Chapter 27 - Why Is He a Lowest-Grade Soldier?

The Recon Squad Leader's name was Andrew.

His full name was Andrew Gardner.

He was the sole successor of a fallen family that once held the title of baron.

He had only one wish. To rebuild House Gardner in his generation.

"Andrew, you are our hope."

The last words of his mother as she lay dying of illness remained vivid in his mind.

His mother saved money by doing needlework and working as a maid in other people's homes.

And she spent all of that money on Andrew.

From a swordsmanship academy to what he wore and ate.

He couldn't say he had an affluent upbringing, but it couldn't be called lacking either.

His mother, so overwhelmed by work, slowly wasted away from illness and died.

His mother's wish was also singular.

"Carry on the family name, and become a great man."

He decided to do just that.

There was only one means Andrew could choose to revive his family.

Was this not the age of war?

He just had to fight and fight, proving his abilities.

At a time when he needed training and connections, appropriate help arrived.

Before she died, his mother asked for help from a man who was once like a sworn brother to her husband.

"He does have talent."

Those were the words of the man who was said to be his father's sworn brother.

Afterward, Andrew underwent grueling training and enlisted in the military.

He started as a professional soldier and was given the position of Squad Leader at a young age.

'I need achievements.'

Andrew's mind was filled with only that thought.

He was also confident in his skills.

It was a confidence born after going out to the battlefield and killing three or four decent soldiers.

"You must be careful in everything you do."

His advisor and helper nagged him constantly. It was to the point of his ears bleeding.

Even so, Andrew didn't take those words lightly.

'Surviving is also important.'

Because he had to live first for there to be a family revival.

But that didn't mean he could give up a challenging life.

What happens to someone who gives up on challenges?

His father, who had lost the family's prestige, was a prime example.

His father, who lacked talent from a young age, swung a sword every day, but his aptitude was meager.

In the end, his father couldn't dream of reviving the family. Because he gave up quickly.

Squandering their remaining assets was all his life amounted to.

Then he died, stabbed by the knife of a gambler he got into a dispute with.

'A life without a future is bound to be bleak.'

That was why, even while dreaming of reviving his family, he also valued his own life.

Of course, there were bound to be things that rubbed him the wrong way regardless.

Among them, the troublemaker Squad Leader caught Andrew's eye.

He himself was in this position through skill.

He was constantly working hard for the great feat of rebuilding his family.

But what was that guy?

His skills were those of a lowest-grade soldier.

Wasn't he just a salary thief who luckily landed the position of Squad Leader?

Was he a person worth living as a professional soldier?

He could even glimpse traces of his father in the man's demeanor.

'He'll somehow scrape by on his salary, settle for the present, and then die.'

He would live his life merely pretending to swing a sword under the guise of training.

It was also ridiculous that a mere soldier had come wearing a sword belt and a sword, claiming to train his bladework.

It was a thought he couldn't have had if he knew Encrid, but Andrew didn't know him.

And now, from early in the morning, that bastard of a troublemaker Squad Leader was staring blankly at him.

Their eyes met.

An unpleasant sensation flowed through their gazes. At the end of that sensation, Andrew's brow furrowed.

'His eyes are getting on my nerves.'

Just as he was about to open his mouth, the troublemaker Squad Leader spoke first.

"Your glare is pissing me off."

Hmm? Who was he talking to right now?

Andrew's brow sharply narrowed. His scowling expression represented his feelings.

At that, one of the soldiers who had followed him stepped forward first.

"What did you just say?"

It was a soldier with a scar on his forehead. Was he said to be a guy who originally wandered around brawling rings?

Andrew had told him.

"Follow me. I will give you a better life than being a thug."

He subsequently became Andrew's right-hand man.

His skills were still terrible and he hadn't completely abandoned his habits from his thug days, but his fighting ability wasn't bad.

That was why he brought him along.

There were three such soldiers.

Those three stealthily stood up and surrounded the troublemaker Squad Leader.

* * *

Encrid had reached a conclusion after repeating today a few times.

'As expected, being in the position of a squad member won't work.'

These men had to faithfully follow his words and move on his orders. That was the minimum requirement.

Then what should he do?

How do knights earn people's trust?

How is it that they make people go wild as soon as they step onto the battlefield?

The reason was simple.

Skill.

It was possible because they demonstrated their abilities.

Then what was needed right now to make the ten of them, including himself, move as one body?

What was needed to earn their trust?

Since he couldn't get personally close and build camaraderie with them in just one day.

All that was left was violence based on coercion.

"Seems like that mouth is the problem. Should I carve a pretty little tattoo on it for you?"

The soldier with the scar on his forehead spoke. His eyes gleamed. It was the face of someone who had done in a few people.

Somehow, this bastard's lines were always the same.

Encrid thought to himself as he looked at the positions where the three stood.

It was the first time for them, but it was a today he had already repeated several times.

The reason he repeated it? There was only one.

Because violence and coercion were better the more overwhelming they were.

To achieve that, he needed experience.

Regardless of skill, he needed to know their reactions and patterns.

For that reason, the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique was excluded.

He had to subdue them with pure skill.

The first hurdle to overcoming this repeated today was subduing the three thug soldiers.

"Are you at a loss for words?"

The ex-thug soldier swaggered.

Encrid thought that words were unnecessary.

So he acted accordingly.

One step without a word.

The opponent reacted. Flinching, he tried to raise his fists. He took a fighting stance.

One of the three even rested his hand on the hilt of his short sword.

Encrid lifted his left foot off the ground first, and that one step was incredibly slow.

It was an ambiguous timing where one would watch with bewildered eyes wondering what it was, yet find it too vague to complain about.

Encrid's right foot quickly kicked off the ground.

By mixing a fast movement with a slow one, it was bound to look twice as fast.

