Chapter 51 - “No Way” Gets People Killed (2)

"Lucky you."

One of the soldiers watching the match spoke. He, too, was a former mercenary, and one of those who had grumbled to Encrid during the recent reward ceremony. He stepped forward with a scowl. "You're not tired, are you? How about another round?"

Advancement required the acknowledgment of three intermediate-grade soldiers. Alternatively, he could defeat all three. Facing one opponent wasn't the end of it. "Uh, Squad Leader?"

Big-eyes watched him warily. The opponent's snarling made the atmosphere rather tense. Encrid looked at the fallen soldier in puzzlement. Was this right? All he'd done was trip the man, and that had decided the match. The fallen soldier stood, clutching his wrist.

"Lucky bastard."

He retreated as he spoke, still holding his wrist. It hurt enough to bring tears to the corners of his eyes. It must hurt, certainly. But surely not enough to cry over. Encrid turned toward his second opponent and took his stance.

"I'm not tired."

"Good. Then I'll take you on this time." Encrid briefly Reviewed the previous fight.

'I did get lucky.'

The soldier had been completely defenseless as he fell. He hadn't thought to protect himself. It seemed he hadn't imagined for a moment that he might lose.

'Why?'

He'd let his guard down because he underestimated his opponent. But could a little kick really decide a match? Did that make sense?

Encrid didn't know. He would simply have to try again. His opponent drew out a spear.

The infantry battalions stationed at Border Guard had two main troop types: light infantry and heavy infantry. Using long spears was one of the heavy infantry's distinguishing features.

Border Guard had invested serious Krona in training them. Their standing differed from that of the light infantry. Even at the same intermediate grade, they were better trained and had been taught more technique. The man leveled a short spear meant for individual combat and began circling its tip. Encrid didn't let it draw his gaze.

["When you fight, keep your opponent's entire body in view."]

Ragna's words. Encrid followed them faithfully. WHOOSH. The spear shot toward his flank, a stab as swift as a hawk striking at prey.

'Slow.'

But compared with the stabbing freak he'd faced on his first repeating today, it was slow. He could clearly see its path, and he could dodge it. Pivoting on his left foot, Encrid turned his body off the centerline and shifted his stance, improvising on the spot. Instead of merely dodging the spear, he trapped it against his side.

When the spear stopped short, his opponent pulled. Encrid sprang forward with that pull. "Huh!"

The soldier had expected resistance. Instead, Encrid relaxed his hold and rushed in with the spear, making the man gasp. Startled, he lifted his left arm from the shaft to guard himself. Encrid raised his sword, feinting a stab at the man's eyes, then extended a foot to hook his shin. Keeping the shin hooked with his right foot, he stepped forward with his left, twisted his hips, and drove his shoulder into the man's chest. THUD. With a choked grunt and a heavy thump, his opponent toppled sideways. There was no need even to point his sword at him. Encrid simply stood looking down. The heavy infantryman from First Company's First Platoon lay staring up at Encrid. The troublemaker squad's leader looked twice as large as when they had first faced each other. Being overpowered had put that much psychological pressure on him. 'Fuck.'

Even with the wind knocked out of him by that solid hit, he cursed the bastards who'd bad-mouthed the troublemaker squad's leader. Himself included, of course.

'Lowest-grade, my ass.' Encrid looked down at him and asked,

"More?"

"No, sir. No, let's stop." The second intermediate-grade soldier withdrew. It was time for the third to step up.

"Idiots."

One of the soldiers who had watched the entire advancement match muttered the word. It was Andrew—the same Andrew who had gone scouting with Encrid. Andrew had judged him well beyond intermediate grade even then, but now he fought better still. Whatever had happened in the meantime, his swordsmanship had matured.

Andrew congratulated himself on betting all his Krona on Encrid. At the same time, he considered who would win if they fought now. He, too, had been training hard. Beside him, Mac looked at Andrew and spoke.

"What the hell happened to that fellow?"

"Why?"

