Chapter 90 - He Was Right

The Fourth Platoon Commander of the heavy infantry Company had recently transferred here from the central forces.

'What a fucking mess.'

He had set out on a monster extermination mission to settle into his new unit and give them some live combat training. Admittedly, it was rather large-scale for that: their original mission was to wipe out a large pack of human-faced hounds.

Still, that was fine. Heavy infantry weren't called Krona-eaters for nothing. In short, he had set out knowing what his troops could do.

Then harpies had appeared out of nowhere. An awkward situation. Why harpies, all of a sudden?

He called for reinforcements and formed his heavy infantry into a defensive square. In the meantime, several soldiers supporting the unit died.

While crossbow bolts cut uselessly through empty air, reinforcements arrived. Just two light infantrymen.

'Are you kidding me?'

Worse, they strode fearlessly into the harpies' attack range. That was suicide.

The commander knew neither Encrid nor Rem. Having only recently transferred, he was still adjusting to the atmosphere in the unit. Of course, he had heard about the Spellbreaker, the high-grade soldier who led the troublemaker squad, but he hadn't had time to concern himself with that.

It was amid all this that he had embarked on the extermination operation, so anger was his first reaction to the two men.

"Fucking hell!"

The curse slipped out. There might be some underlying friction between heavy and light infantry, but watching fellow soldiers die before his eyes could hardly be enjoyable. Who wanted to see someone get his head torn off by a harpy?

The two light infantrymen were Encrid and Rem. In fact, they had appeared alone because they had come ahead rather than wait for the rest of the troops. The archers requested from the main force hadn't even arrived yet.

"Hey, get back...!"

In his urgency, he couldn't get all the words out. He wanted to tell them to run or duck their heads.

His men were equipped to withstand the harpies' talons and attacks: mail over thick padded armor, breastplates reinforced with thin iron plates over that, and steel gauntlets and greaves. They also carried rectangular shields and had formed a defensive formation.

It was a tactical defensive posture worthy of the nickname Turtle heavy infantry. More than enough to hold out until reinforcements arrived. Anyone less formidable would make easier prey for the harpies.

The harpies spotted the fresh prey, and one hurtled down at terrifying speed. The commander saw red feathers plunge in a long arc.

Even if he wanted to help, he had no means to. All he could do now was stand by and watch them die, leaving vengeance for another day.

Just before the harpy's talons split the soldier's skull—

SHING.

SHICK.

The commander heard metal scraping and flesh being sliced. All he could see was the harpy's back. About the size of a grown man, the plunging harpy obscured the light infantryman, leaving him unable to see exactly what the soldier had done.

All he saw was one wing tearing apart before the harpy slammed into the ground like a poorly skipped stone, bounced once, and rolled. Half its body, with its proud red plumage and bouncing breasts, was stained with blood. Dust coated it from head to toe.

"SKREEEEEE!"

The sprawled harpy screamed. The commander couldn't even blink. What was this?

"... Huh?"

That single questioning sound was all he could muster in this incomprehensible situation. His eyes swept the scene, and he forced everything he saw into something he could understand.

'The harpy swooped down.'

And he cut it with a sword? That was possible?

It was a feat one rarely saw. What if the oncoming harpy's talons had been just slightly off course? If his timing had been wrong? If the cut hadn't had enough force? Wasn't every part of that a problem?

Even attempting something like that was madness. Who did that against a charging harpy? How many men in the Border Guard, the so-called Frontier Slaughterers, could manage it?

SKREEE!

'Chance. Luck.'

He had been incredibly lucky. Apparently the commander wasn't the only one who thought so. Two of the harpies circling overhead glided into another dive at the pair.

They were fast. He almost thought he could hear their talons ripping through the air.

The commander's gaze locked on the two light infantrymen who had supposedly come as reinforcements. The harpies were attacking from a different angle this time, giving him a clear view of how the pair responded. He saw it, but their movements still defied his understanding and left him speechless.

The axe-wielding soldier bent out of the incoming talons' path and swung his axe. The commander only registered the swing before the harpy's skull split vertically open.

The split-headed harpy plunged into the ground, leaving a mark like a burst tomato. A long bloody streak where it skidded, monster blood everywhere, and a harpy with its head smashed open. Another one dead. That was what the axe stroke had wrought.

The other soldier did something similar again. The man who had torn the first harpy's wing raised his sword and delivered another vertical cut.

How was that possible? He swung, and it looked as though the harpy charged straight into his blade. It was the result of predicting the creature's movements. What else could one call that but another remarkable feat?

THWACK!

This time, though, his aim seemed to be off: he struck the harpy in the chest. His sword split halfway through its body, but he lost his grip on the weapon. Not that it changed anything.

SKREEK.

The sword was lodged between the two mounds on the harpy's chest that resembled a woman's breasts. The monster hit the ground and rolled, scattering blood again. With its innards split and crushed, it was as good as dead.

The commander looked up without realizing it. Eight harpies remained. His men hadn't killed a single one, yet three had died as soon as these two arrived.

'The Border Guard?'

The commander mistook them for someone else. Their skill was simply too overwhelming for ordinary soldiers. Were special-grade soldiers this good? He had heard rumors about the Frontier Slaughterers before his transfer, but he hadn't thought they were this impressive.

Then he spotted a group approaching behind the pair. Every one of them carried a ranged weapon: javelins, longbows, crossbows. Cloaked figures with eagle-emblazoned epaulets. The real Border Guard.

The Border Guard member leading them assessed the situation as well. He had seen it with his own eyes.

'His skill...'

He had improved again. To the point that an easy victory over him was no longer certain.

