Chapter 387 - Everyone Has a Hell of Their Own

'What am I doing this for?' Andrew stepped out before the gate with five trainees. Ahead, he saw a swordsman and a tall man following with a mace hanging at his side. 'For the kingdom?'

It was a strange time to be asking. Andrew found himself wondering why he was here, what he was risking his life for. It wasn't as though he had come simply because he wanted to fight. 'Why?'

Was it for the kingdom? No. He could say that outwardly, but what lay deep inside him was not pure loyalty alone. Above all, watching this country called Naurilia had left him with certain impressions. 'Is this kingdom worth giving my life for?'

Perhaps it would be someday, but not yet. He had sided with Krang because he had no other choice. Yet here Andrew stood. "Hold them! Do not fall back!"

Squire Roford's shouts rang out. At some point, he had taken command of the gate. The chief of the constabulary, or whatever he was, had been standing off to one side gauging the situation. Now he was busy shooting a bow. Judging by what Andrew had heard, the man had risen through the ranks by reading people, not through ability. The guard captains at least knew how to fight, but they were in no position to leave the walls. In other words, there was no one else to stop the men approaching the gate. Andrew glanced ahead, then behind, and walked on. All the while, his earlier thoughts continued. Some things he could not do until he had reached a conclusion. One reason for his presence here was clear. 'My family.'

Had he only wanted to reclaim noble standing? Would simply having a noble house have been enough? Was all he needed the three syllables of the name Gardner? The name was not what mattered. That sort of thing did not matter at all. Andrew adjusted his grip on his sword and took his stance. His upright blade embodied his purpose. His dream. His heart. Who had taught him that?

'The captain.' He had come to understand by watching Encrid's life, his days, his training, the way he spent his time. He had not merely learned techniques. He had done more than put his body through the wringer. Andrew had learned how to dream from him. 'What kind of house will mine become?'

"What kind of man will I become?"

He spoke as his thoughts reached their conclusion. He would build a worthy house beneath a worthy royal family. He sought not power, but the right path. That was why he was here: to live that life. Andrew smiled without realizing it. Unbeknownst to him, that smile bore something of Encrid's. It was the smile of those who chased a dream. He saw the five trainees off to one side, steadying their breathing.

"Hoo, hoo."

The biggest of them breathed the loudest. It wasn't that they had never seen real combat, but this was their first time facing enemies approaching with such unmistakable intent to kill. Several soldiers stepped into the approaching swordsman's path. There was no time to stop them. Like Andrew, they must have chosen to stand here of their own will. They shouted something and charged. The swordsman's arm moved. Light flashed off the blade as he cut and thrust.

THUNK. SLICE. SHIIK. His blade was so keen that every slash cut through, every thrust killed.

"Aaargh!"

A soldier fell sideways, screaming, his fingers severed. The soldiers who had come out to hold the ground before the gate had no hope of stopping a man of such skill. "Whew."

Andrew filled his chest, steadied his breathing, and stepped farther forward. "Sir Andrew?"

"Fall back. Don't throw your lives away." There were two opponents. The swordsman in front, and the man behind him carrying a visibly heavy mace. Andrew's eyes swept over their faces. Then he approached and spoke. Dreaming was not the only thing he had learned from watching Encrid. "Hey, beady-eyes. Come here."

The words flowed without hesitation. Just about to plunge among the soldiers, the man turned his head toward Andrew. Only his head moved, his body still poised to leap, making him look like a stiff puppet. Beady-eyes suited him perfectly. His eyes were tiny, round dots, as though someone had pricked them into his face with a needle. Mocking someone's looks was nothing. This was a battlefield. If necessary, Andrew could insult not just his opponent's appearance, but his parents too. 'Just as I was taught.'

Andrew steeled himself. Give everything, at every moment. That was what Encrid did. Whether taunting or fighting, do your utmost. He had said as much, too. Andrew did exactly that. "Hey, can you even see?"

The insults continued. Andrew was dressed as a nobleman, carrying a shield and sword and wearing armor emblazoned with the Gardner crest. He even had a visored helmet. His mouth did not match his appearance. The swordsman in Viscount Mernes's service had never suffered such insults in his life, either. He was a blade raised by the house, accustomed to respect. He raised his sword. "I won't give you an easy death."

