Chapter 399 - And for My Shining Hero

Lierban, a Squad Leader in the royal army's Capital Defense Force, knew Encrid. They had spent several months together when Encrid lived in the capital. Naturally, he recognized his face. It was hardly a face one forgot after seeing it once. Standing at the front, Lierban caught sight of Encrid, and their old conversations came back to him. ["You're going to become a knight?"]

He had scoffed.

["You'd be better off finding another path."]

He had offered sincere advice, too. There had been no answer. The man named Encrid merely swung his sword. He was always there, rain or snow. ["Teach me swordsmanship."]

He never stopped begging for instruction, either. Strangely enough, he even seemed proud as he did it. More people began to mock him. More people began to shut him out. Once, a mercenary who had only just taken up the sword joined them. The mercenaries mostly gathered at one tavern, and Encrid was among them. The novice swordsman was hesitant at first, but he improved quickly. He had talent. Before long, he surpassed Encrid and toyed with him in their spars. ["Seriously, you swing that sword so much, and this is still all you can do? I don't get it. Shouldn't you just quit?"] Lierban vividly remembered that sneering, snickering face. What had that bastard's name been? He couldn't remember. But he remembered Encrid's expression clearly. Encrid hadn't grown angry or sunk into despair. He had seemed unaffected. Calm and composed. Had he felt the same inside? Or had something festered and festered, rotted and rotted away? Lierban had watched him. Not with any particular purpose. He had simply found himself interested. The next day, Encrid swung his sword again. More people began to look down on him.

["Why do you keep hanging around that guy?"]

Some had even given Lierban grief for it. He hadn't exactly been defending Encrid.

["That's none of your business, is it?"]

He simply couldn't stand that gathering of obnoxious bastards. Encrid hadn't changed afterward, either. Even when he was beaten half to death. Even when someone else caught up to him. He swung his sword, and swung it again. For what? 'A knight?'

Did that make any sense? How could a third-rate swordsman who could barely brush the second rank at his best become a knight? Only a handful even among those called geniuses, whose talent reached the heavens, became knights. ["Come to your senses."]

Lierban had said it partly out of pity, but of course Encrid hadn't listened. Back then, Encrid had been fairly well known. A childish sense of justice and recklessness. Meager talent that would never change. Those things alone had stood for the name Encrid. Lierban looked at the enemy ranks in the distance. His first thought upon seeing that force had been to flee.

'We're no match for them.' Their numbers were overwhelming. They were a disciplined army. The count's army, now rebels. Men he would soon be fighting. His long years as a mercenary and his experience in the Capital Defense Force told him one thing: if he fought here, he would die. A pointless death. 'Why am I standing here?'

Out of some childish sense of justice? Because he couldn't let go of a few gold coins? If neither, then why? There hadn't been any grand reason for quitting the mercenary life, either. He had a wife now, and a child. A woman who spoke of love while gazing at flower petals and the moon. A child who called him Daddy. ["What the hell makes you go this far? You've split your palm open."]

He had asked Encrid why he went so far. Why he risked his life to train. Why he refused to back down even through such beatings. Deep down, he had known the answer. Protection. Protect those standing behind you. Do not turn your back on honor. Have convictions. Those were the things Encrid said as he recklessly saved people's lives. Things he proclaimed with his body even when he didn't say them aloud. While helping clean up after the incident at the palace, Lierban had seen several corpses. Among them was a son of a bitch who had once beaten Encrid and done all manner of things to him. The man who had tormented and hounded people in the name of instruction lay scattered across the floor in pieces. 'Should I say good riddance?'

The killer's name was Encrid. A name synonymous with meager talent. Lierban was dazzled, though no sunlight stabbed his eyes. Some people in this world shone so brightly one scarcely dared look at them. Whether they were called heroes or shining stars would not matter to them. They stood firmly in their own place and proved themselves. 'Encrid.'

He could only repeat that name silently. He saw Encrid fighting out ahead. So clearly. Dazzling though he was, nothing hindered Lierban's view. His eyes couldn't follow which way the fight was going. But one thing he understood. It was fierce. Endlessly fierce. As though Encrid had thrown his very life into it. Blood flew. Sparks embroidered the sky. Encrid's opponent dropped his sword, drew a backup weapon from his waist, and swung. A machete. Encrid struck back with the sword in his hand. CLAAANG! A deafening crash erupted. The impact seemed to spread in concentric rings. Gooseflesh rose. Every fine hair on Lierban's body stood on end. Forgetting his own despair at the sight of the enemy, he found himself watching only Encrid's back. He was alone. He had stepped forward alone to bar an army no one dared fight, cut down several men, and was now swinging his sword at the next challenger. Something like a shaft of light burst between the two combatants. Encrid flew backward and tumbled. His opponent merely staggered back several heavy steps. Lierban watched Encrid roll. Falling would never stop that man. He knew that. THUD.

Lierban struck the ground with his spear shaft.

THUD.

Then he did it again. "For Naurilia."

He murmured the words. No one would hear them. They would reach no one. They were only for himself. He stood here for his country, its people, his wife, his child. For all of them. He had to protect those behind him. Following his lead, the soldiers nearby began striking the ground with their spear shafts, one by one. THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD. The uneven beats naturally fell into rhythm. No commander had ordered it. Every one of them had simply been moved by the man fighting before them. 'And for my shining hero.'

Lierban murmured it inwardly as he struck the ground with his spear shaft. And Encrid rose. The two seemed to exchange words, but Lierban couldn't hear them. THUD, THUD, THUD.

Only the sound of spear shafts beating the earth rang out.

