“At this rate, I’d say we were a married couple in a past life.”
He must have said it because they kept meeting whenever something came up. After all, they had seen each other during the recent monster hunt.
“Couldn’t we have been enemies?”
Torres spoke, alluding to old tales, and Enkrid retorted. There are two kinds of relationships that carry over from past lives. Fated connections that must meet.
Or ill-fated ones that are better off not meeting.
“We’re not an ill-fated one, are we?”
Torres said with a chuckle.
“I suppose not.”
The two men bumped their fists together. Whatever awaited them, a familiar face was better than a stranger. And so, they set out.
Trudge, trudge.
What greeted the two of them after leaving the north gate was a gravel road. They were the only two to depart from the Border Guard.
“Is it just the two of us going?”
“We're scheduled to meet an allied reconnaissance team across the river.”
Is it not a particularly dangerous mission? Is that why they're only sending two of us? Enkrid had various thoughts, but he did not voice them.
In any case, Torres was in charge. He only needed to know what Torres told him. They had set out at dawn.
By the time the morning sun rose, Enkrid, who had been walking diligently, found the cloth clothes under his armor soaked with sweat. Even though the cold hadn't subsided, it was natural to be drenched in sweat when walking fully armed. He wore thin, sleeveless undergarments made of cloth, and over them, a thicker outer garment that covered his arms.
Over that, he wore leather armor that blocked magic and his Whistle Knife belt. With the padded armor, boots, and leather gauntlets, his attire was complete. His pants, in comparison, were thin; thick ones would hinder his mobility, so it couldn't be helped.
He also carried a thick-bladed dagger called a guard sword at his waist. The newly acquired longsword was on his left hip, and a shortsword was on his right. And that wasn't all.
In an emergency, the more weapons, the better. He had two knives hidden in both ankles and two more throwing knives tucked away on his left forearm. He might be called a lightly armored infantryman, but his gear was quite heavy.
And now, one more piece of equipment he didn't usually have had been added.
“Your left hand is idle. You need to fix that.”
That was Ragna's order. Thanks to him, he was now carrying a buckler on his back.
‘Couldn't I use this as a pot?’
It seemed possible in a pinch. If he removed the leather attached to the handle, wasn't it just a thin piece of metal? That was how much of an unnecessary burden it felt like.
‘Can't be helped.’
Since he was told to do it, he had no choice but to try. He would try using it as a shield, and if it didn't suit him, he could think of another way.
“Whether it's with a sword and shield or just a sword, it's time to move on to the next step. Before that, we'll work on your balance first.”
Ragna was usually endlessly lazy, but when it came to teaching Enkrid, he became the most diligent instructor. If asked if he found that annoying.
‘Not at all.’
On the contrary, he was grateful. Enkrid walked while opening his Sixth Sense to scan his surroundings, replaying Ragna's words in his mind. Seen from the side, it was a truly strange sight.
Torres, aside from two shortswords worn overlapping on his left hip, had no other visible weapons. His gear was relatively light. Torres glanced to his side and thought.
‘He's keeping up well.’
He followed so well despite carrying all that heavy gear. He wasn't even panting. His eyes were unfocused, as if lost in thought, yet he reacted immediately to any presence around him.
‘What is he thinking about as he walks?’
He suddenly found himself wondering. That wasn't the only thing he was curious about. Torres had been on all sorts of missions before.
‘It's almost disappointing that he doesn't ask anything.’
When embarking on a mission with so many hidden details, one would normally ask what was going on, what the objective was, or what they would do after crossing the river. If he had asked, Torres had a ready reply.
‘We are soldiers. Doesn't it occur to you that all we have to do is follow orders?’
It was a perfect chance to give him a sharp word. But he really asked nothing at all.
“Front.”
Enkrid spoke up. Torres cast his gaze forward. They had been walking northwest for a while with the river on their right.
Two soaking wet ghouls came into view. The few remaining strands of hair were clumped together, hanging over their pale heads like seaweed. They were hiding behind a large boulder, aiming this way, and their skin color was so similar to the rock that one might have missed them without a close look.
‘He found them before I did?’
Are his senses better than I thought, or is he just lucky as the rumors say? It was hard to say. In any case, a monster, an enemy, had appeared.
“One each?”
“Let's.” At Torres's words, Enkrid stepped forward first to draw their attention.
