The moment Zimor's foot struck the ground and he charged forward, his body blurred like an afterimage. The speed was terrifying.
It was reminiscent of a knight's charge.
However, he wasn't at the level of a knight. That much was certain.
He raised his sword at an angle, bracing with his wrists and forearms, holding steady like a solid wall. His stance was a hybrid between a longsword and a greatsword defensive posture.
Clang!
Zimor's Estrek sword clashed with the blade that Enkrid had twisted into position. Sparks flew as Zimor's sword was deflected to the side. He immediately pulled back his sword.
As expected, Enkrid didn't budge under the force. He didn't move an inch. Zimor, having lost his ground, stepped back.
'A naturally light frame.'
A body honed to extremes, and the thrust he was about to deliver—he had no armor on for this single strike.
The sword was thin and narrow. His gear appeared to be lightly modified, and even his boots looked light.
Enkrid had already understood all this from a single exchange of blows.
He could see Zimor's tactics and realized that this wouldn't be a prolonged battle.
Having witnessed what Zimor did, Enkrid knew he could do something similar.
Even without such gear or tricks.
That being the case, he simply had to act.
He pushed his left foot back and leaned forward, preparing to execute a thrust that, while different from his opponent's, would look quite similar.
He focused all his strength into the thrust—his core power—from the tip of his foot, through his ankle, and thigh.
And then, he executed the thrust he had learned on the first battlefield.
Boom!
The ground cracked as he surged forward.
The air split, and all that Enkrid could see was his sword and the hand that wielded it.
Zimor also aimed to thrust his sword, but everything in Enkrid's eyes seemed to slow down. The way Zimor extended his blade and shifted his weight forward all appeared sluggish.
Enkrid knew his sword would reach the opponent first.
But even so, Zimor wouldn't stop his attack. Enkrid knew that, so he thrust his right hand sword into his opponent's shoulder while simultaneously drawing his second sword with his left hand and striking Zimor—specifically aiming at the middle of Zimor's sword.
It was a defensive move at the perfect timing.
To Enkrid, the successive exchanges were a smooth flow of actions, but to the watching soldiers, it was almost like an exhibition of skill.
Thud!
Crash!
Zimor, after charging forward, quickly retreated as Enkrid pressed the attack. The sounds of stabbing and striking rang out one after another.
And that was the end.
To the soldiers, the exchange between them was hard to follow.
All they saw was a hole in Zimor's shoulder, and then he collapsed to the ground.
"Ugh."
Zimor swallowed his groan. He was a man who could endure pain.
The broken half of Zimor's sword spun in the air before falling to the ground with a thud.
It was a thin, straight sword designed for thrusting. Naturally, it was vulnerable to lateral strikes.
This was a technique from the greatsword style—"weapon shatter." Enkrid had used his left hand for that move.
Enkrid didn't celebrate his victory in the duel.
He simply asked:
"More?"
He raised his gaze and inquired.
General Olf quickly spoke.
"Surrender."
It was as good as the surrender of all of Martai.
Moreover, this was the battle where the name Enkrid was bound to be known far and wide.
Waaah!
A cheer erupted late. The soldiers of Martai, pale-faced, could only look on.
The surrender of the commander. Some of them wouldn't avoid losing their heads.
The cleanup would be Marcus's responsibility.
"Everyone, lay down your weapons!"
The commander shouted to all directions, signaling the end of the war.
Thud, thud.
Rain began to fall amid the late summer heat.
Even though the sky was clear, the rain came down.
It was a playful trick by the Summer God.
Through the rain, sunlight pierced the sky, and in the midst of it all, stood Enkrid, holding his sword.
Not just the soldiers of Martai, but even those of the Border Guard's regular forces—all eyes were on the man standing there, between the raindrops and sunlight.
He was the one who had led this battlefield, torn it apart, and brought it to an end.
His name was Enkrid.
"Are you going to die? Or will you be imprisoned?"
Marcus left the decision to Olf. The Eastern man Olf chose life.
"I'll be imprisoned."
Killing would be a burden in many ways for Marcus, especially since there was still much to be gained from Olf.
'Well, it feels like a free meal, though.'
Marcus proceeded with the aftermath decisively.
"I was the captain of the guards."
He stepped forward, looking at the one who had surrendered right away.
"Kill him."
"...Eh? I surrender! I surrender!"
"The captain of the guards is going to bow his head without any resistance?"
Marcus's tone was cold. There was no trace of a smile. His words were aimed at his opponent, but not quite at him directly.
Only then did he give the death sentence calmly.
"This law..."
Thud!
Crack!
The first company commander struck with a mace, breaking the man's neck with a single blow. It was a swift execution.