He spoke in anger, only to receive an utterly unexpected reply.

"Hey, I asked if you can see." Furious, the viscount's swordsman strode up and swung. The sword came down with his step, a powerful slash. Andrew raised his shield to block. As the blade struck with a sharp crack and began to bite in, he shoved it aside to spoil the point of impact, then thrust his sword. His opponent retreated and shouted,

"Brick!" At the swordsman's cry, the mace wielder came thundering over. He looked as though he had stolen a drink of Giant blood somewhere. "Is your mother a Giant?"

Now that Andrew's tongue had been unleashed, it jabbed at his opponents' vulnerabilities without hesitation. Perhaps he had more talent for this than for swordsmanship. "Son of a bitch."

Veins bulged on the mace wielder's forehead. "Or is it your father?"

That wasn't Andrew. One of the trainees chimed in from beside him: a girl with a face full of freckles. As she demonstrated what she too had picked up by watching, the mace wielder's eyes shifted toward her. "We'll take this one."

The five spoke as one. Andrew nodded. Hadn't he and all five trainees survived that hellish bastard Rem and made it past that demonic bastard Encrid to stand here? Whoever came at them would be an easier opponent than those two. "Die, blind man!"

Andrew hurled one last taunt.

"You fucking bastard."

Having provoked his opponent into a frenzy, he drove his sword into the man's shoulder guard. The leather-and-metal piece fell away, and blood spurted out. "I'll cut out your tongue first."

Even then, his opponent remained furious, venting his rage without tending to the wound. Andrew nodded and replied. "Where are you looking? Look people in the eye when you speak to them. Oh, were you looking me in the eye? My apologies. I couldn't see your eyeballs, so I couldn't tell." Even a painted dragon was not considered complete until its eyes had been dotted in. Andrew did just that. With words, he added the eyes and dried up the last of his opponent's reason. Bereft of sense, the man charged again.

* * *

Squire Roford surveyed the battlefield.

'Something is wrong.' The enemy was numerous. A threat. And what of the ten who had stepped forward? Each radiated a murderous air. Three or four appeared to be better than he was. Yet there was still room to catch his breath. 'Is this all?'

There were no enemy reinforcements in sight. The mangonels and everything else were certainly threatening, but...

'Though they've broken those, too...' Roford kept thinking. He had seen the man called Encrid, and wanted to walk his own path. Then why was he walking this one? To amass wealth and rise in station? He had just ignored—no, defied—orders from above. Even if things ended well, he would at least be confined to quarters. If anything went wrong, he would be imprisoned. Yet he was here. 'I belong to a knight order.'

Squire Roford wanted to fulfill his duty. There were words hidden deep in his heart.

'For the glory of the royal house and the kingdom.' He had grown up following his seniors' example, and wished to uphold his honor. Then what was his own hell, Roford's hell?

'The royal house ceasing to exist.' His thoughts flowed from his actions, his purpose, and his heart, then met the present situation and yielded an answer. Cold sweat suddenly ran down his back. Then what did the enemy want? What did the bastard behind all this desire? His mind worked as never before. Ears that had always listened to others without an opinion of his own now turned inward, listening to the questions he asked himself. He could see the enemy's strength. Of course, without Ragna and Dunbachel, it would have been a struggle. The threat was that great. But he also found himself thinking, "Is that all?"

'With the gate at our backs, we can hold.' Difficult though that path might be, it was possible. Then what was the conclusion? The constable was not the one who had sent him to Encrid. The face of the man who had sent him flashed through his mind. What if that man stood on the other side? "The palace is in danger!"

Roford slammed his fist against the battlement and shouted. Yon heard him from below. He adjusted his one-horned helmet. Yon, a warrior from the east, loved combat. More precisely, he enjoyed using every sort of trick to bring an opponent down and kill them. If Meellun, the Frog in Border Guard, craved the pleasure of defeating someone slightly less skilled than himself, Yon enjoyed watching someone better than himself die struggling. He had no qualms about taking hostages to that end. He would do anything to lure an opponent into letting their guard down. It was a sinister desire. "Do you know someone in the palace?"

