Chapter 147 - If There Is Certainty in the Path You Walk

"Why aren't these guys here?"

The detached force from the Principality of Aspen, which included three proto knights, could not find a single trace of the enemy.

Wasn't there supposed to be an army around here blocking the rear?

Or at least some kind of trail, anything.

They said they were heading to Cross Guard, didn't they?

So why aren't these guys here?

There was not even a Recon Party checking their movements.

Normally, before a full-scale fight, the Recon Parties met, traded some insults, shot a few arrows if they had an opening, and then clashed.

They had to meet before they could strike, and that was why he had pulled away part of their forces.

Three whole proto knights.

That meant he had taken some members of the knight order and redirected them.

Though he had attached a giant and a few special forces to their allies.

Even so, this was a considerable chunk removed from the main force's strength.

So they had to fight.

They had to fight, but...

CLATTER, CLATTER.

Pebbles scattered beneath the commander's feet.

There was nothing.

All they had seen on the way were a few ghouls that had crawled out from the riverside.

Traces of a camp from roughly three days ago.

"What about The Claw of the Hawk?"

"We've lost contact."

And now even the Ranger unit that was supposed to monitor this area and link up with them had vanished?

"They're probably dead, aren't they?"

The proto knight and commander asked.

His adjutant gauged his mood, then spoke.

"Yes. It seems so."

What did he mean, it seemed so?

They were all fucking dead.

The commander thought.

Then should he try striking their rear like this?

If he did, what would happen?

Would they thrash around like a horse with its tail on fire?

He felt like seeing how Naurilia would react.

That was the moment he made up his mind.

"The beacon has gone up!"

A sharp-eyed messenger ran over and reported.

They had just climbed over the mountain.

The commander's gaze turned behind him.

It was the direction where the main force had been.

When did they light a beacon?

When the main force was in danger.

Then what could the beacon they had lit now mean?

"We're going back."

The commander did not hesitate.

That was a godly move.

Because by joining back up with the main force immediately, they avoided annihilation.

* * *

After joining Marcus's infantry, Encrid rarely opened his mouth.

The soldiers kept glancing at the lunatic platoon.

But no one spoke to them easily.

"You're back?"

At most, Vengeance came over and tossed out a curt greeting.

Encrid gave a rough nod and kept walking.

He walked, thought, and as he kept thinking, he sank down into himself and reviewed the fight.

'I couldn't use the sense of evasion.'

He also needed a long preparation to draw out the Heart of Monstrous Strength.

He had fought as if stitching together everything he had.

'Plant my left hand in the opponent's head, then cut with my right.'

What formed the foundation was "showing it in advance" and the Heart of Monstrous Strength.

He had felt exhilaration in the fight itself.

Part of his method for using two swords had worked.

So what came next?

Review.

He went over the fight again.

Was there nothing to learn just because it was a fight he had won?

No.

There was plenty.

There was always something to learn.

CRUNCH, CRUNCH.

The unit passed through the gravel field and headed straight toward the rear of the main force.

The march continued like that.

After spending three whole days repeating the cycle of eating, walking, and sleeping, the allied camp where they had originally stayed finally appeared.

Of course, whether the camp appeared or not was none of Encrid's concern.

He was busy reviewing, and reviewing again.

He neither saw nor heard what was happening around him.

'The basics.'

How had Mustache's sword been?

It had been faithful to the basics.

Sharp and delicate.

Heavy and nimble.

It changed as much as it needed to at the necessary moment.

It was a difference in fundamentals.

Was winning or losing the problem?

Of course, that was a problem too.

If he had lost, it would have been a fight where he died.

There was also no meaning in deliberately losing a fight he could win.

Always do your best.

Stand firm, even if only by half a step.

For a today better than tomorrow.

Just because he had won did not mean his yearning and thirst disappeared.

Had he thought he was finished because he had made the basics part of his body once?

'Was I being arrogant?'

