Chapter 4 - Heart of a Beast

"All troops, fall in! 4th Platoon, assemble!"

The Platoon Commander's shout rang out in front of the barracks.

The day filled with a sense of fulfillment, the end of that day was beginning to approach.

It was late afternoon, the sun having already begun to set in the west.

"Simply put, this isn't something you learn with your body. That's why practicing all day long is useless. But seeing you grasp this much just from training, it's hard to say you lack talent, isn't it?"

Moving at the Platoon Commander's call, Rem spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Yeah?"

Encrid merely asked back.

Not only would it be hard to believe if he told him exactly what had happened to him, but it would be a problem even if he did believe it.

What if the story spread?

It would be one thing if it were truly a blessing from God, but a single misstep would mean an interview with an inquisitor.

Would an interview with those so-called inquisitors end well?

Not a chance.

At best, it would be burning at the stake, and at worst, a torture party would be waiting.

No one wants to get nails driven into their body and have their fingernails and toenails pulled out.

Naturally, Encrid felt the same.

During his mercenary days, he had seen many people unfairly suffer under the label of heresy.

He had even secretly helped a few of them on the side.

If anyone had found out, they would have sneered that he was picking a real creative way to commit suicide.

It was that dangerous.

Still, he did it. Because helping like that was the right thing to do.

Because if he didn't even do that, there would be no reason for him to live as a swordsman.

"What's with that relaxed attitude? It's pretty damn annoying to look at. Did you find a gold bar somewhere? Planning to desert today? Don't you know you'll get an upset stomach if you eat something like that all by yourself?"

A gold bar...

He had gained something better than that.

"Shut up and let's go."

The order to assemble had been given, so it was time to move.

Encrid roughly wiped the sweat dripping down his forehead with his sleeve.

It felt like there would be a foul stench if he put on his helmet like this.

But it wasn't like he could say he was going to the stream to wash his body in the middle of all this.

That bastard Rem standing next to him wasn't even sweating. What kind of training did you have to do to get like that?

Encrid belonged to the 4th Platoon.

He moved to the platoon's location.

'Will it work?'

Learning it in a single day is impossible. Still, he had grasped the knack of it to some extent.

It was thanks to the experience of being stabbed to death.

"We!"

The Platoon Commander shouted.

"Will win!"

The Platoon Commander was a well-rounded, agreeable man. Someone who followed the higher-ups' orders well without being particularly special.

The gates of the battlefield were about to open again.

As the sun descended along the west, dusk began to fall.

His heart trembled.

Why?

Encrid asked himself.

The answer came quickly.

Fear.

Stabbed to death three times already.

That pain, that dizzying sensation—he didn't think he would get used to it no matter how many times he experienced it.

Encrid stroked his neck.

It stung even though there was no wound. It felt like he had swallowed a blade.

"Why? Think you won't be able to keep your neck intact?"

Rem whispered from beside him.

"Tense up a little. It's a battlefield."

Encrid said as he stepped forward in time with the shout of "All troops, advance!"

Beside him, Rem matched his pace.

"Tension is what makes the body stiff. Isn't that why you learned that from me to prevent that?"

He was right. That's why he was annoying.

Heart of a beast.

He had said there were few who actually learned it even when taught.

He suppressed his pounding heart.

He regulated his breathing in time with his steps.

"Yeah, that's how you do it. Let's try not to croak today, either. Captain with a grand dream."

Hearing Rem's words, Encrid decided that if he died again today, he wouldn't mention tomorrow that his dream was to be a knight.

It was the battlefield again.

The start of the close-quarters melee.

The exact same day flowed by. For Encrid, it was his fourth today.

He thought about trying to prevent his shield from splitting, then gave up.

What was the role of a shield in the first place?

Straining himself to preserve something he was holding to block the opponent's swords, spears, and axes was even more ridiculous.

'If that's the case.'

His stray thoughts had gone on too long.

Suddenly, something flew right in front of his eyes with a swoosh.

Without even making a sound through his teeth, he leaned back and thrust his shield forward.

Strength naturally entered his body.

CLANG!

The flying spearhead struck the edge of the shield.

He had barely blocked it.

His left shoulder ached. It was a spear. And quite a forceful strike at that.

The enemy soldier pulled back the extended spear and thrust it again.

Normally, his stiff body wouldn't have loosened up.

Then he would have blocked it with a rigid posture again, leading to a continuous string of crises.

His mind settled down. Thanks to that, he saw the spearhead.

It was twice as slow as the thrust that had killed him.

Therefore, there was no reason he couldn't dodge it.

He stared at the tip of the spearhead until the very end, then just tilted his head.

SWISH.

The spearhead grazed the side of his helmet.

It was a feat close to an acrobatic stunt that he was pulling off for the first time in his life.

A beast's heart does not get excited easily.

Evasion with minimal movement.

That much leeway had been created.

Composure of mind also presented a new perspective.

