Chapter 5 - Valen Sword Technique

"Huh? Eh? How did you know?"

"I'm not a prophet."

At Encrid's words, Rem shook the bug out of his boots onto the ground and spoke in a confident tone.

"Did you put it in there, Squad Leader?"

"I didn't."

"Tsk."

Rem didn't withdraw his suspicious glare.

Encrid didn't pay any mind to Rem's glare. That wasn't what mattered.

Encrid crushed the bug Rem had dropped with his foot.

CRUNCH.

A rather unpleasant sensation traveled up through the sole of his boot.

"Ptui."

Encrid spat, roughly rubbing the bug's corpse into the dirt on the ground, and said.

"You can teach me the Heart of a Beast, right?"

"Hmm? You remembered that?"

Rem said as he fixed his boots and stood up.

"It's not something one easily forgets."

"Says the guy who was just pouring booze into his stomach because he wanted to forget."

Back then, he had. He kept dreaming about getting his head chopped off by an axe, and it had truly felt like a living hell.

"Can you do it or not?"

"Overflowing with enthusiasm today, are we? Fine. Let's do it."

Rem nodded his head.

"Jaxon, take care of breakfast duty. I'll do it tomorrow."

He needed to eat to have strength, but even so, there was no need to waste time on things like dishwashing.

"Sure, I'll do that."

Jaxon was a squad member who smiled easily and got along well with others.

He possessed such an easygoing personality that it was a wonder why he was even here.

When he first saw him, Encrid thought Jaxon was acting as a mediator here.

Jaxon brushed out his auburn hair and walked out of the tent.

Rem, who had been staring blankly at him, snorted and blew his nose.

"That bastard rubs me the wrong way for some reason."

Naturally, if Jaxon had been doing a good job as a mediator here, Encrid might never have had to come here.

While Jaxon got along well with other units, he was actually on bad terms with the members of Squad 444.

Except for Encrid, of course.

Encrid weirdly tended to earn the trust of his squad members.

Whether it was because he silently granted this and that request, or because of his garbage skills that made it seem like he'd live out his life as a Commander of Ten squad leader, even Encrid didn't know.

He just assumed it was one of the two reasons.

Rem moved his steps toward the outside of the tent. Encrid walked out following him.

"He's a shady guy. He gives off a bad vibe, so it's probably best you don't get too close."

And what about you?

Encrid only asked back in his mind.

Was this really something a guy should say after getting into a fight with a superior in his previous unit and smashing the guy's jaw?

To him, Rem was a savior, but still.

Other units, especially his previous platoon, the 1st Platoon, would often glare at Rem like they wanted to kill him.

A guy who messed up their Platoon Commander's jaw wouldn't look pretty to them, of course.

Encrid didn't argue.

Arguing wouldn't change anything.

It was a waste of time. He'd rather learn more about the Heart of a Beast than bicker over this.

He had a lot to do besides learning the Heart of a Beast from Rem.

"It makes me feel even shittier when I see him acting all chummy with those 1st Platoon bastards."

Right, let's just go with that.

When Encrid didn't talk back, Rem stopped in his tracks.

"What?"

"Mr. Squad Leader, you're acting really weird today. Normally, wouldn't this be the time you'd say a word or two?"

True. Normally, he would've said it wasn't something a guy who smashed a superior's jaw should say.

If not that, he would've told him not to even look at the guy if they weren't going to get along.

Because he thought it was better to keep them apart so they wouldn't fight, rather than forcing them to get along.

That was also Encrid's secret to leading the eccentricity-filled death squad, Squad 444.

"I have nothing to say."

Encrid cut him off.

Rem scratched the back of his head vigorously.

"What a strange day."

The two ate breakfast and sought out an empty clearing on the outskirts of the barracks.

Though training on a battlefield might look awkward.

Encrid had always been like this.

Meaning it was nothing special to those who knew him.

Passersby didn't pay any particular attention to the two of them either.

And so, the transmission of the Heart of a Beast began once again.

"... Have you been secretly learning from someone other than me? That shouldn't be possible."

"I just repeated what I learned."

"You can get this far just from training?"

Yet another death had meant yet another experience.

It was easier for Encrid to steel his mind than before.

