“You’re lucky.”
A soldier watching the sparring match said. He was another soldier from a mercenary background. He was also one of the men who had grumbled at Enkrid during the recent awarding of merits.
He stepped forward with a frown.
“You’re not tired, are you? How about another round?”
To be promoted, one must be acknowledged by three mid-rank soldiers. Or defeat all three. Facing just one wasn't the end of it.
“Eh, Squad Leader?”
Big Eyes glanced around nervously. Seeing the opponent growling, the atmosphere turned grim. Enkrid looked at the fallen soldier with questioning eyes.
Is this right? I just tripped him once, and the match was decided just like that. The soldier who had fallen got up, clutching his wrist.
“You lucky bastard.”
The soldier holding his wrist said as he backed away. It must have hurt, as tears were visible in the corners of his eyes. It must have hurt.
But I don't think it was enough to make him cry. Enkrid turned his gaze. Toward the second opponent.
Looking at him, Enkrid took his stance.
“I’m not tired.”
“Alright, then, I’ll be your opponent this time.”
Enkrid briefly reviewed the fight he just had.
‘Luck was on my side.’
The soldier was too defenseless when he fell. He hadn’t thought to protect his body. It seemed he had not expected to be struck at all.
‘Why?’
The reason for his carelessness was that he looked down on his opponent. But can a match be decided by a simple kick? Does that even make sense?
I don't know. Well, I just have to try again. The opponent drew a spear.
In the infantry battalion stationed at the Border Guard, there were largely two types of soldiers. One was the lightly armored infantry, the other was the heavily armored infantry. Among them, using a long spear as a weapon was one of the characteristics of the heavily armored infantry.
They were infantry that the Border Guard had invested krona in to train with determination. Their standing was different from that of the lightly armored soldiers. As such, even among mid-rank soldiers, they could be said to be more properly trained and taught skills.
The opponent aimed a short infantry spear meant for personal combat and began to spin its tip. Enkrid did not let his gaze be stolen by it.
“When you fight, you must take in your opponent’s entire body with your eyes.”
Those were Ragna’s words. Enkrid was faithful to them.
Hwoosh.
The spear tip stabbed toward his side. It was a swift thrust, like a hawk aiming for its prey.
‘Slow.’
But compared to the perverted enemy lancer I met on the first repeated today, it was slow. The trajectory was clearly visible, and it was avoidable. Enkrid showed a moment of ingenuity, shifting his body’s centerline around his left foot to change his stance.
He didn't just dodge the spear; he trapped it under his arm.
Thwack.
As the spear was suppressed, the opponent pulled it back. Enkrid leaped forward in time with the pulling force.
“Huh!”
When Enkrid, who he thought would resist, relaxed his strength and rushed forward with the spear, the soldier gasped. Startled, the soldier raised his left arm, one of the two hands holding the spear, to form a guard. Enkrid feigned a thrust with his sword toward the opponent's eyes, then stuck out his foot and tripped his opponent's shin.
With his right foot hooking the shin, he extended his left foot forward, twisted his hips, and slammed his shoulder into the opponent's chest.
Thwack.
With a grunt and a heavy sound, the opponent fell sideways with a thud. There was no need to even point his sword. Enkrid looked down from above.
The heavily armored infantryman, a soldier from the 1st Company, 1st Platoon, looked up at Enkrid from the ground. In his eyes, the troublemaker squad leader’s body looked twice as big as when he first faced him. It was due to the psychological pressure that came with being subdued.
‘Fuck.’
Even though he was breathless from the solid hit, he cursed the bastard who had been badmouthing the troublemaker squad leader. Of course, that included himself.
‘What bottom-rank?’
Enkrid looked down at him and asked.
“More?”
“No, no, let’s stop.”
The second mid-rank soldier backed down, and it was the third’s turn to step up.
“Fools.”
One of the soldiers who had been watching Enkrid’s promotion match all along muttered. It was Andrew. The same Andrew who had carried out the reconnaissance mission with Enkrid.
Andrew had judged that Enkrid had already far surpassed the mid-level back then, but he fought even better now. Something must have happened in the meantime, for his swordsmanship had matured. Andrew praised himself for betting all his krona on Enkrid.
At the same time, he gauged who would win if they fought now. He too had been devoted to training. Mac, who was right beside him, looked at Andrew and spoke.
