Chapter 400 - Eating Meat

With Krang's backing, Marcus was now supreme commander of the main army. He understood the value of the time Encrid had bought them. It was only a day, but there was plenty they could do. "Get the unit commanders in here!" It was time for strategy and tactics. Did he have a particular talent for those? No matter if he didn't. What should he do, then? Simply gather men who did. "Have the scouts keep constant watch on the enemy, and let all the other units rest! Feed them and let them rest, but tell them to keep their armor on and their weapons beside them at all times!" Marcus never stopped shouting orders. Watching him, Krang recalled the sight of Encrid just moments before. It gave him goosebumps. Here was a man who stood alone upon the battlefield, his back to them. Krang called such a man a knight. The kind the bards sang of. Not a symbol of might, but of honor and conviction. Those who took up swords for what they believed in. Guardians of their vows. Encrid had not been part of his preparations. Even so, Krang had trusted him. He had wanted Encrid's help. And that intention had borne fruit. He had gotten what he wanted. Yet as he looked at Encrid, Krang could not be sure this was someone he could bring into his fold. 'Can I make him mine?' He wanted him. Wanted to keep him by his side. The desire surged up in an instant, but Krang soon let it go. There was a better way. He need only take it. 'He needn't be mine.' Why not remain friends? That was no bad thing. Friends, then. Just then, the hero returned. "Enkie." Krang greeted him first. Marcus looked toward him as well. All Encrid had done was cut down a few enemy soldiers and fight their commander in what appeared to be a draw, but the might he had displayed had left its mark on everyone. His battle had also raised their troops' morale. They were inside the command tent, where the battle plans were being drawn up. Seeing Krang raise a hand farther inside, Encrid gave a casual nod. Friends or not, surely he couldn't address the man by name even here. Encrid had enough sense to behave as the situation required. Of course, even if he did call Krang by name now, no one could object. He could read a room, yet had no real grasp of what he had accomplished. Krang considered that another of Encrid's defining traits, guessing why he had refrained from using his name. Soon, everyone who could be called a commander had entered the tent. One of them spoke up. "Let me lead the vanguard!" Baron Rudin had always dreamed of joining a knight order. His blood was afire. He had seen a man stand alone against an army of thousands of well-trained soldiers. Anyone whose blood failed to stir at that could hardly be human. Fire blazed in his eyes. "Restrain yourself," Marcus told him. Strategy and tactics aside, Marcus knew what he needed to do now. They intended to turn the tide with a single battle. They would have to use every means at their disposal. "I don't know whether those are all the tricks the count has hidden away. But that doesn't change the fact that we must fight. We will hold together and stand our ground." Marcus laid out the overall strategy, and several tactically minded men filled in the gaps. Encrid's Lunatic Company was central to it, yet no one could tell them how to move. A skilled strategist kept every soldier moving, making sure each knew their job and did it. But some needed no such instructions. They operated outside ordinary bounds, finding their own place. Encrid was one of them. So Marcus said nothing. Orders were unnecessary. That was why he passed over Encrid as he assigned everyone their positions. In numbers, Encrid and the fighters under him amounted to a squad, but naturally, no one thought of them as merely a squad. They had all seen. Now they knew. His skill was genuine, and his reputation as the hero of Border Guard was no empty fame. The strategy meeting was reaching the end of its effort to chart the course of the battle. "The Lunatic Company will act as it sees fit, I trust?" Marcus needed confirmation of his judgment. He wanted an answer. Would they become a sword and cut down their lord's enemies? Had he judged correctly? Would they step outside ordinary bounds, find their own place, and fight? "Yes, we will." The answer was brief, but it reassured Marcus. Encrid nodded and returned to the tent assigned to him. It was a fairly large tent. Rem had built a campfire just outside and was making something. "Looks like we're in for a rough time starting tomorrow." The warrior they called a barbarian voiced what his instincts told him. He was right, too. It would probably be brutal. Probably dangerous. "Dying of excitement?"

"How'd you know?"