To Encrid's eyes, the gap between the helmet and breastplate of the bastard who thrust the spear became visible.

A gap just wide enough to get a glimpse of his chin.

It wasn't a very wide gap.

But it couldn't be called narrow, either.

Because it would be enough for a blade to slip in.

He gripped his sword and stabbed upward.

Not even a grand technique was necessary.

SHLUCK.

From bottom to top, the blade pierced from his chin straight through to his throat.

"Gurgle."

The enemy soldier spewed blood and chunks of his severed tongue out of his mouth.

A sword strike aiming for an opening doesn't require immense brute strength. Realizing that all over again, Encrid recalled what his swordsmanship teacher had told him in the past.

"If you can dodge the opponent's attack with the minimal line of movement, what comes next becomes easy."

It was a pretty expensive training hall, but they only taught a few things.

And for a long time, Encrid thought even those few things were bullshit.

'It was worth the money.'

One of those pieces of bullshit had become reality.

Evasion and attack with short lines of movement were valid. They were effective.

Pushing the opponent's abdomen with his foot, he pulled out his sword.

Blood gushed out even more heavily from the hole created under his chin.

The enemy soldier collapsed backward just like that.

"This son of a bitch!"

Another bastard rushed at him from right behind. Encrid neither gasped for breath nor responded hastily.

'Six steps.'

Measuring the steps to his opponent, Encrid raised his sword and slashed the shield strap fixed to the back of his left hand.

RIIIP.

SLASH.

RIIIP.

Slashing twice, the securing strap was cut. Tightly wrapping the shield to his forearm with a strap was a trick he had learned to survive.

By doing this, he wouldn't easily lose his grip on the shield even during a chaotic melee.

But it wasn't necessary right now.

The enemy soldier approached. Encrid grabbed the shield and threw it.

CLANG!

The enemy soldier holding the spear, startled by the shield suddenly flying at him, pulled back both hands.

Naturally, the spear in his hands retreated backwards too.

His footsteps were bound to slow down as well.

The broad shield was only there for a moment, but it was enough to obscure the opponent's vision.

In the moment the opponent's vision was obscured, Encrid, having thrown the shield, took two large strides to the left.

A helmet is a tool for protecting the head, but it narrows one's peripheral vision.

Encrid had also experienced the enemy suddenly disappearing from right in front of his eyes countless times.

He had frequently used the technique of using that to deceive the opponent's eyes, ducking down and throwing the opponent backward as if propping them up.

It was something he had done even on the day he first died.

He just used it more cleanly this time.

It was the opponent's right side. Before lunging in, Encrid observed the enemy soldier's hands first. His left hand gripped the front of the long spear shaft, his right hand gripped the back of the shaft.

It meant he was right-handed.

Things that wouldn't have been visible normally were seen.

It was a perspective granted by calm composure.

Petty tricks occasionally used in small-scale battles or duels, but ones that couldn't easily be used during chaotic melees.

It was the insight he had learned while surviving as a mercenary.

The fact that a right-handed speargunner has a hard time swinging a spear to the right.

The enemy soldier, having blocked the shield, frantically turned his head side to side.

He was startled. Understandably so. The opponent right in front of his eyes had suddenly vanished.

The enemy soldier's eyes soon chased and discovered Encrid.

While he was turning his head side to side in surprise, Encrid swung his sword down diagonally from the back of his opponent's head toward the front of his chest.

WHACK!

The bastard's armor was shaped to block the back of his neck.

The thick cloth and the thin leather covering it prevented his neck from being completely severed.

The blade lodged halfway into the back of his neck.

"Keugh, urgh, ah."

The enemy soldier's eyes could be seen. Eyes still carrying that surprise. Eyes widened into circles.

Blood poured out in spurts behind his half-severed neck.

Even with his neck half-severed, the speargunner swung his spear reflexively. The spear shaft thumped against Encrid's right shoulder.

There was no impact. He was already half-dead, and it was thanks to Encrid moving at an angle that made it difficult to put force into the spear shaft in the first place.

Encrid lifted his sword upward and pulled it out.

CRUNCH.

Because it had lodged in the bone, he had to put quite a bit of force into it. Clots of blood and gore flowed, tangled on the extracted blade.

Briefly assessing the battlefield situation, Encrid picked up a shield with a broken corner from the ground instead of an axe.

He had that much leeway now.

'This actually works.'

It worked too easily. On the battlefield, it's hard to display even half of your usual skill.

That was only natural.

Standing in the middle of a life-and-death struggle, how could anyone move like they normally do?

Sometimes there were those who went even crazier and ran wild, but most were bound to panic.

Until he had experienced death three times, Encrid had been the same, but it was a bit different now.

'It'll work.'

That thrust—he thought it might be worth going up against.

What Encrid did wasn't enough to change the tide of the battlefield.

It was just to the extent of a single soldier fighting a little better.

There was no change in the overall flow.

However, it was a massive change for Encrid personally.

