Chapter 36 - The Fog of Annihilation

Ragna was bewildered, but soon gave up trying to make sense of it.

'He was always strange anyway.'

In his eyes, Encrid was hardly normal himself. "Then shall we start now?" Encrid asked.

"Let's," Ragna replied. Under a clear sky, the two started over with how to hold a sword.

No, they started with finding the right weapon. "You're strong. There's no reason to insist on a light weapon. I think you'd be better off switching to a heavier longsword. Trade with me."

Ragna offered the sword at his waist. Encrid thought it an extraordinary gesture. Did people normally hand over a weapon they were used to so easily? "I haven't used it long enough to get accustomed to it yet myself," Ragna added. On taking it, Encrid found it wasn't a particularly fine sword. His own even seemed better, but he accepted the decision. Ragna was the one teaching him now. He would follow his advice.

"All right." From an arming sword to a longsword. The longer grip allowed him to wield it with both hands. The blade was a handspan longer, too, and heavier. That didn't make it a bad sword. It wasn't made of fine iron, but the balance and finish seemed decent. "Right hand in front, left hand behind."

With the weapon changed, they started afresh with his grip. Encrid became wholly absorbed in the lesson. So did Ragna. The Squad Leader's very presence spurred him on. Teaching him directly sent his motivation soaring, drawing him into the work. They kept at it well past lunchtime. They were so focused that neither noticed they had missed a meal until much later. "Playing house so hard you're skipping meals? What are you two up to?"

Only when Rem arrived did Encrid notice how much time had passed. "Now that you mention it, I'm hungry," Ragna muttered.

"You bastard, have you been bullying our Squad Leader?"

"Fuck off, barbarian."

"You fuck off, you lazy bastard." The two bickered. Drenched in sweat, Encrid let his sword hang at his side. He was quite exhausted. He had resolved to start over, but that didn't mean he could do it straightaway. 'Not enough.'

He was desperately short of time. Originally, he had planned to be clever about it and pick up only their techniques. Since he could repeat today, he had expected that to improve his skills.

'It's the exact opposite.'

His fundamentals were lacking. He had never even considered it. And he had come to another fresh realization. Building his fundamentals under a skilled swordsman's eye was nothing like doing it alone. ["Why did you point your toes that way?"]

["Your grip has weakened."]

["Were you trying to thrust? Or cut?"]

["What are you trying to do right now?"]

["This won't do. We'll have to start by teaching you to walk properly."] Corrections had rained down on him, and every one became an asset. In the middle of bickering with Rem, Ragna suddenly turned to Encrid and asked,

"But don't you ever want to improve your swordsmanship just to show off?"

He asked while recalling why he had first picked up a sword as a child. It would be a lie to say he had no desire to stand out and be noticed. Of course Encrid had ambition, competitiveness, and desires of his own. Among his daydreams was one of standing guard before a lady and receiving her handkerchief. How could he not? Everyone wanted recognition. "Plenty. I want to show off more than you can imagine," Encrid replied.

He wanted people to cheer for him, to be the hero of a Bard's tale. Naturally, he had those desires too. Ragna nodded. That seemed to answer something for him. "What are you talking about? Anyway, we're being called up. They've spotted the enemy and ordered everyone to assemble."

Another battle. Encrid nodded. Watching him, Ragna thought he had made a needless mistake.

'Will he make it through today?'

What would happen if Encrid went onto the battlefield like this? An unfamiliar sword, clumsy and awkward swordsmanship. That was all he had built today. Which was why Ragna expected him to die. 'He has no talent.'

Throughout rebuilding his fundamentals, Ragna had realized how meager Encrid's skills were. This wasn't something that could be accomplished overnight. For a moment, he reproached himself.

'Have I sent him to his death?' He regretted it. His mouth was the problem. When had anything ever gone right after he stepped in? Why had he stepped in again today? With a regretful sigh, Ragna made up his mind.

'I'll stay close.'

He wanted to keep Encrid safe at least for today, if he could. "The enemy!"