“What in the world happened to that bastard?”
“Why?”
“His skills have improved too much.”
“How much?”
Seeing the look on Andrew’s face as he spoke, Mac shook his head.
“He’s different from before.”
Previously, after the reconnaissance mission, Mac had told Andrew that if he wanted to have a proper match with the troublemaker squad leader, he should brace himself and build more experience. But now, he had to take back those words.
“It would be difficult to fight him now. It would be difficult for me too.”
Mac was a swordsman skilled enough to critique Andrew’s swordsmanship. For him to say it would be difficult…
Andrew nodded.
He had to be at least this good. Isn't he the one who knocked me down in a single blow? And he was the first person I've ever felt a natural inclination to follow.
From one side, Benzens also watched the sparring. He had just finished his duty and was on his way back when he noticed the commotion in the corner of the training yard, at the sparring pit made of soft earth.
“What’s going on?”
One of his subordinates explained the situation. Benzens tucked his spear under his arm, took off his helmet, hung it on the spear tip, and watched the match. Enkrid had fought twice and put his opponents down twice.
It sounded easy when said, but anyone with a discerning eye could see it clearly.
‘If that was luck…’
Then he must be the Goddess of Fortune reincarnated as a man. The third opponent did not step forward readily. It was only then that Krais realized his squad leader fought better than he thought.
He too was sharp as a tack. So he pointed out the third opponent himself.
“You there, from the 2nd Platoon, right? Let's have a round.”
If he had nothing to believe in, it would be a different story. But with something to believe in, Krais could become a bold broker. Meaning, he could even provoke an opponent to draw them out if necessary.
“Me?”
The number of spectators had swelled. Stepping up here to get beaten would hardly be a pleasant sight.
“Who else would I be talking to? What, you seemed so confident when you were calling him a male prostitute or whatever behind his back.”
Krais said, the corners of his mouth rising in a sneer at the opponent. At this point, he couldn't back down.
“Ptooey, fine, I’ll do it.”
The foul-mouthed soldier spat on the ground and stepped forward. He stood on the fine soil and looked at Enkrid. Enkrid had just finished reviewing his second fight.
‘I’ve only been fighting battles that were too difficult.’
These opponents were too easy. Rem and the other squad members had been saying that the soldier ranking system was a mess.
“Can all mid-rank soldiers be considered the same? Even if the high-rank level is somewhat decent, the variation is still too great. And do you really think the outcome of a life-or-death battle is decided by skill alone? The continent is full of guys who kill their opponents by using their heads, even if their skills are lacking.”
Those were Rem’s words. Still, to be acknowledged here, one had to climb the soldier ranking system.
‘If not that, then one must stand above the ranking system itself.’
Those who stood above the ranking system. The masters of the Red Cloaks. The force stationed at the Border Guard consists of two battalions.
They take turns being dispatched to the Green Pearl for duty, so usually one battalion and a reserve force are stationed in the city. The one currently stationed in the city was the 1st Army, to which Enkrid belonged. Half of the 2nd Army was out in the fields of the Green Pearl plains.
Even if not fighting the enemy, it was natural to defend their posts. Taking turns to guard through the winter each year, that was the role of the Border Guard’s standing armies. In a city with not even ten thousand people, there are two infantry battalions and a royal direct force.
This was the first time a member of the Red Cloak Knights had come to the battlefield in person, but knights were sometimes dispatched here. All of this was possible because the Border Guard was a direct royal territory.
In the past, when relations with Azpen were good, the Border Guard was said to have been a trade city where various goods, including spices, gathered. After Azpen began its war of invasion, this place was transformed into a military city and a fortress. The low city walls were built higher, and watchtowers were erected.
The three watchtowers were a symbol that Naurilia was watching Azpen. Because it was such a city, most of the garrison troops were highly skilled. A frontier city, but a place where battle-hardened troops were concentrated.
That was the power the Border Guard possessed. Therefore, he had to assume the soldier before him possessed comparable skill. For this reason, no opponent should have been an easy one.
It had been that way when this battle began. This place had been filled with people who were more than a match for Enkrid.
“You were lost in thought, weren't you?” the opponent asked.
“No.” Enkrid was startled but immediately shook his head.
Do not underestimate your opponent. Words spoken by countless swordsmanship instructors. To abide by those words, he even mulled over the past of this city that had become a strategic hub.
