The Recon Squad Leader’s name was Andrew. His full name was Andrew Gardner. He was the sole heir of a fallen family that once held the rank of Baron.
He had but one wish: to restore the Gardner family in his generation.
“Andrew, you are our hope.”
The last words of his mother, who was dying of illness, remained vivid in his mind. His mother had saved money by doing needlework for hire and serving as a maid in other people’s homes. And all that money was spent on Andrew.
From swordsmanship lessons to the clothes he wore and the food he ate. One could not say he had a prosperous childhood, but one could not call it lacking either. His mother, worn down by such work, grew weaker and weaker until she died.
His mother, too, had a single wish.
“Carry on the family name and become a great man.”
He decided to do just that. There was only one path Andrew could choose to revive his family. Was this not, after all, an age of war?
All he had to do was fight, and fight again, to prove his ability. When he needed training and connections, appropriate help arrived. Before her death, his mother had asked for help from a man who was once like a sworn brother to her husband.
“He has talent.”
Those were the words of the man who was said to be his father’s sworn brother. After that, Andrew underwent harsh training and enlisted in the army. He started as a professional soldier and, at a young age, received the rank of Squad Leader.
‘I need achievements.’
Andrew’s mind was filled with only that thought. He was also confident in his skills. It was a confidence born from taking to the battlefield and killing three or four common soldiers.
“You must be careful in all things.”
His advisor and helper would nag him constantly. It was enough to make his ears bleed. Not that Andrew took those words lightly.
‘Surviving is also important.’
After all, the revival of his family depended on him staying alive. But that didn't mean he could give up on a life of challenge. What happens to those who give up on challenges?
His father, who had lost the family's prestige, was a good example. His father, who had lacked talent from a young age, swung his sword every day, but his talent was insignificant. In the end, his father could not even dream of reviving the family.
He had given up so quickly. Squandering the remaining assets was all his life amounted to. Then, he was stabbed to death by a gambler he had gotten into an argument with.
‘A life without a future is a bleak thing.’
That was why, while dreaming of his family's revival, he also cherished his own life. Of course, even so, there were bound to be things that rubbed him the wrong way. Among them, the troublemaker squad leader caught Andrew’s eye.
He himself was in this position through skill. He was striving tirelessly for the great task of restoring his family. But what was that fellow?
His skill was that of a bottom-rank soldier. Isn't he just a salary thief who was lucky enough to land the position of squad leader? Was he a man worthy of living as a professional soldier?
He could even see traces of his father in him.
‘He’ll probably just live on, coasting by, collecting his pay, and then die.’
He would live his life pretending to swing a sword under the guise of training. It was also ridiculous that a mere soldier had come with a sword stand and a sword, claiming to be training. It was a thought one couldn't have if they knew Enkrid, but Andrew did not know him.
And now, since morning, that man called the troublemaker squad leader was staring intently at him. Their eyes met. An unpleasant sensation flowed between their gazes.
At the end of that sensation, Andrew’s brow furrowed.
‘His eyes are getting on my nerves.’
Just as he was about to open his mouth, the troublemaker squad leader spoke first.
“Those eyes are unpleasant, aren't they?”
Hmm?
Who is he talking to right now? Andrew’s brow furrowed tightly. His scowling expression spoke of his state of mind.
At that, one of the soldiers who had come with him stepped forward first.
“What did you just say?”
It was a soldier with a scar on his forehead. He was told this fellow used to wander the fighting pits. Andrew had said to him.
“Follow me. I will give you a better life than that of a thug.”
After that, he became Andrew’s right-hand man. His skills were still poor, and he hadn't completely shed his thuggish habits, but his fighting ability wasn't bad. That was why he had brought him along.
There were three such soldiers. The three of them slowly rose and surrounded the troublemaker squad leader.
Enkrid had repeated today several times and had come to a conclusion.
‘As expected, being just a squad member won't do.’
They needed to follow his words faithfully and move on his command. That was the minimum requirement. So what should he do?
How do knights gain the trust of people? How is it that they make people roar with excitement the moment they step onto a battlefield? The reason is simple.
Skill.
It was possible because they had shown their ability. So what was needed now to make the ten people, including himself, move as one? What was needed to gain their trust?
Since it was impossible to become personally close and build camaraderie in a single day. All that remained was violence, based on coercion.
“Looks like that mouth of yours is the problem. Shall I carve a pretty little tattoo on it for you?”
The soldier with the scar on his forehead said. His eyes gleamed. He had the face of a man who had put away a few people.
How is it that this bastard's lines are always the same? Enkrid thought, looking at the positions of the three men. For them, this was the first time, but for him, this today had already been repeated several times.
The reason for the repetition? There was only one. Violence and coercion are better when they are overwhelming.
And for that, he needed experience. Separate from skill, he needed to know their reactions and patterns. For that reason, Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship was out.
He had to subdue them with pure skill. The first hurdle to overcome this repeated today was to subdue the three thug soldiers.
“Cat got your tongue?”
The soldier who was once a thug swaggered. Enkrid thought that words were unnecessary. So he acted accordingly.
A single step, without a word. The opponent reacts. He flinches and starts to raise his fist.
He takes a fighting stance. One of the three even placed a hand on the hilt of his shortsword. Enkrid lifted his left foot from the ground first, and that one step was exceedingly slow.
It was a timing that made one look on with a puzzled expression, wondering what this was, yet it was too ambiguous to question. Enkrid’s right foot kicked off the ground swiftly. Mixing a fast motion with a slow one was bound to make it look twice as fast.
