Chapter 143 - The Trap, by Force (1)

Encrid was fairly accustomed to small operations leading a Recon Squad.

And now, his experiences so far had been added to that.

Experience—there had been days like that.

There was the day he had crossed the Tall Grass Fields.

The day he had attacked the Gilfin Guild with his platoon members.

And the night he had fought a werewolf, a magician, and an ambush force.

What mattered most?

What should a commander put first?

'Awareness.'

It began with knowing. Knowing what he was doing, and what would arise from what he was doing now.

He could not know everything.

Nor could he put everything into words.

Still, he had a feel for it. Not so much instinct as a sense that had become part of him through experience.

"Let's go farther in."

Encrid spoke. At those words, Pin changed direction. She faithfully followed the Captain's words. Krais blinked beside him and looked at his Platoon Commander.

He was awfully curious what the man was thinking. His expression was the same as ever. Calm in a way that made it impossible to read what was inside.

Everyone's steps quickened.

They could not let the enemy catch them by the scruff of the neck like this.

"Can't we just fight them? If we kill a decent number, I don't think they'll follow us."

Encrid stopped Rem from grumbling.

"Don't go."

It was practically an order. That, too, was newly astonishing.

How could anyone not be surprised when Rem meekly obeyed those words?

"Ragna, just look at the back of the person in front of you. Don't turn your head anywhere else."

Ragna, too, faithfully followed Encrid's words.

As for Audin and Jaxon, there was no need to say anything separately.

Only.

"Ha ha, now you truly seem like a Captain, Brother."

Audin merely said that.

Had his attitude changed because Encrid's skill had changed?

"Is that so?"

Encrid still answered as if it were nothing important.

That attitude, that behavior, that tone.

Nothing had changed.

That was why they followed him.

Even Krais himself felt his heart moving first.

If even he, who weighed everything that needed weighing and checked whether crona was involved or not, was like this—

There was no need to mention the other platoon members.

Sometimes, even Jaxon, whose specialty was keeping emotion off his face, could not hide his expression.

Wasn't all of it visible—the embarrassment, the regret, and the pity?

Thinking of that made him laugh again.

Even though this was not a situation to laugh in.

'Why does this feel so damn stable?'

Even though Krais had weighed everything before suggesting they carry this out, what he actually felt was different again.

This platoon was even more impressive than he had thought.

If the enemy had something called The Claw of the Hawk or whatever it was—

This side had the lunatic platoon.

Lunatics with outstanding mobility and combat ability so great no one short of knight class would even dare to stop them.

That was Krais's assessment.

Then what if they were used as a guerrilla force?

It would be a lie to say no adjutant had ever offered such an opinion.

If there was a problem—

"Will they actually listen?"

It was nice that they fought well, but they were no ordinary troublemakers.

They were a fine blade if one could use them, but using them was difficult.

What was needed?

A center. One person to control them.

Who else would that be?

Because he had watched from close by, right beside them, he could tell.

There had also been something recently that had clearly carved the Platoon Commander's power into Krais's mind.

'That spar.'

If Encrid, the Platoon Commander, had not appeared on the battlefield and crossed swords with them, rolling around under the pretext of sparring, the lunatic platoon would probably have been finished then.

Then this battlefield would have turned into a complete mess too.

That was how it looked to Krais.

Encrid had changed all of it.

With a single spar.

He had even made the winds of the battlefield blow against the enemy.

'As long as there is a center.'

A crazed strike mission making full use of mobility? The lunatic platoon could handle it.

Krais did not have an eye for their skill.

Since he was hopeless with swords or weapons in the first place, that was only natural.

However, based on the given facts and reality, he could estimate what the lunatic platoon was capable of.

Above all, it was something he could know because he knew them well.

Thus came the conclusion, and this was the first move.

If the enemy was going to fuck around with arrows—

Then they would fuck around with their feet.

It was not what Krais had intended, and he had only told Encrid part of the truth, but still.

Encrid had now said they should go farther in.

Did the Platoon Commander, then, understand his intention? The moment Krais became newly curious and was about to ask—

"We shake them up, strike, and pull out. Their eyes and ears will be drawn to the movement of our main force, and then we should be able to run into the guerrilla force the enemy was using."

Encrid spoke first.

