Chapter 185 - Been Beating Up the Lads?
The structure of the cult was similar to that of a conventional temple. There was a Pope, and below him were Cardinals, Bishops, Priests, and followers. Sometimes, monks were interspersed between the priests and followers. Typically, when referring to a High Priest, it meant someone of Bishop rank or higher. The blond man was one such Bishop.
He also had another identity for public life, a position of considerable standing. He was a Bishop who had grown into a very sturdy tree from the seeds sown by the cult.
"Are you telling me the plan failed because of a mere platoon leader?"
"Yes."
At the low-ranking priest's words, the Bishop's brow furrowed. His handsome face twisted into a menacing scowl.
'What the hell?'
How could a gnoll colony collapse because of a platoon leader?
"It wasn't a member of a knight order pulling strings from behind?"
"No, sir."
"Right, that wouldn't make sense."
The Bishop answered his own question and shook his head. Did the Kingdom of Naurillia truly have the capacity to dispatch knight order members or additional troops here right now? It was an absurd notion. They had a mountain of problems to deal with. No, there were plenty of problems that couldn't be dealt with at all.
Throughout the kingdom's territory, bandits called the Black Sword were running rampant. To the west, there was a plundering city founded by a coalition of pioneers. To the east, a nation ruled by a human butcher was constantly making provocations. If that were the end of it, it would be a relief, but problems were overflowing from all directions as if a flood had broken loose.
'For instance, the power struggle between the nobles and the royal family.'
When you got down to it, all these problems could be attributed to the schism between the royalist and aristocratic factions. The kingdom's power was fractured. Thanks to that, other vultures were sticking their heads in, looking for something to devour.
They seemed to have landed a blow against Azpen, which had been causing trouble in the north, but…
'Wasn't that a bit of an overreach?'
That was the Bishop's assessment. They had pulled some troops stationed in the south and west to strike Azpen. Yes, that much was unavoidable. If they had left it alone, they would have lost the entire Green Pearl Plains. However, the Bishop had judged they would barely manage to defend and maintain the status quo, yet Naurillia had won a great victory. In any case, it was because they had expended their strength blocking Azpen. The plundering city to the west was stealthily reaching out its hand, and the human butcher kingdom to the southeast was also taking bold steps forward. And what about the Black Sword bandits? Would they just sit back and watch?
On top of that, hadn't they failed to stop the stirring of monsters in the kingdom's south, casting a grim shadow over the entire region? He had heard that refugees were forming long lines.
But would it all end once Azpen retreated?
'What about the conflict between the remaining cities?'
What would be left when Azpen withdrew? The Green Pearl. And the trade routes that would open in all directions. After that, everyone would see the size of each other's slice of the pie and struggle to take it for themselves. The kingdom, which should be mediating, was drained of its strength, so it would be in no position to stop them.
'It's a miracle it hasn't collapsed yet.'
It was because the kingdom was in such a state that the Bishop was here. There were many openings and many things to devour. There was much that was rotten. How could they turn away from such a tempting piece of meat? The Demon Realm Holy Land Cult had not established itself here for no reason. And what of the resources and capital they had poured into this place? This was a place with more than enough potential to become a new demonic paradise, a new holy land.
He was just dismayed that one of the preparations for it had been ruined.
'Because of a single platoon leader?'
How much krona had been spent preparing this? It wasn't just a few gold coins. And what about the armor they had equipped the gnolls with? The krona invested by the cult had gone straight into the pockets of the pioneer village. Enkrid had received a portion of it as a monetary reward—more accurately, Krais had acted as an intermediary to receive it—but the Bishop had no way of knowing that.
He was simply displeased.
What to do? A brief moment of thought followed. He was just a platoon leader. Was he lucky? In truth, no one from their side had witnessed Enkrid's fight. A few monsters had survived, but it wasn't as if a gnoll could deliver a report.
