Chapter 91 - Independent Platoon
Human-faced dogs.
Creatures that exist somewhere between beasts and monsters.
They were quadrupedal monsters with faces resembling old men or canine beasts with disturbingly human-like faces.
But what did it matter?
Monsters and beasts alike regarded humans as prey.
They were simply targets to be killed.
No one knows where monsters or beasts originated.
From the moment Enkrid was born—or perhaps from the very existence of this world—the threats of monsters and beasts had persisted.
Ghouls, harpies, skeletons—there were countless types.
The difference between monsters and beasts was simple:
While beasts resembled animals, monsters bore individual, distinguishing traits.
Among them, the human-faced dogs were a peculiar breed, sitting in the middle ground between beasts and monsters.
When grouped together, they lost all sense of fear.
"Advance."
It was a horde of over fifty, scattered in disarray as they growled and snarled.
As soon as they were spotted, the platoon leader of the heavy infantry issued the order.
Heavy infantry—by far the most resource-intensive unit in terms of both equipment and training.
Encumbered by their armor, they lacked mobility and couldn't serve as skirmishers or archers.
Their armor's weight restricted their movements, ruling out nimble charges.
However, with their full-body armor, rectangular shields, and long pikes protruding between the gaps, heavy infantry excelled with overwhelming efficiency in open-field battles.
It was no different this time.
Marching steadily across the wasteland, the heavy infantry stirred only faint dust clouds as they advanced.
Step by deliberate step, they pressed forward, unrelenting.
Yet, the human-faced dogs could do nothing.
Their primary weapon—their claws—was utterly ineffective.
Total domination.
Even harpies attacking from the sky couldn't harm the heavy infantry, let alone a horde of human-faced dogs.
Thud!
Claws raked against shields, but to no avail.
Even when one managed to wedge its claws into a gap between the shields, the result was the same.
Clang.
At most, it left a scratch on the armored plates.
And such attempts were rare—less than one in ten.
Most of the human-faced dogs were blocked by the shield wall, unable to advance further.
"Kaagh!"
A grating, guttural scream erupted as one of the creatures lashed out at a shield, only to be impaled by a pike that emerged from between the shields.
Its side pierced, the creature's body dangled on the spear until the soldier holding the shield shoved it off, withdrawing the blade cleanly.
The wounded monster collapsed to the ground, thrashing as its screams turned to death rattles.
The heavy infantry marched over it, their boots crushing the dying creature with fatal finality.
Thud, thud.
Considering the sheer weight of their armor, even stepping on the fallen served as an effective coup de grâce.
Shield defense, pike thrust.
A simple yet highly efficient tactic.
After all, they weren't fighting humans but monsters—creatures beyond reason.
While the heavy infantry dealt with the horde, the special operations unit stationed on a nearby hill provided support.
The frontier defense team—composed of longbowmen and crossbowmen—launched a relentless barrage.
Five archers and fifteen crossbowmen blocked one side, raining down arrows and bolts. Forced into a corner, the human-faced dogs veered to one side—only to be met by the heavy infantry.
Meanwhile, Enkrid and Rem were not idle observers.
Beyond the horde of fifty, more of the creatures emerged from somewhere, joining the fray.
"It looks like it's up to us to handle those!"
Rem's voice was unusually animated.
Enkrid didn't bother responding and instead sprang into action, moving even faster than Rem.
The excitement within him hadn't yet subsided.
This was a moment to prove everything ingrained in his body through practice—swinging his sword again and again.
A moment to cherish.
To fight for his life without feeling like he would die.
When had he ever experienced such a sensation before?
It filled Enkrid with a strange exhilaration.
Against a mere dozen or so human-faced dogs, there was no sense of impending death, no looming threat.
Why was he so certain?
Was it because Rem was with him?
No, that didn't seem to be it.
There was no time for further thought.
He sprinted forward, moving with a speed and dynamism that the heavy infantry could never achieve.
With daring and focus, he charged ahead.
Mid-run, he crouched low and swung his sword horizontally, parallel to the ground.
Slice! Thwack!