The time for battle came swiftly. Before they had even finished putting their temporary position in order, enemy infantry strode toward them from beyond the tall-grass fields and from straight ahead. Their march was uncannily fast. As the allied units assembled to face them, the enemy's formation stood out. Separate clusters dotted the field, each unit carrying a tall flagpole. FLAP-FLAP-FLAP!

Flags streamed from the poles they carried. Suddenly, a strong wind blew from the enemy's territory toward them. Squinting against the wind battering his eyelids, Encrid looked at the flagpoles and enemy soldiers and sensed that this battle would be anything but easy. It was an intuition born of the survival instinct that had kept him alive for years. He soon learned it was right. "What the hell?"

At the head of the infantry formation, a Platoon Commander muttered. A familiar face: Platoon Commander Vengeance. The very man who had exchanged an infantry salute with him, looking decidedly awkward, when they parted at the Medical Barracks.

A thick fog began to form between Encrid and the Platoon Commander in front of him.

* * *

"We've been caught!"

The Fairy Company Commander had grasped the situation before her adjutant spoke. Her keen Fairy senses let her feel the battlefield's changing tide on her skin.

'Magic? A spell?' Dense fog began to blanket the battlefield. This was no natural phenomenon. The senses of a Fairy, a companion of nature and friend of the forest, warned her that something was wrong. The unnatural fog thickened until she could no longer see even a short distance ahead. "Company Commander!"

The panic in her adjutant's voice brought home a crucial fact.

'No one will have prepared for this.' Suddenly unable to see, everyone must be panicking. This wouldn't be limited to Fourth Company. And if this fog had been created deliberately, it wouldn't end here. That foreboding soon became reality. THRUM-THRUM-THRUM!

Quarrels and arrows came flying. Unseen arrows: death's summons showering suddenly out of the fog. THUD-THUD-THUD!

Quarrels struck a nearby soldier all over his body. The adjutant, too, took an arrow to the head and went sprawling. Sharpening her senses to their utmost, the Fairy Company Commander sprang back. Arrows struck the spot where she had been standing. As she retreated, she drew her sword and swung. CLINK-CLINK!

Two arrows glanced off her sword. She promptly lifted her dead adjutant's body to shield herself. Without it, a stray arrow would kill her. Fog and arrows.

'A prepared strategy.'

They had been caught utterly off guard.

* * *

"It worked!"

Exultation lit the eyes of the Principality of Aspen's commander. Soon he could adorn this battlefield with victory. The resources spent on this had been considerable. Failure was unacceptable. As soon as the fog thickened, he shouted,

"Fire!"

The order rang out, full of joy and excitement, and the readied arrows and quarrels rained down on the enemy. What Aspen had prepared was a spell. A spell that blinded the enemy, known as "The Fog of Annihilation"! At the commander's shout, the shaman smiled in satisfaction. The spell had succeeded. It was a spell wrought using the blood of a hundred newborn lambs, calves, and foals, together with water from a lake untouched by human hands. And ordinary ingredients weren't all that had gone into it. Much had been sacrificed for the spell, though the commander knew nothing of that. In any case, the shaman had put heart and soul into the preparations. The terrain, the weather, even the spells cast to summon rain had all been for this. The ground had to be wet for it to activate. The blood-soaked flags and their poles were the spell's conduits. Troops protected by the flagpoles were unaffected by the fog. That was the entirety of the shaman's trick. But it could hardly be dismissed as a mere trick. The enemy couldn't see, while their own side could. Anyone short of a complete imbecile would understand how powerful that advantage was on a large battlefield. The shaman gave no thought to the course of the fighting or to victory and defeat. The spell's success alone was gratifying. "Happy it worked?"

The commander of the platoon guarding the flagpoles asked. He was the skilled swordsman who had cornered Encrid before. "It nearly went wrong. Of course I'm happy."

The shaman spoke, recalling the enemy's earlier night raid. The desecration had nearly dispersed all the ritual power accumulated in preparation. The very thought still made the shaman reel. Listening, the Platoon Commander remembered the man who had carried out that raid.

