Chapter 148 - Ten Days, Merits and Rewards

Ten days after the army turned back.

It was the day flowers began to bloom even within the Border Guard.

Spring had fully arrived.

In the meantime, rain had fallen once.

News came that the battlefield cleanup was in full swing, followed by one report of victory after another.

In the end, word came that the Principality of Aspen had requested peace.

It meant Naurilia had seized part of the Principality of Aspen's territory, and soon, the Green Pearl Plains were in their hands.

Since the land had remained barren all this time, it would take a great deal of work to put it in order.

But victory was victory, and a sweeping one at that.

Cheers rang out at the end of the battlefield.

With spring's arrival, more people grew drunk on magic.

And in those days when everyone seemed elated.

Encrid's last ten days had been the same as ever.

There was nothing to change, and nothing had changed.

WHOOSH.

He swung his sword.

"Brother, you still have a long way to go. Set your posture and sit exactly like that. Straighten your back, breathe in, and feel the pressure in your stomach. If that pressure leaks out, your waist will break."

Audin spoke, then burst into hearty laughter.

Training his body through a method closer to a stunt, squatting up and down with Audin on his back, had also become part of his routine.

Sword, training, sparring.

It was time spent wholly focused on those three things.

Whether other people were excited or not had nothing to do with Encrid.

Krais went around here and there constantly, but Encrid had no reason to do the same.

He held the rank of Platoon Commander, had been recognized as an Independent Platoon, and perhaps because of his influence on the previous battlefield, he had no duties either.

It had truly been ten days spent entirely in rest.

Of course, for Encrid, those ten days had been spent absorbed in training.

If there was one thing that had changed, however.

"Ha!"

It was the attitude of the soldiers nearby—no, among the troops—who knew Encrid and had fought alongside him.

Every single one of them was busy gripping spears and swinging them from early morning.

This tendency had shown itself bit by bit before, but now the number of soldiers throwing themselves into training had risen sharply.

All of them were sweating and absorbed.

They were serious about swinging spears and building their stamina.

There was another change on top of that.

"Um, could you give me some guidance just once?"

Some soldiers had begun seeking Encrid out.

"Me?"

He had been swinging his sword and sweating hard, then had just taken a short break.

Encrid pointed at himself with a finger and asked back.

It was only natural.

How should he put it? This was a scene he had never even imagined.

Him teaching someone?

Giving guidance?

Encrid's life up to now had been far too harsh for him to speak of something like that.

He had never looked anywhere except the path of learning, mastering, and moving forward.

Especially teaching.

Was there any word that suited him less?

"Give it a try."

Rem, who had been watching blankly from the side, spoke.

He had seemed to be dozing off, but apparently he had been watching.

Encrid nodded.

He had been thinking of trying it anyway.

Because he could see the eyes of the soldier right in front of him, staring at him.

That earnestness, the desire and thirst still burning inside Encrid himself, was visible in the soldier's eyes as well.

TING.

Encrid shook his sword and struck the tip of the soldier's spear.

The soldier holding the spear flinched and trembled at the shoulders.

How skilled was he?

From what he had mastered and learned from Audin, there were things one could tell by looking at posture and the degree to which the body had been trained.

He seemed like a soldier with a certain level of experience.

"Lower-grade soldier, Paul."

The soldier spoke.

Encrid let it go in one ear and out the other.

He simply focused.

He did not treat him carelessly.

Focusing and watching the opponent.

Because he believed that was his best, and the only thing he could do.

The soldier, Paul, swallowed hard and took his stance.

His left hand forward, his right hand back.

It was a stance specialized for thrusting, and his feet crossed front and back before he shouted, "Ha!" and drove the spear in.

WHOOSH.

He had said the soldier was reasonably refined.

Encrid watched the incoming spearhead precisely and moved.

When he saw and reacted, his body moved.

Though he had not perfectly ingrained it into his body, the technique that flowed out naturally was the sense of evasion.

He twisted his body sideways to avoid it, stretched out his left arm, and snatched the spear shaft by pressing his palm to it from below and upward.

"Eek!"

The soldier reflexively pulled the spear back.

From the veins standing out on his neck, it was clear he was using all his strength.

Holding the spear shaft, Encrid pivoted on his left foot and turned his body half a rotation inward along the shaft.

In other words, he grabbed the spear shaft with his left hand, rotated, and pulled.

He planted his right foot on the ground, pulled the spear shaft with his left hand, and braced himself with his body as the axis.

He did not even need the Heart of Monstrous Strength.

It was possible with only a slight trick and a certain degree of muscle strength.

THUD.

Then lightly, just like that, he brought the sword down from above.

The sword, raised without killing intent, tapped the soldier on the head.

Naturally, it was not the edge, but the flat of the blade.

When the soldier felt the sword resting on his hair, he opened his mouth in surprise.

"Ah."

"I think it's over."

"Ah, yes."