What did it mean to be accustomed to small operations?

What kind of perspective had all those experiences given Encrid?

'He sees the intent.'

Krais's intent.

The enemy's intent.

What had to be done between them.

There was something their allies, or more precisely the lunatic platoon, could do.

So they simply had to do it.

Would this ultimately influence the state of the war? Even the main force's battle?

'I don't think it'll be that much.'

Then again, one never knew. Krais's perspective might be different.

This friend with big eyes, a love of crona, and a future dream of opening a ladies' salon and playing around with women until he died of old age seemed to think on a different track somehow.

"Is opening a salon still your dream?"

Even Encrid himself did not know why he was curious about that. He had simply wanted to ask.

Of course, he had no intention of mocking him.

Who was he to mock anyone's dream?

"Yes. Why even ask? It's obvious."

A guy like that came up with this strategy? He really was hard to understand.

In any case, Encrid's unit raised its mobility.

They climbed mountains, then climbed more.

Eventually even Pin clicked her tongue.

Andrew and Mac's breathing grew rough.

And Krais reached the point where Audin was supporting him, half-carrying him around.

Encrid also felt it was fairly difficult.

Speaking as a Ranger, Pin said this was an incredible forced march.

Like that, they climbed ridge after ridge and moved on, then came down along a gentle path and walked across flat ground this time.

They had come down entirely into the enemy's rear.

It was an action that used a small elite force and the advantage of terrain.

Of course, this was a method the enemy guerrilla force had used first.

"Let's go."

As if he were not tired at all, an excited Rem moved.

Somehow, everyone looked as though the harsh schedule had only excited them more.

Well, Encrid himself was the same.

What came after a brutal march?

Battle.

A battle where blood would spray, flesh would be split, and bone would be seen.

"Smash them."

Encrid said, and broke into a run.

The enemy rear had plenty of gaps.

The sentries had increased to three, but that was no problem.

PHEEET!

A whistle sounded the instant they spotted Encrid and his group.

At the same time, Jaxon lightly threw himself sideways.

CHING.

Drawing his sword and thrusting continued in the same motion as he took a single step.

THUNK.

That made one.

He pulled out the sword he had stabbed in and thrust again.

THUNK.

That made two.

After killing two, he raised his sword vertically in front of his body to defend once.

CLANG!

Watching Jaxon fight made one think he killed people terribly easily.

Two enemy soldiers with holes in their necks collapsed.

Encrid's unit killed five or six enemy soldiers, then pulled back again.

After that, they pretended to come down along the ridge, confirmed the crossbow unit, and withdrew again.

They caught several Recon Party units that chased after them and wiped them out instead.

When the night deepened, they hid deep in the mountains, made camp, and rested.

Sufficient rest was essential.

"It's nice that the stream is close, but it's a bit of a shame we can't light a fire."

Pin said as she took off her boots and shook out the dirt.

The season was spring.

It was the warm weather called the season of mana.

Even if the food became a bit poor, there was no need to shiver from the cold.

Even in the middle of that—

"Look here. I knew this would happen and prepared for it."

Rem, the barbarian who detested the cold, had brought heated leather.

Ragna lay down anywhere and slept.

Jaxon skillfully climbed a tree and slept on a thick branch.

They stood night watch in turns, but Krais was excluded.

"I will stand watch."

Andrew, who had only been guarding Krais while everyone else was busy fighting, volunteered for night watch with thoughtful eyes.

They let him.

When one carried a burden in the heart, even the skill that usually came out would fail to show.

There was still danger lurking in this strike operation.

They could not ignore that.

It would be better to lighten the burden on his heart.

Mac did not object either.

A day passed, and when the next day came—

Krais was able to tell for certain that Encrid understood his intention.

"It's now, right?"

He said it while confirming the enemy's position again after crossing several mountain passes.

A trap. Krais confirmed something the enemy had dug for them.

Terrain good for an ambush, and good for attacking and withdrawing.

In such a place, they discovered an enemy supply unit stationed there.

It was a flat stretch of land caught between rolling hills. Several supply wagons were visible there.

If they entered and their rear was blocked, there would be no proper place to flee.

There were also other factors that made him judge it a trap.

They had not deployed a crossbow unit.

They had made appetizing bait.