Leading the Border Guard was Torres, a Platoon Commander who had crossed paths with Encrid in many ways.

Judging someone's skill solely by how they killed monsters was foolish. Still, Torres wasn't confident he could perform such a feat against a diving harpy. Certainly not twice in a row.

'Was it luck?'

Torres had the same thought as the heavy infantry Platoon Commander. Just then, a third harpy swooped down.

His gaze dropped from the harpy to Encrid below, pulling his sword from the chest of the one he had just killed.

"Hey!"

Torres shouted a warning to look up.

* * *

What should he call this? Encrid had connected points, divided time into instants, and swung his sword as instinct guided him. The result was a severed wing on the first harpy.

"Whew."

Rem whistled beside him. The staggering resistance lingering in Encrid's grip told him just how heavy the charging harpy was.

He could cut through it. It wasn't beyond him. He raised his sword again. Another harpy flew at him, and this time he cut it squarely down the center of its chest, letting go of his sword. Holding on would have torn his hand open.

His judgment was sound. A strike connecting point to point, a sword stroke backed by force. The result: a dead monster.

As Encrid bent at the waist and cut downward, the harpy's talons passed over his head. Their hiss through the air was chilling, but he didn't feel in danger.

'Just dodge.'

It was a simple attack pattern. Dodge, cut, thrust. An application of swordsmanship.

He strode over, planted a foot above the dead harpy's wobbling breasts, where a human's collarbone would be, and pulled out his sword.

"Skreee."

Stubbornly resilient. Its chest was split halfway open, its innards spilling out, yet it blinked. It was still alive.

Encrid was looking at the harpy he had cut, but his senses monitored his surroundings—especially the harpy plunging down from above. He could feel the ripples in the air without looking. His senses had never been clearer.

"Hey!"

He heard the shout, but he was already moving. He drove his sword tip into the dying harpy's wing and heaved.

CRUNCH!

The muscles in both arms strained, his waist and thighs lending their strength. He hoisted the dying harpy upward.

THWACK!

The incoming harpy struck it and tumbled away.

After blocking a harpy with a harpy, Encrid rolled sideways, applying deflecting to disperse the impact. It was a deliberate, calculated movement to shed the force left in his body.

He sprang up from the roll, ran a few quick steps, and brought his sword down on the fallen harpy's skull. Like an axe splitting firewood, the blade cracked its head open.

That made four. Rem had killed one, Encrid three. A nearby soldier had already put a quarrel through the head of the first one he had brought down.

The harpies flapping overhead began to draw away one by one. They didn't fight battles they couldn't win. They fled.

Encrid let his arms hang, swallowing his disappointment.

'A few more times.'

He wanted to fight. He needed more experience. He was still practicing what he had learned, going over it again. He needed more real combat to adapt and learn. Then he felt he could fully make what he had gained in the sewers his own.

"Having fun?"

Rem chuckled beside him. The sharp-eyed barbarian seemed to have already picked up on his state.

"Anyone watching would call you crazy, but I'd say your skills are exceptional now. Still, it's strange. I figured you needed real combat, but how do you manage this in just one day? Again?"

He wasn't probing deeply, but he did voice his doubts. Naturally. Making such a dramatic leap in a single day with the worst possible talent was hardly normal.

Encrid offered his usual excuse.

"I got lucky."

Rem knew luck couldn't improve someone's skill like this, but he had no intention of arguing. What did it matter? Seeing the man having such fun swinging his sword was enjoyable for him, too.

"Harpies chased me once. I barely escaped alive," Encrid murmured.

"Did they?"

"They did."

There was no particular emotion or meaning behind the words. Just something that had happened. Encrid recalled the comrades who had died then, and let the memory go.

'This isn't revenge, but...'

At least there was some satisfaction in killing the harpies. He couldn't help that his disappointment was greater.

"You two, what unit... No, but..."

The commander who had been holding out in a formation like a turtle's shell approached. He looked bewildered.

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

He answered with a military salute.

"A Squad Leader? Not Border Guard?"

He wasn't.

"We're the Border Guard."

A familiar face approached. Torres spoke with a raised hand, though his gaze never left Encrid. His eyes swept him from head to toe. He wanted to ask just what the man had done. How had his skills improved so much?

"We did come to help, but..."

They hadn't even fired a single arrow. What the hell was this?

Soon, Torres and the heavy infantry Company's Fourth Platoon Commander exchanged brief greetings and took stock of the situation. Listening to their conversation, Encrid abruptly asked a question. It was rather important to him.

"Is it over?"

"... What are you asking?"

"The monster extermination. I was wondering if we're finished now."

What? Why was he asking? Two light infantrymen had killed four harpies. Two ordinary soldiers had saved a heavy infantry Platoon. Not a monumental feat, perhaps, but surely worthy of a reward.

Yet one of them was earnestly asking if that was all, while the other, who looked like a tribesman, was busy snickering beside him. What was with this pair of crazy bastards?

The Platoon Commander answered as he pondered this.

"Our original objective was to wipe out a pack of human-faced hounds, so no, it isn't over."

He hadn't forgotten why they had been dispatched. Human-faced hounds had gathered in packs around Border Guard, leaving trading companies and groups of peddlers stranded. That was why they had set out.

The packs hadn't appeared on the highway outside the walls used by the trading companies, but one or two had been sighted nearby. Trouble was clearly coming.

Their mission was to ensure the city's safety by exterminating the monsters and demonic beasts in the surrounding area.

"I'd like to join you."

At Encrid's words, the Platoon Commander thought:

'He wants to fight more? He looks desperate for another fight. Are my eyes playing tricks on me?'

His eyes weren't playing tricks. They were seeing clearly. The Platoon Commander was right.