Chapter 52 - The Turtle and the Frontier Slaughterers (1)

"Let's have a go, too."

The soldier who spoke stepped forward. He was plain-looking, a little shorter than Encrid but solidly built. The gleaming blue blade of the shortsword hanging at his side caught the light. The Border Guard, known as the Frontier Slaughterers, was a small elite force. Though the unit under the kingdom's direct command numbered only two hundred, its commander held the same standing as a battalion commander. Under Naurilia's military organization, it belonged to the army directly under the kingdom's command. In other words, it operated under a separate chain of command from the First and Second Infantry Forces stationed in Border Guard. The Border Guard soldier regarded Encrid with an impassive gaze. It was not provocative. If anything, it was arrogant, the look of someone sizing up an inferior.

That stirred Encrid's competitive spirit. He thought he stood a chance, and he was enjoying himself. 'I can fight him.'

How did he compare to his old self, who had crumbled at once before superior skill, or been crushed by talent before he could even begin?

For a moment, he savored the joy of that change. Perhaps mistaking his pause for hesitation, the people around him began to murmur.

"Spellbreaker."

"Troublemaker squad leader."

"Give it a go."

"What's so special about special-grade, anyway?" There had been only three brief matches, yet everyone was adding their voice to his support. It was a curious experience. Nothing like it had happened once in his life. This was a first. "Let's go!"

"Come ooon!"

"Show him!"

"The pride of the battlefield!"

"Is the infantry!"

Now they were even shouting the infantry's rallying cry. It was ridiculous, considering his opponent was infantry too. Still, their support came through loud and clear. The competitive urge to fight. A thirst that mere intermediate-grade soldiers could not satisfy. The spirit of the infantry standing behind him gathered around him.

A sudden thrill shot through his entire body from the tips of his toes. Watching from outside the ring, Vengeance understood how Encrid's supporters felt.

'Of course they would.'

Hadn't he himself just yelled at Encrid to show him? A lowest-grade soldier who sacrificed even sleep to swing his sword. The squad leader who kept the troublemaker squad in line. His standing was insignificant, his skill pitiful next to the effort he put in.

That was how he had been judged until now. Everyone else had probably thought much the same as Vengeance.

But what about now? Encrid, the troublemaker squad leader, had shown them a completely different side of himself. He had proved himself through outstanding skill. The claim that he had broken the spell, saved allied lives, and changed the course of the battle was becoming real before their eyes.

They had known, yet doubted it. Now what they had doubted had become reality, and everyone knew who had made the greatest contribution in the last battle. A contribution the battalion commander had paid off with a few words of praise and a pouch of Krona. Like any army, this one had a culture of those at the top helping themselves to the spoils. The current battalion commander had a particularly poor reputation. Rumor was rife that he saw his men as nothing more than expendable supplies. Quite a few soldiers had quietly begun to recognize Encrid's skill. Vengeance himself was one of them. Bell was another—the soldier Encrid had shielded from an arrow shot by that fellow called Claws of the Hawk. 'I knew it!'

Bell had recognized it ever since Encrid saved him. The troublemaker squad leader was a man who would amount to something, whatever he did.

'Of course.' And it was not just him. Everyone who had come to have some connection with Encrid, whether they realized it or not, was united in spirit. Right now, Encrid represented Border Guard's ordinary soldiers. With their support behind him, Encrid flicked his sword tip up with his foot and took his stance. At the same time, he put the exhilaration aside and steadied his breathing.

"So you're going to fight?"

"I see no reason not to." Watching Encrid step forward so calmly, Torres of the Border Guard thought to himself,

'Well, look at this.'

The Frontier Slaughterers. His unit had not earned that nickname for nothing, yet his opponent would not back down. If anything, he was eager to fight. There was even a faint smile on his face.

It was interesting. Amusing. And offensive. Torres wanted to show him the difference between an ordinary soldier and one from a special unit. WHOOSH! Torres charged first, his footwork frighteningly fast. Encrid waited, then thrust straight down the center.

It was a good move. His opponent would have to dodge somewhere, whether left, right, up, or down. The moment he did, a heavy blow would follow him. Torres did not dodge. He brought his sword against Encrid's incoming blade. The instant their blades met, Encrid tried to bear down with brute force, but his opponent worked a trick. CLANG-G-G-G! With their blades pressed together, Torres raised his sword at an angle and twisted it so their point of contact ran diagonally. The downward force slipped off course and away—a deflection, the foundation of the Flowing Sword Technique.