Was this the sort of thing that happened when one kept living?

When he thought back on the days when all he could do was struggle desperately, it was something he never could have imagined.

Encrid reflected on himself.

Polishing and refining the basics was only natural.

Wasn't that obvious just from training the Isolation Technique?

It was daily repetition.

Repetition of the same movements.

Whether it was Balaf Style Combat Technique, Heavy Sword Technique, or Flowing Sword Technique.

The Oniak Sword Technique, anything at all, came down to basics, and basics again.

The moment that thought occurred to him, he could not hold back.

His hands itched, his heart pounded, and his skin twitched.

Even though they were still in the middle of marching.

RING.

He drew his sword.

Then he cut vertically, straight and true, with that sword stroke that had been polished until it looked like the work of a master.

Like Mustache's, it was a crown strike.

SWOOSH.

He suddenly started swinging his sword while walking.

It would not have been strange for someone to say something, but the one doing it was Encrid.

"What is it? An ambush? Ah, it's Platoon Commander Encrid?"

"That guy's a little... you know, right?"

One soldier put a finger to his ear and twirled it around.

"The lunatic Platoon Commander?"

"Yeah, let's keep moving."

Everyone just accepted it and let it pass.

It was hardly the first or second time something like this had happened.

Above all, there was no one who did not know the lunatic platoon's exploits on the previous battlefield.

They had become half heroes.

There were even gazes mixed with reverent respect looking up at them.

'Because he's that insane about training.'

Was that why he fought so well?

Such thoughts lingered in the soldiers' minds.

The commanders around the Platoon Commander level left them alone as well.

Hadn't Battalion Commander Marcus given separate instructions?

Anyone could see they were being treated specially.

Exempt from all duties, exempt from meal duty.

It was thanks to this reason and that.

Everyone pretended not to see and let it pass.

The lunatic platoon members did not particularly care about the gazes around them either.

Ragna looked at his Platoon Commander, who had suddenly swung his sword, and thought.

He had something to tell him when they returned, but now it had no meaning.

"Make the basics part of your body again."

He had shown him Scission, but he had not even begun teaching him yet.

The things that had to be built up for that.

The things he had to tell him again.

Would it become a wall of despair, or a new milestone?

He had to teach him and show him.

There had been much to say.

The things one commonly forgot after growing more skilled.

He had intended to remind him of those things.

Ragna had pondered deeply.

What did his Platoon Commander need right now?

After thinking like that, he had finally organized what he needed to say.

RATTLE.

The gravel field was coming to an end.

Ragna stopped walking.

"Yes, that's right."

And he murmured.

The Platoon Commander did not need nagging.

He reflected on his own and filled in what he lacked.

He had always been that sort of person.

Ragna, who had stopped and murmured, felt his whole body tingle.

The things he himself quickly forgot, overlooked, and did not even feel the need to revisit.

Encrid piled those things up one by one.

He made all of them his foundation stones.

That was what the Platoon Commander did.

Ragna felt a flame called motivation rise in his chest again, entirely on its own.

It felt absurd.

But when he looked at his Platoon Commander, he wanted to swing his sword.

"Have you lost your mind? What's right?"

It was Rem, walking beside him.

The crazy barbarian tilted his head and spoke.

"Ha ha, were you praying alone? Did the Lord answer you?"

The huge religious bastard on the other side also spoke to him.

Ragna did not want to answer.

He did not want to ruin this good mood.

But Rem was persistent.

And Audin was diligent.

"Hey, I'm asking what was right. Did a ghost crawl into your skull? Hey, big guy. Don't you need to exorcise him? Huh? You don't have some ghost-punching fist or something?"

"Ha ha, Brother, possession does not happen so easily. Especially in a unit with discipline as alive as this one, such things are rare. In my opinion, it seems you offered a prayer. So what did the Lord say?"

He wished they would just piss off.

Ragna gradually became desperate.