The first creature lunged to meet him, only to have its snout severed.
The same swing carried through, splitting open the skull of another creature.
Two dispatched in a single motion.
Planting his left foot firmly into the ground, Enkrid pivoted, swinging his right foot back to turn his body instantly.
As he spun, he raised his sword vertically and brought it down in a textbook vertical slash.
Slash!
The blade cleaved through the head of another creature, splitting it in two.
His heart pounded wildly as he swung and slashed, each strike building a tangible rhythm.
Facing another charging creature, Enkrid punched it in the head and, in the same motion, drove his sword downward into the skull of another that had lunged at his shin.
The feeling of the blade crushing bone resonated through his hand.
As he tried to withdraw his sword, a sudden flash of an axe swung past him.
It was Rem.
With bold, sweeping strikes, he cleaved through the bodies and heads of their foes.
Enkrid glanced at the horde rushing toward them.
Once, the sight might have filled him with terror.
But not anymore.
His heart now beat with courage, allowing him to fight with composure.
His mind was ice-cold, tirelessly calculating the optimal movements and positions to gain the upper hand, even as he kept slicing through the advancing monsters.
His body burned with exhilaration, each surge of adrenaline sharpening his senses.
This is working.
The lessons he had learned from battling the sewer mage, the drills he had endured with his squadmates—they all coalesced, steadily accumulating through real combat experience.
Watching from the side, Rem couldn't help but be reminded of a wall's construction.
Once, he had been disguised as a laborer, hauling heavy stones to build a fortress wall.
Piece by painstaking piece, the wall had risen—a slow, arduous, and patience-testing process.
It's incredible.
Observing Enkrid's growth up close, Rem felt nothing short of amazement.
Time and again, Enkrid defied understanding, steadily building himself into something greater, one battle at a time.
The one who couldn't even stack a single stone daily suddenly builds a tower of dozens overnight.
How could such a thing be possible?
No one knew, nor did anyone care to find out.
It simply made things more intriguing.
"This is fun. Really fun."
Squawk!
The last remaining dog-headed beast collapsed, a bolt embedded in its skull.
Torres approached, having herded and eliminated the monsters with precision.
Smacking his lips, he remarked, "A shame. You should've joined my unit. Why are you still playing squad leader?"
That was a question even the 1st Company's platoon leader pondered.
With such skills, why?
Noticing the glares from some of the soldiers tied to Rem, Enkrid subtly positioned himself to block their view.
Rem, infamous for brawling with superior officers in the 1st Company, was always at odds with them—especially since he often instigated.
After diffusing the brewing tension, Enkrid finally spoke, "There's no one yet capable of taking responsibility for my squad."
He pointed out the practical issue: if he were to leave for another company, who would take charge of Squad 444?
"Anyway, good work."
The rush of adrenaline that had reached its peak was now gradually subsiding.
Enkrid had answered but didn't dwell on it.
His mind was occupied with one thought.
"I need to reorganize."
After fighting, he realized the necessity of sorting through his capabilities—tidying up his skills and techniques.
He had combined several techniques to create synergy and applied them to his swordsmanship.
But because he had been improvising in the heat of battle, he now saw the need to systematize them.
This realization was exhilarating for Enkrid.
Finding what he needed on his own—such a rare experience was thrilling in itself.
Until now, the path before him had always been shrouded in darkness, with no way forward.
But now?
Signposts were appearing on what once seemed an invisible road.
The sheer joy of it was overwhelming, bringing an unbidden smile to Enkrid's face.
Not even Rem could guess his thoughts, let alone Torres or the heavily-armored platoon leader.
The battle was over, and this wasn't the kind of fight to celebrate victories.
Winning and killing were mere routine in such extermination missions.
But here was a soldier, drenched in blood, grinning as though he couldn't be happier.
The armored platoon leader observed his smile and thought it resembled the kind of contentment one might feel soaking in hot water on a bitterly cold winter's day.
"Is he... mentally ill?"
The platoon leader leaned toward Torres, tapping his head slightly to imply his question.
Torres responded hesitantly, "Not exactly the most normal person, but..."
