Chapter 133 - Since Spring Harbors Magic

Andrew and Mac raised their swords.

Between them, Henri continuously pulled the string of the shortbow he had brought instead of a crossbow.

He shot whenever he saw an opening.

Whenever he saw an enemy unexpectedly approach or a fallen enemy soldier on the ground, he smashed their head in with a hand axe.

CRUNCH!

He couldn't split heads open in a single blow like Rem, but that didn't mean his opponent's head was left intact.

A half-crushed head, blood flowing through the gaps in the helmet, and eyes filled with resentment or despair.

It looked exactly like the beasts he had killed.

Henri turned his gaze away as he had that thought.

After all, sentimentality was a luxury on the battlefield.

Anyway, that was all Henri did.

The rest was entirely done by the two of them, Andrew and Mac.

Although they might not have been on the level of those called the members of the lunatic platoon, these two were no pushovers either.

"You motherfuckers, do you think the Gray Dog is a joke?!"

One of the enemies shouted. He was a soldier who had killed a few allied soldiers. Fierce eyes, and blood flowing from the tip of the short spear in his hand.

Andrew faced him.

Five clashes were enough. He blocked twice, slashed twice, and then immediately thrust with one hand.

That thrust bizarrely seemed to resemble Encrid's.

At least, it looked that way in Henri's eyes.

Mac also skillfully tore and slashed through the enemies, staying true to his role of holding Andrew back so he wouldn't charge further ahead.

"That's far enough."

Whenever he heard Mac's words, Andrew stopped right in his tracks.

Then, he began to beat his chest with both hands.

"Uwooh!"

'What the, why is he suddenly yelling?'

He seemed to have learned something the wrong way from Rem.

"Bring it on, all of you! You half-baked bastards!"

A clumsy provocation, and above all, what the hell was up with him thumping his chest with his fists?

Regardless, the riled-up Andrew fought well.

Henri took in the sight of those two and the others from behind.

Blood splattered in spots over their helmets.

WAAAAAH!

Along with the roars.

"Kill them, kill them!"

Bloodthirsty shouts.

"Ugh, please."

Murmurs longing for life.

In the middle of this battlefield of killing and dying, Henri realized.

'This is as far as I go.'

While someone cheered as they watched the lunatic platoon.

And when someone else was deeply moved watching the lunatic platoon.

Henri saw his limit and realized. This was as far as he could go.

"Uwooh!"

Swinging his sword while letting out something akin to a bizarre shriek, Andrew's blade cleaved through the air with a *swoosh* and sliced between an enemy soldier's collarbone and neck.

SQUELCH!

He yanked out the half-embedded sword.

"Guaaaagh!"

The enemy soldier's scream echoed in time with the movement of the blade.

After realizing his limits, Henri found himself wanting to return to being a Plains Hunter.

However, since the plains he would return to had become a battlefield.

Going back to the city to live as the husband of the florist widow wouldn't be a bad life now either.

Her, that widow, that resolute woman who lost her husband to war and was raising her child alone.

Henri missed the florist widow so much. To the point where he wanted to abandon the battlefield and return immediately.

It was only right to end the life of Henri the hunter, Henri the soldier, right here.

"I'm being sentimental."

Henri muttered to himself as he watched the battlefield now rushing toward its end.

The enemy commander was extremely fast on his feet. His judgment was also extremely quick.

Which meant that at some point, the commander's flagpole and escort had completely vanished.

Most of the remaining forces surrendered.

Only a few resisted.

The battlefield, the battle, was coming to an end.

Through it all.

"Long live the lunatics!"

Cheers he had never heard before in his life were tearing through the air.

They were the cheers of victory.

* * *

The commander of Aspen was running away as fast as his legs could carry him.

'Those damn bastards.'

Since he was a competent commander himself, he had noticed how the situation was unfolding.

Who had overturned the battlefield?

Where had the winds of change begun to blow?

The guy wielding the axes, and a few other guys.

Intelligence was needed. He had to report that there was a guy among the enemy soldiers who gave off a dangerous scent.

Although he had already sent off a messenger pigeon.

As a commander who experienced it firsthand, his final responsibility...

"I thought I'd be waiting all night. You bastards!"

His heart dropped to his stomach.

The sudden shout came from a unit blocking the rear, all armed with various weapons. They looked like an independent detached force.

They were not allies. Definitely not.

Because the eagle crest engraved on their right shoulders came clearly into view.

"We lost even when those guys weren't there?"

The commander murmured self-deprecatingly. His escort surrounded him tightly without leaving a single gap, but.

