Chapter 59 - Throwing blade technique

On his eighth today, Encrid took a quarrel in the side. It punched between his ribs and tore through his innards. 'I wasn't expecting that.'

He had dodged every whistling blade and even kicked away Rotten when he attacked from behind. In a brief opening, a quarrel had suddenly flown at him. There had been no way to dodge it. 'Their preparations...'

They really had been thorough. Pulling out the quarrel would probably make the wound even more lethal. He lifted his head without touching it and saw the mixed-blood Fairy's ugly mug before him. Did all mixed-bloods look like that? He had no idea. This was the first mixed-blood nonhuman he had ever met, though he knew most were treated poorly. "You're remarkably perceptive."

The mixed-blood Fairy spoke from above him. The bastard certainly liked to talk. "I tend to be. Whew."

Encrid steadied his breathing as he spoke. He was taking in everything—the Fairy's position, the distance—to make one final, desperate attack. TING. In an instant, he drew his broad-bladed dagger and stabbed upward. The weapon known as a guard sword nicked the mixed-blood Fairy's cheek. Turning his head aside to dodge, the Fairy kicked Encrid in the stomach. THUD. "Urgh."

A groan escaped instead of a scream. The arrowhead lodged in his innards churned them up. It hurt like hell. Moving had already hurt, but the kick brought such appalling pain that his vision went white. "Don't even try."

Death did not take long. The Fairy's work was clean and sharp. His throat slit, Encrid closed his eyes. On the next today, the Fairy, Rotten, Jack, and Bo all attacked at once. Overwhelmed, Encrid still killed Jack and Bo and took one of the mixed-blood Fairy's arms before dying. The final blow struck his heart again: the Fairy pierced it with a needle-like sword hidden at his waist. After nine todays, the tenth morning dawned. He finished his exercises with Audin, then met Jaxon. The same routine again. He could not afford to waste a single day, so he gave this one his all, too. "Could you take a look at my form?"

Equivalent Exchange or whatever else it took did not matter. To draw Jaxon in, Encrid demonstrated his blade-throwing technique. His proficiency was nothing like when he had first learned it. He had grasped the very edge of talent to make this skill his own. Of course it was different now. Encrid activated Concentrate on a Single Point, relaxed his body, and then snapped every muscle into action in an instant. His hand swept through the air, sending the dagger whizzing from it. He could not call it a streak of light, but it was several times faster than before. "The arm and hand are the launcher. You use the spring of your whole body. I've got that much down. Does anything look lacking?" Jaxon's mouth fell open. Never in his life had Encrid seen him gape like that. Wasn't this the squad member whose gaze and tone were always so impassive? The fellow rarely showed much change in emotion, let alone expressed it. His mouth quickly closed on his astonishment. His eyes still wavered, but his expression returned to normal. His mouth had been open for barely a second. "Jaxon?"

"Where did you learn that?"

"There was someone on the battlefield who threw daggers brilliantly."

"And?"

"I watched and learned."

"Watched and learned?" He kept echoing Encrid's words like a parrot. In truth, his surprise was understandable. This was not the sort of skill simple training could give you. It was a different matter from honing fundamentals. Without an innate feel for it, the very idea of learning it was absurd. Jaxon knew that well. That was why he was astonished. But the Squad Leader? His skills had improved considerably lately, yes, but this was an entirely different kind of ability. Encrid nodded. Jaxon stared at him for a moment, then said what needed saying.

"That will do. It's not a technique you need to delve into any further. However, the weapon you're holding has some weight to it. You would do better to put weight into your fingertips rather than lightness."

Jaxon chose the necessary words and spoke them. Encrid nodded. "It's called the Throwing blade technique," Jaxon said abruptly afterward.

Even without Equivalent Exchange, he was not one to be stingy with instruction. Encrid straightened. Attentiveness had long been ingrained in him, and watching Krang had taught him how to express it, too. There was a way to give your best even to listening. Seeing that attitude, Jaxon felt pleased. Who else would listen so earnestly to a mere lesson in throwing? Then again, if Encrid hadn't always been like this, Jaxon would have dismissed and ignored the Squad Leader long ago. "An unparalleled assassin named Georg laid its foundations long ago. Some say he was inspired by Leonesis's compilation of the five sword techniques, but I don't know the details."

