Chapter 101 - Just Because Luck Isn't on Your Side (3)

The third method, in other words, persuading them to disguise themselves as a merchant association and enter Crossguard at dawn two days later, was not difficult.

"I've got a bad feeling."

It was the same reason he had given when he suggested climbing over the wall.

Torres supported him, and Pin nodded indifferently.

"Then I guess we're staying here again today."

It was the campsite where they had dug burrows.

At that news, the soldier in charge of cooking smiled and said,

"Then should I bring that out for dinner?"

The frontline Recon Party led by Ranger Pin.

Once they came out on an operation, the average time they stayed was half a year.

Of course, if something happened midway, they might return after only a month or two.

They had already been staying here for eight months.

After spending that long here, they had done all sorts of things.

Among them was salting the meat of beasts they caught and making ham out of it.

"Then shall we have a drink?"

Pin took those words with excitement.

In a way, they were a unit that should have had their nerves stretched tighter than those actually on the battlefield, yet it was hard to tell whether their nerves were dull or simply thick.

'No, maybe they're usually more sensitive precisely for days like this.'

They were careful even about smoke rising from the place they used as a dining area.

They often took turns patrolling in wide circles to keep watch over the surroundings.

Two sharp-eyed members were always looking outward and standing guard as well.

Watching that Recon Party, Encrid recalled something he had heard before.

["If you're only straight, you break easily. When needed, you must know how to bend softly too."]

Which instructor had he heard that from again?

'It wasn't an instructor.'

It had been a holy warrior belonging to an order, one who was making a pilgrimage through provincial cities.

He had said he had no time to offer instruction, so they should settle it short and hard through a spar.

Seeing him guffaw and stroke his beard, one could have believed he was a bandit rather than a priest, but he was a respected clergyman and an outstanding warrior.

["Bending doesn't mean becoming weak. If your center is firm, you don't break easily. Want me to explain it simply? It means stop screaming so damn much."]

Had he said it sounded like Encrid screamed every time he swung his sword?

Was that why?

Why he suddenly became curious about how his own sword looked?

CHING.

His heart moved that way, and so his body moved with it.

"... Why is he like that again when we were just about to have a drink?"

Pin muttered as she had just received the hidden bottle of liquor from a member who had fetched it.

Encrid, who had risen to his feet, drew his sword and swung it.

It had nothing to do with the repeated today.

Nor was it something he had learned recently.

It was merely a sword stroke that began from a question.

The holy warrior who had faced him then had said Encrid screamed every time he swung his sword.

He had said it looked as though he was struggling desperately, insisting he could not break.

["You need to know how to use your muscles softly for your sword to spring out better too."]

Behind the face of the guffawing holy warrior, the face of his squadmate overlapped.

They had sparred hundreds of times.

What had Rem been like during their spars? His muscles had been elasticity itself.

At the root of the technique that let him handle an axe freely was ease.

Was it because he believed he would not lose?

'No.'

The forearm and axe that bent like a whip, Rem's face, soft muscles.

The answer produced by everything mixed together was this.

'He used only as much strength as he needed, when he needed it.'

What about Ragna? His hand movements looked listless, but absurdly high-level swordsmanship was woven into them.

Jaxon and Audin were the same.

Contrary to his stiff-looking attitude, Jaxon always had ease as well.

Audin would tease Encrid while grabbing and twisting his arms this way and that, but he also gave advice.

On the other hand, what about himself?

'The shoulders.'

No, he fought with tension in his whole body. Even when connecting point to point, he did so.

Because he always had to give everything he had.

Because he had thought it was meaningless unless it was his best.

That was exactly what it meant to have tension in his shoulders.

Encrid swung his sword through the air.

WHOOSH.

Compared to usual, it was almost empty of strength.

'This is just relaxing.'

Unless relaxing the body meant killing the power of the swordsmanship itself.

A method, a path, a milestone, things of that sort began to appear faintly.

Knowing did not mean he could do it immediately.

He knew that.

He knew it all too well.

Encrid knew his own talent down to the bone.

He had simply realized that he needed to take the tension out of his shoulders.

Still, that realization alone made his heart throb and beat.

Joy and elation filled his entire body.

It was the elation that came from seeing the road simply by knowing he could walk straight.

And to Encrid, the sword was life, and life was the sword.

It was the companion walking with him toward his dream.

In the midst of that elation, one question came to mind.

'Is struggling desperately the only answer?'

He had always vowed he could not waste today for the sake of tomorrow.

He had steadied his mind countless times.

Enduring and enduring again, struggling desperately, was not difficult for him, so he had done just that.

'There is no need for it to be that way.'