Seeing this, Rem gave him a questioning look but eventually moved past it, saying, 'Fine by me.'

"The way I see it, you've got talent, Squad Leader. If you can do it to this extent, I mean."

Rem tossed out a remark similar to yesterday's.

Talent. It would have been great if that were true.

A moment ago, he had ultimately failed to dodge Rem's axe.

The axe stopped right in front of his Adam's apple.

It was close enough that a mere flick of the wrist would have left a long scar across his neck.

"That was close."

Rem said with a chuckle.

He seemed to find it commendable that Encrid was learning like this.

An inexplicable sense of satisfaction seeped into his smile.

Encrid felt it, too.

"What do you have to do to swing an axe like that?"

That axe swing just now.

Rem's axe was faster than the thrusts that had killed him so many times.

The moment the axe blade came so close to grazing the skin on his neck happened in the literal blink of an eye.

In truth, Encrid hadn't even blinked, yet he had lost track of the axe blade's movement.

"Hmm, talent?"

For the first time in a while, Encrid thought Rem was a really obnoxious bastard.

He had always been this kind of guy, though.

"If everything was possible just through training, would there be anyone in the world who couldn't swing a blade?"

Rem snickered.

Just as he had read the satisfaction on Rem's face earlier, Encrid realized that this bastard enjoyed making fun of him.

He was a weird bastard.

Then again, who in this squad wasn't weird?

"What if I train more? What if I put in more effort? What if I swing my sword without even taking the time to sleep?"

Encrid reflexively asked back.

It was a dilemma he had carried for a long time.

Should he give up if he lacked talent?

Encrid did not give up.

If he chose to advance instead of giving up, what did he have to rely on?

All he had was the ability to keep moving forward without tiring.

If those so-called geniuses took ten steps at a time, he had only the will to steadily trudge along without stopping, even if it was just a quarter of a step at a time.

"Geez. You're really acting weird today. Did you gulp down a potion of seriousness or something?"

Rem said, loosely hooking his axe onto the rope tied around his waist.

"No."

"Squad Leader."

Rem called out to Encrid, all traces of his smile gone.

He met Rem's eyes.

After a brief silence, Rem opened his mouth.

"People croak if they don't sleep."

Tremble.

As soon as he finished speaking, that bastard Rem's cheeks trembled as he tried to hold back his laughter before finally bursting out into a loud, "Puhaha!"

It was his answer to Encrid's earlier question about what would happen if he swung his sword without sleeping.

"Piss off."

Encrid gave him the continent's universal finger insult.

He flipped him the middle finger.

Rem snickered and suggested they go grab some lunch.

Encrid didn't badger him to teach more.

You can't get full on the first bite.

Encrid knew that fact all too well.

After eating lunch, he reviewed the sword techniques he possessed.

The basic sword techniques of thrusting, slashing, and swinging.

What he had learned after the basic sword techniques was the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

It wasn't a garbage technique.

He had done a lot of legwork and spent quite a bit of money on it.

It wasn't a sword technique that could be learned for a mere handful of silver coins.

The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

It was the sword technique of Valen, who, although never reaching the level of a knight, had made quite a name for himself in the mercenary world.

If one had to categorize it, it fell under the Confounding Sword discipline.

He didn't know how Valen originally used it.

But he had managed to ingrain a few of the techniques into his body in his own way.

Encrid poured his efforts into that.

'After I die, the same day repeats, but what remains in my body doesn't disappear.'

He hadn't learned the Heart of a Beast with his head, but had ingrained it into his body.

That meant what was left in his body remained as it was.

He pushed his body to the limit. He swung his sword until his calloused palms burst open all over again.

Originally, soldiers didn't use swords. The spear was the standard weapon for most.

It was a privilege he had obtained for taking on the role of Squad Leader of Squad 444.

Encrid didn't want to let go of his sword.

He trained continuously. His grip ached, but he endured it.

His stomach throbbed because he hadn't finished digesting his food, but he endured it.

He focused all the senses in his toes and fingertips.

The Confounding Sword was a sword of deception.

He was told to use whatever means necessary as long as it could deceive the opponent.

In fact, a few techniques from the Valen Sword Technique had already spread throughout the mercenary world.

For instance, a technique where one pretended to trip and then stabbed the opponent.