He unslung the shield from his back, held it in his hand, and drew his longsword.
Sshhring.
‘Nice sound.’
Those who live by the sword are sensitive to their weapons. Torres was no exception. Instead of drawing a weapon, Torres measured the distance to the ghoul.
A ghoul's claws are poisonous. Was there really a need to get close? As the two ghouls kicked off the ground toward Enkrid who had stepped forward, Torres's hand brushed his waist and then shot forward.
A step first, his right foot stomping firmly on the ground, his arm extending elastically from the elbow to his fingertips. The weight that was in his fingers left his hand. A knife cut through the air and embedded itself in the ghoul's head.
With a thud, the head split halfway, and the blade ricocheted to the side. The bodies of ghouls that linger by the water are often half-rotten. That's why they give off such a foul stench.
It meant the blade had torn through rotten flesh, shattered the skull, and then bounced off. After throwing the dagger, Torres checked on Enkrid. He saw Enkrid, awkwardly holding his shield, deflecting the ghoul's claws and swinging his longsword.
A well-timed swing of the sword lopped off the ghoul's rotten neck. The ghoul's blood was black. The headless body slumped forward, kneeling before collapsing, and gushed out black blood.
“Weren't there supposed to be almost no monsters here?”
Even though they were both Platoon Leaders, one was from the frontier garrison, a Royal Direct Force. Enkrid had also become a Platoon Leader, but he made sure to show proper respect.
“They can't be completely gone. We haven't had the troops to spare for this area recently because of the man-faced hounds. Still, there shouldn't be too many.”
Enkrid silently nodded. Seeing that, Torres suddenly grew curious.
“Aren't you curious about where we're going?”
“Isn't it across the river?”
“First, let's speak comfortably. What's the difference between a Platoon Leader from the royal direct forces and one from a regular unit? We seem to be around the same age.”
“I'm thirty.”
“Then I'm even younger.”
“Well then.”
It was an offer he had no reason to refuse.
“What's the secret to your youthful looks? We're all rolling around the same battlefields, but that face... I feel a little wronged.”
Just by looks, anyone would assume Torres was the older one. What's more, Torres had rather plain features. You could believe him if he said he was an inn server.
As he spoke, Torres roughly wiped the fallen dagger in the greenish-blue water of the churning river, wiped it dry on his sleeve, and tucked it into his coat. The knife vanished inside his coat. It seemed he had a separate sheath inside, but it disappeared in an instant, looking strange to Enkrid's eyes.
“Endless training.”
Hearing Enkrid's reply, Torres let out a dry laugh. The guy had a knack for words. He really should have tried to get him in his unit.
As he thought, Torres got to the point.
“You know it's not going to be over just by crossing the river, right?”
Nod.
“But you're not asking anything.”
“Would you even tell me if I asked?”
He couldn't. Torres didn't know the details either. It was all just speculation.
“It's not going to be all fun and games, I imagine.”
As Enkrid spoke, he blinked, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with light. At least, that's how it looked to Torres. It overlapped with the image of him saying he wanted to fight more monsters.
‘This bastard, is he looking forward to this?’
Because the land across the river was a land of monsters and beasts?
“Strangely amusing.”
Torres also enjoyed danger. But it seemed this guy did too.
“Let's go.”
The two began to walk diligently once more. By the time they reached the ferry landing, Torres spoke again.
“We got here faster than I thought. We'll have some time to spare.”
To cross the river, they needed a ferryman. Near the landing, there was a roughly stacked pile of stones and a crude path. The sun was now high in the sky.
As Torres found a suitable patch of shade and sat down, Enkrid began to swing his sword beside him.
“Not resting?”
“This is resting.”
This is why people called him a training fanatic. Torres watched Enkrid swing his sword in the air. He stepped and swung.
From bottom to top, top to bottom. The moment he thought, ‘An opening,’ Enkrid pulled his sword back, using his arm muscles as a lever to strike upwards with the opposite end of the blade, the pommel, as a weapon. An application of the fundamentals.
‘Clean.’
If your jaw got caught by that, you'd be eating porridge for at least a few days. If you were unlucky, you'd never chew anything hard again for the rest of your life.
‘Oof.’
Just imagining it made his own jaw ache. Enkrid continued to move even after that. Even though the journey here had been a forced march in its own right.