"It's written all over your face." Encrid sat on a flat stone of just the right height that Rem had brought over for a seat. Resourceful as ever. Where had he found all these things and put them together? "Where's my chair?" Ragna emerged from the tent and asked. Rem found a roundabout way to tell him to fuck off. "Did you leave one with me?"

"You get beaten up and limp back with a sprained ankle, and now you're taking it out on us?" He was still teasing Rem about coming back injured after catching that Ageless Madman the other day. Ragna was relentless. Rem ignored him, and in the end, Ragna brought a similar rock from somewhere, set it down beside him, and sat. Jaxon was cleverer still. He shaved down some wood in thin slices, fashioning it into a chair. If they were going to all this trouble, wouldn't it be better to get a folding stool or something from the fellow in charge of supplies? Dunbachel sat straight on the ground. She seemed comfortable there. Esther turned into a panther and nestled in Encrid's lap. Encrid watched Rem as he gave himself a cursory wipe with a wet cloth. Rem had brought some remarkably fresh meat. Had he held an axe to the quartermaster's throat? It must have come from hunting along the march. It was fresh meat an ordinary soldier would rarely even see. Rem scored it with a small knife, sprinkled salt into the cuts, and wrapped it in a clean cotton cloth. As Encrid watched intently, Rem spoke. "This draws out the blood that's left and makes the meat more tender."

"Sounds delicious." At Encrid's reply, Rem glanced around. Aesia had joined them at some point and claimed a seat. She alone had gotten a chair from the quartermaster. It was a simple contraption: pull the sides apart, and the legs spread to stretch the cloth seat taut. It broke easily, but took little work to make. "What's this? What are you making?" Aesia was as friendly as ever. She hadn't lost that disposition that suggested she would have plenty of friends. For all that, she had been betrayed rather spectacularly. What was the name of that rhythm-breaking proto knight again? Encrid searched his memory, then gave up. He couldn't recall it at all. "None for cheeky bastards," Rem said. He said that, but he would share. He was less stingy than one might think. Ragna considered for a moment, then frowned. "Give me some, and I'll forget about that incident." He meant he would stop teasing him about his injured leg. Judging by their behavior, he had apparently tormented Rem plenty even when Encrid wasn't around. Crazy bastards. Making fun of someone for getting wounded in a fight was absurd enough, and so was getting angry at the teasing. "I'll make an exception for you, bastard," Rem replied. Ragna had a discerning palate. He knew very well the value of Rem's cooking, which was why he had backed down a step. Encrid simply watched. As Rem rubbed salt into the scored meat, Jaxon silently tossed him a small pouch. Naturally, he was declaring his intention to share the meal. Rem caught it smartly, his lips rounding into an appreciative "Oh." "You bastard." It sounded like praise. Jaxon, of course, ignored it completely. He had given Rem spices. As Rem sprinkled them over the meat, their fragrance spread. Were there herbs mixed in? "If there's poison in this, you're dead." Rem muttered the words with a grin, so he was joking. Jaxon ignored him again and sat beside Encrid. Dunbachel quietly helped Rem prepare the meat at his side. "Don't use your claws. Did you wash your hands?"

"I'll use a knife." Dunbachel was uncharacteristically docile. The meat had been scored, salted, and spiced. Once the cotton cloth was soaked red, Rem unwrapped it and used another cloth to pat the meat dry. He ringed the campfire with stones to support something above it, then set down a cast-iron pan he had procured from somewhere. He poured flaxseed oil into the pan. "This stuff's precious." He spoke as he poured. Encrid nodded. Here, Rem's word was law. Only for a little while, but it was. Once the pan was hot enough, the oil spread across it, its fragrance pricking their noses. Rem laid the meat in the cast-iron pan. SSSSSSIZZLE! A rich aroma spread with the smoke. Blending with the scent of the oil, the smell of meat swept through his nose, then went beyond mere stimulation to strike his brain. His mouth watered. "Mmm." Encrid voiced his admiration with a quiet hum, while Rem kept his eyes on the meat. He was more serious than ever, yet his hands moved with effortless speed. He flipped the meat, revealing a firm, deep-brown crust. SSSSIZZLE. The other side cooked amid white smoke. Then he speared the meat with something like an iron skewer and seared the edges too. Apparently satisfied that it was cooked enough, he transferred it to a clean wooden board. Dunbachel reached for it. "Eat that and you're dead. Wait," Rem said without looking. "Oh, why?"

