Chapter 8 - Snakes, Liquor, Flowers, Knives

Not wanting to fucking die again was only the surface reason. As Encrid repeated “today,” he felt another fear: that he might settle for this, that once he made it past today, he would never have an opportunity like this again. The desire to stop here.

That desire terrified him. 'Was this what I wanted?'

To settle for today was to live a stagnant life. A life that could not move forward. It was only human to hope for tomorrow. All the more so for Encrid, who had dreamed of tomorrow despite his meager talent. There was also a sound, rational reason.

'I've learned everything I can.'

There was too little left to gain by continuing to train here. That meant it was time to move toward tomorrow. 'What happens if I survive?'

Would this today come to an end? He had agonized over it countless times. The conclusion was simple: he didn't know. He had no idea what would happen after he survived. 'If I can move forward...'

Then he would. Wasn't that how he had lived his whole life? Above all, Encrid needed certainty. Could what he had gained by repeating today truly let him see tomorrow? He couldn't know. That was why he would try. Taking on challenges was simply part of his everyday life. Today would be a long day. He would have to use everything he had accumulated.

* * *

“How did you do that?”

“Luck.”

“You think you can explain that away as luck?”

The moment they left the tent, Krais pressed him, his eyes even wider than usual. The dealer who had rolled the dice was dumbstruck. Still, he hadn't made a scene, protesting that it was impossible. He had rolled the dice with his own hands. Thanks to that, Encrid had been able to rise and stroll out at his leisure. Nor did it weigh on his conscience. He hadn't cheated. He had merely known every number the dice would turn up, like some two-bit prophet. “I'll buy you a beer in town sometime.”

A soldier who had made a tidy profit thanks to Encrid clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “It really was luck. I have no talent for gambling.”

Encrid changed direction as he spoke. Krais followed close behind. “If that's having no talent, everyone who does must be buried underground.”

“Sometimes you get lucky.”

“... Get lucky twice, and your pockets won't just be full. They'll burst.” As they walked, Encrid handed over seventeen silver coins.

CLINK.

At the jingle of silver, Krais took the purse. “Fine. It's none of my business,” he said, letting the matter drop. Then he abruptly stared at Encrid, those big eyes rolling as he thought.

“I've figured it out.” What? Encrid asked with his eyes. Krais grinned and went on.

“You're going to make a move on the commander who's coming tomorrow, aren't you? That's what the flowers are for? But wouldn't roses or lisianthus be better than white horse flowers?” The gambling aside, his shopping list must have seemed rather peculiar.

“... You think that would work?”

What the hell was inside this bastard's head? A new company commander was coming tomorrow, and rumors that the newcomer was a woman were everywhere. Yes, they had said it was a woman. But would she fall head over heels just because someone gave her a bouquet? That wouldn't work even on a village girl. Of course, it might work if you came equipped with a face like Krais's. No, wouldn't it still fail? At best, you would gain nothing. At worst, you might be summarily executed for insulting a superior. “You're pretty good-looking too, Squad Leader, if you clean yourself up.”

“Do you ask this many questions every time someone wants you to get something?” Wouldn't he have to run himself ragged starting now to get everything before lunch? Encrid conveyed that with a look, and Krais turned away with a word of acknowledgment. Krais would get moving. It would be a problem if he didn't. Encrid had done this several times already, but depending on when the man returned with the goods, he might have to run himself ragged too. Which meant now was the time to rest. Encrid ate breakfast at his leisure. It consisted of soup made with finely crushed barley, wheat, and the like, hard bread, and dried meat. Meat was served only once every three days. Fortunately, today happened to be that day. Otherwise, he would never even have seen meat throughout these repetitions. He crumbled the bread into the soup instead of softening it with saliva as he normally would. He took a mouthful of the moderately thickened broth and chewed. It had some texture now, but still tasted bland. Only after he tore up the dried meat and stirred it in was the seasoning right. Encrid chewed thoroughly. Food was fuel for movement. Whatever their difference in skill, a soldier who had starved for days and one who had eaten his fill were bound to fight differently. The warm broth slid down his throat and settled in his stomach. A few more mouthfuls emptied the bowl. “Tastes good, does it? Exploiting your men's labor?”