It must have been luck. When he thought about it, it made sense. The ramparts were sturdy, the disciple they sent in first was discovered by chance, and in the process of trying to manage that, the priest's identity was also revealed. And by another coincidence, they had been prepared for a full-blown siege.
...But weren't there too many coincidences? The man must have had some skill. However, the conclusion was luck.
Then.
'Just because the fellow got lucky, does he think that luck will last?'
It would not.
"Send a disciple skilled in assassination."
If there was a problem, you just had to cut it out. And that's what the Bishop did. Of course, in the end, he would never hear the news of Enkrid's assassination. The Bishop didn't even bother to listen for it. He simply prepared for the next step. If he were a member of the kingdom, what would be the biggest problem? It wouldn't be the Black Sword, nor the monster outbreaks, nor the wolf-like neighboring countries. Their biggest problem would be the cultists. And since he was the linchpin of those they called cultists in this region, the Bishop prepared for what came next. He quickly forgot about Enkrid's existence.
Occasionally, people who do great things appear. Sometimes they are mere soldiers, but it is always just a fleeting moment. He survived among a thousand monsters? Let's say it was a stroke of heavenly luck. So, what's next? What will he do when a similar crisis comes? He was a man destined to die anyway.
And so, he was dismissed.
The Border Guard was the same as ever. Nothing had changed from before.
"You've returned, sir."
No, one thing had changed. Something different from before: attitude. The attitude of the soldiers toward Enkrid himself had completely changed. The soldier on duty at the outer gate gave a military salute.
Enkrid gave a slight nod. As he did, he saw a familiar face.
"Are you here to greet me?"
It was the elf company commander. With her usual tone, she returned Enkrid's joke twofold.
"My husband-to-be is here, so of course I must come. It wouldn't do for my fiancé to return with a piece of him cut off, especially if it's an important part. I'd have to give up one of the joys of my future life, wouldn't I?"
Wasn't that joke a little much? As Enkrid thought this, the elf company commander continued without a trace of a smile.
"If you didn't have arms, I couldn't be held. But seeing as both of your arms are intact, you seem to be fine."
The elf's eyes scanned Enkrid's entire body. Something seems different about him. An elf's senses were sharp.
"I need to go report to the Battalion Commander."
"Go on."
At Enkrid's words, the elf nodded and went on her way. It seemed she was on her way out on some business. So, she wasn't here to greet him. It was a coincidence. Enkrid saluted the departing elf and turned away. Seeing her leave in such a hurry, she definitely had business to attend to.
'A coincidence, after all.'
Could she really have come out to greet him? She wasn't an idle person, so there was no way.
Upon entering the city, Esther vanished.
"Do I have to go too?" Krais asked.
"No."
He sent Krais off, and only Finn accompanied him. Finn was lost in thought for a moment, then suddenly spoke. Her tone held a strange kind of power.
"I've decided."
"...Decided what?"
"I'm giving up on trying to bed you."
...You were still trying?
"Instead, I'm going to aim for Audin."
Finn's eyes sparkled. Enkrid inwardly shook his head. He himself was one thing, but Audin? That man wasn't just deeply religious, he wielded divine power. What did that mean? It meant he was a priest. Of course, it wasn't as if priests didn't marry or take women to their beds, but…
'That Audin?'
As if that blockhead would ever embrace a woman. Enkrid could only give a silent nod.
"The demonic platoon leader is out of my league," Finn said, spouting nonsense before going on her way.
"Weren't you coming with me to report?"
Apparently not. Left alone, Enkrid headed for Marcus's office. He entered and saluted. Marcus watched him silently for a moment, then spoke.
"I've already received the report. However, I've received conflicting opinions."
Conflicting opinions?
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
What you don't know, you don't know. Pointless speculation only creates useless words. He had heard that the pioneer village would be sending a report.
Marcus rested his chin on his hand.
"The pioneer village says they're going to name a fortress wall after you, and that you cut down a thousand gnolls, and so on."
