Chapter 146 - Tolerance, Acknowledgment, Acceptance

Krais opened his mouth as he tucked the rolled-up parchment back into his breast.

It was a rough path.

A slanted rocky path, a sloping path, and thanks to that, his breath kept catching in his throat.

Still, it was not so bad that he could not speak.

"Rem. What about Rem?"

Whew.

After forcing out a single sentence, he wedged his foot into a crack between the rocks.

A little dizzying, isn't it?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when he saw a hand.

It was Encrid's outstretched hand.

Krais clasped that hand and pulled himself up.

Behind them was a rocky mountain where huge boulders served as natural shields.

Of all paths to choose, they had certainly chosen a rough one.

Well, that was what made it meaningful.

Just the fact that arrows were not flying at them right now proved it was effective, did it not?

"If you leave out his personality, I think he might be a really decent soldier."

At Krais's words, Encrid stepped onto a rock, leaned his back sideways against another boulder, turned his head, and looked at Krais.

"If we're only talking skill."

Encrid opened his mouth, then shut it.

Because if they were only talking skill, Rem was probably far beyond merely decent.

What if Rem had an easygoing personality?

Krais asked Encrid again.

"He'll be fine, right?"

The fact that he was showing anxiety despite it being a strategy he had come up with was probably just his nature.

Even while spending his time leisurely, Krais was the sort of bastard who would secretly hide his belongings near the barracks in case something happened.

He had probably hidden all sorts of things inside the city too, though no one knew for certain.

"You never know. Enemy troops might suddenly swarm in and ambush us. Though if I hide this and then die, I feel like I'd be so wronged I'd become a ghost."

There was no sign of that.

And such a thing was impossible besides.

"I'm just anxious. Anxious."

That was what the big-eyed subordinate always said.

Yes, that could happen.

People were all different, were they not?

Compared to Krais, Encrid was probably the carefree sort.

After staring at him for a moment, Encrid opened his mouth in answer to Krais asking whether Rem would be all right.

"He said he'd do it, so he'll handle it."

Rem was that kind of bastard.

If he did not touch something, that was one thing, but if he said he would do it, he did it.

"Want to learn?"

Had he not been like that the first time he taught him the heart of the beast too?

Who would teach his own technique so easily?

"Watch closely. You'll be learning it next."

It had been the same when he showed him the heart of the superhuman.

He had said he would kill the giant, and he had killed it.

Thinking back on it now...

'He really is a strange bastard.'

So he would do exactly as he had said.

What had he said before leaving?

The difference between a hunter and a sniper?

And there had been something else he added too.

"I'll go stick this in that hawk bastard's head."

He had said that with the arrow the bastard had shot tucked at his waist.

So he would handle it on his own.

"It'll be hard to hide from here on."

Pin spoke from the front.

Until now, they had moved between rock and rock.

If they could not take the higher ground, they found and walked routes where they could hide their bodies from projectile weapons.

Should he call it a moment that made him realize anew that Pin was an excellent Ranger?

Thanks to that, they had avoided danger well so far, but...

The moment when the Ranger's skill could serve as their shield was over.

Encrid gauged the time inwardly.

It seemed about time for Rem to do something.

They had moved along the rocky mountain.

If they went down to the left from here, they would join the main force and return as they were.

"We can just wait."

Encrid said.

At those words, Pin said nothing.

In her eyes, there was something like a tight bond between them.

A kind of faith that Rem, who had disappeared alone into the brush, would take care of things on his own.

That was visible in Encrid's words.

Then what about the other squad members?

Aside from Andrew and Mac, the rest were simply calm.

"As the Lord rejoices, He has sent a believer to Your side. Make those without faith repent, keep them near, rebuke their sins, and forgive them."

Audin was praying.

The fellow named Jaxon was examining the blade of some stiletto, and despite his expressionless face, he somehow looked strangely intoxicated.

Intoxicated by the blade?

Even to Pin, it did not seem like an ordinary item.

Still, he did not seem the type to cherish a single dagger like that, yet there seemed to be a rare vitality lingering on his face.

Lazybones sprawled out.

He somehow wedged his body into a gap between the rocks, hugged two swords to his chest, and closed his eyes.

"I'm short on sleep."

Seeing him mutter to himself, he was indeed not normal.

'Is it all right to leave this alone?'

It would be, right?

In Pin's personal judgment, it was time to move.

There was a master archer in the distance whose skill went beyond never missing.

It was a threat.

This might have been a moment when their lives hung by a thread.

"I think it'll be fine."

The one who spoke beside her was the big-eyed soldier, Krais.

Although he kept saying he was anxious, in the end he said it would be fine.

And what he said next was even more absurd.

"I don't think there are many variables left now."

What variables?

There was no separate explanation.

Pin deliberately exposed herself and looked behind them.

It was to become a target and confirm the enemy's position, but no arrows came flying.

