Chapter 36 - Mist of Massacre

Ragna was flustered, but he soon stopped thinking about it.

'He was already a strange man to begin with.'

In his eyes, Encrid was not normal either.

"Then starting now?"

Encrid asked.

"Let's."

Ragna answered.

Under the clear sky, the two began anew from the very act of gripping a sword.

No, they began by finding the right weapon.

"You have good strength, so there is no reason to use a light weapon. I think it would be better to switch to a heavier longsword than that. Let's trade."

Ragna said, handing over the sword at his waist.

Encrid thought it was rather drastic.

Did people normally hand over a weapon so easily after it had grown familiar in their hands?

"I haven't used it long enough for it to feel familiar yet either."

Ragna added.

When he received it, it was not that great a sword.

The one he had been using even seemed better, but he accepted it.

The one teaching him now was Ragna.

He decided to follow his words.

"Understood."

From an arming sword to a longsword.

It was a sword with a longer grip, one that could be held in both hands and swung.

The blade was a handspan longer as well, and it had more weight to it.

That did not mean it was a bad sword.

It was not made from fine iron, but the balance and the finishing of the sword seemed decent.

"Right hand in front, left hand behind."

After changing swords, he began anew from how to grip it.

Encrid became completely absorbed in that time.

And the same was true for Ragna.

The Squad Leader's very existence was a stimulus.

Teaching him directly made Ragna's motivation surge as well, and he became immersed in that time.

The two spent their time like that until past noon.

They were so focused that they only realized it long after skipping a meal.

"Skipping meals over playing pretend with swords? What are you doing?"

Only after Rem came looking for them did Encrid feel the passage of time.

"Now that you mention it, I'm hungry."

Ragna muttered.

"You bastard, were you bullying our Squad Leader?"

"Piss off, Brother Barbarian."

"You piss off, you lazy bastard."

The two bickered.

Encrid let his sword hang down, drenched in sweat.

He was quite exhausted.

He had made up his mind to start anew, but that did not mean it would happen right away.

'I'm lacking.'

He was desperately short on time.

Originally, he had planned to cleverly pick out only the techniques.

Since he could repeat today, he had expected his skill to improve if he did that.

'It's the exact opposite.'

To think his fundamentals were lacking.

He had never imagined it.

And there was one more thing he realized all over again.

Building fundamentals while being watched by someone skilled with the sword was on a completely different level from doing it alone.

"What is the purpose behind pointing your toes that way?"

"The strength in your grip has gone slack."

"Were you trying to stab? Or were you trying to cut?"

"What exactly are you trying to do right now?"

"This will not do. You need to learn how to walk properly first."

Nagging poured down like a sudden shower.

And each and every bit of it became an asset.

Ragna, who had been bickering with Rem, abruptly asked Encrid.

"But don't you have any desire to improve your sword skill so you can show off or something like that?"

Ragna asked while recalling the reason he had first picked up a sword as a child.

It would be a lie to say he had no desire to stand out and be seen.

Naturally, Encrid also had a desire for glory, a competitive spirit, and ambition.

Among his fantasies was one where he stood guard before a lady and received a handkerchief from her.

How could he not?

The desire to be recognized existed in everyone.

"I have plenty of that. I want to show off like crazy."

Encrid answered.

He wanted to receive someone's cheers and become the protagonist of a minstrel's song.

Naturally, he had that desire too.

Ragna nodded at those words.

It felt as though he had received some kind of answer.

"What are you talking about? Anyway, the reason for assembly. The order came down to gather because the enemy has started to appear."

It was battle again.

Encrid nodded.

Ragna looked at Encrid and thought he had done something unnecessary.

'Will he be able to get through today?'

What would happen if Encrid went out onto the battlefield like this?

An unfamiliar sword, and swordsmanship at a clumsy, awkward level.

That was the sword he had built today.

For that reason, Ragna expected him to die.

'He has no talent.'

While rebuilding the fundamentals, he realized just how insignificant Encrid's skill was.

It was not something that could be accomplished overnight.

Ragna briefly reproached himself.

'Did I drive him to his death?'

It was regret.

His mouth had been the problem.

As if anything had ever gone properly when he stepped forward himself.

And yet he had stepped forward again today.

Ragna let out a sigh mixed with regret and made up his mind.

'I'll stay nearby.'

As much as possible, he wanted to protect him for the day.

"The enemy!"

The time for battle arrived quickly.