It did not take long for that desperation to turn into killing intent.

'Should I cut them all down?'

Rem and Audin reacted at the same time to the killing intent that abruptly burst out.

"Hey, planning to leave that head here? Want help?"

"Brother, are you upset because you did not receive the Lord's answer? In that case, working up a sweat is not a bad idea."

If killing intent rose, they fought.

That was something like the iron rule of the lunatic platoon.

Of course, if Encrid stopped them, that would be the end of it, but right now he was immersed in his own world.

SHING.

Ragna drew his sword and swung.

Rem reacted as well.

CLANG!

Axe and sword met.

Sparks flew, and killing intent flew with them between Ragna and Rem.

Audin, on the opposite side, could not remain still either.

Ragna did not let him.

Using the recoil from striking Rem's axe, he cut straight at Audin's chest.

Audin stepped back and deflected the sword by striking the flat of the blade with his palm.

It was a feat.

One that could be called a high-level feat, at that.

Rem, Ragna, and Audin.

It was more amazing that they did such things as if it were nothing.

Soon the three were tangled together.

Watching them from one side, Jaxon thought all three of them were truly idiotic bastards.

His eyes naturally left the three and turned toward his Platoon Commander.

He had a little, just a very little, dissatisfaction as well.

The sense of evasion.

It seemed he had properly learned how it worked.

Was increasing the body's coordination difficult?

It was not easy.

It really was not easy.

But was this not a little like discriminatory treatment?

He learned the Heart of Monstrous Strength that quickly, so why was the sense of evasion so slow?

Was he paying less attention to it?

Was he putting less effort only into my technique?

"How irritating."

Jaxon muttered, but there was no one to answer him.

The three were busy fighting.

Andrew and Mac, who did not want to be swept up in that fight, had moved away.

Pin was busy wondering whether this platoon was truly functioning properly.

Only Krais was used to it, so he did his job.

He had received orders through the Fairy Company Commander in place of the Platoon Commander.

"Why you?"

The Company Commander expressed her pointless dissatisfaction.

"If you bother him at a time like that, the Platoon Commander hates it, the platoon members hate it, and then it turns into a complete mess."

"More than now?"

Encrid was walking alone and swinging his sword.

The other three were busy fighting.

As for Jaxon, apart from them, his expression was stiff and blank.

It was purely a feeling, but if anyone touched him now, it did not seem like anything good would come out of it.

Well, it was already enough of a mess now.

"Yes, more than now."

Krais spoke with certainty.

If they tried to stop that, it would become an even bigger disaster.

He knew from experience.

"I see. The main force is returning."

The Company Commander did not make any frivolous jokes, nor did she say anything unnecessary, and only got to the point.

A pointless mischievous impulse came over Krais, and he asked.

"You want our Platoon Commander, don't you?"

The Company Commander looked at Krais.

The Fairy's green eyes were like jewels that completed an inhuman beauty.

Because they were like jewels, they were inorganic, and for Krais, it was impossible to read emotion from those eyes.

Still, there was something he could sense by intuition.

"I do."

What she had just said did not mean she wanted him as a man.

After speaking, the Company Commander turned and left.

Krais got goosebumps for no reason and rubbed his arms.

Then he waited for his Platoon Commander to return to normal.

It was only when almost the whole day had passed, when they had stopped and it was time to prepare camp, that Encrid finally stopped.

But did swinging a sword while walking help?

Krais had no way of knowing.

The fight among the three, including Rem, ended unexpectedly quickly.

Did all three know it would not end if they kept going?

Or was it no fun because the Platoon Commander did not stop them at an appropriate point?

That was impossible to know.

Nor did he particularly want to know.

"Captain."

Encrid's eyes, soaked in sweat, turned toward Krais.

"They say we're withdrawing to the city."

"Hm?"

Krais knew that the Captain before him did not like long explanations.

His mouth itched to talk, but what could he do?

Right now, it was probably best to tell him in a simple, clear way.