A technique with a history. Encrid's concentration burned all the brighter. Ragna explained and told him the path forward at the same time. Listening, Encrid's eyes shone with utter earnestness. Despite its name, the Throwing blade technique was not actually limited to throwing blades. It covered throwing weapons in general. Along the way, whistling blades came up without Encrid even asking. "There are throwing daggers called whistle daggers. If you encounter them, avoid them. They are difficult to fight against. The reason Georg's Throwing blade technique has 'blade' in its name is the whistle greatblade." Further explanation followed. Whistling blades were made by layering thin blades. The level Georg had sought was the use of just one layer—a single sheet of blade. A single sheet made no sound when thrown, he added, so it was no longer even called a whistling blade. 'How many layers was it?'

Encrid reflexively recalled the blade the mixed-blood Fairy had thrown. He searched his memory of when it had lodged in his forearm. That blade had had three layers. "Excuse me, aren't you on duty today?"

Bo had come to the quarters to fetch Encrid. He had been so engrossed that he hadn't noticed his shift approaching. "Ah, I forgot. Let's go. We're on the same shift today, right?"

"Yes. My name is Bo."

"I know. You're with the scouts."

Encrid answered him casually, then turned to Jaxon.

"I learned a lot."

"Did you?" Jaxon had never considered himself loose-lipped, but he had to admit he became unusually talkative around the Squad Leader. He had only said what was necessary, but he certainly had said a lot. 'Was the whistling blade explanation going too far?'

Why had that come up? Thinking back, it made sense. It was a natural enough subject to mention, given the form Encrid had shown him. 'The throwing motion was similar.'

Georg's Throwing blade technique did not prescribe a fixed way to throw, but it did have a basic framework. The form the Squad Leader had demonstrated brought whistling blades to mind immediately. It was clean, as though someone had stood beside him and corrected it. Jaxon had no way of knowing, but he himself was the one who had corrected Encrid's form.

* * *

"Let's go this way."

Encrid changed the patrol route on his own authority. "Huh? Our orders were to patrol the market. Damn it, we'll get disciplined for this," Jack protested.

"I'll take responsibility." A Squad Leader, newly promoted to high-grade soldier, and a talent coveted by both First Company and the Border Guard. A late-blooming newcomer who had finally begun drawing attention at thirty. That was Encrid. Two soldiers from the scouts could protest all they liked; it would change nothing. "I said I'll take responsibility. We should take it easy on duty sometimes. Come on."

Encrid led the way as though their following him were a given. "Leaving our patrol area is a disciplinary offense."

Bo muttered and looked at Jack. Jack's hands moved busily.

'What do we do?'

'No idea.'

Bo shook his head. Even without looking, Encrid felt as though he could hear their exchange. Talking it over would not produce an answer. Some things in life were beyond your control. When your superior told you to do something, you damn well did it. And right now, he was both their superior and their senior. The assassin had arranged the place, the time, and the people. Was there any reason to go along with all that?

'Change the location.'

His opponent was an assassin. There was no need to walk onto the stage the man had prepared. That was the answer Encrid had arrived at after much thought. He went wherever he pleased, walking outside the city gates and never going anywhere near the buildings of the city proper. Jack and Bo were at a loss. They tried persuading him that they needed to go to the market, but he would not budge. After about half an hour of walking, Encrid stopped abruptly.

"Huh? Why are you stopping?"

The two passed him, took another two steps, then stopped and turned around. They had gradually given up on getting him to the market. After abandoning that idea, they had secretly left coded signs here and there. So now it was time. Encrid stared at them and asked, "Why did you do it?"

Jack and Bo stared blankly at him, then exchanged glances. What the hell was this bastard talking about? How should I know? "Pardon?" Bo asked for both of them.

"I asked why you did it."