"Because it'll taste better if you wait." For Rem, it was an unusually reasonable explanation and a gentle attempt at persuasion. Dunbachel accepted it. After cooking several pieces of meat this way, he began slicing them one by one, starting with the first. The insides were red, the outsides brown. "I picked cuts with plenty of fat on purpose. It's beef."

"Where'd you get it?"

"They had some fresh stuff. Must've run into some nomads nearby or something." As he spoke, he cut the slices into smaller pieces. "Eat," Rem said, folding his arms. Encrid unleashed a burst of instantaneous acceleration. Naturally, he added Concentrate on a Single Point. A stab, then a withdrawal. His wooden skewer lifted a thick piece of meat. He put it in his mouth and bit down. Juices burst out. The rich aroma of meat worked its way through his nose and into his head. Where the smell had stimulated his salivary glands, this pierced his sense of taste. Every fine hair on his body responded. This was it. This was cooking. This was meat. Tender flesh slipped between his teeth and down his throat. 'What?' Was he dreaming? When had he swallowed it? Encrid moved his skewer again. "There's plenty," Rem said. They ate their fill. Every one of them had an enormous appetite. Naturally so, given how much they used their bodies. They ate and ate, stopping only when they were patting their full bellies. Even Jaxon kept silently chewing and swallowing piece after piece. It was an unexpected feast. "Whew. Now that we've eaten well, let's have some real fun tomorrow morning," Rem said, patting his stomach. "That's my line," Encrid replied. "Ah, that was good. Encrid, I enjoyed watching your fight today." Aesia was the first to leave after saying that. There was nothing in particular to do that night. They each spent the time as they pleased. Ragna had nothing on his mind. Rem looked forward to what was coming. Jaxon excused himself for a short while, saying he was going for a walk. As he walked through the night air, a shadow suddenly rose to one side. It was his lover, who also served as the guild's contact. "Must you go this far?" She asked without preamble. In truth, she could not understand it. "This is the last time." That was Jaxon's answer. She had been asking why he was going to war under Encrid, and his reply meant that he intended this as a final gift. His lover gazed steadily at him. She did not know why. She had no reason for it, nor could she guess at one. But she felt that Jaxon would not return. 'Do you remember what my father said?' The words of her late father, Jaxon's teacher, came back to her. ["Find where you belong."] It had been both an order and his last wish. Jaxon had not taken those words to heart, but his lover had. In any case, there was no knowing yet. While Jaxon was out on his nighttime walk, Dunbachel emerged, uncharacteristically unable to sleep. She sat on the stone seat Rem had occupied and stared blankly up at the sky. The moon shone brightly that night. It seemed a fine night for a surprise attack, but the enemy was quiet. Dunbachel trembled. Not from the cold. Her life had been filled with struggle and survival. She fought to stay alive. More precisely, she survived by fleeing or doing whatever else it took. Her instincts were speaking to her. She sensed a dizzying danger, as though she stood at the edge of a cliff with her body tipping over. Yet she did not want to leave. What should she do, then? 'Fight tooth and nail.' Hadn't she already watched and learned from someone beside her? Just as Encrid had done. The moonlight slanted. Clouds that had appeared unnoticed veiled the moon. Darkness settled. CRACKLE, CRACKLE. The flames on the torch stands around her flickered. WHOOOOSH. Wind swept in and lashed her whole body. 'I just have to fight tooth and nail to move forward.' Dunbachel made her decision and steeled herself. Even so, her body would not readily stop trembling. Esther lay in Encrid's arms in panther form. She opened her eyes while everyone slept. Mana was stirring. In other words, she could sense the flow of some spell. It was a form she had never encountered before, one she could not immediately identify. She looked up and saw Encrid asleep. His breathing was quiet. He slept soundly, without a care in the world.