Rem approached, grumbling.

“Very.” “Well, it's good not to be picky. Never seen a picky eater live long. We've got one of those in our squad, don't we?”

“For all that, he seems to keep making it back alive.”

“Not for much longer.” Having cursed his fellow squad member, Rem gathered up the bowls and left. It was time to get busy washing them. His belly now comfortably full of thin soup mixed with bread and dried meat, Encrid took out an oiled cloth and carefully cleaned his sword, then wiped it again with a dry one. His new sword was neither made of celebrated steel nor forged by a renowned craftsman, but it was quite serviceable. Its balance was good, and it held a keen edge—sharp enough to cut and pierce straight through thick cloth armor or thin leather. Finished tending his sword, he stepped outside the barracks and spotted Krais approaching, looking from side to side. Encrid called to him.

“Big-eyes.” Krais came over carrying a bundle.

“Here you go.”

Naturally, it contained the goods Encrid had ordered. He took it and found exactly what he had expected. Five throwing knives with a fair amount of impurities in the metal. A chunk of poor-quality but thoroughly oiled leather and one large needle. “I barely managed to find the deerskin glove,” Krais said as Encrid rubbed a finger along a throwing knife's edge.

Indeed. Rather than a pair, there was only a single left glove. “So here.”

Krais returned one coin.

“I charged two coins for the deerskin gloves.” That big-eyed bastard really loved money. Encrid already knew that. He could get some back if he argued, but that would take time. Better to focus on what he had to do today. There wasn't much time for everything. The white horse flowers were shriveled and dry.

“You said you weren't confessing your love. I can't get fresh ones.”

The swindler. Encrid nodded. This was within his expectations. What mad bastard could find ten fresh flowers in the middle of a battlefield?

“I got you twelve, though.”

At least he was a swindler with a conscience. “And here.”

Krais held out a small pouch. Encrid opened it and found alum inside. If the deal had gone sour, he had probably intended to stubbornly insist he couldn't find any alum, then smooth things over later by claiming he'd barely managed to get some. It was transparent, but Encrid didn't care. He had everything he needed. “Good work.”

“But seriously, what are you going to do?”

Krais was intensely curious about what this good-natured Squad Leader was planning. “I thought I'd do some sewing and steep some liquor.”

Encrid's answer left him tilting his head. Why sewing, all of a sudden? And why make liquor?

“Well, all right.” Krais left without asking anything else. Encrid secured the knives at his waist and tossed everything else into the tent. Then he strode off, his destination already decided. He walked without stopping toward the outskirts of the barracks. A soldier stared at him as he passed, then called out.

“Hey, you. What's—oh, it's Squad 444's leader. If you're off to take a piss, don't go there.” “Why?”

“Someone got bitten by a snake while pissing there yesterday. Venomous. Not a nasty one, but he's been scratching himself all day, making a fuss.”

“It's urgent. I'll be quick.”

“Well, I warned you.” It wasn't worth going out of his way to stop him. The soldier let Encrid pass.

'He'll be fine unless he's really unlucky.'

With that thought, the soldier turned away. Encrid walked a little farther, surveying his surroundings. This area on the outskirts of the barracks had been designated for relieving oneself. Dry leaves lay thick between several foul-smelling pits and a few large trees. Avoiding the foul-smelling section, he scattered alum. Then he found a spot clear of grass and squatted down. He picked up a fallen branch nearby and worked its tip with the point of a throwing knife. He scraped repeatedly at the branch, using the blade as a saw, then trimmed the tip with forceful outward cuts. After several cuts, the end of the branch forked left and right, like a spear with a split tip. He looked as though he were idly passing the time, but his intentions were different. Even as he worked, Encrid watched the dry grass. Before enough time to drink a cup of tea had passed after he finished the branch, the grass stirred with a rustle. Snakes disliked alum. Since he had scattered it on one side, it was only natural that they would move away from that direction. He had hunted snakes now and then, too. A decent venomous specimen could fetch a good price. Once, while selling a snake to a town drunk, he had asked what it was for. The drunk had answered with a hearty laugh.

[“Never had snake liquor? Then you don't know what you're talking about.”]