Yon asked with a solemn face. Outwardly, he looked like a man who would only fight boldly and fairly. Inside, he was the exact opposite. He touched the broad scar running from his cheekbone to his jaw and spoke.

"I got this scar when my wife died." A lie. But who cared? Anything was fair if it could twist his opponent's insides even a little. "It wasn't even half a day. Just the time it would take a candle this long to burn."

Yon held his thumb and forefinger apart as he spoke. The gap was less than half a finger joint. "Yes, not quite an instant, but that was all I was late by. I'll ask again. Do you know someone in the palace? If you do, I'll let you through. Go." Yon had recognized it at a glance. The man before him was at least a proto knight. Where someone like this had sprung from, he had no idea. He had been told the knight order's main force would not appear before the gate, so this man wasn't one of theirs. Yon added a gesture as he spoke. In response, a mercenary beside him lowered a shield large enough to cover half his body. It landed with a thud. They had worked together for years. Behind that shield was a net woven from monster scales and sinews. The moment the man before them turned, the mercenary would throw it. 'Yes, turn around.'

Yon played the honorable warrior. And Ragna did not listen to a single word he said. "What about the palace?"

Instead, he asked Roford up on the wall. Unable to explain every detail, Roford could only repeat himself.

"We must return to defend the palace!" Danger? A threat?

Everyone had a hell of their own. Ragna found the reason for his lack of motivation. Whether the people here lived or died was nothing to do with him. That was why. It was like walking without a destination. With nowhere to go, there was no need to look back along the path he had walked, nor to find a direction to follow.

'Because I have no attachment to it.'

That was why he had no motivation. There was no particular reason for him to be here, either. It felt like wearing ill-fitting clothes. Or forcing himself to eat something he did not even want to taste. He had only just realized it. The thought had come because the warning of danger to the palace led straight to danger to Encrid. Ragna had found where he was needed. What if Encrid died because of this?

'Back to how things were?'

A life utterly devoid of motivation. He did not want to go back. Now he knew how to move forward, and could see the path ahead. Therefore, he did not want the tool he needed for that to die. In other words, the captain must not die yet. But he would not disobey his orders, either. Encrid's command had been to defend the gate. Then he would secure it and go. 'A shortcut.'

Ragna considered what he had to do now, then the quickest route. As he stood there staring vacantly, a mercenary opposite Yon, behind Ragna, drew his bowstring. The man enjoyed shooting at close range with a shortbow. He also used poisoned arrows. He loosed. TWANG! An arrow sank into Ragna's back. No, it did not. It pierced an afterimage. Ragna had folded sharply forward. The arrow passed through the space his chest had occupied and buried itself in the ground. Ragna drew the sword he had briefly put away.

SHING. At the scrape of steel, Yon sensed something had gone wrong and swung his glaive down. It was futile. Unmotivated, Ragna had not shown even half his skill before. Now things were different.

'To the palace.' A traveler's steps gained strength once he had a destination. So did Ragna's sword.

* * *

'What is this?' The ferryman could observe, but he could not intervene. In other words, he could see the events that repeated. In a sense, it was like seeing part of the future. That was why watching brought him no pleasure. Knowing what would happen was like being robbed of the chance to enjoy it. It had therefore been so very long since he had experienced an unpredictable moment like this. At first, he was bewildered. But little by little, something of an emotion forgotten long, long ago began to awaken. The pleasure of seeing the unknown. "Ha."

Aboard the ferry drifting down the river in the world within his mind, the ferryman savored an exhilaration he had once known. He could not predict it. He could not see what lay ahead. Had that always been so delightful? Today was changing, veering in a direction utterly unforeseen in the repeating today he had envisioned and watched. The ferryman was merely an observer, so he watched. He had a guess as to what had brought about this change, but did not trouble himself to think further. He simply enjoyed the moment. Since he was in the world within his mind, he laughed in spirit. And because he wished to savor the immense wave of exhilaration, he laughed aloud as well. That was how great his delight was.