When he released the spear shaft, the soldier fumbled to gather his weapon and stood there awkwardly.

"Um, what am I lacking?"

What did it mean to say he was a fairly seasoned soldier?

It was the same as saying he had a certain degree of confidence in his own skill.

And yet he was asking Encrid something like this?

What had Encrid been like before, when the lunatic platoon had been a troublemaker squad?

He felt as though he had been the one everyone laughed at.

And yet this soldier was asking him such a question?

Looking more closely, it was not as though the face was unfamiliar.

They had crossed paths a few times coming and going.

The battlefields until now could not have been easy, so the soldier before him could at least be called a veteran.

He also wore the epaulet symbolizing a Squad Leader.

What was this?

What in the world?

Encrid looked at him with doubt in his eyes.

The soldier endured his awkwardness and waited.

Once again, Encrid saw the soldier's eyes.

Earnestness, desire, and thirst.

He glimpsed a desire for something beyond his reach.

It was the same as what lay coiled inside himself.

He simply could not ignore it.

To be honest, with just one spar, he could see what the other man needed.

"It would be good for you to build muscle strength."

A spear was a heavier weapon than one might think.

It was not light.

For that kind of weapon, he was lacking strength.

"Hm, yes, thank you."

The Squad Leader gave a military salute.

Encrid nodded and returned it.

The Squad Leader turned away, and from that day on, he put effort into physical training.

He devoted himself fully to lifting heavy things and building muscle.

The squad members under him did the same.

In other words, along with training, a craze for strength building swept through the unit.

Had this not been a unit that had only just returned from the battlefield?

Was this not the moment to celebrate their victory?

Of course, there were also many who went to the city to unwind.

There were those who woke up and did nothing but pour down alcohol.

Some among them would think going to the red-light district today was better than training for tomorrow.

Encrid did not particularly scold them.

What did they have to do with him?

A mere Platoon Commander, Captain of an Independent Platoon.

For now, he was in no state to step onto a battlefield where proto knights ran wild.

Their fight—if he said he honestly did not want to see it, that would be a lie.

But his feelings were still the same.

If the destination was visible, there was no need to look around at the path he was taking.

If it had been a fight in which Sir Cyprus stepped forward, it would have been different.

What would it be like if it were a true knight, a knight whose name was known across the entire continent?

He did think he would want to see it.

He did not know.

Was it not true that one only knew when things actually happened?

"Is it fun?"

Rem, who had been watching indifferently, asked with a grin instead of a cackle.

Fun?

He did not know about that.

"I don't know."

As always, he simply answered sincerely.

Only then did Rem cackle.

Encrid immersed himself in training again.

Amid that time of immersion.

"Me too, just once."

Someone else approached and proposed a spar.

After knocking him down simply, Encrid gave one word of advice.

"Your feet are stiff."

After that, another person came up and another spar followed.

"I think you need to loosen the strength in your shoulders."

More advice.

It was after several spars.

"Could I... um, maybe?"

He asked without even stating the subject, but there was no need to ask again what he meant.

Because he asked with flames in his eyes.

On the contrary, the cautious attitude he showed also revealed signs of nervousness.

His face was relatively young.

At best, he was Andrew's age?

Or he might even have been younger than that.

"Phew, fine."

None of his platoon members particularly stepped forward to stop him.

Had they not originally said something every time they saw people approaching him?

It felt as though they had even picked needless fights.

Now, why they were leaving it alone was beyond him.

Most soldiers were armed with spears.

Using a special weapon other than that could mean the other party belonged to a special affiliation.

The opponent held a war hammer the length of his forearm.

The end of the hammer was round, and it was polished smooth, making it seem like a weapon that had not been used for only a day or two.

It did not look heavy, but it was an efficient weapon with clear power.

Seeing him rotate his wrist in circles, Encrid could feel that skill, or whatever one called it, had settled into his body.

"I'm with the Border Guard."

As expected, the opponent spoke, and Encrid nodded indifferently.

SWISH.

The opponent bent his wrist, spun the war hammer, and his eyes flashed.

For Encrid, that is to say, the opponent's aim was far too visible.

Was it because he had become too accustomed to the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique?

The opponent's method and tricks were all plain to see.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

The Border Guard member, who had been swinging the hammer with all his might, suddenly gripped it with only one hand and brought it down vertically.

Dodging was better than blocking.

Following the opponent's intent, Encrid stepped and shifted his body sideways, avoiding the hammer's path.

Then the Border Guard member swept his other hand toward his waist and extended it.

Before the opponent's elbow could even fully straighten, Encrid caught that wrist.

"I can see it."

And then he threw out that one sentence.

The method was simple and clear.

Draw the eye with the hammer, then throw a short-range dagger.

It was similar to the methods of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

"Valen Mercenary Sword Technique?"

So he asked.

The opponent nodded.

"It would be better if you honed the technique of swinging the hammer further."

Encrid instinctively spoke of the opponent's opening.