After striking down a couple of enemy soldiers like that.

"Ugh!"

Bell fell over again.

The slight leeway gave him the time to catch him and stand him up.

"You alright?"

"Goddammit, what kind of jagged rock is here."

It was a dry field.

It wasn't uncommon for rocks to be jutting out.

However, Bell had tripped over his own feet.

Therefore, it was Bell who fell over who was the stupid one.

"Get it together."

He grabbed Bell's hand and pulled him up.

"You saved me."

Without relaxing the strength in his hand, Encrid squeezed Bell's hand tightly.

"... My hand."

Bell muttered for him to let go of his hand.

A helmet split in half, a blood-soaked head, Bell's eyes could be seen.

A flash of light was an arrow, and that arrow pierced Bell's head.

It was something he already knew.

However, noticing an arrow flying in the middle of a chaotic melee is difficult. It was far too difficult a task.

Encrid tried to pull the hand he was holding.

Stumbling and losing his balance, Bell somehow managed to put strength into his legs and endure it.

THWACK.

His head was smashed.

An arrow flew in and shattered Bell's head.

Blood splattered onto his breastplate.

As soon as Encrid saw Bell's head burst, he ducked his head.

With a *swoosh*, something chilling passed right over his head.

It must be an arrow.

With a *thud*, the arrow lodged itself into the corpse of a dead ally behind him.

"Did you offer up a prayer to the Goddess of Luck or something?"

As soon as he dodged, Rem's voice could be heard.

He couldn't protect Bell's head, but he protected his own.

Of course, even if he hadn't, Rem would have saved him.

It was the fourth time, the exact same situation.

"Well, something like that."

When he answered vaguely, Rem let out a chuckle.

His teeth could be seen through his helmet.

Despite his somewhat pretty appearance, the way he spoke and acted was nothing but violent.

"Fine then. They say the one shooting these arrows is a bastard called the Hawk's Nipple or whatever, so I'm gonna go find him. Offer ten more prayers to the goddess."

"I'll say a prayer for you too, so you don't croak on the way."

"Well, thanks for that. Don't forget this."

Rem lightly tapped his left chest with his axe handle and headed back into the battlefield.

He was going to catch the Hawk's Eye or Claw or whatever it was.

Encrid nodded, hoping he would be able to ask Rem tonight whether he had killed the archer who shot this arrow or not.

Allies and enemies swarmed into the spot where Rem had disappeared.

As the gaps began to close, Encrid judged that the flow of the battlefield could by no means be seen as good.

He already had three experiences.

Their allies were being pushed back.

Still, there was only one thing he could do.

To survive.

Encrid felt a bizarre excitement enveloping him.

Because in just a little bit, he would meet that highly skilled soldier.

Before long, that became reality.

That thrust aimed for his head once again.

Instead of dodging, Encrid thrust his own blade against the flying blade.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

Sparks flew in the air.

He met the enemy soldier's gaze.

'You blocked this?'

It was a gaze that seemed to ask just that.

"Your skills aren't bad."

The enemy soldier said, extending his sword again.

One time, two times, three times.

The first time with his shield, the second time by rolling his body to the side, and the third time he swung his sword in reverse.

Drawing a short line of movement, Encrid's blade sliced through the empty air.

And the moment the enemy soldier pulled his arm back again, something smacked him in the waist from behind.

WHAM!

"Ghk."

He bit back the scream that naturally threatened to come out.

Following that, another thrust came flying. He intentionally shifted his center of gravity forward, trying to roll right over as if falling completely.

The intention was good, but the timing was bad.

SHLUCK.

The blade shattered his collarbone next to his neck and lodged deep inside.

It felt like a red-hot branding iron was searing his flesh and bone.

"Keugh!"

It hurt so much that he couldn't even let out a scream.

When he tried to grab the embedded blade with his hand, the opponent swiftly withdrew the sword.

As if he had put a lot of effort into sharpening his sword normally, the blade was incredibly sharp.

When the sword was pulled out, an even more horrific pain followed.

It hurt to the point where his vision flashed white.

Encrid clenched his jaw and looked back.

He saw a large enemy soldier standing awkwardly.

And the club in his hand.

That must have been what hit his waist.

"Mercy."

The bastard who had killed me three times said that as he raised his sword vertically and stabbed downward.

That was the end.

His eyes closed. Darkness seeped into his vision.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

The sound of a ladle banging against a pot could be heard again.

"The fifth time."

Goddammit.

I thought it would work.

"What's the fifth time?"

Rem, in the spot next to him, asked.

"A bug in my boots."

Encrid stood up as he spoke.

He had died again, but he had learned something.

No, it was a lesson he had gained by pouring gold coins into the training halls all this time.

That nothing works out on the first try.

Then what should he do?

If it doesn't work once, do it ten times, and if ten times doesn't work, do it a hundred times.

Normally, if you croaked once, it would be the end.

Fortunately, Encrid was able to repeat this over and over again.