"He's improved far too much."

"How much?"

Seeing Andrew's expression as he asked, Mac shook his head.

"This isn't like before." After the scouting mission, Mac had told Andrew to get his head straight and gain experience if he wanted a proper fight with the troublemaker squad's leader. Now he had to take that back.

"You'd struggle against him now. Even I would."

Mac was a swordsman good enough to coach Andrew. And he was saying he would struggle. Andrew nodded. This was how it should be. The man had knocked him down with one blow, after all. He was also the first person in Andrew's life he had naturally warmed to and wanted to follow. Vengeance was watching from one side as well. He had just finished his shift and was on his way back when he noticed the commotion at the soft-earth sparring ground in a corner of the parade ground.

"What's going on?"

A subordinate explained. Vengeance tucked his spear under his arm, took off his helmet, hung it on the spearhead, and watched. Encrid had fought twice and put his opponent on the ground both times. It sounded simple, but anyone watching with a discerning eye could tell.

'If that's luck...'

Then he must be the goddess of fortune reborn as a man. The third opponent was in no hurry to step forward. Only then did Krais realize his squad leader fought better than he'd expected. He was exceptionally quick to read a situation, too.

So he picked the third opponent himself.

"You there, Second Platoon, right? How about a round?" Without something to rely on, it would be another matter. But with a sure thing behind him, Krais could be a bold broker. He could draw an opponent out with provocation if necessary.

"Me?"

The crowd had grown considerably. Stepping out and getting beaten up in front of them would hardly be a flattering sight. "Who else would I mean? You sounded pretty confident calling him a male whore behind his back."

Krais curled his lip in a mocking smile as he spoke. After that, the man couldn't very well refuse.

"Pah. Fine. I'll do it."

The foul-mouthed soldier spat on the ground and stepped forward. Standing on the fine earth, he faced Encrid, who had just finished his Review of the second fight.

'I've only been fighting opponents who were too tough.'

These opponents were far too easy. Rem and the other squad members had always said the soldier grading system was a mess. ["You think all intermediate-grade soldiers are the same? High-grade soldiers are at least useful, but even they vary far too much. And do you think skill alone decides who wins a fight to the death? This continent's full of people who kill better fighters by using their heads."]

That was what Rem had said. Still, to gain recognition here, Encrid had to climb the soldier grading system.

'Either that, or rise above the system itself.' Those who stood above the grading system were the wearers of scarlet cloaks. Two battalions were stationed at Border Guard. They took turns deploying to Green Pearl, so the city usually housed one battalion and the reserves.

The First Force, to which Encrid belonged, was currently stationed in the city. Half the Second Force was out in the field on the Green Pearl plains. Even without fighting the enemy, their positions naturally needed guarding. Taking turns holding those positions through winter each year was part of the Border Guard standing army's role. A city of fewer than ten thousand people had two infantry battalions and a unit under the kingdom's direct command. Though this was the first time a member of the Scarlet Cloak Knight Order had personally taken to the battlefield, members of knight orders were occasionally dispatched here as well.

All of this was possible because Border Guard was a royal domain. In the past, when relations with Aspen were good, Border Guard had reportedly been a trading city through which all manner of goods, including spices, passed. After Aspen launched its war of invasion, the place became a military city and a fortress.

Its once-low walls were built higher, and watchtowers rose. Those three towers symbolized Naurilia's watchful glare at Aspen. In such a city, most of the garrison soldiers were highly skilled. A frontier city where battle-tested troops gathered—that was Border Guard's strength.

The soldier before him, then, had to possess comparable ability. For all those reasons, there should have been no easy opponents here. That had been true even at the start of the recent battle. This place had been full of people more than a match for Encrid. "Your mind was wandering, wasn't it?" his opponent asked.

"No."

Encrid felt a pang of guilt but immediately shook his head. Never underestimate your opponent. Countless sword instructors had said it. To follow that advice, he'd even reflected on the history of the city that had become a strategic stronghold.