That was their limit.

"Those Frontier Slaughterers bastards."

The enemy forces were Naurilia's prized combat unit, the Frontier Slaughterers.

They had bypassed the battlefield and secretly ambushed this location.

A detachment that had taken a detour with the intent to tear into and probe the rear of the returning enemy, whittling down their numbers and dropping their morale.

Originally, it would have been a meaningless move if the giant's strike had landed properly, but now it was a fatal blow.

The Border Guard was also somewhat bewildered.

Originally, they were supposed to raid the rear and slowly pick at the back of the enemy forces.

What was this?

The enemy forces returned as a pack of wild dogs being chased.

It wasn't the time to nitpick the circumstances.

The Captain of the Border Guard did what he had to do.

After confirming that Aspen's rear was empty, he shifted his tactics to an ambush instead of overturning the rear base.

He had planned to simply return to the main army if the enemy didn't show up.

Since they had arrived just in time.

"Crush them all."

A death sentence fell from the lips of the Captain of the Border Guard.

The enemy commander and his escort unit resisted, but the outcome did not change.

"Retreat! Retreat!"

The commander shouted as he charged forward himself. It was a rather impressive scene.

Crying out for retreat and charging in instead of running away meant he wanted to save even just one more of his subordinate soldiers.

It was necessary to show respect.

The Captain of the Border Guard stepped forward himself.

RATTLE! RATTLE! RATTLE!

What he held in his hand was a flail; the weight hanging at the end spun as the chain spat out a cry.

"I'll send you off peacefully."

The Captain did as he said.

The fight was short. One side had inherently become the commander of a detachment through sheer martial prowess.

While the other side was specialized in using his head.

SWOOSH.

The iron weight attached to the end of the flail fell in an irregular trajectory.

CRUNCH!

The Aspen commander's head shattered, splattering blood and brain matter.

That was the end of it.

"Uwaaah!"

It didn't take a long time to deal with the rest of the fleeing soldiers either.

THWACK!

Burying an axe into the head of the final enemy soldier brought the battle to an end.

Should it be said that it was a battlefield befitting the title of Frontier Slaughterers?

Leaving the scene of the massacre behind, the Captain's mouth opened.

"Return."

The Border Guard swiftly moved their feet to return to the main army.

They had only planned to force some of the enemy forces to retreat or to cut off their supply routes; they hadn't planned on smashing the commander's head.

How did the battlefield end up like this?

A mixture of curiosity, inquisitiveness, and anticipation moved his feet.

And what they finally saw there was.

Their allies roaring out cheers of victory.

Victory on the battlefield; signs of an overwhelmingly dominant push were evident to anyone's eyes.

And they could tell without even asking who was at the center of it.

To a man, those who had broken the blades the enemy prepared in each part of the battlefield.

And the man leading such people.

The unit led by that man.

The name of that group erupting amidst the cheers.

"Lunatic platoooooon!"

"Lu! Na! Tics!"

"Crazy bastards!"

Battalion Commander Marcus did not stop the cheering.

No, he actively made it properly known who the key contributors of this battlefield were. He used messengers to make them shout out for the lunatic platoon.

Between cheer after cheer.

Encrid and the lunatic platoon were there.

The circular ring formed by the allies.

Torres saw them too, and looking at Encrid's face, he thought.

'They really are a gathering of crazy bastards.'

Where among them was anyone normal?

And though no one would admit it.

Based on his firsthand experience.

Encrid was also a crazy bastard.

There were various reasons, but if he had to pick the biggest one.

'The very fact that he gets along like that amidst those crazy bastards.'

Wasn't that proof that he was crazy?

Furthermore, he looked like he fit in perfectly.

* * *

Watching the cheers and the flow of the battlefield, the Fairy Company Commander muttered.

"Spring has magic."

Spring, the season when gentle breezes blow, had returned.

The battle that started around dawn ended right as noon passed.

As the sun passed overhead, a warm wind blew.

Spring.

Like a flower born in winter that raises its head in spring.

There was always magic in the gentle breeze that followed after the biting winter winds passed.

Before the magic of spring that signaled a new beginning.

The man who contained that magic in his entire body stood tall while listening to everyone's cheers.

The Fairy Company Commander's gaze chased the man cloaked in the magic of spring.

Encrid.

The face of the man leading the lunatic platoon caught her eye.

* * *

Encrid enjoyed the cheers of the battlefield.

'Not bad.'

People shouting his name.

Calling for the lunatic platoon.

He also knew. Who had changed the flow of this battlefield.

It was what his platoon members did.