Are they really going to name a wall after me? He doubted they would do such a thing officially, but the elder, Deutsch Pullman, and that artisan fellow had all been serious. Hearing it mentioned in an official report confirmed it. They were all mad.
"And the other is from the commander of Viscount Ventra's forces. He says you probably cut down about fifty gnolls and that I should caution you not to exaggerate your achievements. Now, let me ask our platoon leader, which is the truth?"
Enkrid answered immediately. "You should believe what you want to believe, sir."
Would he believe it just because Enkrid told him to? Did his words, his tongue, carry that much weight? The man before him was a Battalion Commander, the leader representing the city. He should already know the answer. More than that, his eyes were already saying it. Though his face looked haggard and tired, his eyes were smiling.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is."
Marcus looked closely at the stoically responding Enkrid. Where did a guy like this come from?
"Still want to be a knight?"
"Yes."
"I see."
What was he trying to say?
"A cultist was spotted," Enkrid reported. He had to report the main points, after all. The pioneer village wasn't far from the Border Guard, and the appearance of a cultist was a sensitive issue.
"Sons of bitches," Marcus said, stating his own perspective before uncupping his chin from his hand and taking a sip of tea. The cold tea went down his throat.
'A thousand gnolls.'
It wasn't done alone, nor in a single breath. Wouldn't that be a difficult task even for a quasi-knight? He wasn't certain, but that was Marcus's judgment. In any case, Enkrid's prowess could not be ignored. He had dismissed the words of the Ventra Viscount's forces from the start. Marcus knew Enkrid. Of course, the claim that he had literally slaughtered a large colony was hard to believe, but he must have accomplished something close to it. If he had seen it himself, Marcus wouldn't have thought this way, but it was a story that was hard for anyone to believe.
What Enkrid had done was just that incredible. This wasn't because the commander of Viscount Ventra's forces was an idiot—though that man was half an idiot—but because it was truly a difficult story to believe. It was more likely that all the villagers were high on the joy of having survived a life-or-death situation.
After some thought, Marcus said, "Do you love this city?"
"I don't hate it."
"Do you have a lover?"
"I do not."
"Perhaps you prefer…?"
"I like women."
A conversation with a perceptive person is comfortable and easy. Marcus nodded and said, "As of this moment, the independent platoon is promoted to a company. You are now a Company Commander."
"...Is that right, sir?"
He had completed one external mission. If the achievement was properly recognized, it would not be a small matter. That much was true. But hadn't he just said there were conflicting reports? And now he was a Company Commander?
"My platoon has less than ten members."
"It's a company now."
What kind of company has less than ten soldiers?
"Does that even make sense, sir?"
"I am the one in charge of this city. If I do it, it makes sense."
That sounds like you're forcing it.
"Are you insulting your superior officer with your eyes?"
"No, sir."
Still sounds forced.
"It's not forced," said the Battalion Commander. What could he do? Enkrid could only nod. He saluted, finished his report, and turned to leave.
"I would like it if you came to love this city."
"I will do my best, sir."
It was the textbook answer of a soldier. With that, he turned and headed for his original barracks.
"You're back?"
What was this feeling?
'Even if I went back to the village where I was born, I don't think I'd feel this way.'
It was true. It felt like coming home. Rem was there, axe in hand as always, watching him. The faint expectation in his eyes urged Enkrid on. They were eyes that would not permit even a moment of rest. Then again, when had he ever rested as soon as he got back? The journey had been peaceful. He had rested enough on the way.
Enkrid's gaze turned to Rem's face. The scratches on his face from before they left were gone without a trace. Remembering his goal, Enkrid's mouth opened on its own.
"A spar?" A thrum went through his heart. A corner of Rem's mouth curled up. He grinned, a wide, genuine smile.
"Did your skills improve any? Heard you cut down hundreds of monsters. Heard you were flying around. Let's see it. Let's see just how much fun you had out there."
