Chapter 9 - A Man Who Changes Every Day

Although it was called the issuing of combat orders, it wasn't a gathering for explaining grand strategies.

Telling everyone to be ready was all it was.

As soon as Encrid heard the orders, he headed to the rear barracks.

By now, the sewing genius, who had sent a squad member in his stead to the Squad Leader assembly using sickness as an excuse, should have finished making the items.

"You didn't give me thread."

And sure enough, he had.

Hand, knee, and elbow protectors made from woven, sturdy leather greeted Encrid in quite excellent shape.

"Thread?"

When he feigned ignorance, the alcohol-loving Squad Leader snorted.

"What am I supposed to do if you just drop off the leather and leave?"

What else?

'You'd figure it out, unraveling thread from a blanket and twisting it nicely to make them.'

This was also something he had done quite a few times.

Even if he wasn't given any thread, this friend, having received the squirming present, took care of it nicely on his own.

"I forgot."

"You don't look like you forgot at all."

Even with his brow heavily furrowed from a lingering hangover, he was still sharp.

"No. I really forgot."

"Tsk."

He didn't seem to believe it. But what did that matter?

Encrid gathered up the leather protectors.

It was meticulous sewing. Encrid had made them himself before, but the ones this friend made were definitely of higher quality.

He was satisfied.

"I feel like I'm being scammed."

"Thanks for the hard work."

He patted him on the shoulder once and returned to his barracks.

As soon as Encrid returned, he simply announced that there was a battle in the afternoon, sat in his spot, and busily moved his hands.

SHING.

Encrid drew his sword, held the deerskin glove with both hands, and cut it by sliding it back and forth over the blade.

After stretching out the leather that had been half-torn as it was cut, he quickly cobbled together a sheath for the throwing knife.

Finally, he cut the ends of the leather into several long strips with his sword, tied them into knots, and wore it like a belt.

It wasn't something he had done only once or twice.

It was something Encrid had repeated dozens of times, so he was used to it.

His hands moved without hesitation.

Seeing this, Rem stuck his head over his shoulder and asked.

"What're you doing? You've got a small knife right there, why're you using that?"

"Just testing to see if the blade is sharp."

"You've got good dexterity. If only your sword skills were just as good."

This bastard always had to poke at a person with every word.

It wasn't a remark that hurt his feelings.

Even when his skills weren't improving and he was stuck at a standstill, it was a remark he thought little of.

Encrid ignored him.

"I went through all that trouble to get it for you, and you tear it up just to make a scabbard?"

From over his other shoulder, Krais abruptly poked his head out.

'Why are these bastards so interested in me?'

Were their heads broken, making them think of him as their actual mother?

'That's a bit horrifying.'

"Because I'm done using it."

"I don't know what you're thinking. Did you eat something bad somewhere?"

"Now that you mention it, you were running around until your feet sweat today. Did something happen?"

"What do you mean, something happened."

He casually brushed it off. Wiping the blade of his sword one more time, Encrid sat quietly and closed his eyes.

Then, he recalled the battlefield he had experienced countless times by now.

The events that took place flashed by like a panorama.

It was a battlefield repeated one hundred and twenty-five times.

Encrid mulled this over.

These miscellaneous preparations were meant for survival.

They were not for improving his swordsmanship.

'Because the battlefield is not a swordsmanship training ground.'

Even if his swordsmanship was lacking, the experience of surviving for a long time didn't go anywhere.

Was it truly his sword that had kept Encrid alive during that time?

It was not.

Situations, luck, preparation, composure.

He had survived by blending all of these together.

Therefore, 'today' as well.

'Will be the same.'

He would do his best to survive.

Encrid decided to break out of today.

* * *

"Charge!"

An ally's shout could be heard.

Encrid was soon driven into the middle of the battlefield.

He did not panic.

He didn't run in excitement either. Lifting his head, he observed the battlefield with his eyes and steadied his breathing with his mouth.

Huu.

At the end of that short but calm breath.

He saw the enemy. He saw his allies as well.

The charging enemies, the flowing allies.

SHING.

He drew his sword.