Before they could even clear away the temporarily built position, enemy infantry came striding from beyond the Tall Grass Fields and from the front.

It was an oddly fast march.

Each unit gathered and looked at the enemy, but the way the enemy units had gathered was unusual.

Clumps were scattered here and there, and each unit carried long flagpoles.

FLAP FLAP FLAP!

Flags fluttered atop the poles they carried.

Suddenly, a strong wind blew from enemy territory toward them.

The moment Encrid saw the flagpoles and enemy soldiers while frowning against the wind striking his eyelids, he felt that this battlefield would by no means be easy.

It was the intuition given by the survival instinct that had kept him alive for years.

And he was soon able to know that intuition was right.

"What?"

At the head of the lined-up infantry, one Platoon Commander muttered.

It was a familiar face.

Platoon Commander Vengeance.

He was the Platoon Commander who had exchanged an infantry-style salute with him with a rather awkward expression when they parted at the Medical Barracks.

And between the Platoon Commander before his eyes and Encrid, a thick mist began to gather.

* * *

"We've been hit!"

Even before the adjutant spoke, the Fairy Company Commander grasped the situation.

A Fairy's keen senses allowed her to feel the flow of the battlefield on her skin.

'Magic? A spell?'

A thick mist began to spread across the battlefield.

It was not a natural phenomenon.

The senses of a Fairy, called a friend of nature and companion of the forest, told her it was alien.

An artificial mist settled thickly, and soon they could not see an inch ahead.

"Company Commander!"

From the panicked voice of her adjutant, the Fairy Company Commander realized an important fact.

'No one must have been prepared for this.'

Their sight had suddenly been taken away.

Everyone must have been panicking.

It would not be only the Fourth Company's problem either.

If this was an artificially created mist, then it would not end like this.

That ominous feeling soon became reality.

THUD THUD THUD!

Quarrels and arrows flew in.

They were invisible arrows.

From beyond the mist, they suddenly poured down like a summons from the god of death.

With a series of heavy thuds, quarrels lodged all over the body of a nearby soldier.

The adjutant was also struck in the head by an arrow and sent flying.

The Fairy Company Commander sharpened her senses to their utmost and leaped back.

Arrows also embedded themselves where she had been standing.

As she retreated, she drew her sword and swung it.

CLANG CLANG!

Two arrows caught on her sword and bounced away.

The Company Commander immediately lifted the corpse of her dead adjutant and shielded her body.

If she did not, she would die to blind arrows.

Mist and arrows.

'A prepared strategy.'

They had been thoroughly had.

* * *

"It worked!"

Joy rose in the eyes of the commander of the Principality of Aspen.

Because soon, he would be able to adorn this battlefield with the name of victory.

The resources spent for this had not been small.

Failure could not be tolerated.

As soon as the mist thickened, the commander shouted.

"Shoot!"

An order mixed with joy and excitement fell, and the prepared arrows and quarrels rained down toward the enemy.

What Aspen had prepared was a spell.

A spell with the alias "Mist of Massacre" that blinded the enemy!

At the commander's shout, the shaman showed a satisfied smile.

The spell had succeeded.

It was a spell made using the blood of one hundred newborn lambs, calves, and foals, and water from a lake untouched by human hands as mediums.

It had not used only ordinary materials.

Much had been sacrificed for the spell.

The commander did not know that much.

In any case, the shaman had poured his passion and sincerity into it all this time.

The terrain and the weather, even the rain-calling spells he had cast all this time, had all been for this reason.

Because the ground had to be wet for it to activate.

The blood-soaked flags and flagpoles were the mediums for the spell.

The troops protected by the flagpoles were not affected by the mist.

That was the entirety of the trick the shaman had worked.

However, it could not be called "only" that.

The enemy could not see, while this side could.

Unless one was a complete idiot, one would know very well how great an effect that had on a large-scale battlefield.

The shaman did not keep the direction of the battle or success and failure in mind.

He was simply pleased that the spell had succeeded.

"Are you happy because it succeeded?"

The commander of the platoon guarding the flagpole asked.

He was the skilled swordsman Platoon Commander who had once driven Encrid into a corner.

"Because it almost failed if things went wrong, so of course I'm happy."

The shaman spoke while recalling the time when the enemy had launched a night raid before.

Bad luck had nearly made all the spell power he had prepared until now disappear.

Just thinking of that time made him feel faint.

The Platoon Commander listened to the shaman and recalled the man who had carried out the night raid.

'That bastard.'