Along with the thought, he brought his sword down.

SWISH.

The sound of the blade cutting through the air was different from before.

Hearing it, a faint smile settled on Encrid's face.

The sword stroke from just now.

He felt nostalgia in a sword stroke that simply swung from top to bottom.

When had it been?

It had been in the Tall Grass Fields with Andrew and Henri.

A sword strike commonly called one that left no sensation in the hand.

That one blow that those called geniuses performed countless times.

If there had been an opponent before his eyes just now, he would have been able to cut them without leaving any sensation in his hand.

Even though he had repeated it countless times to gain the same feeling again, in the end, not once had he been able to reproduce that "sword strike that left no sensation in the hand."

'It worked.'

That sword strike had just been achieved by his own hand.

How could he not be happy?

"That sword stroke just now seemed a little different."

"Agreed. It was an uncommon cut."

Pin and Torres spoke while sitting with their asses planted on one side.

Both of them had eyes for such things.

Then Pin added,

"But he really is okay, right? Why does he keep grinning to himself?"

"Don't ask me that. I've only seen his face a few times too. He's famous in the main unit for not being normal."

Encrid lightly let their conversation flow past him.

He only wanted to swing his sword again and again.

And as he did, his thoughts continued.

'Struggle desperately, but.'

What about struggling desperately with the tension taken out of his shoulders?

Within the repeated today, flailing desperately was not necessarily the only answer.

Screaming was not the only path.

What mattered was the step, the mindset, of advancing toward tomorrow, and taking everything he could gain along the way.

It was realization.

It was enlightenment.

It was new learning.

And as he smiled again from the joy of that,

"Wow, with a face like that, it's fine even when he smiles like that. Normally he should look like a crazy bastard, so why does it look convincing?"

Pin said that while downing a cup of liquor.

"What about me?"

Torres butted in without knowing his place.

He was ignored just as he was.

A few members snickered and patted his shoulder.

Though they had met only a few days ago, they were people who had quickly allowed him near.

While Encrid swung his sword fiercely like that, Pin, Torres, and a few members shared several cups of liquor.

There was not enough to drink plenty, and it was not strong liquor either.

It was cheap fruit wine, the sort commonly found inside the city.

Along with it, they cut a few slices of ham that had been salted and smoked in the forest they used as a dining area and ate them.

"You should definitely open a restaurant."

The words came naturally to the Recon Party member whose dream was to be a cook.

Encrid could not even put liquor to his lips.

He had not intended to drink today, but even if he had tried, there was nothing to drink.

While he swung his sword and washed up, the others had quickly finished it off.

"Why? With that face, you want to drink too?"

Torres grumbled for no reason.

It was not enough for them to laugh and chatter loudly, but it was a time when they relaxed to a proper degree.

Of course, even at times like this, there were a few who remained sensitive, like they had their antennae raised.

Pin was one of them too.

She had put a cup or two of liquor to her lips, but was she not in a position responsible for everyone?

They spent the day like that and returned to the burrows at night.

Whether they headed for the underground tunnel called the Smuggler's Hole or went to the wall.

Originally, there should have been no one staying here today.

If Pin left, they had planned to empty the encampment and gather again somewhere closer to the main force.

All of that had gone awry when they decided to disguise themselves as a merchant association, and a night that should not have existed approached.

Two moons rose and lit the surroundings blue.

Before entering the burrow, Encrid lifted his head and looked at the two moons.

The round, large moon was the moon always visible.

The second, smaller moon was one that could not be seen unless it was full.

'It's bright.'

The surroundings were clear.

Even if he stayed up all night, today would repeat anyway.

He had already learned that while digging under the shoemaker's store inside the city.

So struggling not to sleep had no meaning.

He intended to get some sleep and avoid building up needless fatigue.

It was the moment when the deep night had only just begun.

Compared to the today he had repeated yesterday, it would be around the time they had just arrived in front of the wall.

AWOOOOOO!

The cry burst from somewhere fairly close.

Encrid had roughly realized why his Sixth Sense had not activated when he died to the magician.

The reason the ominous feeling had not activated.

'When a spell plays tricks.'

It had been because there had been a magician, whether of rose vines or rose thorns, above his head the entire time he climbed the wall.

Because she had played her tricks, he had not sensed the presence above him.

He had not heard the sound, and he had not felt the ominousness.

Then what about now?

"Fuck! Wake up! Emergency! Emergency!"

It was the shout of the Recon Party member standing guard and keeping night watch.

The wolf's howl, the soldier's warning cry, and then the sound that followed.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

It was the sound of something sprinting.

