Gak.
The man with the throwing axe let out a death cry. A poisoned dagger was stuck in his side, and a spearhead was embedded in his throat.
Gurgle...
He frothed blood at the mouth as the light faded from his eyes. That was the end. Enkrid watched the man's eyes for a moment before stepping back.
“Wuaaaaaaah!”
An ally right beside him let out a monstrous scream. Then, the enemy soldier in front of him screamed back.
“Kraaaaaah!”
Both were large men. When they crashed into each other with a bang, it was like two carriages colliding head-on. They grabbed each other and began to spin round and round.
Watching them, Enkrid backed away. What must one do to preserve their body? In over one hundred and twenty times throwing his life away, he'd learned more than just a lesson or two.
The way to preserve one's body. It was to avoid fighting as much as possible. Enkrid saved his own skin.
“Die!”
“Fucking bastard.”
Swords, spears, axes, and clubs rushed in, their wielders spitting curses instead of war cries.
“Don't touch my brother, you son of a bitch.”
The last words of a dying soldier.
“Bullshit. Even if you say that, I'm not taking responsibility for your brother.”
A soldier pretending to be unfazed after hearing of a comrade's death.
“Die! Die!”
A new recruit who had lost his reason in the heat of battle.
“That crazy bastard.”
“Leave him be. Looks like he's trying to act like a berserker.”
A veteran looking after his own men while watching the rampaging recruit.
“My name is Bar— Gak!”
An enemy soldier, trying to be cool, dies while announcing his name. An ally sneering at him as he pulls out the spear he'd thrust.
Thwack.
The tip of a foot kicking the ground sent up a cloud of dust. He could see the dust floating lazily in the beating sunlight. Next to it, an enemy soldier spewed blood with a gush.
And next to him, an ally had fallen, his skull cracked open. Bits of flesh were scattered on the ground, and blood soaked the earth. No matter how much he tried to save his own skin.
He couldn't survive in the middle of a battlefield by doing nothing.
‘Inhale, exhaaaale.’
He took a short breath in and a long breath out. Enkrid controlled his breathing. The moment he steadied his breath, he saw a spearhead flying through the dust cloud.
Enkrid held his shield loosely and blocked the spearhead.
CLANG.
The spearhead that struck the shield bounced off to the side. Thanks to his loose grip, he was able to deflect the impact. At the same time, a club flew in diagonally from the side.
Enkrid ducked forward to dodge the club and threw himself at the man holding it. He slammed his shoulder into the opponent's chest with a thump. As he fell, he drew his dagger and stabbed at the man's thigh.
Rrrrip!
The blade tore through something like thick cloth and left a long gash on the opponent's thigh.
“This son of a bitch!”
The enemy soldier shouted and shoved Enkrid away. Using the force of the push to regain his balance, Enkrid drew his sword and swung it sideways. An injury to the thigh makes movement difficult.
The faltering opponent failed to dodge and was struck in the nape of the neck by the blade.
Thwack!
The blade went in halfway. Enkrid put his strength into it and pulled the blade free.
Scrrrape.
The blade, having cut through muscle, nerves, tendons, and bone, came out. As blood began to gush out, the soldier covered the back of his neck with his palm. Of course, trying to stop a wound like that with a palm changed nothing.
Enkrid didn't look back. He knew someone else would take care of the spearman who had struck his shield.
“Goddamn bastard!”
It was Bell. He hadn't saved him for nothing. If he saved him, he'd stick around and watch his back.
He was a loyal friend.
CLANG! CLANG!
The sound of clashing metal rang out continuously. Enkrid lost interest in the opponent he'd killed and picked up a stone from the ground. Then he turned and immediately threw it.
The enemy soldier, who had been fighting on even terms, flinched when the stone hit him in the back.
WHACK!
Bell swung his spear shaft and smashed his skull. It was an excellent blow.
“Seems like I've paid my debt, huh?”
Bell said, panting for breath.
“You really think so?”
Did he think a life debt could be repaid so easily?
“Maybe I only paid back half.”
Bell scratched his helmet vigorously with his blood-stained hand. Not that it would feel any better. Bell subtly stepped back.
After falling once, he had learned to save his own skin a bit. Enkrid also shifted his position little by little, following the flow of the battle.
“Help me. Gurgle.”
He saw a soldier pleading, then frothing blood. It was a familiar face. The dice-gambler he had seen die time and time again.
“I couldn't save you.”
Enkrid said calmly. He had tried countless times, but it turned out to be impossible to save him. The battlefield he had stepped onto once again.
He searched for the pervert who cried for mercy among the approaching enemy soldiers. It wasn't difficult. The moment he found him, Enkrid drew his last dagger and threw it in time with his running stride.
Thump, whoosh, swish! A throwing dagger, timed so that any ordinary man couldn't dodge it, drew a line through the air.
CLANG!
