Chapter 121 - Let’s Recover First.

TINK.

When he flicked the blade with his finger, a clear sound rang out.

When he held it up to the light, a faint blue sheen lingered on it.

It must have been made with unique iron.

'It doesn't seem like Valeri steel.'

It was the sword he had snatched up after killing Mitch Hurrier.

At a glance, it was a fine sword, a top-grade sword, an expensive sword.

How could he have left it behind?

In any case, would Krais know?

Encrid turned his head to the side.

Three steps away, Krais was sitting there, staring intently at him.

He looked at him blankly with those huge eyes.

He seemed to have a lot he was curious about.

Encrid opened up and asked.

"Why?"

Before asking about the iron the sword was made from, it seemed he would have to answer that strange look first.

"Because it's amazing."

"What is?"

"Your left hand."

As he spoke, Krais glanced at Encrid's left hand with his eyes.

Had he always used his left hand that well?

It did not seem like it, and it was not as if they had only been together for a day or two.

His left hand was too amazing.

Was this what being a genius meant?

Since he had no talent for swordsmanship or physical techniques, he could not tell just by watching.

'Wasn't he ordinary until now?'

Aside from what he did, his skill seemed to have belonged in the ordinary range.

When Encrid had saved him, when he had watched him risk half his life to save someone else, Krais had thought, What kind of human is this?

'Risking your life to protect someone else, that doesn't make sense.'

You had to save someone just because they were in the same squad?

At that time, it had not even been a week since they first saw each other's faces, as far as he remembered.

There was a huge gap between his skill then and now.

The commander who had launched the surprise attack was clearly no ordinary man at a glance.

And he had blocked the sword of someone that extraordinary with only his left hand?

"I trained it steadily."

Encrid answered as if it were nothing.

Krais nodded as if to say, Is that so, then asked again.

"Then, um, killing the commander who ambushed us?"

Was the left hand the problem?

What had that fight even been?

It had been a scene where ferocity and danger crossed over each other.

If things had gone wrong, the one who would have died was the Platoon Commander.

If that had happened, that Platoon Commander named Vengeance or whatever, Krais, and Esther would all have held hands, or hands and feet, and crossed the river called death together.

But in that dizzying situation, the Platoon Commander had been calm.

He had faced the approaching man as if it were only natural that he was his opponent.

"All-out Brawl."

This time, too, the answer came back as if it were nothing.

As for Krais.

'Let's just say he's a late-blooming genius.'

His talent had simply blossomed late.

He decided to understand it that way and leave it at that.

There was no reason or need to dig any deeper.

Separate from his curiosity, it was obvious there would be no answer.

Even if he wanted to suspect something, there had to be something to suspect.

Was there some incredible secret?

What could there possibly be here that would make sense?

It was not as if the Platoon Commander was a fortune-teller who could predict the future and knew everything that would happen in that moment.

'That doesn't make sense.'

No prophet or fortune-teller could predict a situation in such detail.

Moreover, Krais thought most of those fortune-tellers were simply swindlers struggling to earn pocket change.

'The world is crona.'

It moves by crona and collapses by crona.

The reason Naurilia and Aspen were fighting?

In his eyes, there was only one.

The Green Pearl Plains.

The kingdom that claimed this place would essentially gain a second granary.

'Even I would jump in to take it.'

Therefore, the war between the two nations could be called inevitable.

In an age of war and struggle, taking up swords and spears for profit was all too natural.

So Encrid's genius, which would not add to his crona anyway, was something he could stop caring about here.

"What iron do you think this is made of?"

At the end of his idle thoughts, Encrid held out the sword the enemy commander had used.

He had managed to grab this in the middle of all that.

"Good iron."

"You think I asked just to hear an answer like that?"

Of course not.

There was no need to think hard.

"There's a famous iron ore region in the Aspen Kingdom called Demp."

"Demp? Demp, Demp. I've heard of it. The village hidden between the river and the mountains?"

Encrid, who had been muttering to himself, nodded.

He had also wandered the continent for quite some time.

Krais nodded and answered.

"Yes. They say iron from that Demp has this strange color. It starts with a pale blue light, then gets deeper, and eventually the highest quality iron gives off no color at all, or so they say."

It was only something he knew from hearsay.

However, one thing was certain.

A sword made of iron from Demp.

It would be more expensive than Valeri steel.

It would be more expensive than soft iron from Noir too.

So this was a rather, very, extremely expensive sword.

"If you sell that..."

"I'm not selling it."

"Huh? Are you changing swords?"

For those who stepped onto a battlefield, nothing was as important as a weapon familiar to their hand.

This was common sense.

Krais knew it too.

So there was no way the Platoon Commander would change the sword familiar to his hand.

"What if I used both?"

This was not directed at Krais.

It was a mutter to himself.

A spring breeze mixed with warmth instead of chill scattered Encrid's hair.

Between the fluttering strands, Encrid's gaze looked at the sword.

Krais looked at the Platoon Commander's eyes.

Should he call it a strange look?