It was a simple trick, a ploy to get the first strike. And it was quite, no, extremely useful.
“Hmph!”
The soldier with the scar on his forehead swallowed his breath and tried to throw a punch. Of course, before he could, Enkrid kicked his opponent's shin.
Thwack!
As he kicked the shin as if to push it aside, the opponent's posture crumbled. Immediately, he brought his gauntleted hand forward and struck the temple of the opponent, who was now leaning to the side. It was a blow with a hearty swing.
Thwack!
“Guk!”
With a short cry, the opponent staggered and fell to the side. Enkrid’s subsequent movements were as fluid as flowing water. As he turned his body to the side, a shortsword that was flying toward an opening sliced through empty air.
As if it were a choreographed move, he grabbed the wrist of the soldier holding the shortsword and twisted it. The key was to apply just enough force so as not to cause injury.
Crack. Snap.
As he twisted the wrist and struck the jaw area at an angle, the second soldier lost consciousness and collapsed. He caught the collapsing soldier's chest, gently laid him on the ground. Rising, he picked up the fallen shortsword.
Without a single change in his breathing, Enkrid asked.
“Are we going to continue?”
The one friend who remained out of the soldiers who had stepped forward broke out in a cold sweat. The other side had drawn their blades first. He would have nothing to say if he were run through right now.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The Recon Squad Leader, who had been watching until then, stepped forward.
“I didn't like you from the first day, you little brat who can barely walk.”
Enkrid turned from the fear-stricken man to face the Recon Squad Leader. If there was no need to get worked up, he could tolerate and overlook most things. He didn’t particularly place great meaning in what others said or did.
That had been the case until now. But what if there was a need to get worked up? Then he just had to say everything he wanted to say.
“I feel like if I were under the command of a guy like you, we'd get wiped out even on a trivial recon mission. So let's decide this with skill.”
Insubordination was a grave crime. However, the situation was strange right now. Enkrid originally held the position of Squad Leader.
Had the other man respected that, it would have been a different story. But he had thoroughly ignored him and shown his unpleasant feelings. No one could blame him for not holding back.
In fact, the higher-ups would probably say they didn't care which of the two led the recon squad. When the Recon Platoon Leader left, didn't he say to work hard and to look after the young squad leader? Now was that time.
A time when he couldn't just look after him from behind, but had to step forward.
“... You're saying the winner of a fight gets command of the squad?”
The Recon Squad Leader asked back, his brow furrowed.
“That'll work. I have no intention of groveling under a man weaker than me.”
Although in the troublemaker squad, aside from Krais, there were only monsters who fought better than Enkrid. An excuse is just an excuse. It was better if the opponent got provoked and charged at him.
“Come at me, you little brat who still smells of mother's milk. Have you ever slept with a woman? Ah, maybe your little pepper hasn't grown in yet?”
Andrew's complexion hardened. He had not yet had his first experience. He had spent that time training his body.
He felt as though the opponent was mocking that time, his efforts, everything he had done to get here.
Thunk.
The squad leader drew his shortsword.
“You may draw your sword. The length of the blade won't speak for your skill.”
“Well, um.”
At Andrew's words, a nearby soldier with a grim face tried to intervene, but then shook his head, sighed, and stepped back. He had worked as a mercenary for quite a long time. He had seen cases like this all too often.
There had been discord from the beginning. It might be better to resolve it now. Letting resentments deepen would be more of a headache.
Men often cleared the air after a good fight. Moreover, he knew Andrew well. He had even taught him swordsmanship.
In some ways, he was like a reckless brat. But he knew how to handle a sword and had a down-to-earth side. Above all, he knew how to distinguish right from wrong.
‘It won't be easy, though.’
If things went wrong, he would step in. However, one thing. Seeing the troublemaker squad leader's stance, the position of his feet, he didn't seem like an ordinary fellow.
He could see the thick, hard calluses on his palm, so ingrained they had stiffened. They were not medals earned in a day or two.
“That's fine. I'll use my bare hands.”
“This bastard?”
Andrew became agitated. That was a weakness. Showing his emotions easily.
Something to point out later. The man thought so and decided to watch with a relaxed mind. It didn't seem like it would end quickly.
Neither of them was exceptionally skilled, but they didn't look like a mess either. Still, he secretly thought Andrew would probably win. Just because he was agitated didn't mean his fundamentals would disappear.
He had talent. The troublemaker squad leader gestured. At the gesture to come at him, Andrew charged.
And. Thwack!
“... In one blow?”
No, what is this. The grim-faced soldier’s eyes went wide. The moment Andrew charged, the troublemaker squad leader made a motion as if to extend his left hand.
Sensing this, Andrew slashed with his shortsword. Then, his opponent, having perfectly read the trajectory of the sword, struck the flat of the incoming shortsword with the leather gauntlet on his left hand. As a result, for a moment, Andrew’s chest was left open.
The troublemaker squad leader dove into Andrew’s wide-open chest. Then, in the confined space, his body moved dynamically.
Clack!
Kicking off the ground, he twisted his body from within and shot out his elbow, precisely striking Andrew’s solar plexus. It was over with that one blow.
“Kgggh.”
Andrew let out a groan. His legs trembled. In that moment, his breath would have caught in his throat, and all strength would have drained from his limbs.
Because that's what a vital point is. Andrew let out the rest of his choked groan and bent his back like a shrimp. If this had been a real battle, he would have been a dead man.
‘What kind of, strength is this.’
To transmit the shock through thick cloth armor. His skill was better than that of a decent mercenary. A question naturally followed.
Why is this a bottom-rank soldier?