His words referred not to the smile but to Enkrid's unusual conduct in the unit.
After all, no matter how crazy, no squad leader obsessed with swordsmanship to that extent could truly be ordinary.
"What are you looking at?"
"You son of a—"
In Enkrid's moment of distraction, a quarrel erupted between Rem and the 1st Company.
Enkrid quickly moved to stop Rem, while Torres and the others worked to restore order.
Two missions—one buried by the company commander and the other widely known.
The first involved killing a mage, a feat unknown to anyone else.
But the monster extermination?
Everyone knew.
From slaying beasts with Rem to facing harpies with a sword, tales of their exploits spread.
Few were surprised by Rem's accomplishments; his skills were the reason he was tolerated in the unit despite his temperament.
"Rem? That crazy bastard always fights well."
"If only he had a better personality, he could've been a battalion commander."
But what shocked the soldiers was Enkrid.
An upper-rank soldier, sure, but even among them, how many could fight like that?
Taking down harpies with sheer swordsmanship?
One might call it reckless, but to kill three of them wasn't luck.
The rumor spread rapidly.
"How did he even manage that?"
"I always knew this would happen someday."
"Enkrid? That crazy squad leader?"
"Didn't he also destroy some sort of curse magic recently?"
Questions arose, especially since many had witnessed him decimate the dog-headed beasts.
"So why is he still a squad leader?"
The rumors and questions inevitably reached the battalion commander, who couldn't ignore them.
As a result, the fairy company commander was summoned for questioning.
"Should someone like him remain a mere squad leader?"
"His squad is rather... unique."
"We don't have the budget for monetary rewards, so promoting him seems fitting."
The kingdom of Naurilia had a straightforward policy: reward excellence appropriately.
That's why systems like the soldier ranking and mercenary programs existed.
The battalion commander, wanting to save on reward funds, suggested promoting Enkrid instead.
The company commander, understanding the peculiarities of Enkrid's squad, devised an alternative solution.
"Understood."
After saluting, the commander departed, her mind already formulating a plan that satisfied both the battalion commander and current arrangements.
Thus, Enkrid found himself summoned.
"My squad consists of less than ten soldiers."
"That doesn't matter. From today, you hold a rank equivalent to platoon leader. Any objections?"
"None."
Orders were orders, and Enkrid had no reason to argue, especially with the fairy company commander.
"Dismissed."
And so, Enkrid became a platoon leader in rank.
"Do we call you 'Platoon Leader' now?"
"Hey, sir, does this mean a pay raise?"
"What about us?"
"Congratulations, brother!"
"By the way, my sword blade's chipped."
Whether these were true congratulations or not was debatable—especially Ragna's remark.
In reality, nothing much changed with his promotion.
The only notable adjustment was that he now oversaw an independent platoon, no longer referred to as Squad 444.
With ten members being the standard for a squad, they had previously operated with only six, including Enkrid.
Though offered the chance to recruit more soldiers, Enkrid thought, "Why bother?"
Despite being labeled an independent platoon, they rarely had standalone missions.
The only privilege granted was exemption from standard duties, which Rem found mildly unfair but chose to let slide since the squad remained intact.
With his new rank established, Enkrid's daily life remained unchanged.
"So, you want to learn more?"
It began with Audin.
While reorganizing his techniques, Enkrid didn't want to waste time.
Learning and improving were crucial to making the most of his routine.
Seeking out Audin, he pursued the next step for his well-honed skills.
"Have you heard of 'bed combat'?"
At first, Enkrid thought it sounded absurd.
"It's a training method created by the Holy Knight Valaf," Audin explained.
Valaf's grappling martial arts—a showcase of techniques focused on holds and joint locks.
For Enkrid, it was an addition to his ever-growing repertoire of everyday drills.
Winter's harsh cold was waning, signaling the approach of spring, yet Enkrid remained relentless.
And as whispers of an impending full-scale war replaced small skirmishes, preparations intensified.
For Enkrid, spring would arrive with a surge of battles, but before that, he would tirelessly hone himself, organizing his skills to perfection.

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