. That downward strike, laced with intimidation, had left him no choice but to block. It felt as though, for the first time in a very long while, he had been forced to swing his sword. A refreshing experience. Abnaire would be dumbfounded if he knew, but some things could not be helped. Those thoughts had led to his question: was the man always that insane? 'If he'd been the slightest bit off...' Encrid would have died. He had staked his life on that downward stroke. Honor aside, that sword had squeezed through the tiniest opening. The passage he had forced his way through might as well have been lined with blades. Had his judgment come a moment later, had he shifted his direction even slightly... 'He would have died.' Yet had there been any hesitation in his sword? How could he stake his life on a downward blow without betraying the slightest reluctance to let it go? He had called it Crushing Sword. For one brief instant, Encrid's sword had lived up to its name. It had crushed down on Jamal. Forced him to react. How could he consider the man normal after seeing that? Even knights were human; they had fear and instinct. This Encrid seemed to have stepped outside some boundary. A knight's discernment truly was exceptional. One exchange of swords had shown him everything he needed to see. Krais chose his words carefully before answering.

“You have a good eye. Yes, he's insane.” Inwardly, Krais marveled at knights. Wasn't that intuition extraordinary? To recognize his captain's madness at a glance. “I see.” The knight departed. Jamal had nothing more to ask. Though the news was bad, it was time to deliver his report and return to where he belonged. Would this incident prompt Naurilia to commit to full-scale war? Having wielded the sword that was a knight, they would face repercussions to match.

* * *

Garrett belatedly rushed into the wrecked tent. Arriving only once his safety was assured: his survival instincts rivaled Krais's. “What in the world happened?”

He did look shocked, nevertheless. Encrid explained everything, and Garrett kept the incident quiet. Nothing good would come of announcing that a knight had come and gone. Should he tell soldiers who thought they had finally won, that it was over, that a knight might soon arrive to cut off their heads? Even if he assured them the knight would not return, accepting that emotionally was another matter. The people here seemed to have already put all such worries aside, but Garrett had another reason to keep silent. “I'll have to report to central command first,” Garrett said. Krais, back from seeing the knight off, narrowed his eyes at that.

“They could sit on this and let it pass, couldn't they?” “That isn't for us to decide.” Krais furrowed his brow. It reeked of political dealings. Would this incident lead to something else? Of course it would. 'Political leverage.' Aspen had broken its pledge first. It might not have been a nonaggression pact, but hadn't they been told not to cross the line for the time being? They had ignored that, crossed the border, and lost. And then they had sent a knight? This could not simply be brushed aside. Naurilia would probably be able to extract enormous political gains from it. In exchange for covering up the knight's intervention, they would also stipulate that there be no war for the immediate future. To Krais, it was obvious. Naturally, it was largely none of his business, but that did not mean it had nothing to do with him. Shady dealings were shady dealings; shouldn't he still take whatever he could get along the way? 'From Border Guard's perspective...' The gains would be immense. If he got a hand in it, he would profit too. His mind automatically turned toward earning Krona. “Whew. Well, let's get you treated first.”

Taking in the situation, Garrett lightly clapped his hands. Having drawn their attention with the clap, he went outside and issued various orders. A group of soldiers came to straighten up the tent, left in shambles by the fight. Two medics reset Encrid's dislocated shoulders. The pain of having the bones put back into place was considerable, but he remained calm. At the crunch of bone settling into place, Dunbachel winced for him. The sound alone was unpleasant. “... Doesn't it hurt?”

The question escaped a medic before he could stop himself. He had once heard of a rare condition that left people unable to feel pain from birth. He wondered whether Encrid had it. “No, it hurts.” “But you haven't groaned once.” “That wouldn't make it hurt any less.” True enough, but was that how people worked? When something hurt, the groans came out on their own. “You're remarkable in so many ways, Captain.” Why was this fellow calling him Captain, too? He had no energy to respond. Encrid might not have groaned or screamed, but he spent two days in a fever. In the meantime, Aspen withdrew its army and went home. He heard the news half asleep. This time, he really seemed to have worked his body nearly to death. That did not mean it was a bad thing, though. During his fever, he briefly met the ferryman. “Don't get cocky,” the ferryman said. Encrid felt a little wronged. He had said nothing at all, merely sat on the boat, leisurely watching the black river. For a brief moment, he had simply thought that even that black water, in which nothing could be seen, was worth looking at. He had also wondered whether, if he regarded it as scenery, it might look different depending on his state of mind. “Insolent.”

The ferryman spoke again. There was no other conversation. There was nothing in particular to say. “Walls will forever bar your way.”

The ferryman alone spoke for a third time. Encrid nodded. As they always had, they would continue to do so. He had been told that was a curse. Yet he did not feel it was one. To him, it was an opportunity. An opportunity to bridge the gap between those with talent and those without. An opportunity that had brought him this far. An opportunity that had let him withstand a knight's sword. He did not know why. Suddenly, he felt like saying it, so he did.

“My thanks.” As always, the words were sincere. The ferryman was unlike other people. Even that abrupt remark did not disconcert him. That was the end of it. Encrid woke from the dream. When he woke after his fever, he found Dunbachel nodding off in front of him. What was she doing here now? He felt something resting on his forehead. A damp cloth, pleasantly cool. She seemed to have been changing it all this time. “Hey, lie down and sleep.” “Ah, I dozed off for a moment.”

Dunbachel opened her eyes, wiping away her drool. The Beastman blinked a few times, opened her mouth in a yawn, and scratched vigorously at her cheek. Then, shyly—honestly, she did not look shy, but he could only assume this was what shyness looked like in a Beastman—she spoke more quietly than usual, moving her scratching nails from her cheek to her neck. What she said was quite something. “It felt like looking after my sick younger sibling when I was little.” “I'm pretty sure I'm older than you.” “And, um, I'm going to get stronger. Strong enough to run a bastard like that through if one comes again. So don't die.” For one instant, Dunbachel had glimpsed Encrid's death. Her Beastman survival instincts had surged, warning her that attacking meant death. Yet Encrid had attacked. Though the mere sight of his opponent brought nothing but death to mind, he had attacked. Dunbachel looked back on her own failure to step forward at that moment. She felt ashamed of herself. 'I haven't changed at all.' That was the worst of it. Hadn't she stayed here to live differently from those days as a bandit's blade? But she did not want to die. Faced with two paths, she had been unable to take either. Then what should she do? 'Get incredibly strong.' That was the conclusion she had reached. She had spent enough time wallowing in the past. Time to move forward. Wasn't that what she had learned from watching this mad captain, Encrid? “You'd better not die either.”

Encrid's reply came reflexively. After he had fallen, or when he had been unable to move at all, Dunbachel had charged the knight's sword countless times, her face contorted. One look was enough to tell him that she had done so knowing death awaited. Yet she had charged. What had driven her? “Don't push yourself too—” “I'll get stronger. I swear. Hmph. So if you ever need a woman's warmth, say so. I'll lie beside you.” Dunbachel started talking before Encrid could finish. Had Rem taught her how to say her piece without listening? Why was she starting to resemble him even in this? “Esther's enough.” The panther was already nestled in Encrid's arms. Eyes like blue lakes looked at Dunbachel. Meeting Esther's gaze with her golden eyes, Dunbachel said, “You can't keep him all to yourself.” What was that supposed to mean? “Grr.”

Esther made a sound much like a derisive snort. Was it his imagination, or did she seem to be saying that if Dunbachel wanted him, she was welcome to try taking him? Dunbachel left it at that and withdrew. When Encrid woke after another nap, it was noisy outside the encampment. Aspen had retreated. They had won. Which meant the party was beginning.