He had been a jovial drunk. RUSTLE.

He saw one wriggling through the dry leaves. It had a brown body and a somewhat angular head. Encrid pinned its neck with a firm jab of the branch's tip. He incorporated the stab he had learned into that simple movement. The snake couldn't evade it. With it pinned, he struck its head with the back of his knife and knocked it unconscious. 'That's one.'

He repeated the process several times, scattering all the remaining alum and continuing until no more snakes emerged. It didn't take very long. He finished before the sun had even passed overhead. Encrid had caught five snakes. One by one, he gripped each snake's snout and pressed it against a canteen covered with thin leather. Startled awake, the snake discharged venom from its glands. He repeated that five times, then put the snakes into a thick leather pouch. “Constipated? You took so long I was about to check whether you'd actually been bitten.”

It was the soldier from before. His expression was serious. He seemed to have felt something like genuine concern. “Thanks to you, I had a good shit.”

Encrid said whatever came to mind and hurried off.

* * *

The mother of the Squad Leader in the barracks directly behind Encrid's had taken in sewing since she was a child. The man himself was fairly good with his hands and had learned by watching her. His sewing was quite good. Still, he had decided he couldn't spend his life sewing and enlisted. And one more thing.

'He loves his booze a hell of a lot.'

That was what Encrid knew about the sewing Squad Leader. Encrid tossed the lump of leather down in front of the hungover Squad Leader.

“Need something?” He looked unwell, but his sewing really was useful. Encrid had already tried this several times. Threatening to tell the Company Commander about his drinking would get him to do it, but then he made the stitching sloppy. “Make me some guards for my hands, knees, and elbows out of this.”

“Why should I?”

The Squad Leader scowled. A natural reaction, since they normally had little to do with each other. But there was no time to persuade him carefully. Even if he started immediately, it would be a close thing getting the guards before battle. “You've got some liquor stashed away, right?”

His expression changed, his eyebrows twitching. He looked like an angry boar. In fact, his looks brought a boar to mind anyway. Such delicate needlework from a face like that. “Steep these in it, and it'll taste incredible.”

As he spoke, Encrid casually set down the pouch of snakes. They writhed against the leather, dancing a frenzied dance. “Snakes,” the man said without even looking inside.

“Ever had snake liquor?”

The Squad Leader nodded as though the answer were obvious. “You know how good it is, right?”

Encrid had never tried it. But thanks to that jovial drunk, he knew.

“You know it's a taste you can't understand unless you've tried it?”

At that, the Squad Leader nodded vigorously. “I'll give you the snakes. Make these for me.”

“How'd you know I can sew?”

“Heard the Company Commander mention it a couple days ago.” No such thing had happened. The man had told Encrid himself while drunk. Well, that wasn't important.

“Fucking blabbermouth.”

Grumbling, he nevertheless snatched up the needle. It was a fair trade. “I'm counting on you, then.”

“Fuck, yeah, I heard you.”

His fellow soldier couldn't take his eyes off the writhing snake pouch. He really did love his snake liquor. Encrid returned to his barracks, gathered the remaining supplies, and headed to the spot where he sparred with Rem. No one spoke to him. At times like this, being in Squad 444 had its advantages. They doubled as the outcast squad. Behind a small hill where few people passed, Encrid donned the deerskin glove and crushed the white horse flowers with a stone. He kept pounding them until the white petals turned dark green, then mixed in the snake venom. Normally, this snake's venom did no more than cause itching. Mixed with white horse flowers, however, it was a different matter. On his seventy-seventh today, Encrid had fallen victim to this poison. An enemy soldier had stood before him, snickering while he lay paralyzed. The bastard had been so pleased with himself that he'd rattled off the entire recipe. So Encrid had tried making it a few times, and it was quite effective. Having crushed the flowers and mixed in the venom, he drew his throwing daggers and coated their blades with the sticky green liquid on the flat stone. The knives gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting a dull, dark green. 'That finishes the preparations.'

CLANG! CLANG!

“All platoons, assemble!” Right on cue, a loud shout rang out from inside the camp. After repeating today so many times, Encrid knew it well. They were being summoned to receive their battle orders.