How to put it?

They were eyes shining clearly, eyes full of life and vitality, like the eyes of a boy who had received an unexpected gift.

Seeing that look, Krais could not bring himself to urge him any further to sell the sword.

Because the Platoon Commander Encrid's blue eyes, those lake-like eyes that resembled Esther's, looked truly excited.

Encrid did not care whether Krais was looking at him or not.

The reason he had become good at using his left hand?

There was no particular need to come up with some grand excuse for that either.

No, in truth, he had no excuse to give.

Because it was not something that could be explained.

All he could say was, "I trained it until now."

It would sound as if he had become something resembling a genius.

But there was no other way.

Most of all, this time, Encrid had felt something like talent.

The feeling of leaping forward in an instant.

The experience of his skill rising by leaps and bounds.

Realizing something with just a few swings that should have taken a hundred.

'It is amazing.'

Would that repeat?

No, he did not know.

In truth, he did not need to know.

He only had to keep doing as he was now.

He only had to silently walk again.

Talent had never been important to Encrid from the start.

'Once my body recovers.'

He would be able to try this and that.

At the rear base, in front of the Medical Barracks, Encrid sat on a rock serving as a makeshift chair and immersed himself in reviewing the fight.

Training, left hand, right hand, All-out Brawl, Mitch Hurrier, his sword, fighting, battlefield.

As he thought like that, he wanted to get up and move right away again.

"You're not supposed to work your body. Why do you think I'm sitting here watching you, Platoon Commander?"

Krais said from beside him.

Yes, he was right.

He had to rest unconditionally for at least a few days.

That was what the medic had said after seeing him injured.

The rear base was being handled by the supply unit, and for defense, the 3rd Platoon of the 2nd Company, in other words, Vengeance's platoon, had remained behind, and he was told reinforcements would join them soon.

Once the reinforcements arrived, Encrid had decided to head to the front.

For that, his body had to recover first.

He still could not remove the splint from his right hand.

There was a sword wound on his shoulder, though it was not that deep.

His left forearm also had a hole from a dagger.

If he examined them one by one, none were major injuries, but they were wounds that would worsen if he moved too much.

'Well, damn.'

Because he had attempted excessive joint locks, various parts of his body ached as well.

If he had not trained with the isolation technique.

If he had not had Concentrate on a Single Point.

If the heart of a beast had not supported him.

If he had not felt it through Sense of the Blade.

'I would have been the one to die.'

Encrid sat there blankly and focused on recovery.

Throughout his rest, he swung a sword in his mind.

At first, only with his right hand, and later with both hands gripping one sword.

At the end of his mental training, Encrid held his own sword in his right hand and Mitch Hurrier's sword in his left.

'Will it work?'

He did not know.

He simply wanted to try.

Because it felt like something that fit perfectly in his hand.

Dual swords, was it?

'First, strength.'

That had to come first before he could even begin.

Holding and swinging a sword with both hands and swinging one with only a single hand were completely different matters.

Among the instructors who had taught him, there had been one who cursed at seeing this kind of thing.

This kind of thing, meaning clumsily using two swords.

"Dual swords? I call that bullshit perfectly suited to getting killed. You can't even handle one sword properly, and now dual swords? It's something even most skilled users of unorthodox swords don't do."

He was an instructor who had said it flatly.

Where had he met that instructor?

It had been in a great city.

He was the one who had said refined swordsmanship came from a refined body.

After receiving his teaching, Encrid had gone through a rather bitter experience.

As he thought, he slowly began to grow hungry.

When one was hurt, one had to eat well and rest.

"Meal."

Just then, Krais brought him food.

Thin wheat bread, thick bacon, dried fruit, and even cheese.

It was a feast.

"Did you rob the supply tent?"

"No. The Supply Company Commander seemed grateful to you, Platoon Commander. If things had gone wrong, well, his head could have gone flying."

As he spoke, Krais tapped the side of his own neck with the edge of his hand.

That made sense.

The rear base existed for supply.

If it was picked clean by an enemy raid, whose fault would that be?

Who was responsible?

What was the point of asking?

The Supply Company Commander was responsible, and it would be his fault.

If even a fire had broken out somewhere in the supply tent, he might have faced a swift beheading.

A commander who lost in battle could be tolerated, but a commander who failed at vigilance could not.

"Let's eat."

Encrid chewed, swallowed, and drank.

He drank water instead of alcohol.

Even if it was not devoted care, Krais looked after him from beside him.

And so, three days passed.

"We're moving out. Are you joining us?"

Vengeance asked, fully armed.

Reinforcements had arrived at the rear.

He heard the atmosphere on the front line was becoming even harsher.

Since all of his platoon members were at the front, Encrid had to go as well.

The wounds where he had been cut and stabbed by swords had not fully healed, but walking was not a problem.

"I have to."

Beside him, Krais was lost in strange thoughts.

'After seeing how the Platoon Commander uses a sword.'

It did not seem like he would die somewhere.

Should he avoid staying in the rear and try following him around?