Rem killed the giant.

Audin shattered the enemy soldiers' formation.

Jaxon must have done something too. He hadn't asked or heard anything yet, but it was a certainty.

Furthermore, he and Ragna had sliced and cut down those who appeared on the right side of the battlefield.

The ten mercenaries who wielded murderous blades as their weapons.

They were people who would have sliced and cut down our allies if left alone.

'We did well.'

It wasn't bad. So it should be fine to enjoy these cheers.

"You like it?"

Rem chuckled as he spoke from beside him.

"Yeah."

Encrid was as honest as always.

"Anyway, you really are an easy guy."

Rem grumbled, giving up on teasing him.

Why did he have to admit it so easily?

Just then, some of the others returned.

"The two men under Andrew have returned."

No matter how much Rem beat him up.

And no matter if Audin threatened him with gentle words.

Andrew was proud to be a Squad Leader of the lunatic platoon.

Just looking at the blood spattered on their helmets, they could tell that these guys had fought quite roughly as well.

Encrid nodded.

"Did you cut off a commander's head or something? Or maybe a giant's balls?"

Unable to tease his Platoon Commander, Rem switched his target to Andrew.

"I think I cut down about two hundred men with my own hands instead of one giant."

It was a bluff. No matter who heard it, it was a bluff.

Because Andrew, who said it, knew it, and everyone who heard it knew it, it wasn't unpleasant to hear.

Somehow, the atmosphere within the platoon was soft.

"Bullshit."

Rem also just chuckled and left it at that.

Ragna was also calm, as if he had relieved whatever had been boiling inside him. He was in his usual somewhat loose and sluggish state.

Above all, seeing that Jaxon even showed a smile.

As for Audin, it went without saying.

He was the kind of man who would look like a holy warrior who received God's calling if only a halo shone behind his back.

He gently looked around.

Despite holding a club that had turned dark red, the atmosphere was peaceful.

Krais observed everyone from the side and thought.

'How did this result come about?'

Deducing the cause by looking at the result was one of Krais's habits.

'Did it start from that spar?'

Krais prided himself on having the best intuition in the platoon.

He had sensed a strange atmosphere starting from the spar they had after Encrid returned.

Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, Audin.

The atmosphere of the four, who formed the core of their combat power, had changed.

Their moods improved? Simply put, yes.

Digging a little deeper, it felt as if some kind of knot had been untangled.

From a single spar? The same spar they did every day normally?

'No.'

He saw the Platoon Commander fighting the Frog.

Afterwards, he also saw the Platoon Commander biting off the enemy commander's ear.

Whether that technique was the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique or some other skill.

That wasn't what was important.

Krais had watched his Platoon Commander for quite a long time.

And it was the same for the others.

'Growth.'

And leaping growth at that.

Even knowing that he would never reach a level similar to theirs in the end.

Because they knew a Platoon Commander who desperately struggled without ever giving up, they helped him.

They hoped he would stand up, walk, and run.

But all the platoon members knew. They couldn't help but know. They had seen countless people who couldn't overcome the limits of their talent.

No matter what Encrid did, it was impossible for him to ultimately stand beside them.

But what about now?

"Good work, everyone."

Encrid opened his mouth with all the platoon members in front of him.

Looking at his back, Krais choked up.

He was the same Platoon Commander as always.

Yet he was different from the usual Platoon Commander.

The afternoon sunlight, the warm wind, the smell of the battlefield, rusted iron and the stench of blood, the scent of death.

Everything blended together and then receded.

Krais admitted that he was intoxicated by something.

Just looking at Encrid made him feel as if he had been hit by a charm spell.

He would have to call it the magic of spring.

Like the saying passed down across the continent.

That spring tends to harbor magic.

Thus, the gazes of all the platoon members looking at Encrid became similar.

No, it wasn't just them.

The gaze of Battalion Commander Marcus, who approached after watching from the side, was similar.

"Shout your cheers."

The Battalion Commander walked over heavily and opened his mouth.

Marcus smiled and spoke toward Encrid, who had turned his head.

"The cheers dedicated to the greatest contributors of the battlefield."

Amidst the short, resounding cheers and the shouts calling out for the lunatic platoon.

A single word from the Battalion Commander spread widely.

A cheer that could shatter the spring sky erupted.

UWAAAAH!

It was the shout of those intoxicated by the joy of victory and the magic of spring.

It was the joy brought by victory on the battlefield.

In the end, it was a cheer directed at those who had cultivated that victory.

Encrid quietly enjoyed the cheers.

It wasn't bad. It really wasn't bad at all.