Don't underestimate your opponent. Once, those words had meant so little to him.

'Who could I possibly underestimate?'

Now, however, he had to make a conscious effort to heed them. He didn't laugh. He simply felt satisfied. It was an exhilaration distinct from the joy of growth. Proving his skill, showing it to others—that brought Encrid pleasure. "What are you so happy about?"

His opponent asked again. Encrid realized a faint smile had crept onto his face.

"Fighting is fun."

"Lunatic." His opponent steadied his breathing and charged, bringing his sword straight down. Encrid moved, following the blade's path with his eyes.

He gathered power from his planted feet, through his knees and into his waist. With that momentum, he struck his opponent's sword with his own. CLANG! A bright metallic ring sounded. His opponent's chest was exposed. Encrid drew his sword back and feinted a stab, making the man pull his arms in to guard.

But it was only a feint. Encrid raised his sword point and closed the distance. Looking into his flustered opponent's eyes, he bound their blades together, extended his left foot behind the man's heel, and pushed forward with his sword hand.

His opponent had barely managed to draw his sword in front of his chest. With the blades bound together, he couldn't use it to attack. The soldier was helpless. THUMP. Caught at the Achilles tendon, he toppled, unable to brace himself, and landed on his backside. Encrid rested his blade on the crown of the fallen man's head.

It had all happened in an instant. And with those three fights, Encrid had thoroughly demonstrated his skill. The fallen soldier rolled his eyes upward to check the sword resting on his head.

"... I lost," he said. Naurilia had revered the strong since ancient times. It wasn't called the land of knights for nothing.

Neither Andrew nor Mac, nor Vengeance watching from the back, nor the Fairy company commander who had arrived unnoticed to watch, nor Rem, Ragna, and the other members of the troublemaker squad, nor the soldiers who had once cursed Encrid behind his back—none of them spoke. The slanting sunlight overhead gleamed on the blade. Light brushed one side of Encrid's face.

The filtering sunlight, the lengthening shadows, the white steam rising above his shoulders in the cold air—all of it conjured a strange vision.

They seemed to see Encrid in the midst of the battlefield, tearing the flag that served as the spell's medium and making it out alive. The fact they had all refused to acknowledge became reality, searing itself into their minds. The man who had broken The Fog of Annihilation was the man who had saved them.

"I never thought it could be true."

Someone murmured the words. It was an admission. They could disparage him when they hadn't known his skill. Not anymore. There was a limit to acting petty.

The second soldier he had defeated spoke.

"I ran my mouth. I apologize." Encrid nodded silently. Border Guard's standing army had always been full of men like these. A rough force that couldn't abide someone standing above them without the ability to back it up.

That was the frontier's sword: the army of Border Guard. Conversely, prove your skill, and they would respect you at once.

And Encrid had proved himself by overwhelming intermediate-grade soldiers. "Spellbreaker."

Someone murmured it. There were no cheers. It wasn't that sort of atmosphere. But the nickname did seem likely to stick.

Spellbreaker? That was a bit much. With that thought, Encrid briefly considered what to do next, then spoke.

"I think it's time I faced a high-grade soldier."

He'd finished off three intermediate-grade soldiers just by tripping them. What was left now?

What else would be left? High-grade soldiers. He was thinking of fighting again, even at a moment like this?

Krais's already large eyes widened further. His squad leader really was incorrigible.

Should he arrange another fight right away, then?

While he was considering it, a whistle sounded. FWEEET. Someone whistled and stepped forward. The soldier gave an unassuming smile.

"Interesting." He wore an epaulet bearing an eagle. It marked him as a member of the Border Guard, a unit under the kingdom's direct command.

They were as famous as Aspen's Independent Company, the Gray Hounds. Nicknamed the Frontier Slaughterers, they were the most fearsome unit even in rough, rugged Border Guard.

They numbered only two hundred, but as a unit under the king's direct command, every member was a high-grade soldier or better.

One of them had stepped forward.