* * *

As Encrid pressed attack after attack without breathing, Lierbart was the first to introduce something new. He dropped his sword and swung his machete. Encrid neither slowed nor paused for breath. He simply lashed out with Silver. His stance wasn't perfect, but the strike unleashed the Heart of the Superhuman. It was a sword stroke driven by strength beyond human limits. Their weapons met. The instant blade touched blade, a formless pressure rose from the machete and slammed into Encrid's abdomen and chest. It was too sudden and too close to deflect. Encrid gritted his teeth, took the blow with his body, and brought his sword down anyway. This was the result: he flew backward, and his opponent retreated a few steps. Thrown to the ground, Encrid felt the world spin. Aware that he had been flung backward, he quickly recovered his balance. Yet even after he found his footing and stood, the sky was still spinning. So was the ground. His opponent seemed to bend and stretch. Something hot rose from his insides, and he spat it out. "Urgh."

He vomited a mouthful of blood. His stomach eased, and the dizziness faded. "What's that thing?" he asked.

"A magic sword," Lierbart answered. Encrid didn't consider it unfair. Sometime as he was getting up, a rhythmic thudding had begun to fill the air. It sounded oddly like his own heartbeat. Strangely, it seemed like a song of encouragement. 'My insides sting a little.'

His head was swimming, too, but did that matter? No. Not at all. After asking and answering himself, he raised his sword. He meant to see this through. Lierbart looked at his dented pauldron and breastplate.

'Is it the difference in talent?' He dismissed the fleeting thought and looked at Encrid. His opponent seemed larger than before. It might have been the difference in willpower, but more than that, it was the army's fighting spirit. Of course, they could press the attack now, but there was no need. Granting a day's reprieve would do no harm. For what the count truly wanted, giving them another day would be the right choice, too. For those reasons, Lierbart freely admitted defeat. He also acknowledged that he would lose ground if they kept fighting.

"You win."

That was why he said it. It was wholly unexpected. Encrid could only stare at him. "The goddess of luck is the same as ever today."

Regret lay heavy in Lierbart's words. But heavier still was his resentment toward the world. "Still, it doesn't matter. Nothing will change."

"You're not going to keep fighting?"

Encrid cut him off.

"That's enough for today. I've lost interest." The thudding of spear shafts against the earth continued. Their pounding seemed to say: protect the man named Encrid. More importantly, Lierbart could see those who had drawn closer during the fight. Rem, Ragna, Aesia, and Dunbachel. On the other side stood Malten, Benukt, and Banat. The key fighters of both armies had gathered. 'No, there's one more.'

Someone with first-rate assassination skills. Better than first-rate. With senses beyond human limits, Lierbart pinpointed the man's position. Beneath the shade cast by a horse. Someone had discreetly concealed himself behind its body. When Lierbart looked straight at him, he took a step sideways, seemingly unconcerned about revealing himself. Naturally, it was Jaxon. "It would be a waste to burn everything here. You should learn that battle isn't all swordplay."

With that, Lierbart turned. He beckoned to his trusty mount, and the black horse that had accompanied him for so many years approached. He picked up his fallen sword, stowed his equipment on the armored horse, and mounted. "You're no fun."

Encrid taunted him, but he didn't take the bait.

"Next time, I won't disappoint." For someone who had admitted defeat, his bearing hadn't faltered at all. Their eyes met. Lierbart thought of the goddess of luck and cursed her. Encrid looked at his opponent and wondered if this was truly all he had. His intuition told him it wasn't. "The battle will be tomorrow. We begin at dawn. This is my show of respect for defeating me."

With those words, Lierbart turned away. Encrid watched him. Should he strike the man's back, even now? He didn't want to. He wouldn't do something he disliked. Nor would it be the right course. More importantly, it would be pointless. Both his senses and his reason told him so. If the enemy launched an all-out battle now, his side would be at a disadvantage. If anything, he ought to put a silver coin in the man's hand to thank him for withdrawing. THUD, THUD, THUD. The troops were striking the ground with their spear shafts. Their fighting spirit was high, but that was all. Higher morale wouldn't increase their numbers. If the battle became a melee before they were ready, the smaller side would be at a disadvantage. What could they do to improve their odds, however slightly? Encrid knew instinctively. They had to buy time, get organized, and fight in formation to secure even the smallest advantage. That instinctive understanding was part of why he had stepped forward. So there was no point in stopping Lierbart now to keep fighting. Encrid turned as well. With Lierbart also heading back, the distance between them quickly widened. "You didn't have to come out to meet me."

On his way back, Encrid said it to the people standing halfway between him and the main army. "If you croaked, I was going to give him a few axe blows in revenge."

"Good use of the breathless tactic."

"Why isn't a single one of them a pushover?" Rem spoke as he raised his axe; Ragna, with apple seeds in his hand; Dunbachel, glancing behind Encrid. Finally, Aesia stared at him and said,

"You magnificent bastard." He couldn't tell exactly what she meant, though he understood the gist. She had said it because he had shown his skill. What had Encrid shown them? He had proved his claim that, against the rhythm-breaking proto knight, three todays at most would have been enough. He had also engraved the name Encrid in the minds of everyone watching. Without even morale, this army would have nothing left. Encrid had given it that morale. THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD! Spear shafts beat against the earth in time with his heartbeat. Encrid returned to the main army listening to that sound. No one spoke to him, but everyone watched him.

* * *

"How was he?"

"Strong. Better than me."

"And?"

"I will have to kill him."

"Do so." Lierbart had returned to the count, who asked and answered with an air of boredom. The start of the full-scale battle had been postponed until the following morning. That was no problem. No, it was actually what the count wanted.