You couldn't call it playing dirty.

Why would doing whatever it took to survive be considered playing dirty?

If someone said a knight wouldn't do such a thing, Encrid wouldn't argue with them.

That person had their own values.

And he had his own.

The time he was allowed was half a day.

His legs weren't trembling. If his legs were to give out from just this, then the physical training he had done every day would have been for nothing.

Encrid's legs were sturdy.

"Having a sturdy body is quite an advantage."

Rem said to Encrid upon his return.

Messengers had just finished coming and going.

This being the repetition of his sixth 'today,' he could roughly guess the passage of time just by looking at the sky.

"It's a body I've trained for over twenty years."

Encrid gave a rough answer and moved back to the platoon's spot.

"Work hard so that sturdy body of yours doesn't get reduced to a training dummy."

Right before the battle began, Rem snickered again.

"You have to do duty tomorrow."

Jaxon spoke up from the side as well.

One guy seemed to be making fun of him.

And the other guy seemed to be expressing his sheer will to not do meal duty for two days in a row.

Well, regardless of how they expressed it, it seemed they both wanted him to make it back alive.

"See you guys later."

The sixth today began.

Encrid killed his enemies with greater ease than on his fifth day.

He tripped the first enemy that lunged at him and smashed the back of his head with the edge of his shield.

For the second enemy, he waved his sword around before thrusting.

The Valen Sword Technique.

It wasn't something commonly known in the mercenary world, but a technique he had learned separately by doing legwork and spending money.

It was said that the wavering tip of the blade acted as a haze that disrupted the opponent's vision.

He put what he learned into practice, and it worked.

He felt a sense of reward.

The joy of growth, a sense of fulfillment filled his chest once more.

What he had achieved through the repetition of a single day was not insignificant.

Just because he came back to life after dying didn't mean Encrid spent his days carelessly.

Rather, it was the opposite.

He was fiercer. He was more absorbed. He was more immersed.

If a chance ever came, he would not miss it—he had to act this way because he had lived carrying such longing and desire.

And Encrid did just that.

He slashed, battered, and toppled enemy soldiers.

The repeated battles granted him a completely new experience.

'Heart of a Beast.'

He could see things he hadn't been able to see on previous days.

Before long, the moment came where Bell fell.

Because he fought in the exact same place every day, he saw Bell every time.

He couldn't pull the front line back or move to another location just because he wanted to.

Carelessly jumping out of the front line was an act of suicide. Changing one's position on a battlefield on a whim was no easy feat.

'My skills aren't at that level.'

Encrid knew himself well.

He had gained some leeway, but that didn't mean he was skilled enough to pierce through the enemy ranks or commit an act akin to gambling.

Moreover, he still wasn't at the level to perceive the arrow of a skilled archer ahead of time.

THWACK!

Bell's head burst once again.

"Dammit."

He had intended to save him for sure this time, but he failed yet again.

Encrid ducked his head immediately.

As if on cue, an arrow pierced the air. The *SWOOSH* of it tearing through the wind lingered in his ears.

It was an adept movement, almost as if he had anticipated it.

"Your intuition seems pretty sharp today?"

Rem, who had approached him at some point, said.

"Go on, go slit the throat of the bastard who shot that arrow or something."

"I was about to do just that. Since your intuition's good, try to stay alive."

Rem left.

He met the enemy soldier who specialized in thrusts once again.

Encrid failed once again.

This time, he dodged the club of a soldier rushing him from behind, but some guy right next to him threw a throwing axe.

It was fucking bullshit.

The seventh morning dawned.

"I'm the one who put the bug in there."

He told Rem.

"Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm not crazy. Keeping your mind from wavering even in a situation like this, that's the Heart of a Beast, right?"

"Hmm?"

"Teach it to me."

Today began once again.

Rem blinked before accepting.

He learned. He practiced. He swung his sword.

This time, he didn't even try to save Bell.

To save him, he needed to read the incoming arrow.

If he couldn't do that, he could only rely on luck.

How exactly did Rem dodge the arrows?

Encrid moved his body with that question in mind.

He died to a thrust again.

"This is mercy."

That goddamn mercy of his.

He died. And so, the eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth... Over a hundred deaths. Encrid repeated this day that always started with his death in such a manner.