And a flying blade.

Encrid batted away the spearhead with the shield in his left hand.

THUD!

It was an action repeated countless times. There were no mistakes.

He deflected the spearhead and took a step forward.

"Ugh!"

He shoved his right foot behind the flustered enemy's heel and bent his knee to brace for impact.

Everything happened in a single breath.

As if engaged in a choreographed spar, the opponent naturally tripped and fell backward.

THUMP!

The guy who landed on the back of his head blinked.

He had a bewildered expression.

He probably didn't even know how he was taken down.

He had tried to thrust his spear and pull back, only for his foot to get firmly caught, causing him to fall.

It all happened in an instant.

Encrid walked past the fallen opponent and kicked him in the jaw with the tip of his foot.

CRACK!

Along with a sharp sound, pieces of teeth and blood flowed from his mouth.

He was knocked out.

He didn't even feel the need to kill him.

Moving forward, he raised his left arm.

CLANG! SCRAPE!

The club that struck the shield deflected and scraped past Encrid's elbow.

GRIND!

It was a club embedded with thorns.

There were no injuries. The leather protector wrapped around his elbow had done its job.

"Urgh!"

The enemy gritted his teeth. Under the helmet that covered only half of his face, the intense strain in his jaw muscles was visible.

This guy was a lot of work to fight properly.

During the previous todays, there were many days when his left arm was injured by this bastard.

Gripping his hilt, he stepped his left foot forward.

It was a Valen-style sword draw.

He locked eyes with the opponent. If he drew his sword, a massive brawl would be unavoidable.

The opponent knew this, and Encrid knew this.

The moment their eyes met, an unspoken agreement was made.

To fight, clashing sword against club.

The opponent's eyes focused on Encrid's right hand.

SHING.

Before the sword was even pulled out by a single knuckle's length, Encrid's left hand moved first.

A throwing dagger tucked in his waistline flew through the air.

The opponent with the club panicked and raised his arm.

*THWACK! * The blade lodged itself into the enemy's arm.

Even if they were wearing a gambeson, it was a rule that one couldn't wrap the cloth too thickly around the arms.

Because doing so would restrict movement.

Therefore, the blade would have easily reached and pierced the flesh.

"You coward!"

The enemy said.

Since when was there such a thing as being cowardly or cheap in a fight?

Without a word, Encrid slid his sword back in with a sharp click.

A Valen-style sword draw originally involved pretending to draw one's sword while throwing a dagger or a stone.

"You-bastard!"

The enraged thorn-club enemy popped a vein in his forehead.

That would only make the poison spread faster.

The guy pitched forward in the middle of charging.

The paralyzing poison had taken full effect.

He planted his face into the dirt nose-first with a heavy thud.

Then, he gasped and wheezed out heavy breaths.

Encrid watched him and leisurely walked past.

He kicked the next opponent in the balls and shoved him aside.

For the one after that, he quietly walked up and shoved his back from behind.

An ally's hammer smashed into the head of the flustered enemy who was pushed forward.

SMASH!

Even if they were wearing a helmet, their head would still burst open when hit by a blunt weapon.

Let alone the fact that it wasn't an iron helmet, but a leather one.

It wasn't as if Encrid was putting on an incredibly spectacular performance.

He simply showed the necessary movements and actions from moment to moment.

Of course, all of that led to small victories for the surrounding allies.

"You saved my life."

A guy whose face he didn't even recognize said this. He gave a rough nod and passed by.

Because it wasn't exactly a big deal.

"I owe you one."

"Squad 444 Squad Leader? Was that luck, or skill? Anyway, I'll buy you a drink later."

"Fuck, I almost died."

There wasn't just one or two such people.

Growth that couldn't even be compared to before he died the first time.

It was only natural that the Heart of a Beast lay at the center of it all.

'Quietly.'

And calmly.

The Heart of a Beast did not flutter recklessly.

Because it harbored a wild nature, it could observe everything calmly.

In the middle of the battlefield, Encrid felt the beating of his heart and walked again.

A battlefield repeated over dozens of times.

But that didn't mean he wasn't tense.