Then a monster appeared with the moonlight at its back.

There was a species called Beastmen that lived gathered somewhere at the eastern end of the continent.

They were a unique demi-human race with the traits of both humans and beasts.

The monsters that appeared now were those called the failed creations of those Beastmen.

Because they were failures made by the Creator.

They always thirsted for blood and hated humans.

AWOOOO!

That was the owner of the howl.

Its ankles jutted backward as though it were standing on the tips of its feet.

Gray fur covered its whole body, and the yellow eyes unique to beasts gleamed.

Its snout protruded far forward, and sharp fangs flashed between it.

The name of the monster with the moonlight at its back was lycanthrope.

In other words, werewolf.

Naturally, because they were not the species known as Beastmen, words did not get through to them, as with most monsters.

The one standing at the front was one-eyed.

A scar clearly crossing above its left eye was plainly visible.

The creature looked around with its one remaining yellow eye and opened its mouth.

RAAAH!

The monster's cry burst out.

To Encrid's ears, that sounded like a command to charge.

"Get a hold of yourselves!"

He shouted reflexively.

How would today end?

He had thought it was fifty-fifty.

Either it would become a stopped day where he attempted no challenge.

Or if not that, then something would happen.

The result was the latter.

Werewolves, and not just one or two of them.

The others, excluding the one at the front, scattered in every direction.

Even with the moonlight bright, it was difficult to find them all at a glance.

Only the sound of feet kicking off the ground, tap-tap-tap, and shadows crossing the darkness remained.

Between trees, where the moonlight was blocked, yellow eyes shone as they drew lines.

The ones that leaped out beneath the moonlight circled the clustered humans round and round.

Their sprinting was so fast afterimages seemed to appear.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Encrid realized something else here too.

The ominous feeling.

Why had he felt no ominousness?

Why had Pin's guard, someone who could be called a veteran, noticed the werewolves' approach this late?

'Something must have played a trick.'

In other words, a magician had likely been involved here too.

The fact that werewolves had come in a pack like this was strange in itself.

He did not know what trick the magician had played.

Only the result had appeared clearly before his eyes.

Even a rough count put them at over ten.

"There are more than ten. This is bad."

Torres said with his back against him.

Encrid also drew his sword.

CHING.

His back was pressed to Torres's.

He decided to think later.

He had decided to struggle only moderately.

But that did not mean he could quietly let himself die.

'I can't do that.'

As always.

He would take one step for tomorrow.

Encrid steeled his resolve and set his sword upright.

The monster's name was lycanthrope.

It was a monster with mana lodged in its heart.

It was a difficult monster to deal with, incomparable to a man-eating ghoul.

Usually, to catch one werewolf, one trained squad was needed.

It was not recommended to attempt hunting one with fewer than that.

Because someone would easily be injured or killed.

And when lycanthropes formed a pack, they advised against attacking even at the platoon level.

But seeing them now.

"Ha, there'll be more than twenty."

In that brief span, their number had grown even more.

On this side, including him and Torres, there were ten members of the Recon Party.

There were more than twenty werewolves.

On top of that, as if to prove Encrid's guess that a magician was involved, they were a pack that surrounded them before attacking.

A werewolf was a monster difficult to deal with even when it went berserk, maddened by instinct.

It was also a monster that exerted even greater power on nights when the dual moons rose.

And on top of that, an encircling attack?

How should this be put?

"We're going to die, aren't we?"

Torres's self-mocking words were the answer.

There was no way out.

Encrid fought hard.

He killed three werewolves.

And he cut off the arm of a fourth.

In the midst of that, he threw Whistle Daggers and gave the one-eyed bastard who seemed to be the werewolves' leader two friends.

It was a hard fight, in the truest sense.

It was the mark he left after fighting a pack of lycanthropes.

Torres was similar.

Though he fell before Encrid, he also killed two.

Pin killed one and was brought down while facing a second.

There was no need to speak of the other members.

Encrid let his torn arm hang as blood dripped from it.

He turned his feet with the intention of delivering one final blow, but something caught on the tip of his foot.

It was a head.

The head of the member who had said he wanted to become a cook.

"This is a little irritating."

He knew it was a today that would repeat when he died.

But seeing something like this did not feel particularly good.

"ROOOAR!"

Soon, six werewolves pounced on Encrid all at once.

Naturally, he could not survive.

It was his first time dying with his whole body being bitten and torn apart.

Naturally, this was agonizing too.

The time of pain passed.

How much time had gone by?

He closed and opened his eyes.

The pain had disappeared.

He saw a black river rippling without a sound.

Along with it were a ferryboat floating on the black river and a Boatswain.