Sparks flew where the swords met. As his downward pressure slid aside, Encrid did not hesitate. He brought his rear right foot forward in a kick. SMACK! Just before his toes reached their target, his opponent blocked his shin with a palm.

The distance closed to well inside sword range. Torres let go of his shortsword and drove farther into Encrid's space, crossing his hands to seize the collar at the back of Encrid's neck. He meant to choke him. Whether the man choked him or not, Encrid stubbornly hauled his sword upward from between his legs. It was a back-edge strike aimed at his opponent's spine. A choke would not knock him unconscious at once, and in the meantime he could leave a rather deep cut in the special-grade soldier's back. Torres twisted. Instead of gripping the collar, he shoved Encrid hard in the chest with both hands. Encrid resisted the shove. Without yielding a step, he changed his sword's direction and swept it horizontally. From the moment Torres lost his shortsword, his defeat should have been all but certain. One man held a weapon; the other did not. Which had the advantage?

But here Encrid experienced something new again.

His opponent suddenly vanished. 'Vanished?'

Concentrate on a Single Point broke. His opponent had disappeared right before his eyes. There was no sound, either. Instinct moved Encrid next. Instinct ingrained through countless deaths—truly countless. The survival instinct he had earned by struggling desperately, over and over through a repeating day, to reach tomorrow saved him today. In an instant, he released his left hand from the sword and jerked his chin back, leaving his chest wide open. At the same time, a flash shot upward from inside his reach, beneath his chin. SNICK! The flash grazed his cheek. In that brief interval, Encrid activated Concentrate on a Single Point again.

Lose track of it and he would die. Instinct's warning remained stark and clear.

The rising flash dropped abruptly. Encrid did not miss it. He caught the flash in his left palm and drove his knee upward. SMACK! THUD! Burning pain flared in his palm. He could see a twitch around Torres's eyes, right in front of his face.

Blood streamed from his left palm, which had caught the dagger's blade. After dropping his shortsword, Torres had drawn a dagger without him noticing and delivered those lethal strokes. A drop of blood fell to the ground. As more followed in a patter, Torres let out a breath and made to withdraw his blade.

Encrid readily let go. Pain flooded his left hand, hot and burning. He felt a sting and blood running down his cheek, too, where he had been cut earlier. Had he failed to dodge, his jaw would have been split open. He could count himself lucky.

If he had not moved on instinct...

'That was chilling.'

So Encrid thought. "You're lucky. You know that?"

Then he heard Rem's voice. Somehow, Rem was now right behind Torres with his axe resting on his shoulder—well within swinging distance. Beside him, Ragna had his left hand on his sword and his left foot half a step forward. It was the stance he used to demonstrate his sword-drawing technique.

"You don't get to go any further."

Ragna, too, muttered. While those two stood behind Torres, someone else was at his side: their reddish-brown-haired squad member, Jaxon. He held no weapon, yet he looked more dangerous than Rem or Ragna. So said the instincts that had surged to life during the match. And those three were not all. Encrid looked down. A blade barred the gap between him and his opponent—a leaf-shaped sword, the Fairies' distinctive Nidle. "Enough. I'm the Fourth Company Commander. Any more and you'll be killing an ally."

It was the Fairy company commander. Her sword had slipped between the two of them before he knew it. "Why so bloodthirsty? It's only a spar. A couple of swings and I'll end up with holes all over me."

Torres retrieved his dagger. Rubbing the stomach Encrid had struck, he raised both hands.

Only then did the spectators, who had watched the match with bated breath, exhale. "He fights damn well."

"No, seriously, how the fuck is that a lowest-grade soldier?"

There would be no need for a separate examiner.

"He's high-grade at least!"

These men had eyes, too. And just look at whom he had fought. "I'm Torres, a platoon commander in the Border Guard."

He tapped his epaulet and offered his hand. Encrid sheathed his sword and shook it with his uninjured right hand.

"Encrid, Fourth Squad Leader, Fourth Platoon, Fourth Company."

His opponent had introduced himself formally, so Encrid observed military protocol as well. "The troublemaker squad leader. I've heard of you."

Plenty of people in the city knew Encrid. Torres gave him a genial smile. He hardly looked like someone who had just fought with half his life on the line.

"You're a damn good fighter. See you around."

With that, he turned away. As he walked through the spectators, the soldiers hastily parted. The Frontier Slaughterers' fearsome reputation was well known even among their allies. A platoon commander from that unit had acknowledged Encrid.