'The more you get used to it, the more you fall victim to variables.'

Just because today repeated, it didn't mean everyone he met repeated the same actions.

Depending on how Encrid reacted, the opponent's behavior changed as well.

Therefore, he made it his priority to walk slowly and take in the surrounding situation.

'Right about here.'

SWISH.

Someone slashed a dagger from below.

It was a novel attack aiming for the leg while they had fallen during combat.

'I fell for this one too.'

He had tried to dodge it a few times.

Then, he found an easier method.

It was the same as blocking an arrow.

If it couldn't be dodged, it just needed to be blocked.

THUD.

The dagger that struck the leather gaiter failed to cut Encrid's shin.

It was to be expected.

"Huh?"

The stupid enemy's short exclamation served as his final words.

Encrid slammed the iron rim of his shield into the back of the guy sprawled on the ground.

CRUNCH!

"Gah!"

The scream was short and quiet.

"Waaaaaah!"

Instead, only the roars of the battlefield echoed in his ears.

Encrid's hard fighting couldn't change the course of the battlefield.

It solely made things a little easier for those positioned around him.

'I can't save everyone.'

This was a battlefield, a place where the number of the dying easily exceeded dozens or hundreds.

Charging in trying to save everyone in a place like this was a foolish and idiotic act.

"Hoo-ah, come at me! You bastards!"

The owner of that shout was a spearman from another squad.

He could tell without even seeing his face.

The number of enemies Encrid had taken down as he walked was already over five.

That guy shouting so triumphantly had actually died dozens of times.

If Encrid hadn't stepped in, he would have died today too.

Because getting his shin sliced and rolling on the ground before kicking the bucket was the usual outcome.

He straightened his back, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

'This is the first.'

It was a battle he had repeated dozens of times.

Encrid had set his own standards.

His first goal was to join the front lines without getting hurt.

'No injuries.'

He had just accomplished that goal a moment ago.

The second was...

'Finding familiar faces in the melee.'

Of course, he had to avoid injuries during the melee as well.

Only then would he be able to have a proper bout with that Stabbing Pervert enemy soldier.

Rolling through the battlefield over a hundred times, he only thought of one thing.

'I want to fight him in perfect condition.'

Would the things he had learned, studied, and trained in through repeating today actually work?

Would he be able to win against the pervert who favored mercy?

Would his efforts so far allow him to get past today?

THUMP.

His heart raced.

Separate from the boldness given by the Heart of a Beast.

'I will get past today.'

Because his goal was entirely set, and because his purpose was clear.

Encrid's heart pounded.

The battlefield again. He walked. At times, he ran.

"Waaaah!"

"Fuck, save me!"

"FUCK THIIIIIIS!"

"You sons of bitches!"

Amidst the duet of curses and roars.

Encrid swiveled his head in every direction.

'The guy crouching and looking around.'

That was the guy he was looking for. He spotted him without difficulty.

He saw a large figure sneaking around between the enemies.

'That's one.'

He saw a task he needed to resolve before facing the stabbing enemy soldier.

'Back-of-the-Head Club.'

It was a bastard he had even given a pet name to in his own way.

If left alive, he was the son of a bitch who would repeatedly smack the back of Encrid's head during the fight.

If you called it fate, it was fate.

Of course, Encrid didn't believe in things like fate.

'Everything is decided from birth? What a load of bullshit.'

If his sword was broken, then with a broken blade.

If he had no weapon, then with his fists.

If he had no teeth, then with his gums.

If talent wasn't enough.

'Then I'll crawl my way up, even if it has to be like this.'

Just what kind of people were knights?

What exactly was military prowess that could change the tide of a battlefield?

An unattainable wish becomes a delusion.

However, if one could approach it, it would naturally become a dream.

Encrid did not give up on his dream.

"Huu."

He exhaled.

SHK.

He pulled out a single dagger and pulled his arm back forcefully.

In the middle of the chaotic battlefield.

He felt the weight of the dagger at his fingertips. Taking the target into his eyes, he drew an imaginary straight line.

