Chapter 194 - Handle It Well (2)
"Isn't this too much, Commander? Seriously," Krais said, his eyes bruised black and blue and swollen shut.
Enkrid replied as he took off his boots. "Were your eyes always blue? That Rem bastard is pretty talented. It's like a disguise. I almost didn't recognize you."
His eyes were so bruised blue that his eyeballs weren't even properly visible. Both his cheeks were also moderately swollen. Rem clearly hadn't intended to beat him to a pulp, but he had been a bit too rough. He must have had a nosebleed too, as there were traces of red paint under his nostrils.
At Enkrid's words, Krais sniffled, let out a deep sigh, and said, "Don't you think Rem has been a bit much lately?"
If he meant irritable, Enkrid had to agree. It was as if he were sharper than usual. He would raise his axe over things he would have let slide before. For example…
"You should watch where you're going. Makes me want to split your head open with my axe," he'd say to a soldier from another unit who just looked at him.
Clashes with Ragna were also frequent.
"Hey, you picky eater, you want your head cracked open?" Rem would say abruptly.
"Bring it on. I'll split your head open and eat it with honey," Ragna would retort, and a brutal spar between the two would immediately follow.
Enkrid's reaction was different from before. In the past, he would have stopped them unconditionally, but now, observation came first. There was much to see and learn from their spars. And if he watched them closely, the two would sometimes end the fight on their own. Should he say they had grown up a bit? Had they moved past being children who picked fights over every little thing?
"Phew, that was a good sweat. You want some?" After a round like that, it would be Enkrid's turn. He would bring out what he had learned from watching their fight, review it, and then use what he had trained. It was a truly enjoyable time. Unlike before, Enkrid was more intense, and Rem was also quite serious.
"Feet!" If his footwork was slow, Rem would scold his feet.
"Where are you looking!" Rem would sometimes disappear as if by magic. It was, of course, a feat accomplished with physical ability, not spells. Even if Enkrid lost him with his eyes, he could barely catch him with his senses.
Swish. He swung his blade. CLANG! It met the axe.
Being serious was a good sign, and he always felt refreshed after their spars. But why was he becoming so irritable? The squabbles between Rem and Ragna were a daily occurrence. The worst was his relationship with Jaxen. To Enkrid, it seemed like an endlessly useless matter, but perhaps it was different for the two of them.
Rem, about to leave, and Jaxen, about to enter, stood facing each other at the door. Neither would move. Rem slowly began to stroke the handle of his axe, and Jaxen let his arms hang loose. Enkrid couldn't just watch that.
'This is getting tense.'
How had he managed to squeeze himself between them in the past? He had to push his way into the space between them, where a brutal atmosphere—something similar to the 'Intimidation' that the quasi-knight Aishia had used—was flowing, just to stop them.
"Enough."
And if he added a word…
"Hmph."
Jaxen would step aside with a small cough, and Rem would stomp out without a word or a smile.
Irritable. He's irritable. Of course, Rem wasn't the only one. Ragna often exuded a similar aura, as did Jaxen. Audin, at least, was the same as usual.
Rem announced he was going on patrol, muttering that he wished he could run into a Manticore, and then left. Audin said he was going to hold an evening prayer and sermon for soldiers from another unit. There was a group of deeply faithful soldiers, and among them, Audin was a rather revered figure. Jaxen, as always, was absent, and Ragna was sleeping in a corner of his bunk. It was a typical scene.
Enkrid glanced around the inside of the barracks and then spoke.
"I think so."
It was the answer to Krais's question about him being irritable. After thinking about it, it seemed Rem really was on edge.
"Ugh, anyway, what did the Battalion Commander call you for?" Having received agreement, Krais seemed satisfied and didn't spend any more words on Rem's irritability. In truth, what was the point of talking about it? He was always a madman like that. Ignoring him was the answer.
"To escort the envoy for the mercenary contract with the Black Sword bandit group."
At the blunt words, Krais's eyes went wide. As he opened them, his eyeballs could be seen between the blue swelling. Doesn't that hurt? It looks like it hurts. But Krais paid no mind to the pain. No, as if he had only just felt the pain, Krais asked with a grave expression, "You're going to do it, right? Become a knight."
Enkrid didn't know why he was suddenly asking that, but he nodded. The answer to such a question was always set. He also understood why he was asking for confirmation again. The dream of becoming a knight was truly an absurd tale. Now, it had been patched and sewn back together, so it no longer felt like the tattered, torn-to-pieces dream of before, but it was still not an easy path. How could Enkrid not know that?
Krais wasn't asking to mock his commander or to force a dose of reality on him. Enkrid was a madman. If he said he would do something, he did it. If he said he would save someone, he saved them. If he said he would fight, he fought.
'He's not normal.'