* * *

'Damn, this takes me back.'

The days when he had once used the grasslands as his bed and the sky as his blanket.

The time when he had treated mountain ridges as his playground and run through them.

What had he been like then?

He had been an excellent and outstanding hunter, and someone who carried another's expectations.

A time when they spoke of power between responsibility and duty.

There had been good things and bad things in those moments.

They were also moments he could never return to again.

What could he do?

A person had to accept what should be accepted and live on.

The West had become a frontier now.

Tolerance and acceptance.

Rem had learned that by watching Encrid.

In a way, his Platoon Commander could be called a man who absolutely refused to tolerate or accept anything.

But from another side, he was also a man who tolerated, accepted, and acknowledged things.

'With that skill and that talent.'

He would become a knight by refusing to give up?

That was an attempt at suicide.

It was an act of killing both his body and mind at the same time.

And yet he still advanced.

When Rem watched that back, all sorts of thoughts came to him.

How could a human being be like that?

When he asked himself that question, one thought came to mind.

'It starts with acknowledging that he has no talent.'

That had been Encrid's beginning.

Acknowledging, tolerating, and accepting.

After reflecting on what he had, what had he done?

He had advanced.

He had gained the heart of the beast, which Rem had thought would be difficult to make part of his body unless he was truly on the verge of death.

And now the heart of the superhuman dwelled in that heart too.

He accepted, acknowledged, and tolerated, then walked for the sake of tomorrow.

Whether dawn broke or the sun set, always the same.

As expected, thinking of his Platoon Commander put him in a good mood.

Rem smiled soundlessly.

Since he had gotten pointlessly cheerful...

'For the first time in a while.'

He felt like swinging his axe with abandon.

The urge to return to the time when he had entrusted his body to the two words called hunting also quietly raised its head.

Finding The Claw of the Hawk's traces was not difficult.

Rem was neither a Pathfinder nor a Ranger.

But he was a hunter.

What was a hunter?

Those who walked well were called Pathfinders.

Those who walked well and fought well were called Rangers.

Among Recon Party members, Rangers were specialized.

Then were they hunters?

Catching a few rabbits did not make someone a hunter.

Then what was a hunter?

'What else would it be?'

They were bastards who properly caught what they set their sights on.

A lot of bastards on the continent were in poor shape.

Was his name Henri?

Plains Hunter?

No, that thing was supposed to be a hunter?

If it had been Rem's tribe, Henri would not have been a hunter, nor even a guide.

He was not even half of one.

In the tribe, they said a hunter was one who killed and seized prey.

Those who sustained the tribe's livelihood.

'Found you.'

At the end of his thoughts, Rem saw his prey.

He had tracked the scent with twitching nostrils, circled around, and gotten behind them.

Erasing his tracks?

That was nothing.

If it was only about walking without making sound, Rem was as confident as any sly wildcat.

By Rem's standards, there was easy prey and difficult prey.

And now, this could be called the easiest prey.

What opponent was easier than a fool obsessed with his own prey?

His steps were like the finest hunter of the Western wilds, a striped beast.

His breathing was long and slow, and when he hid his presence, he held his breath.

This imitated the round-headed beast called the hunter of the Western lake.

There was a little sound from his clothes brushing, but he ignored it.

His opponent was obsessed with what lay ahead.

That was how he caught them from behind.

Rem pressed close behind the man at the very rear.

Even then, the other party did not know Rem was there.

The enemy was moving toward higher ground.

In other words, they were walking in a line from below toward the top.

Rem reached out.

He placed his hand on the left shoulder of the man walking ahead.

The other man flinched in surprise and whipped his body around.

'Good reaction speed.'

As soon as Rem tapped his left shoulder, he moved to the right.

Rem's movement was as fast as a ghost and as quiet as a leopard.

From the other party's perspective, he felt a touch from the left rear, turned his gaze, and found nothing.

THWACK!

After that, well, it was axe work.

An axe swing brought down on the twisted nape of the neck as if splitting firewood.

Blood splattered along with the sound of flesh being torn apart.

Blood poured down with a patter and splashed onto his cheek.

Instead of smiling, Rem appreciated the bastards turning to look back with his gray eyes.

Every one of them had a horrified face.

Startled eyes.

Those wide-open eyes reminded him of herbivores, deer and the like.

Seeing such startled faces was one of the thrills of the hunt, should he say?

"... Ambush!"

"Fuck!"

"Block him!"

Frantic movement followed along with curses.

When Rem lowered his body as if to charge, the other side reacted too.

To be exact, three of them drew shortswords with a ringing clash.

The thought that still came to him was that their reactions were good.

Rem rolled his right shoulder once and moved his left hand.

It was a simple trick.

Since he held an axe in his right hand, their attention would be drawn there.

Sure enough, the opponent's gaze stayed on his right shoulder.