'That bastard.'

As a member of the Gray Hounds, the Persistent Lovers, he had wanted to kill that bastard with his own hands. Surely the man was somewhere in the enemy ranks now. The Aspen Platoon Commander had not forgotten that torchlit face. The pretty face of an enemy soldier. He wanted to meet the man again.

* * *

As the rapidly spreading fog reached him, Encrid smelled water. At the same instant, he lost his sight of what lay ahead. Platoon Commander Vengeance, visible a moment ago, had vanished. And not just him. Even Ragna, standing right beside him, was no longer visible. "A spell!"

Someone shouted. No, not just someone. It was Rem's voice. He vented his irritation.

"What fucking bastard did this?" A spell? What spell?

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Encrid ducked. Arrows and quarrels were already flying overhead. "Well done. Keep your head down."

The voice came from right beside him. Ragna. CLINK-CLINK! THUD!

Sounds like those rang out above his head. His bad feeling had come true. Keeping his head down, Encrid thought,

'A spell?'

Why was a shaman here? Why was someone said to be rare even among the foreign tribes of the western frontier here? In truth, asking why was pointless now. Encrid set the thought aside. Suddenly, a spearhead thrust into view. THUMP.

The heart of the beast responded. Boldness stirred. Without it, he would have frozen and died on the spot. Reflexively, Encrid twisted left and swung his sword upward.

CLACK!

His clumsy cut couldn't sever the oiled spear shaft. It bounced aside instead. The spearhead had shot suddenly out of the fog. Judging where it had come from, Encrid tried to advance. Another spearhead came at him.

CLACK!

Again, he barely blocked it. As he blocked, he thought of how his stance had broken and his weight had shifted all wrong. The only thing he'd done right was grip his sword firmly. Everything Ragna had drilled into him, over and over, had gone out the window. 'Well, this is something.'

Of course he hadn't expected to master it after a single lesson. Then what should he do? "Back."

Ragna spoke. Encrid did the opposite. Thanks to Jaxon, his hearing had grown keen. He couldn't see, but he could hear. "Aaargh!"

"Gaaah!"

"Die!"

"Damn it!"

Amid the screams and curses rising on every side, Encrid flung himself forward. "... Squad Leader!"

Ragna's startled shout came from behind him.

And then—

SHUNK!

A spearhead pierced his throat. 'Right on target.'

Better this than a poorly placed hole in his body. Terrible pain spread from his throat through his entire body. His vision began to darken. "Crazy bastard."

The soldier who had stabbed him muttered, taken aback by the man suddenly charging with his throat thrust out. "Die."

The soldier shoved Encrid away with his foot. The spearhead slid free, bringing a second wave of agony. Encrid felt death approaching. He knew that in the space of a few more breaths, darkness would engulf him. He was satisfied with its approach. What did the terrible pain matter, or the fear of death that never grew familiar no matter how many times he endured it? 'With this.'

A "today" in which he could learn the fundamentals from Ragna had begun. The joy of it was immense. "Khk, khk."

Encrid laughed as blood poured from him. The enemy soldier clicked his tongue at the sight. He was looking at a man who was well and truly insane. Blackout. Darkness came. When he opened his eyes, today had begun again.

* * *

"Why do you go that far?"

Ragna asked. This time, instead of scratching his forehead, Encrid answered at once.

"Because I want to be good with a sword." A different answer from before, but the destination was the same.

"Do you want to learn swordsmanship?"

Of course he did. Ragna offered again, and Encrid accepted. His second day of practicing the fundamentals, his second today, began. Then he stood on the battlefield, and the fog spread. "Huh? What the fuck?"

Rem vented his irritation again. This time, Encrid knocked spear shafts aside three times before offering his throat to a spearhead once more. Bad luck made it a glancing hit. The skin of his neck tore away, spattering blood over the ground.

'Damn it.'

Bleeding to death like this would be too agonizing. Before he had even finished the thought, one of the enemy soldiers thrust a spear at him again. He was grateful.

THUNK.

He died again.

And his third today began.