The head of the man who had been struck hit the ground with a thud. Due to the unnatural angle and stretched neck muscles, his head hung to one side, creating a lifeless corpse.
"Too much talk."
By the time that unnerved the enemy soldiers...
"Zimor, was it?"
Marcus called out to Zimor, who was bleeding from a shoulder wound.
The commander of the regiment, who glanced at Enkrid, whispered, a tone audible only to Enkrid and Zimor.
Of course, soldiers with sensitive ears, like the Jaxon or the fairy regimental commanders, could probably hear it, but the whisper was deliberate.
"What do you think? A man worth sparing, perhaps?"
The question was aimed at Enkrid, not Zimor.
Enkrid understood Marcus's intention.
"I don't think killing him is necessary."
Marcus nodded vigorously at the response and then raised his voice, loud and clear.
"Indeed, he knows how to recognize a worthy foe! His heart is big! To beg for the life of someone who crossed swords with him, truly a noble gesture!"
Beg? When did I...?
Enkrid was stunned by this claim.
Marcus spoke loudly for all to hear, continuing his speech.
"I accept that request! Not only did he lead us to victory on the battlefield, but now he shows mercy to the enemy commander. Truly, you are the finest soldier I've ever seen. Don't you all agree?"
His final question was directed to his own soldiers—praising Enkrid.
Even though they had won, the overwhelming power and the heavy rain falling in thin lines, the blurry sunlight filtering through the breaks in the clouds, all combined to make the moment feel monumental.
Some of the soldiers, having missed the perfect moment to cheer, now finally raised their voices.
"We... we've won!"
That brief, courageous shout quickly turned into an uproar of triumph from the entire army.
"The flower of the battlefield is!"
"Infantry!"
"The flower of the Border Guard is!"
"Madmen!"
Enkrid couldn't help but chuckle.
'That absurd chant seems to be getting stranger and stranger.'
It almost seemed consistent, though.
"We lost."
Zimor muttered from below, signaling with his hand as the enemy soldiers gathered on one side.
"Don't resist. Don't die meaninglessly."
Normally, in city conflicts, the goal was to capture the enemy commander and either receive a ransom or some other form of compensation. But this time was different.
It was a crushing defeat.
The city had fallen, and this would be recorded as a historic war.
"My name is..."
"Enkrid!"
"Waahhh!"
As the cheers of the soldiers rose, the citizens, fraught with anxiety, watched from behind closed doors. They hurriedly turned their eyes toward the cracks in the windows and doors.
Those less courageous didn't even dare look outside.
It was common for soldiers to turn into thieves after a city's fall.
Who could stop them from plundering the whole city?
If true looting started, it wouldn't just be possessions that were taken. Rape and theft would spread throughout.
The sense of unease seemed to envelop the entire city.
Some citizens wondered if they should grab anything to defend themselves, but doing so would surely cost them their lives.
"Zimor, I'll entrust the honor of this city to you. From now on, it will belong to the Border Guard. If you think leaving a small force behind would cause problems, speak now."
Marcus was a political tactician even among the high-ranking nobles.
He knew how to win people over.
"If you just promise that, we will retreat today."
Zimor blinked, confused. What was he trusting? If only a small force remained, wouldn't the Martai army still outnumber them?
Honor? He was being asked to trust his honor?
"However, if you have any other thoughts, look there."
Marcus leaned in to whisper. After a few steps back, the man with jet-black hair appeared before them. His name was Enkrid, the one who had a habit of revealing his name on the battlefield.
He didn't like the look of him. Not that he was handsome, but he was too strikingly handsome for his liking.
"That madman of a commander. If the soldiers take out their frustrations on our side, this time they will turn their rage onto the civilians."
Trust was supposed to be built on faith, but when there was none, it was something that could be manufactured.
When pushed into a corner, people's trust and faith would naturally form.
"Yes, I swear on my honor."
Zimor promised.
"We will retreat."
Marcus gave the order, and things moved along smoothly.
Enkrid stepped back. As they began their retreat, it was mentioned that the border defense troops would remain in the city.
"Hey, we won't be seeing each other often from now on."
Torres came over, chattering away. Other soldiers from the defense corps also came and spoke to him.
One of them, a friend named Hyo-Woon, exchanged a few idle words with Enkrid.
"I'll beat you next time, so don't slack off in your training."
He said that, then turned to speak to Ragna.
Enkrid responded that he would continue to train and improve
Hyo-Woon wasn't being serious either. This guy was as bad at jokes as a fairy.
"So what, the regiment commander says we'll be handing over this city to our commander?"
Krais, who had been listening, nodded.