As a member of Gray Dog, the Persistent Lovers, he wanted to kill that bastard with his own hands no matter what.

That man had to be somewhere in the enemy camp now.

The Platoon Commander of Aspen had not forgotten that face lit by torchlight.

It was the face of a pretty-looking enemy soldier.

He wanted to meet that bastard again.

* * *

When the suddenly spreading mist approached, it smelled of water.

At the same time, he could not see ahead.

Platoon Commander Vengeance, who had been visible until just now, vanished.

And that was not all.

Even Ragna, who had been right beside him, could not be seen.

"A spell!"

Someone shouted.

No, it was not someone.

It was Rem's voice.

He poured out his irritation.

"What damned bastard did this?"

A spell?

What spell?

Along with that thought, Encrid lowered his body.

Before he knew it, arrows and quarrels were flying in above his head.

"Well done. Do not raise your head."

A voice came from right beside him.

It was Ragna.

CLANG CLANG! THUD!

Sounds like that came from above his head.

His ominous feeling had become reality.

Encrid kept his head down and thought.

'A spell, of all things.'

Why was a shaman here?

Why would a shaman, said to exist only extremely rarely even among the tribes of the western frontier, be here?

The question of why was practically meaningless right now.

Encrid stopped thinking.

Suddenly, a spearpoint thrust sharply in before his eyes.

Thump.

Heart of a Beast reacted.

Boldness raised its head.

If not for that, his body would have frozen and he would have died as he was.

Encrid instinctively twisted his body to the left and swung his sword from below to above.

CRACK!

He could not cut through an oiled spear shaft with clumsy swordwork.

The spear shaft bounced away.

It was a spearpoint that had suddenly shot out from within the mist.

Encrid tried to gauge the position from which the spearpoint had come and move forward.

Then another spearpoint came flying in again.

CRACK!

This time, too, he barely blocked it.

As he blocked, he thought.

His posture had collapsed, and the shift of his center of gravity was a mess.

The only thing he had done well was gripping his sword tightly.

He had thrown away everything Ragna had nagged him over and taught him again and again.

'Well, this is something.'

Of course, he had not thought he would master it after learning it once.

Then what should he do?

"Back."

Ragna said.

Encrid moved contrary to those words.

Thanks to Jaxon, his hearing had grown sharp.

He could not see, but he could hear.

"Aaaagh!"

"Urgh!"

"Die!"

"Damn it!"

Amid the screams and curses ringing out from all directions, Encrid threw himself forward.

"... Squad Leader!"

Behind Encrid, he heard Ragna's startled shout.

And then.

STAB!

A spearpoint pierced through his neck.

'Accurate.'

This was better than having a clumsy hole opened in his body.

Terrible pain spread from his neck through his entire body.

His vision began to go dark.

"Crazy bastard."

The soldier who had stabbed Encrid muttered.

It was because he was flustered by the way Encrid had suddenly thrust out his neck and charged.

"Die."

The soldier pushed Encrid with his foot.

The spearpoint slid out, and a second burst of extreme pain arrived.

Encrid felt death approaching.

He knew that after a few more breaths, darkness would wrap around him as he was.

He was satisfied that death was approaching.

What did terrible pain and the fear of death, which he could not grow used to no matter how many times it repeated, matter?

'With this.'

The "today" when he could learn fundamentals from Ragna had begun.

And that was so enjoyable.

"Kkgh."

Encrid laughed while blood poured from him.

The enemy soldier who saw that clicked his tongue in disbelief.

He had seen a man who was well and truly insane.

Blackout.

Darkness arrived.

When he opened his eyes, today had begun again.

* * *

"Why go that far?"

Ragna asked.

This time, instead of scratching his forehead, Encrid answered immediately.

"Because I want to use a sword well."

It was a different answer from before, but the destination was still the same.

"Do you want to learn the sword?"

Of course he did.

Ragna offered again, and Encrid accepted.

The second day of fundamental training, the second today, began.

And he stood on the battlefield.

The mist spread.

"Huh? Bullshit?"

Rem grew irritated again.

This time, Encrid knocked aside the spear shaft three times, then entrusted his neck to the spearpoint again.

He was unlucky, and it struck off-center.

The skin of his neck tore away, spraying blood across the ground.

'Damn it.'

Dying of excessive bleeding like this would be far too painful.

Before he could even think that, one of the enemy soldiers thrust his spearpoint in again.

He was grateful.

THUD.

He died again.

And the third today began.