Left behind was the soldier who had broken the spell in the last battle and saved the battalion. "Why does he have to be handsome on top of all that?"

Someone said it as Encrid swept his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead.

Everyone gathered at the sparring ground took a good look at him. Though he had not intended it, this became the moment that changed everyone's perception. Funnily enough, no one spoke carelessly about Encrid after that.

"Huh? That squad leader? Isn't he that sly bastard who throws his weight around because he's got his squad behind him?"

If a soldier who had missed the advancement match said something like that, he was the one who got an earful. "What a load of bullshit. That squad leader saved your life in the last battle, and you can still say that?"

"Huh?"

The soldier, who had been away on leave, was bewildered by his comrade's reaction.

"Haven't you heard of the Spellbreaker, asshole? You think that spell broke itself? You hopeless fucking idiot!" Hadn't they been bad-mouthing the troublemaker squad leader together right before he went on leave? His comrade's transformation was too dramatic.

But he could hardly object. It was not just this one man who had changed, and the soldier returning from leave was swept along with the mood. What they said did make sense. 'They did say he got rid of the spell.'

He had even received a service reward for it. Deep down, the soldier had wondered whether the troublemaker squad leader had truly accomplished something great.

All those who had doubted it or credited his squad members had vanished without a trace. Bell led the way.

"I was about to get an arrow through me and fucking die, you know? Then he appeared out of nowhere and blocked it, just like that." Vengeance naturally did his part as well.

"There was a fire, and, ahem, I hadn't exactly been friendly to him before then, but he saved me anyway. I heard he collapsed after carrying me out of the flames. And Squad Leader Encrid really is the one who broke the spell. I charged at the front and saw him. With my own two eyes!" Andrew joined in, too.

"I thought he was extraordinary from the start. The one who predicted the enemy's movements and led the scouting party wasn't me. It was Master Encrid."

He even added a respectful title to the name. Andrew's nursemaid, Mac, added his voice.

"Throughout the scouting mission, he threw himself into the most dangerous positions and took on the most dangerous tasks. His swordsmanship? That's not something I'm qualified to judge lightly."

Mac was one of the finest fighters among the ordinary soldiers. The mood changed completely. Daily life, however, did not. There was plenty of talk about the troublemaker squad leader being far more skilled than expected, but...

"A high-grade soldier?"

To the battalion commander, what was so remarkable about one soldier newly advancing to high grade? The troublemaker squad leader was merely a slightly uncomfortable presence to him. So he ignored him. Encrid did not get swept up in the mood, either. He simply tended his wounds and did his best on guard duty.

Two days after the advancement test, he was standing watch with Rem at Border Guard's south gate. "Was that all planned? You're a sly one, Squad Leader," Rem said.

"What was?"

"The boys can't stop sucking up to you whenever they see you these days. Don't play dumb." Encrid had eyes and ears, too. Besides, he had Krais, who loved talking about rumors. He knew everything he needed to know.

At first, he had felt proud. Even if he had only been struggling to survive, he had indeed broken the spell.

But pride was one thing. Before long, Encrid had returned to his usual approach: training and honing himself. "Don't you get bored?"

"No. Want to spar after our shift?"

"Sounds good."

Rem chuckled. He rather liked how unchanging his squad leader was. After their shift, someone blocked their path back to the barracks. It was a face Rem had never seen before.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

Rem's eyebrow twitched, but before he could ask who the fuck this was, Encrid answered.

"Of course." Encrid recognized the man. Given his position, an introduction to Rem would clearly do no good.

"Go on ahead."

He sent Rem inside. "You sure you don't need me to stay?"

"Just piss off."

Appalled at Rem's attempt to play nursemaid, Encrid snapped at him.

"Look at you, bitching when I'm trying to look after you."

"Then don't."

"I'll say it again: abandon me and I'll sulk. I'll turn away in a huff like a teenage girl!"

Rem kept up his banter to the last. What a pain in the ass.

Encrid said he understood and gave Rem a light shove in the back. Rem obediently went inside.

The man who had watched the whole exchange gave a slight shake of his head. "Your discipline is shit."

"They don't call us the troublemaker squad for nothing."

They were just outside the barracks. The man began walking along the military base's low wall, and Encrid fell into step beside him. "You know who I am?"

"The First Company Commander, aren't you?"

The man nodded.

First Company, First Battalion. He commanded the Turtle heavy infantry, the pride of Border Guard's infantry battalion.