The man twisted his body and took the dagger with his shoulder. The dagger, which went in at an angle, hit his shoulder plate and bounced off. Even for a reflexive action, it was a defense close to the correct answer.
Enkrid felt a gaze glaring at him. He blocked the dagger and immediately pinpointed where it was thrown from to look this way? He thought it again and again, but that perverted enemy lancer was no ordinary man.
The man charged. With every step that kicked off the ground with a thud, blood-soaked dirt flew back. It was a distance of only a few steps.
In other words, it was time to test everything he had learned from this repeated today. His body was in better condition than ever before. Therefore, the preparations were complete.
The man brought his sword down vertically. Enkrid raised his shield.
CRACK!
He felt a heavy force from the blade striking the oil-treated wood.
“The basics of swordsmanship? It's strength.”
One of the sword instructors had said that.
“Overcoming strength with technique? Heh, what a joke. Then try winning against Frokk using only technique.”
“Do you know how many bastards have died trying to pull off bullshit like deflections against a giant?”
“The basis of swordsmanship is physical strength. Strength, so get rolling.”
Thanks to that instructor, he had been able to build his body properly. Enkrid, holding his shield, was not easily pushed back. In terms of strength, he was about equal to his opponent.
“Hmph!”
The perverted enemy lancer scoffed. While his vision was blocked by the shield, the man kicked at his ankle. Enkrid blocked the tip of the man's foot with his shin guard.
Boots reinforced with iron plates were weapons in themselves.
Thud.
He felt a sharp pain in his shin, but it wasn't broken. Then that was fine. Pushing the shield outward, he drew his sword and swung it from bottom to top.
Whoosh!
The perverted enemy lancer, as if he had expected it, had already retreated out of the sword's range. Then he leaped forward, deeper than the distance he had retreated. It was a charge aimed at the opening created after he swung his sword.
“Hah!”
Enkrid let out a shout and, putting all his strength into it, swung his shield like a blunt weapon. The charging perverted enemy lancer pulled his chin in tight.
CRACK!
The man, struck in the head, fell to the side. Enkrid, about to swing his sword again, stepped back.
Whoosh.
The man, while still on the ground, drew a dagger and swung it diagonally. If he had charged in as he was, he would have been stabbed just above his shin guard. In that brief moment, he had seen the position of the guard and found an opening.
The world would call something like that talent. But Enkrid had to die over and over to learn that thing called the Heart of the Beast to do the same. His opponent did not.
However, he lacked the proficiency that came from rolling around on countless battlefields. Enkrid could see that as well. The opponent was a new recruit or a soldier with little battlefield experience.
Otherwise, he wouldn't charge in so recklessly. It had been the same when they first met. He'd almost fallen for Enkrid's thrust.
He had no experience, but his talent was brilliant. Even so, he wasn't envious.
‘I can get him.’
I can do this.
Confidence grew.
He had a gut feeling that all his todays until now would not be in vain. It was time for his efforts, made alongside death, to be rewarded.
“This bastard.”
He saw eyes full of venom. The man slowly got to his feet, and in that time, another ally stepped between Enkrid and him. The perverted enemy lancer ducked without hesitation and struck the ally's shin with his sword hand.
Crack.
The sound of a bone breaking. It was always this pattern whenever an ally interfered. Stabbing the ally's throat with his dagger afterward was all part of a single motion.
An attack pattern as fluid as flowing water. It was a pattern he already knew. The perverted enemy lancer thrusts the dagger he drew.
The startled allied soldier couldn't do anything, his eyes just wide open. Just before the blade pierced his throat. The soldier's body was yanked back.
Slice, scrrrape.
Instead of piercing his throat, the blade stabbed his cheek, grazed his temple, and scraped his helmet.
“Hup!”
The startled ally fell flat on his back. He was so surprised that, sitting on his rear, he couldn't even speak and just gasped for air. Enkrid, clenching and unclenching the hand that had grabbed the ally's collar instead of his sword, stood in front of the soldier.
“Get back.”
This was his fight. That was his opponent. The one against whom he had to confirm what he had achieved.
Thump-thump.
His heart pounded. Enkrid felt a mix of complicated emotions. From whether it was right to overcome this 'today' right now.
To the doubt about whether he could beat his opponent. And the competitive spirit that bloomed without reason. Even an unfounded intuition that he had to overcome the opponent before him to move on to the next step.
“I won't go easy on you.”
The perverted enemy lancer said. Look at this, what a pathetic act. It was proof that, separate from his talent, he lacked experience.
If he was going to be truly serious.
‘He should have shown an opening instead of talking.’
After being hit, he should have pretended to be sloppy and then counterattacked. If he wanted to win, that's what he should have done. So, Enkrid did it instead.
“Hahh, hahh.”
He deliberately breathed heavily. He flinched at the opponent's every gesture. The opponent's eyes, which had seemed red at one moment, were a plain brown.