Encrid looked at it and asked.

Krais answered.

"Yes."

Was mobility the only strength of the lunatic platoon?

No. It lay in their combat power, enough to strike the enemy hard in the back of the head.

With this one battle, they should be able to embroider the enemy's mind with complications.

In Krais's eyes, the enemy's reaction was visible. It was prediction, and foresight.

'If so.'

The movement of the main force would also gain meaning.

"Let's go."

Encrid also steeled himself.

No matter how many predictions one made, the battlefield was originally like a ball of fire that could fly anywhere.

Wasn't flame something that burned one's own body too if things went wrong?

Then was this the same as carrying straw on one's back and leaping into fire?

'I don't think so.'

Something the enemy did not know, but Encrid did.

The enemy underestimated him far too much.

A soldier who killed a giant? They probably knew only that much.

That much was not enough.

Encrid was at the front. When he ran toward the supply wagons between the hills, the soldiers clumsily sorting food and supplies reacted.

If they were going to set a trap, this was how they had to set it for it to have meaning.

Rather than hiding enemy soldiers, they only had to show them and arm them firmly.

Enemy soldiers came into view.

Among them, he also saw a familiar face.

"You."

The mustache. He remembered him as belonging to Gray Dog.

Encrid looked at him and faced the enemy.

An enemy soldier thrust a spear in.

Encrid's hands moved.

SHING! SHING!

Two draws.

CLANG, THUNK!

Two different sounds.

He knocked the spear aside with the sword in his left hand, then thrust the sword in his right hand and opened a hole in the enemy soldier's heart.

'Would Frog be horrified if he saw this?'

With that idle thought, he pulled out his sword, and the enemy's gambeson was dyed red. It was a blade that had pierced cloth armor made by bundling cotton and linen.

Blood and pieces of thread clung to the blade.

There would be no need to worry about what was on the blade.

He would have to keep swinging it and killing after this anyway.

CHING.

Encrid slid the sword in his left hand back into his waist.

He could draw it again when the necessary moment came, at the necessary time.

Like that, he stood gripping one sword with both hands.

At that sight, that spirit, that momentum—

The enemy soldiers could not approach carelessly.

"Good! Good!"

Beside him, Rem also swung his axe in delight.

Audin also smiled and took out his club.

Jaxon did not go out of his way to step forward. He merely swung his sword indifferently at enemies who rushed in.

Two people drew the most attention.

Encrid and Ragna.

"Hm."

He stuck close beside Encrid, then began swinging his sword without mercy.

As if they did not even get in his way, even with two more swords at his waist, there was no hesitation in his movement.

Just like that, Ragna's sword left a chilling line in the air.

WHOOSH.

Heavy Sword Technique.

With the basic downward cut, an enemy soldier's skull split open with a crack.

After that, he swung the sword he had drawn in a horizontal line and cut the neck of an enemy soldier who had taken one step back.

Ragna's feet kept moving.

In a fight between spear and sword, who had the advantage in distance?

The spear, of course. Ragna's feet erased that advantage. Wiped it away.

Amid his nimble steps, enemy lives vanished one by one.

And shadows fell over the faces of the enemies who had set the trap.

What was this?

They had this level of skill, and they were only acting as a guerrilla force?

No, wasn't this different from what they had expected?

Was this right?

The number of enemy soldiers was roughly over forty.

What was more, they were not terribly unskilled either.

"Everyone, form ranks!"

In the middle of them, the mustache's shout burst out.

The movements of those who had underestimated Encrid and his group changed.

The mustache stood directly in front of Encrid.

"You, you bastard."

Looking at the enraged mustache, Encrid nodded.

Since the man had greeted him, there was no reason not to return the greeting.

"Yeah, hm, been well?"

His tone was quite lively and familiar, so the mustache's pupils shook even more wildly.

His eyes were boiling with anger.

It looked as though he would attack immediately. Encrid prepared as well, but—

The mustache soon exhaled deeply and gathered himself.

Should he call it expected?

He was not a half-baked opponent. His emotions did not become his attitude. Instead of leaning into anger, he steadied his breathing.

Then—

'The test will have even more meaning.'

A fight with two swords. If the opponent was skilled, would it have meaning?

Now was the time to confirm it.