If you live like that, you die young. It would be natural to not even make it past twenty. Was the commander thirty-one this year? It was a wonder how he had survived until now. In any case, that was the kind of man he was. And that man said he would become a knight. He wasn't the type to give up, so Krais had roughly researched the process of becoming a knight of the kingdom.
Typically, what kind of person enters a knight order? What kind of people can become squires, the stage before a quasi-knight? Most are the children of nobles. Or acquaintances of a major merchant guild. If not power or wealth, there are also the collateral branches of the royal family. So what if you're not a noble, nor the child of a respectable family?
Even so, sometimes, just sometimes, very rarely, geniuses who have awakened an unbelievable talent are born. Such people sometimes become knights, recognized by the kingdom for their skill alone. Of course, a little luck would be needed as well.
'So, is such a case common?'
Absolutely, definitely not. Those guys who are called geniuses here and there? When they meet those who were born into prestigious families and have been systematically and properly trained from a young age, they usually get beaten up. The capital is more advantageous for learning swordsmanship and awakening talent. The standard in the capital is much higher than in the borderlands, so the teaching, the motivation, the sparring partners—everything is better. Talented people gather in the capital, so talented individuals naturally gather at the center of the royal palace, and talent tends to develop further among those who have gathered.
A true genius. In other words, unless you are someone who can stand entirely on your own skill, it is an incredibly difficult task. Generally, for those who are not from such great families, walking the path of a knight is too difficult, too arduous, too painful. It is a path of adversity.
So, conversely, assuming there is a genius, what is needed to become a knight? Skill? Skill is a given.
"You didn't refuse, did you?"
"Hmm?"
"The mission. You didn't refuse it, did you? You didn't, right? You wouldn't have. You have to do it. You must, absolutely."
What is needed besides skill is achievements. Traces of having worked for the country. Achievements become honor, and honor proves the worth of its subject. For an outsider, especially one from a mercenary background, to become a member of a knight order, Krais thought that achievements came before skill. Therefore, if he truly wanted to become a knight…
"Tell me. Did you refuse? You wouldn't have, right?"
The mission the Battalion Commander mentioned might not have been very appealing to Enkrid. It looked that way to Krais, too. An escort for an envoy? Who was the envoy? Krais's brilliant mind read the context from Enkrid's simple words.
It was obvious who would be going. That half-wit noble bastard, and his shady-eyed escort. The two of them would be the main figures. And the escort, which should have been at least a platoon's worth of men, was being replaced by Enkrid's martial prowess. Why? What was the reason for placing Enkrid next to that noble?
'He has an ulterior motive.'
And that motive was all too clear. Control. To kill him, or for a situation similar to that to occur. The only problem would be if the noble noticed and tucked his tail.
'So that was it.'
Marcus was a fox. A warmonger? What a joke. In Krais's eyes, the man called the Battalion Commander was a fox among foxes. Though he looked like he should be slinging his arm around a mountain bandit.
The war with Azpen, the Green Pearl battle. After his exploits there, Enkrid had cut down a thousand gnolls. He had slain the colony's leader and killed a cultist. Just last night, he had defeated ten skilled members from the Black Sword. Audin had also killed a Manticore. In the process, he himself had swallowed the Manticore's corpse, but the higher-ups hadn't said a word. He had thought he would have to give them a piece if they wanted a price.
The Battalion Commander had buried all of it, starting from the gnolls. No, he hadn't announced it and had let it pass quietly. He let those who would believe, believe, and he left the wild rumors to spread. Why? Because he disliked Enkrid? There was no way.
'The reason you bend your knees and squat to the ground…'
…is to jump higher. Hide and deceive. He was deceiving them about only one thing: the true strength of Enkrid and the Madmen Company. The profit to be gained by hiding it… Krais's mind raced. Someone else might have steam coming out of their ears, but this was an easy task for him. And why wouldn't it be? He had moved while keeping much more in mind just to survive. Compared to then, this was a matter of just using his head while sitting safely.
The answer that came from continuing that train of thought was this. What is it that leads the battlefields on the continent today? What breaks strategies and tactics are the beings called 'knights.' Didn't even the 'knight-level' mercenaries do so? Didn't the term 'knight-level' come into being because there were those among other races who were called something similar to knights? Therefore, a small elite of strong soldiers. It had long been the core that led strategy. Of course, that didn't mean any commander would act rashly on a large-scale battlefield trusting in a single knight.
In fact, in the previous battle with Azpen, hadn't the flow of the entire battlefield been changed by the victory of the Border Guard's standing army, which was nothing more than a peripheral battle?
'War.'
This was all in preparation for war. Hiding the strength of one's own troops would become a fatal blow to the enemy.
'And this is the first move for that.'
It was as if the swelling had gone down from Krais's eyes. That's how it looked to Enkrid.