At the same time, he realized it.

That these were words he needed as well.

If the hammer technique developed, the dagger could be hidden better.

So as not to have attention stolen by something like a dual draw from the beginning.

The opponent had talent in abundance.

Enough that it reminded him of the brat who had once put a hole in his stomach.

Back then, he had fallen without even a proper resistance.

That had happened.

Then what about now?

He recalled words once recited by one of his instructors.

"Improving your skill begins with knowing where you stand."

Recognition.

Recognition once more.

To move forward on a new path, he would first need to know what path he was standing on now.

Sparring and sparring, teaching and teaching.

Even after that, many came looking for him.

Each time, Encrid realized something and moved forward.

His steps were slow.

But he did not hurry.

It was a realization he gained while watching a soldier thrust his spear in a rush.

Impatience was of no help at all.

There was also an opponent who displayed decisiveness while remaining calm.

"I'm Root."

He was said to be a friend from the west among the Border Guard members.

He said it while glancing at Rem.

Rem, however, did not seem to care at all.

Encrid knocked him down too.

An easy opponent?

No.

He was a difficult opponent.

It was only that the experiences Encrid had gone through until now were too intense and too deep, so he had no difficulty facing him.

"Strong."

Root admired him and turned away.

As Root turned away, he took in Encrid alone, not Rem.

When the number of people seeking him out increased throughout all ten days, Krais began controlling them.

"There are too many of you. I think it would be better if you organized yourselves and picked people before coming? If you interfere with our Captain's work, you know what happens, right?"

The weight carried by Krais's words had changed.

Because behind him were Rem, Jaxon, Audin, and Ragna.

As for those four themselves, they were inwardly nodding as they looked at their Platoon Commander.

Recognition.

What had to be done to see where one was standing?

One would have to look up, down, left, and right.

Only then could one see one's position.

It was a moment that each of them, too, had passed through at least once someday.

If anything, Encrid was late.

Spring had come, and he was thirty-one years old.

By the standards of the continent, one could safely call him an old mercenary.

Of course, there were more than enough people who lived by the sword even past forty.

But no one would be able to do it the way Encrid did.

That was why they felt satisfaction in watching that man.

Audin found in the Platoon Commander the answer to the question he had thrown to the Lord.

Rem drew out fragments of his memories from the past.

Jaxon looked at the Platoon Commander and pondered what it would be like to live that way, why he lived that way, and imagined the future.

Ragna thought of swords and people, desire and life, knights and the power knights wielded, and realized it anew.

That he, too, had stepped onto that path.

And that he would continue walking that path.

As a deeper certainty than ever before settled in him, he came to realize anew what value the Platoon Commander held for him.

A late-blooming genius.

Those were the best words to describe Encrid now.

As for changing the soldiers around him, well, that was separate from calling him a genius.

To the soldiers around him, especially those who possessed the will to not remain in today but move toward tomorrow, Encrid was something like a symbol of change.

He also became an idol who made them think they wanted to resemble that man.

All of that.

"Everyone, fall in."

Was confirmed when the ceremony for merits and rewards was held.

All the soldiers gathered in the middle of the parade ground, which was usually noisy.

Everyone except some soldiers absent for duty.

It was time to weigh the merits of what had happened on the battlefield.

Who was the star of this occasion?

Everyone knew.

Marcus was different from the previous Battalion Commander.

Leaving several nobles seated in the back.

Marcus stood on the platform and began his speech.

"If I have to tell you who had the greatest merit in the last battle, that bastard's head isn't even fit to be used as a helmet rack."

Marcus's loud, deep voice drove into the soldiers' ears.

It was a rough way of speaking, with violent words.

Several nobles who heard Marcus speak from the platform frowned.

Was it not lacking in dignity?

However.

To those who were the subjects of those words.

To the mass of soldiers, it sounded different.

Because there was sincerity in those words.

Marcus, who had made up his mind, put his heart into them.

"I will call the one with the highest merit. Lun—no, Platoon Commander of the Independent Platoon, Encrid."

Everyone knew what word would have followed "lun."

And someone walked up over the lined-up unit.

A man walking bare-handed, drenched in sweat, came into the soldiers' eyes.

Though the temperature was gradually rising, it was not enough to sweat like that.

But no one looked at him with doubt.

Because he had surely swung his sword countless times before coming here.

Encrid was that kind of man.

A man who proved himself by swinging his sword, then swinging it again.

A man who poured out what he had learned and showed his worth.

An incarnation of sincerity who did not treat a single thing carelessly.

The lunatic Platoon Commander, Encrid, headed for the platform.

No one gathered on the parade ground easily opened their mouth.

A strange silence, and through it, heat surged.

To those who had experienced the victory on the battlefield, and what had happened then, what kind of existence did Encrid seem to be?

He had become someone's idol.

He had become someone's hero.

On the battlefield, that was what he had been.

Marcus did not forget that.

On the platform, one man and another faced each other.