Those brown eyes gleamed. The perverted enemy lancer strode forward and swung his sword.
Whoosh!
It was a completely different speed from before.
Thump.
His heart pounded. There was no panicking or closing his eyes. The Heart of the Beast is always bold.
“Just watch it until the very end, then dodge it.”
Rem always said that. He'd thought he was being teased. He wasn't. He could see it.
He put strength into his ankle and twisted his body. The blade zipped past, grazing his shoulder. Right after dodging, he swung his sword sideways.
Ting.
The opponent raised his dagger vertically. Enkrid's sword and the man's dagger formed a cross.
Screee!
Pushing with strength in that state, the blades ground against each other, sending out sparks. The man twisted his dagger at an angle, deflecting the blade to the side. Enkrid stopped his thrust and brought his shield up against his body.
CLANG!
A blade struck the edge of the shield. Sparks flew from this side too. The perverted enemy lancer had somehow already pulled his sword back and swung it again.
It wasn't the first or second time he had faced this. The pattern was familiar to his eyes. He whipped his head around, and the enemy was suddenly gone.
Without hesitation, Enkrid raised his sword vertically and stabbed it into the ground. The man who had been charging with a low stance stopped. The tip of the sword sank into the blood-soaked earth with a squelch.
The man, in an awkward stooped posture, only raised his head. The killing intent in his eyes was murderous.
“Petty tricks.”
As he spoke, he ground his molars. Petty tricks are still skills, you bastard. Enkrid didn't answer.
Instead, he kicked up dirt with the tip of his foot and threw it at his opponent.
Fwump!
“Ugh!”
The man quickly blocked his face with his forearm. He blocked this with his reflexes too. It wasn't a scene he'd only seen once or twice.
It was no big deal.
“This bastard!”
When he has the upper hand, he bluffs and talks about mercy. His eyes fill with a vile glee. But when he's on the defensive, he gets excited easily.
He had figured out his personality long ago. Getting up, the man charged again.
CLANG! CLACK! WHACK!
As he blocked the relentless sword strikes with his shield, the shield soon began to creak. While pressing his attack, the man closed the distance at some point and stabbed with his dagger. The target was his side.
Before, he had been hit by this, gasped for breath, and died. Enkrid raised his elbow.
Thwack!
The blade was blocked by a hard leather guard. At the same time, Enkrid thrust his forehead forward. Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship, close-quarters technique.
A headbutt. CRACK!
“Ugh!”
He'd slammed into him with all his might, and his head spun. Usually, at this timing, there would be a guy swinging a club from behind.
Not today.
There was no one throwing an axe either. In their place, there was Bell.
“Shit, I'm helping!”
To Bell's shout, I said.
“Just block anyone who gets in the way.”
‘I told you, he's my opponent.’
As he suppressed the rising nausea and regained his balance, he heard the venomous opponent mutter.
“This crazy bastard.”
‘Right, if my head is spinning, yours must be too.’
The dizziness quickly subsided.
“I'll watch you struggle as you die.”
The perverted enemy lancer took a stance. One foot forward, the other back. A stance like that of a charging cavalryman.
What began from that stance was a thrust as fast as an arrow. Tension squeezed his heart. The squeezed heart was released with his breath.
‘Be bold.’
Can I overcome the wall of talent with this repeated today? It was time to find the answer. The man moved.
It was just a point. That was all he saw. He had experienced it many times, but it was still the same.
The point soon became a flash of light, a blade that pierced Enkrid's body. No, he had dodged it by a hair's breadth.
Whizz.
The blade grazed his side. He saw the stance, predicted the target, and dodged in time with the blade's movement. Enkrid's body faithfully followed his thoughts.
A burning pain followed as his side was grazed. He ignored it. Instead, left foot forward, sword hand back.
He pulled back his right elbow with all his might. Like an arrow nocked on a bowstring. He put strength into his left foot and shifted his center of gravity.
He learned by watching. He learned by being stabbed. And perfected it through sparring with Rem.
Thump.
When moving forward, focus on balance rather than strength. Imbue the blade with your will.
‘Thrust.’
His firm will was now imbued in the sword. He released his tightly drawn muscles and thrust the sword.
Thump!
The tip of the sword, constantly sharpened on a whetstone, stabbed near the pervert's heart. It pierced through the leather and thick cloth armor. And reached his heart.
A sense of fulfillment, as if his sword, hand, and arm had become one. A moment to savor the sense of accomplishment as a reward for his efforts.
“Hey!”
Someone shouted.
Enkrid didn't even register the shout. Before he could even get drunk on the joy of victory.
CRUNCH!
He felt a tremendous impact starting from his left side and felt his body lift into the air.
‘Huh?’
What is this? This was a situation he had never experienced in his one hundred and twenty-five 'todays'.
“Frokk!”
He didn't know if it was Bell or someone else, but he heard such a cry. That was Enkrid's last memory. He lost consciousness.