‘His stamina is insane.’
He swung and swung again. Watching him, Torres unconsciously gripped the hilt of his shortsword and pulled.
Ch'ing.
The blade came out halfway, letting out a scraping sound.
‘Ah.’
He had gotten too absorbed. At the sound, Enkrid stopped his swings and turned his head. Their eyes met.
“A round?”
Enkrid suggested.
It wasn't the time for this. But he didn't know. He really didn't, but looking at this guy named Enkrid stirred a strange sense of competitiveness in him.
It wasn't that he felt hostility. It just made him purely want to test their skills. In other words, he wanted to settle the unfinished match from their previous duel.
‘I'll have to take this seriously.’
He had seen him handle the harpy and man-faced hounds before. He'd also seen him training with his sword just now. It would be hard to assume he was still inferior.
‘A growth spurt, a real growth spurt.’
He was thirty, and still growing at this rate.
“Alright, let's do it.”
Torres kicked off the ground and stood up. Enkrid sheathed his sword and then drew the entire thing, scabbard and all. Getting hit with the sheathed sword would still break a bone somewhere.
After all, Enkrid used a powerful sword style.
“Good. Very good.”
Seeing his utterly serious expression, Torres also made a casual remark and let his arms hang loose.
‘Should I throw a dagger?’
No, a clumsy trick like that wouldn't work.
Then what?
He calculated and thought. An enlightenment gained through countless real battles pierced through Torres's mind.
‘In one blow.’
The moment he kicked the ground, Torres's body shot forward as if skimming the floor. Low and fast. At a speed reminiscent of Audin's tackle, Enkrid reflexively bent and braced his knees.
At the same time, he swung his sword downwards. Whatever approached would be hit. But then, Torres's body shot out to the side.
Enkrid's sword chased Torres's afterimage. With his eyes, his hands, and his feet. He heightened all his senses.
If he lost sight of him, he would lose. A lesson learned from their previous duel. At the same time, he wouldn't give him any distance.
This was a long fight. Could he win? If he fought a battle of attrition while maintaining distance, and if this were a real sword fight, he felt he could kill him.
But this wasn't that kind of fight. Enkrid deliberately closed the distance. Instead of panicking, Torres revealed what he had prepared.
At a distance where he could reach with just half an arm's extension, he flicked his wrist near his opponent's neck. That was all. There was no weapon in his hand, he didn't grab his neck, nor did he strike.
Enkrid reacted purely on instinct and threw his head back.
Flick.
The match was decided there. A knife with a blade the length of a handspan was now in Torres's hand. If this had been a life-or-death battle, a simple twist of Torres's wrist would have been a fatal blow.
“I was planning to leave a nice scar on your cheek.”
“……What was that?”
Enkrid was shocked. And for good reason. His hand had clearly been empty.
“It's my secret technique. You think I'd tell you just because you ask?”
“You wouldn't.” He thought he wouldn't tell him, but surprisingly, Torres began to speak freely.
“It requires dexterity. It's not something you can learn overnight.”
As he spoke, he flipped his wrist, and the knife in his hand vanished. And when he flicked his hand again, a dagger popped out from his sleeve. Looking closely, both the hilt and the blade were relatively thin.
It seemed to be an item made specifically for hiding in a sleeve.
“Hide Knife. It's my secret technique.”
Torres said, then sighed and continued.
“Tsk, this isn't something I show just anyone.”
“Yeah, it seems that way.”
Enkrid stood up again and cast his gaze into the distance. There was still time before the ferryman was scheduled to arrive.
“Another round?” he asked.
Torres shook his head as if he'd had enough, but then stood up.
“Alright, let's do it.”
It had been a long time. This feeling, like the passion he felt when he first held a sword, was burning in his chest. Torres got swept up in the feeling and played along.
For the first time in a very long time, he felt his skills improving from just a short spar. It was a combination of exhilaration and the tension of having to soon undertake a life-threatening mission. Of course, the biggest reason was right in front of him.
‘Strange.’
It was all thanks to Enkrid. Torres realized this instinctively. So it was only natural for him to find it strange and wondrous.
When the ferryman arrived at the appointed time, two soldiers soaked in sweat were gasping for breath.
“I heard it was a standing army mission, but was it training instead of a mission?” the old ferryman asked.
It was a question for which they had no reply.