Rem spoke, gripping his axe with both hands and taking a step.
Enkrid felt a strange sensation. Before, before a fight, he hadn't understood what that single step meant. No, he couldn't understand. But now he knew.
Right foot half a step forward. The first axe swing will come from the left.
Center of gravity, the movement for what comes next—Rem displayed it all naturally. He didn't even try to hide his intentions. Whether he knew Enkrid could see it or not, Rem narrowed his eyes and looked at Enkrid.
"This is a little strange."
Enkrid felt that this was not the familiar area in front of their barracks. Before Rem could answer, Ragna and the others came out one by one. There were no other soldiers in sight. No, now that he looked, it seemed a training ground had been built. Right in front of their barracks. The area had been cleared, and a low fence had been put up.
"Heard the company commander made us a private training ground," said Krais, who had already arrived. The quick-witted man had read Enkrid's thoughts.
Was that necessary?
"I roughed up the kids a bit, and the commander said it was interfering with the other soldiers' training," Rem said, his spirit not the least bit diminished, as he pointed behind him with his thumb. His tone was calm. As if to say, what's the big deal?
"He said that even if we're savages, killing allies within the barracks is forbidden, so we should do it here," Ragna added from behind him.
"I think it's because it was noisy. These guys were causing a ruckus. Not me," Jaxen also chimed in, gesturing vaguely at the group.
"Hoho. It is merely that our brothers' fellowship seemed so delightful that he was concerned other soldier-brothers might want to join in the fun," Audin said. Seeing them all so talkative, it seemed they were welcoming him.
The training ground—the real reason for it could not possibly be what they were saying. This was a kind of joke. From the troublemaker squad to the Madmen Platoon, they now knew each other well enough to throw around such jokes.
"Been beating up the lads?"
At Enkrid's words, Rem furrowed his brow.
"Do I look like the kind of person who beats up the local kids for fun?"
"…You're the first person to make me shut up like this in a while, Rem."
You do it every day, what are you talking about?
Rem was half-aggrieved. It wasn't him this time. He hadn't beaten them up. He had just been so engrossed in his training that he had cleared away the things that got in his way.
"You really believe I beat them up?" Rem glared.
"Yeah."
"Fuck, you're right."
Rem grinned. That was the signal. After the smile, power flowed into the instep of his foot. The direction of his center of gravity was the direction of his attack. Swordsmanship is a collection of techniques for killing people. It was a path he had walked, honing and polishing those techniques.
DONG!
Axe met sword. A metallic roar echoed. The sword was a dull blade with no edge, but its sturdiness was superior to any he had wielded before. It had been called a cursed sword, but now it was just a sturdy sword—no, it was on the level of a fine masterpiece. Enkrid had quickly familiarized himself with the new sword. Why? So that upon his return, he could clash with this axe.
Sword and axe crossed, and a battle of wits ensued. And then, Enkrid's blade, his reaction speed now clearly different from before, bent like a snake. It was one of the secret techniques of swordsmanship that used a wrist snap.
T-ding-ding.
The blade, deflected off the axe head, whipped upwards. Rem tilted his head back. At the same time, he raised his own axe and swung it in a short, cutting motion. Enkrid also ducked his head to the side.
Swish. Swish.
And just like that, scratches appeared on both their cheeks.
Rem narrowed his eyes and snorted. He was surprised, but for now, he put something else first. Fighting spirit. Vigor. Rem's excited eyes gleamed. He stuck out his tongue and licked a drop of blood that trickled toward his lips.
"Fuck, that surprised me," he said, his voice full of sincerity.
And the others who were watching—their eyes all went wide. Enkrid and Rem had exchanged blows, and Enkrid had not been easily pushed back. It was a rate of growth that could not fail to astonish. No, it would have been fair to say it was enough to shock the heavens and the earth.
That talentless fellow had returned, changed like this? The eyes of everyone present voiced that very question.