"It seems like he plans to integrate this city, centered around the border defense, into one whole. Honestly, I kind of like his style. Marcus isn't just seeking cooperation from the city; he's absorbed the entire city into his fold."
Torres, glancing at Krais, asked,
"Does he always call the regiment commander by his name?"
"Don't worry, he checks first to make sure there's no one around who's a subordinate of the regiment commander."
Was that the problem?
Well, it didn't matter.
Torres gave a casual nod and said,
"You should become a knight. I'll aim to become the next commander of the Martai."
That meant reaching the top of the border defense.
Saying that was clearly influenced by Enkrid.
Because of that, Torres felt the need to say something.
"Good luck."
With that, the brief farewell ended. After the retreat, the border defense corps stayed behind.
Right after the retreat, Enkrid bathed, rested, ate, and slept.
He hadn't properly rested since returning from the ambush.
"What did you say is as important as training? Brother."
Audin's constant phrase.
Rest was just as important as training.
The soldiers were still excited. For some reason, there were a number of people loitering around the Madman's regiment, but Rem was there for a reason.
No one dared approach any closer.
Enkrid rested for two full days, with only light training, giving his body the much-needed rest.
For the first time in a while, he woke up without any dreams, only to find a fairy with green eyes in front of him.
"...A nightmare?"
Enkrid muttered.
"If I show up in your dreams, it would be wet dreams."
"Guess it's real, then."
The fairy's usual style of joking. As he slowly sat up, the fairy looked at him silently before speaking.
"Finish your training and go see the regiment commander."
"Okay."
So that's why they came all the way here in the early morning, huh? The fairy was truly unreadable.
When it made comments about dreams and such with that cold expression, Enkrid couldn't help but think about it once again—truly a being with beauty and a personality that was beyond human understanding.
After the fairy left, Esther stirred and rubbed her eyes. Her actions were surprisingly cute.
"Good morning."
"Grrr."
After greeting Esther, Enkrid started his training. By the time the sun was up, he was about to leave when Rem stepped out, yawning loudly.
"I'll handle that beastkin."
There was no question or permission asked, just a blunt statement.
"Why?"
"If we leave her as she is, she'll just become a useless drain on resources. It'd be better to let her die on the battlefield, don't you think? But if you don't want that, fine."
"Are you just making an excuse to beat her up?"
Rem shut his mouth at that. Seeing him occasionally silenced like that made Enkrid realize that Rem, too, was human.
"...No, the commander accepted her into our regiment, so I'm, well? Personally training her. What do you think of that?"
He was clearly making an excuse to beat him up. Enkrid understood, but he nonchalantly nodded.
The beast-woman seemed to have nowhere to go, and there was a fierce determination in her eyes that reminded Enkrid of himself. So he agreed to take her in, but Rem wasn't wrong either.
If left unchecked, the beast-woman would likely get herself killed somewhere.
"Audin, ask the beast-woman if she's willing, and if she insists, tell me."
Otherwise, Enkrid would pass her off to another unit.
"Got it."
Audin, who had been sweating through the morning training alongside Enkrid, was used to such tasks.
No matter whether they had fought for their lives the previous day on the battlefield or not, after returning, the routine was always the same: training and toughening up their bodies.
Enkrid said as much and headed toward the regiment commander's office.
As he walked, it occurred to him,
"Am I really a commander now?"
Did that mean he now had to manage soldiers?
Up until now, he hadn't really managed anything. He had mostly been dragged along by the situation.
But now?
He had formed battle lines on the battlefield and even issued some orders afterward.
Just as he had changed, so too had the others.
Strategy and tactics... It was a headache, honestly. He could just react as needed.
"I'm here."
He gave a brief nod to the guards outside the office, and they opened the door.
"It was an honor to fight alongside you on the battlefield."
It seemed this guard had fought as well.
Having been at the forefront of the battle, he didn't have time to look back.
The excitement of the battlefield still lingered.
The guard's words, along with the admiring glances from the soldiers walking by, made it clear.
Some soldiers were bragging about their own feats, while others were singing songs about Enkrid's exploits—although one of them was a terrible singer.
If the others hadn't punched him in the head to stop him, Enkrid would have done so himself.
He was a terrible singer.
The celebration for their victory hadn't even begun yet.
They had decided to properly rest for two days before eating, drinking, and enjoying themselves.
Until then, everyone was told to rest as much as they could.
"Oh, you're here?"
Marcus greeted him with a smile when he saw Enkrid.
"Yes."
There were no subordinates or fairy commanders around. It was just Marcus, smiling at him.
Without missing a beat, Marcus spoke.
"By any chance, are you considering becoming the commander of the Border Guard?"
And then he asked.
It was an unexpected proposal.

Comments

Loading...