It was a throwing technique taught to him by the winner of a dagger-throwing contest at a tavern one day.

He had practiced this dozens of times by repeating today.

Just like that, he lightly lifted his left foot, set it down, twisted his waist, and extended his right hand forward.

Finally, focusing on the sensation in his fingertips, he snapped his wrist.

SWOOSH!

The dagger flew along the imaginary line Encrid had drawn.

"Ugh!"

The thrown dagger embedded itself somewhere around the club bastard's shoulder.

His armor was flimsy, so it wasn't a very difficult feat.

"What son of a bitch..."

The guy spat out a curse. He looked in all directions. There was no need to deliberately make eye contact with him.

Since he had no priest and no antidote, he would have to quietly lie down.

Soon, the bastard collapsed, and watching this, Encrid leisurely began searching for the second guy.

This time, it was a guy who was good at throwing axes.

This bastard also repeatedly interfered by throwing axes.

He had to crush him in advance so he wouldn't interfere with the duel.

"Oh, God!"

A devout allied soldier's shout could be heard.

Curses and bloodthirsty words could be heard from here and there.

While scanning his surroundings, Encrid walked as he searched for exactly what he wanted.

He blocked minor attacks with his shield.

If he saw an opening, he tripped them.

He struck heads with the flat of his blade. For idiots with their helmets pulled down tight, he struck his sword down onto the top of their heads.

Just with that, the allies standing around Encrid became much more comfortable.

'Three daggers left.'

The bastard throwing axes was nowhere to be seen.

'His position changes every time, huh.'

Still, this general area was correct.

'First, Bell.'

It was time to save the ally whose head would get pierced by that guy called The Hawk's Eye or whatever.

'To the right from here.'

He walked while watching the movements of his allies.

While walking, he blocked a few attacks before throwing away his ruined shield.

Even though he had repeated this countless times, it always broke.

'Right around here.'

A battlefield repeated over a hundred times. Even if things changed every time, there were bound to be things his eyes and body had somewhat gotten used to.

It was a shield rolling on the ground.

Encrid stepped on the edge of the shield.

The shield, which had been resting on an embedded stone, popped into the air with a clatter.

He snatched it firmly. It was an action closer to a circus trick, but after repeating it countless times, it was easier than bending over to pick it up.

"... Wow, you've got good skills."

It was the voice of an allied soldier who happened to see this.

"Enemy behind you."

He was a friend who, during several todays, ended up kicking the bucket while staring blankly at Encrid.

When he told him not to die.

The soldier quickly spun his body around. Doing so, he came face to face with an enemy charging with a spear.

"Fuck, you little rat."

Soon, the two fought with their lives on the line.

The ally would win.

It was a fight he had watched some twenty times.

Therefore, there was no need to watch.

On the battlefield that was beyond familiar, practically second nature to him.

Encrid divided the area in his head and drew a map.

'Let's go to Bell first.'

He moved his steps.

"Ack!"

Bell falling over.

THWACK.

The shield blocking the arrow.

"Ugh, what, I'm alive?"

"Don't lift your head; crawl your way back. Arrows are coming."

Bell faithfully followed his advice.

Throughout all the repeated todays, a second arrow flying in to pierce Bell's head had happened dozens of times.

So crawling away was the right call.

"... What the? Did you decide to secretly date the Goddess of Luck or something?"

It was Rem.

A barbarian bastard, as always.

He was casually saying things that would make a devout follower of the Goddess have a fit if they heard it.

"Not a single scratch on you?"

Facing the stabbing guy in peak condition.

That was Encrid's ultimate goal for today.

"Shouldn't you go do your job?"

"I will. I will, but you look a bit different today."

"I'm a man who changes every day."

Among the repeated todays, no two days were the same. Because every day was a day of growth.

"... I think you need to take some medicine, Squad Leader."

With those words, Rem left.

'Did I sound too full of myself just now?'

Maybe he was. But what could he do? It was the truth.

Just then, Encrid spotted the guy who loved throwing axes.

It was an enemy with an axe dangling from his waist.

Why wait?

Encrid drew a poison-coated dagger.