‘Don’t underestimate,’ a phrase that once felt so distant.
‘Who am I to look down on anyone.’
But now, he had to steel his heart to abide by those words. He didn’t feel like laughing. He just felt gratified.
It was a thrill separate from the joy of growth. Proving and displaying one's skill. That gave Enkrid pleasure.
“What are you so happy about?”
The opponent asked again. Enkrid realized a faint smile had appeared on his face.
“Fighting is fun.”
“Crazy bastard.”
Having controlled his breathing, the opponent charged. He swung his sword down vertically. Enkrid followed the trajectory of the opponent’s swing with his eyes as he moved.
He gathered strength from his planted feet, up through his knees, and into his waist. With that momentum, he forcefully struck the opponent's sword with his own.
Cla-ang!
A sharp metallic sound rang out. The opponent’s chest was open. As he retrieved his sword from the strike and feigned a thrust, the opponent also tried to pull back his arm into a defensive stance.
Enkrid only feigned the thrust, then raised the tip of his sword and closed the distance. Then, looking into the eyes of the bewildered opponent, he pressed their blades together, extended his left foot to hook the opponent’s heel, and pushed forward with the hand gripping his sword.
The opponent had barely managed to pull his sword in front of his chest. Swords with their blades pressed together cannot be used for an attack. The enemy soldier was helpless.
Thud.
His Achilles tendon was caught, and he fell. The soldier had no way to resist and landed on his backside. Enkrid placed his blade on the crown of the fallen opponent's head.
Everything happened in an instant. And with these three fights, Enkrid had properly shown his skill. The fallen soldier looked up to confirm the sword resting on his head.
“... I lost.”
The soldier said. Naurilia had revered the strong since ancient times. It wasn't called the land of knights for nothing.
Andrew, and Mac. Benzens, who was watching from behind. Even the Elf Company Commander, who had come over at some point to watch.
Rem, Ragna, and the rest of the troublemaker squad. The soldiers who had once badmouthed Enkrid from behind. No one opened their mouths.
The afternoon sun slanted down, reflecting off the blade and shining. The light grazed one side of Enkrid's face. The seeping sunlight, the lengthening shadows, the white steam rising from his shoulders due to the chilly air.
All of it created a strange illusion. It was as if they could see Enkrid, who had torn the flag that was the medium for the sorcery in the middle of the battlefield and come out alive. A fact they had refused to acknowledge became a reality hammered into their minds.
The Fog of Annihilation, the one who broke that sorcery, was the one who had saved them.
“I couldn't believe it, but…”
Someone muttered.
It was an admission. They couldn’t slander him for his skill when they didn’t know it, but now they couldn’t. Acting like a fool only lasts so long. The soldier who had been defeated second spoke up.
“I let my mouth run wild. I apologize.”
Enkrid nodded silently. The Border Guard’s standing army was full of men like this. A rough unit that could not tolerate anyone standing before them without skill.
That is the sword of the frontier, the army of the Border Guard. Conversely, if you proved yourself with skill, they would immediately show respect. Enkrid had proven himself by overwhelming mid-rank soldiers.
“Spellbreaker.”
Someone muttered.
There were no cheers. The atmosphere wasn’t right for it. But it seemed like the nickname would stick.
Spellbreaker, that's a bit much. Enkrid thought so, and after a moment of wondering what to do next, he opened his mouth.
“I think it's time to fight a high-rank soldier.”
He had finished three mid-rank soldiers with a single leg trip. So, what was left? What else was left?
The high-rank soldiers were left. He's thinking of fighting again in a situation like this? Krais’s big eyes grew even wider.
He thought his squad leader was truly incorrigible. So, should he arrange another fight just like that? As he was thinking this.
“Whew-eet.”
Someone whistled and took a step forward. The soldier who stepped forward smiled simply and said.
“This is fun.”
It was a soldier wearing an insignia with an eagle crest. The insignia signified that he was a member of the frontier garrison, a royal direct force. They were a unit as famous as Azpen's autonomous company, the Grey Dogs.
The Frontier Slaughters, the butchers of the frontier—a nickname given to the most brutal unit within the already rough and rugged Border Guard. Their total number was two hundred, but as a direct royal unit, they were composed entirely of high-rank soldiers and above. One of them had just stepped forward.