If he picked up even a few fallen spoils along the way, he might earn a tidy sum.

Most of all, the supply commander had been replaced, and among the soldiers from the 3rd Regiment who had arrived as reinforcements, there were no familiar faces.

That meant it would be hard to endure while remaining in the rear.

Since things had turned out this way.

'Let's go out and gather some spoils.'

And so Krais joined as well.

"Meow."

Although Esther had rested for all three days, she still looked drained.

Encrid held Esther in his arms.

She was not that heavy.

Was this little thing eating properly at all?

Why did her body not seem to grow at all?

Did young beasts not usually grow in leaps and bounds?

Her size seemed almost unchanged from when he had first seen her.

"Are you eating properly?"

Encrid said as he stroked Esther's head.

At the unnecessary words, Esther blinked and lifted her head upward.

There was a man with eyes similar to hers.

Who was worrying about whom?

He had nearly died again this time.

TAP, TAP.

Esther struck Encrid's chest with her front paw.

She was telling him not to worry about others.

"All right. Once I have some leeway, I'll get you something to eat."

This man had misunderstood completely.

Well, it was not that important.

Stupid human, let's go.

Esther closed her eyes against her lingering fatigue.

Encrid took a step forward.

If anything had changed.

It was only that the swords at both sides of his waist had increased to two.

"Two swords?"

At Vengeance's question, Encrid nodded.

Vengeance had seen him use his left hand, and they had even sparred.

The man did so many strange things in the first place.

So he let it pass.

Thus, while joined with Vengeance's platoon, they marched to the front, and nothing unusual happened on the way.

When they arrived at the front, the cold air of the battlefield greeted them.

As they walked along a road where the smell of blood and the stench of iron mixed together, the sky grew dark, as if rain might fall.

A place where the damp smell of water, blood, iron, and all kinds of scents mixed together to give off the scent of death.

It was the forward base.

And here.

"Shit, I thought my neck was going to stretch out from waiting. Huh? What the hell? I told you to rest, so why are you more injured? Huh?"

"It just happened."

Encrid's platoon member was there.

He raised a hand roughly to stop Rem, who looked ready to throw a fit.

It did feel as though something happened every time he was separated from them, but what could he do?

This was how things had turned out.

Since Vengeance reported their return on behalf of them all, Encrid joined them in the barracks immediately and briefly told them what had happened in the rear.

"You keep doing fun stuff where I'm not around."

Rem, who had been excited, grumbled while picking his nose.

That was the end of it.

Encrid had survived, and if he was here, that was enough.

When Encrid took a spot on one side of the tent and told them to recite the battlefield situation, Jaxon came over beside him and explained in a calm voice.

"Both sides are only testing each other."

After arriving, he heard there had been no notable battle during that time.

The forces gathered here, including reinforcements, amounted to more than two battalions of infantry.

In other words, more than a thousand infantry had gathered.

On top of that, there was also the directly commanded unit, the Recon Party, and the rear guards protecting the supply lines.

'Did they say this was the start of an all-out war?'

The main-force battle.

In other words, the battlefield where knights, magicians, and spells ran rampant was waiting at the Green Pearl Plains.

In that situation, both armies were watching this fight closely.

He did not know how it had come to this, but he heard the situation had twisted that way.

The fact that the infantry battle between both sides to block the detour had become the beginning of every battle meant one thing.

Who would start by winning?

The battle here had become the battlefield that would decide that.

Naturally, this fight would also influence the main-force battle.

To put it simply, starting with morale, if they won on this battlefield, the field the allied forces could use would also widen.

Since it would be like opening a detour, it would be easier to use a detached force too.

The main forces of both nations were watching each other and hesitating to commit reinforcements aside from infantry.

In other words, they were in a standoff.

Because it seemed as if all-out war might break out at any moment, the unit was filled with a sickly tension.

It was visible how everyone's nerves had sharpened.

But that did not apply to the lunatic platoon.

In other words, Encrid was calm, thinking, *'Ah, it's a fight. Soon. Then what should I do? Let's train.' *

Encrid, who woke around dawn, trained his body with the isolation technique as usual.

The sentry who saw it thought he truly lived up to the name of the lunatic Platoon Commander.

It also felt like watching a long tradition that had continued since the troublemaker Squad Leader days.

The stubborn bastard who swung his sword whether rain or snow fell.

That was this man.

"There's not a normal person in that platoon."

The sentry muttered while looking at Encrid.

"Are you moving already, Brother?"

Before the sun even rose, the sentry turned his eyes away after seeing the friendly lunatic and the training lunatic grabbing and twisting each other's bodies.

He thought they were exchanging a few words, and then suddenly they were twisting wrists, hugging, and causing a whole commotion.

'Is there something wrong with their heads?'

They were in a situation where a battle of killing and being killed seemed like it would break out at any moment, enough to make one's knees tremble.

Even though the unit's atmosphere was the worst of the worst because morale was already at rock bottom.

Those people did all kinds of strange things.