Meanwhile, a hand axe that had left Rem's left hand flew with a whoosh and embedded itself in the forehead of the man holding a bow behind them.

The struck man's feet lifted off the ground, and he flew backward.

"Spread out!"

One of them shouted.

As expected, their reactions were good.

If they stayed together, they would die.

Had he recognized the difference in skill at a glance?

Or was it merely an order that followed his instinct?

Either way, it was timely.

The shout to spread out burst forth, but the three men holding swords charged at Rem instead.

It was an agreed-upon action.

After that, five fled.

They quickly scattered left and right and climbed down the rocky mountain, while one began climbing even higher instead.

Of the original ten, two had died.

Rem thought as he began swinging his axe.

Naturally, there was no way they could be his match.

He charged in, split, and sliced.

Those simple motions were like the scythe of death to the enemy.

Among those cut down and killed, the gray-haired hunter drenched in blood twitched his nose.

The scent of humans spread through the stench of blood.

The hunter who had received the tribe's training moved his feet again.

Rem had no intention of letting even one escape.

* * *

'What the hell is this?'

The Claw of the Hawk clearly felt that he was being hunted.

That was why it was absurd.

Born in a mountain village of Aspen, he had been gifted with a bow from childhood.

It was only natural that he became the best hunter in the village at fifteen.

At least to him, that had been natural.

Every shot he fired hit, and he could plainly see where he had to hit to kill.

After leaving the village and becoming a mercenary, he gained something called fame, and on that basis caught a noble's eye.

After that, he served with the army.

It was the beginning of a life guaranteed a new status and wealth.

"How would you like to become a member of the Principality?"

He had actually been on the verge of becoming the adopted son of the noble he had saved.

Even if his adoptive father would be less than ten years older than him, what did that matter?

Status was what mattered.

Once this matter was over and he returned, that was what would happen.

"I will grant you the territory I newly acquired."

Those were his adoptive father's words.

The Claw of the Hawk could do that.

Become the lord of a territory, rise beyond his station.

If things went well, he might even have been able to marry his half-sister.

*WHIR. * *THUD! *

"Grk!"

Something flew in and lodged itself in the back of his thigh.

The Claw of the Hawk felt terrible pain and rolled forward.

He also struck his head against a rock with a thud.

The world spun in front of him.

His vision would not clear, so after he caught his breath for a while, only then could he see ahead.

"Cough."

Once his vision cleared like that, his stomach churned.

A cough came on its own.

He forced down the urge to retch and looked ahead.

"You run well, you know."

He saw the reaper.

A gray-haired reaper.

"How?"

The Claw of the Hawk asked.

How had he chased him from behind?

Why had he failed to notice this man's approach?

It was a word containing many questions.

Rem did not converse with prey.

STAB.

The arrow The Claw of the Hawk himself had shot pierced his throat.

The arrowhead that had pierced through his soft throat came out the back of his neck.

Blood foam bubbled up as blood ran down his neck.

The dark-gray rock was dyed red.

"Hm."

After admiring the sculpture he had made for a moment, Rem shook off his hands.

It had been his first hunt in a while, but the prey had been too bland.

That was quite regrettable, but it was already over.

Acknowledgment, tolerance, acceptance.

The same thought still continued.

Throughout the hunt, Rem had thought of his Platoon Commander.

What would happen if he lived like that too?

It was the question filling his head these days.

* * *

Marcus advanced his unit toward Cross Guard.

For exactly two days, at an ordinary marching pace.

No, below ordinary.

They rested as much as they could while going.

'Will this work?'

If it did not work?

What should he do then?

Should he ask the fellow named Encrid who had proposed this?

No, his adjutants were not that stupid.

"We simply withdraw. Whether they fall for it or not, the enemy will have no choice but to be conscious of us."

"Actually attacking the city is a poor move, but this... who did you say proposed the strategy?"

The platoon member who had relayed the words through the Fairy Company Commander, or more precisely, through Encrid.

Had his name been Krais?

Somehow, that platoon had not a single normal bastard in it.

It could be called a clever tactic.

Pretend to attack the city and have the unit circle around.

Then link up with the tail of the main force and block the detour route.

If the enemy committed all their forces to defending the city or to the detour route?

They called that a success.

Conversely, if they did not budge at all?

That too was a success.

Had the lunatic platoon not marched out for that?

Even if they could not smash the back of the enemy's head, they could at least flick a finger against it and return.

Marcus thought that finger would be quite solid.

'It might be the strongest forehead flick on the continent.'

Pu-ha.

The thought made him laugh.

In any case, according to the operation, they spent two days that way, then three to four days after assessing the situation.

They did exactly that.

After marching for more than four days, they changed direction.

Now they were returning.

Marcus did not hurry on the way back either.

Because if possible, he wanted to see them.

That expectation was fulfilled.

"Lunatic platoon, Platoon Commander and seven others, have returned."

Those who had gone out on the guerrilla operation had come back.