It was a simple trick, and a ploy to take the initiative.

And it was quite—no, extremely useful.

"Tsk!"

The soldier with the scar on his forehead swallowed his breath and tried to throw a punch.

Of course, faster than that, Encrid kicked the opponent's shin.

THWACK!

As he kicked the shin as if pushing it sideways, the opponent's stance broke. He immediately thrust forward his backhand guard and struck near the temple of the opponent leaning sideways.

It was an exhilarating swinging strike.

SMASH!

"Gah!"

With a short scream, the opponent staggered and tumbled sideways.

Encrid's subsequent movements were as fluid as flowing water.

As he turned his body to the side, a short sword flying in to exploit an opening sliced through the empty air. As if it were a choreographed routine, he grabbed and twisted the wrist of the soldier holding the short sword.

The key was applying just enough force so as not to injure him.

CRACK. SNAP.

After twisting the wrist like that and striking the jaw area at an oblique angle, the second soldier also lost consciousness and collapsed just like that.

He caught the falling soldier by the chest and set him down gently on the ground.

Standing up, he picked up the dropped short sword. Encrid asked without a single change in his breathing.

"Are you going to continue?"

The one guy left alone among the soldiers who had stepped forward broke out in a cold sweat.

It was the opponent's side who drew a blade first.

Even if he stabbed him right here, there would be nothing to say.

"What is the meaning of this?"

The Recon Squad Leader, who had been watching up to that point, stepped forward.

"I didn't like you from the first day. You little greenhorn who barely learned how to walk."

Encrid turned toward the Recon Squad Leader instead of the terrified guy.

If there was no need to get red in the face, he could endure and overlook almost anything. He didn't put much meaning into the opponent's words or actions either. That was how it had been until now.

But what if there was a need to get red in the face?

Then he just had to say everything he needed to say.

"I feel like we'd get wiped out even on a trivial reconnaissance mission under the command of a guy like you, so let's settle this with skill."

Insubordination was a grave crime.

However, the situation was strange right now.

Encrid originally held the position of Squad Leader.

It would be one thing if the opponent had respected that.

But he thoroughly ignored it and displayed his unpleasant feelings.

No one could blame him for not being able to hold back.

In fact, the higher-ups would say it didn't matter which of the two led the recon squad.

Hadn't the Recon Platoon Commander told him to work hard and watch the young Squad Leader's back when he left?

Now was that time.

A time to not just watch his back, but to step up to the front.

"... You're saying the one who wins the fight takes command of the squad?"

The Recon Squad Leader asked back, furrowing his brow.

"That works. I have no intention of rolling around under someone weaker than me."

Even though in the actual troublemaker squad, aside from Krais, there was nothing but monsters who fought better than Encrid.

An excuse was just an excuse.

It was best to make the opponent flare up and attack if possible.

"Come at me, you milk-smelling brat. Have you ever even slept with a woman? Ah, is your dick still not fully grown?"

Andrew's complexion stiffened.

He had not yet had his first experience.

He had saved that time to train his body.

He felt as if the opponent was insulting that time, his efforts, and everything he had done to get here.

CLACK.

The Squad Leader drew his short sword.

"You can draw your sword. The length of a blade doesn't represent one's skill, after all."

"Well, um."

At Andrew's words, the fierce-looking soldier beside him tried to stop him, but shook his head and stepped back with a sigh.

He had worked as a mercenary for quite a long time. He had seen cases like this very often.

There was discord from the very beginning. It might be better to just hash it out now.

Having feelings turn into a deep-seated grudge would be more of a headache.

Because guys usually brushed off their feelings after a good brawl.

Furthermore, he knew Andrew well. He had even taught him swordsmanship himself.

In some ways, he seemed like a reckless greenhorn.

But he knew how to handle a sword and had an unpretentious side to him.

Above all, he knew how to distinguish right from wrong.

'It won't be easy, though.'

If things went south, he would intervene himself.

However, there was one thing.

Looking at the troublemaker Squad Leader's stance and foot positioning, he didn't seem like an ordinary guy.

He could see the thick, hard calluses on his palms, so deeply ingrained they had completely hardened.

It was not a badge of honor formed in just a day or two.

"Forget it. I'll do this barehanded."

"This bastard?"

Andrew got agitated. That was a flaw.

Revealing his emotions so easily.

He had something to point out later.

The man thought so and decided to comfortably enjoy the show.

It didn't seem like it would end quickly.

Since neither had exceptional skill, yet neither looked like a total mess either.

At the same time, he secretly wondered if Andrew would win.

Because getting agitated didn't mean his fundamentals went anywhere.

He had talent.

The troublemaker Squad Leader gestured. At the gesture to come at him, Andrew charged forward.

And then.

SMASH!

"... In one strike?"

No, what was this?

The fierce-looking soldier's eyes widened on their own.

The moment Andrew charged, the troublemaker Squad Leader made a show of extending his left hand.

Sensing that, Andrew slashed with his short sword.

Then the opponent, who had perfectly read the trajectory of the blade, slapped the flat of the incoming short sword with the leather gauntlet on the back of his left hand.

As a result, Andrew's chest opened wide for a split second.

The troublemaker Squad Leader dug right into Andrew's wide-open guard. Then, his body moved dynamically within the tight space.

CRACK!

Kicking off the floor and twisting his body inward, he extended his elbow, accurately striking Andrew's solar plexus.

It was over with that single blow.

"Kuuuugh."

Andrew groaned. His legs trembled. His breath was surely blocked in an instant, and all the strength would have drained from his limbs.

Because that was the kind of place a vital point was.

Andrew spat out a gagging groan as he curled his back like a shrimp.

If it had been a real battle, he would have been a dead man right then and there.

'What kind of, strength is this.'

To deliver such a shock right through thick cloth armor?