"What are you talking about? Damn it, make some sense."

Jack's tone turned curt. "I've thought it over several times, but I just can't figure out why. What does a mere soldier stand to gain from spying? Krona? Was it money?"

At the sudden accusation, Jack and Bo sprang backward. Then they exchanged sheepish looks. Bo scratched the back of his head and spoke.

"What do you mean?"

"What the fuck? You're calling us spies out of nowhere?"

Jack flared up, too. "Don't you think those are pathetic excuses, now that you've backed away and put your hands on your sword hilts?"

At Encrid's words, the two exchanged another glance. Then— SHING! SHING! Both drew their weapons: Bo a thin-bladed stiletto dagger, Jack a comparatively thick shortsword. Encrid stood still. "Fuck, you're quick on the uptake."

"I'm afraid you'll have to die here."

Their plan had gone awry, but their task was clear. Jack and Bo looked at each other and nodded. While they hesitated, gauging the situation, Encrid drew his sword as well. SHING! The sharpened longsword reflected the sunlight as it left its sheath. In the same motion, he took a large step forward and swept the sword through a semicircle. Jack and Bo judged the reach of the wide swing and dodged. No, they did more than that. The sweeping swing left Encrid full of openings. Bo lunged for one. He had always been exceptionally nimble. Driving off his rear foot, he sprang forward just as Encrid's two-handed swing shifted his weight to the right. The moment Bo came within shortsword range— THUNK! A blade shot out from beneath Encrid's left armpit and pierced Bo's throat. The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique's Shadow Stab. It began with the pretense of a broad swing to lure the enemy in. Then, supporting the longsword with only his left hand and concealing his right behind his body, he drew the dagger at his right hip and stabbed beneath his armpit. His opponent would never have imagined a blade coming from there. Trusting his quick reflexes, Bo had closed too far. Encrid had predicted that reaction. Would someone who relied on agility ever pass up a chance to close the distance? Building his foundation with the Northern Heavy Sword Technique did not mean he had to forget what he had learned before. He had realized that fighting the mustached soldier in the final moments of the battle against Aspen. Fundamentals were only fundamentals. What to add or subtract was up to the person using them. He could swing a heavy sword, then flow smoothly into a deflection or aim for a counter. Surely he could mix in the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique, too. As long as the underlying framework held firm, that was enough. Bo collapsed, gurgling. Blood from his pierced throat soaked the ground. "... Damn it. We're well and truly fucked."

Jack went pale at the sight. He had no confidence he could escape, nor that he could fight. But what else could he do? "Why did you do it?"

"What the fuck do you care?"

Jack was consistent to the end, and Encrid had no intention of tempering his blade with mercy. Their fight was brief. A short, chopping blow of the longsword from above. Jack dodged rather than blocked. Anticipating the movement, Encrid turned what had appeared to be a short chop into a horizontal slash. RIIIP! CRACK! The well-honed blade opened a hole in Jack's side where no hole belonged.

"Hah... Fuuuck."

That was the end of Jack. He fell with a curse instead of a death cry. Encrid stayed where he was and waited. He planted his sword in the ground and spent a good while catching his breath. Only then did the others arrive. A quarrel whizzed at him from behind. Tilting his head aside to dodge, Encrid saw a man with his face covered by a mask, Rotten hesitating beside him before stepping forward, and lastly, the rag-covered assassin. Leaving his sword planted, Encrid asked, "You're all coming at once, right?"

Asking for a one-on-one fight probably wouldn't work. And sure enough, the man with the quarrels aimed at him again. Encrid drew a short breath. He released all the tension in his body. Leaving the sword in the ground, he let his arms hang loose. His dangling hand swung like a pendulum. Then his right hand whipped upward, flinging the dagger from his grip. WHIZZ! The Throwing blade technique, powered by the spring of his entire body. The blade flew into the masked crossbowman's forehead. This time, it truly was like a streak of light. The mixed-blood Fairy's shoulders gave a brief, startled twitch at the sight.

"Interesting," he murmured a moment later.

Encrid had been about to say the same thing.