'They're sparkling for no reason.'
They shone brighter than the Battalion Commander's eyes he had seen earlier.
"If you refused…"
Refused? What refusal?
"I said I'd do it."
"Wow, ah, what a relief. That's important right now, you know. Because…"
"I know."
"No, it's not all that it seems. This envoy escort isn't just an escort, but…"
"A request to kill that bastard, right?"
At Enkrid's words, Krais blinked. His bruised blue eyes spoke. Ah, he wasn't an idiot.
"Your eyes are being insolent."
"Sir?"
"Nothing."
He couldn't hit a guy who had already been beaten up like this. Enkrid let it go.
"Achievements. A step towards becoming a knight. I know."
That's why it's important. Marcus was a man with wider connections and a higher status than he seemed. The envoy mission he spoke of was not directly related to achievements, but he knew that the beginning and end of this matter would not end there. He didn't know it through reason or speculation. It was just a feeling. Intuition and a sixth sense. After his senses had become sharper and more sensitive, an intuition that felt like a poke in the head would sometimes arise. It was the same this time. This matter, he couldn't just let it be. So there was no reason to refuse.
"No, I was just surprised, thinking you might have refused because it would interfere with your training. That's right. Achievements. Right now, you need to grab that more than anything else. What's more important than skill is achievements. In fact, there are probably guys like that in the knight orders, right? Guys who just have their name on the roster through achievements? No matter how great the Red Cloak Knight Order is, they can't be free from politics."
It was a cynical statement, but Enkrid inwardly thought so too.
"So I decided to take two of them."
If I get the chance to kill them, will I? Or will I move according to the situation? How far had Marcus thought ahead? Then what would Enkrid's choice be? He had decided to take the mission. And after that, things would change depending on his choice.
"Two? Who?" Krais asked.
"Not you." Enkrid lightly tapped Bug-Eyes on the head and turned away. Esther would probably follow without being asked.
"Ah, I can't. I'm busy," Finn had already refused. Would a Ranger be needed for this job? Probably not. A good Ranger is always an excellent companion, but this time, there seemed to be no need for a guide.
"I'm taking Rem and Ragna."
Their irritability was on his mind. He would separate Jaxen and Rem, and if Rem and Ragna were by his side, there wouldn't be any major trouble, would there? Jaxen and Audin, at least, got along impassively.
At the calculated selection, Krais nodded and said, "So you've decided to kill them all."
"...Hmm?" That was not Enkrid's intention. A mission was a mission; he planned to be faithful to the escort duty, at least publicly.
"Rem, of all people… Phew. You'll have to stop him well until you're out of the unit and there are no eyes watching. The bodies… yes, you'll have to bury them, so I'll pack a folding shovel in your backpack."
Hmm. Enkrid was about to say no, but then he remembered thinking a few days ago that the noble bastard and Rem should not meet. Well, he could probably stop him somehow. It wasn't as if Rem didn't listen to him at all.
"So when do you depart?"
"Tomorrow."
Pffft. Krais tried to whistle, but failed as his lips were too swollen.
"That's quick." Instead of a whistle, Krais added a comment and then muttered that it was understandable.
Enkrid was thinking about taking the prisoner as a guide. If he took Rem and Ragna, there wouldn't be a problem with military strength. More than anything…
Enkrid looked down at his own palm. He saw calluses. A palm that was hideously scarred from countless swings of the sword, having burst and healed repeatedly. The fingerprints on his fingertips were worn down, some even erased. He had used his fingertips a lot when training in the sword-tempering exercises.
To wish for a reward for one's efforts, to want some compensation, is all too natural for a human. After enduring and enduring again, what if you finally managed to grasp the reward with your fingertips and achieve it?
'Not bad.'
Enkrid muttered out of habit. Because a little confidence had filled him from what he had built up so far. And because he still did not rely on repeating the day. The Ferryman was not in his mind. He was just gauging tomorrow again.
A path to advance, a path to walk. A path where the destination is clearer than before, because there are signposts.
Separate from his training, he had no intention of ignoring achievements either. He would not hesitate to stand at the forefront of the battlefield. Because he was no longer in the era where he had to rack his brain just to survive.
When he charged at the gnolls. When he stood before the Black Sword.
Thump.
It was enjoyable. To be honest, it was so enjoyable. The moment he stepped forward instead of hiding in the back.
"I want to become a knight."
When he had first expressed his dream as a child, Enkrid had dreamed of it. Standing before someone. Standing at the forefront of the battlefield. To stand at the forefront of the battlefield, to stand in a place to prove one's skill, was proof of a skill different from before.
At the source of his dream to become a knight was a little boy who had pictured himself fighting on the battlefield. The boy born in a country village had finally reached a part of his dream, and he was still moving forward.