"When our operation worked, meaning when the enemy diverted part of their forces to the detour, the main force launched an advance."

What was the essence of the operation Krais had originally devised?

Hit them in the back of the head with the lunatic platoon.

Draw in The Claw of the Hawk or The Nail of the Hawk or whatever and wipe them out.

In the meantime, Marcus's battalion would pretend to head to Cross Guard.

Just pretending to go would be enough.

'A battlefield already pushed back.'

If he were the enemy commander, what would he think?

Would he want to carry the humiliation of having his city attacked?

Maybe he would.

Maybe he would not.

Either way, there was nothing to lose.

Just by making the gesture, there was much to gain.

Krais's objective was to secure their safety.

And if they put on that act, it would also give Marcus's battalion a good excuse to return to their original camp.

He had treated moving away from the enemy itself as a constant.

As time passed, the variables decreased, and things had fallen into place as he had thought.

Of course, there were some things entirely different from Krais's expectations.

First, the fighting power of the lunatic platoon, perhaps.

'I knew they fought well.'

But didn't they fight insanely well?

As an Independent Platoon, as a small elite unit, weren't they perhaps even more impressive than the Frontier Slaughterers?

After that, they joined Marcus's battalion.

Meanwhile, some of the forces stationed in the Green Pearl Plains, led by the knight order, advanced as they were.

This was also a little off from Krais's expectations.

'They actually advanced?'

Even if they ended it like this, their territory had expanded, and it seemed they had dealt Aspen a fatal blow.

Yet they advanced as they were, going beyond seizing the advantage and inflicting a devastating strike.

It had been a close fight following a charge that did not even seem to breathe.

But he heard the difference in strength had widened considerably.

He heard it had been an overwhelming victory.

Thanks to that, Marcus's battalion, the Border Guard standing forces, had been ordered to return to the city.

Perhaps they needed an army to defend it in case some of the enemy forces went mad and attacked the city.

And since it was a unit that had earned merit, there was probably an intention to treat them favorably as well.

Instead of saying all of that, Krais conveyed it briefly and simply.

"They're telling us to go home."

"Not bad."

Encrid, the Platoon Commander, did he understand all of this?

Krais did not know.

He could explain it slowly later.

For now, they were allowed to go back.

Krais found that quite satisfying.

Above all, the single map tucked against his chest warmed him even more.

It was one of the treasures the enemy had hidden, and Krais knew it by intuition.

'This is real.'

Encrid had no complaints about returning either.

Rather, he was satisfied.

There was much he had learned and mastered on this battlefield, in this fight.

He wanted to review all of it and engrave it into his body.

Therefore, he needed time.

A dullard was meant to flounder and run forward.

Encrid decided to do just that.

Yearning and thirst.

They burned in his chest and made it impossible to stay still.

'But why is that bastard...?'

Encrid turned his gaze toward the killing intent he felt from time to time.

It was Jaxon.

Every time he was about to forget, Jaxon sent him a stinging look.

He seemed to have some kind of complaint, but just by looking, it seemed obvious he would not answer even if asked.

Then what could he do?

He would have to leave him alone.

It was not as if these bastards had been dissatisfied for only a day or two.

"We're going back? Well, that's a shame. You didn't get to see knights fighting, did you?"

Hearing Rem pick a pointless fight, Encrid nodded.

"It is a shame."

But he also thought the opposite, that it did not matter.

STEP.

Matching the rhythm of his steps, Encrid looked at his own hands.

His palms, full of calluses.

The weight of the two swords hanging at either side of his waist.

The armor wrapped around his body.

"Meow."

The panther, walking at one side as if it had returned at some point, and his platoon members.

Encrid himself was walking too.

And.

If there was certainty in the path one walked.

Then there was no need to confirm the destination.

"It's fine."

Encrid answered and lifted his head.

The magic of spring spread, and warm sunlight was settling over his shoulders.