Chapter 221
When Encrid stood alone on the platform, there was something like resentment in the eyes of the soldiers undergoing training.
“If you’re going to run in, at least pretend to be resting. I’m telling you, it’s better that way.”
That was Rem’s comment.
So he did as he was told.
Did that become the driving force that made them run harder?
It was anyone’s guess.
“Listen, making people work is my specialty.”
Rem insisted as much, so Encrid simply did as told and watched quietly.
It wasn’t wrong.
Rem was certainly good at pushing people.
Otherwise, there wouldn’t be that haunted look in their eyes after just a week.
It was as if a cold, blue aura was pouring from the eyes of those who ran into the training ground.
Shhhhhh.
Maybe it was the pouring rain that made it look that way.
He never liked the constant rain all that much.
‘Not bad.’
But he really liked the look in their eyes. Just running was enough to fill their eyes with malice.
There was no reason to just stand and watch anymore.
Even before repeating today, Encrid was already half-mad for training.
Moving his body and swinging his sword every day, his palms would burst open over and over.
Was it any different now?
If anything, it was only harder to restrain himself.
Making them run for training and then thinking of Count Molsen made him want to swing his sword, naturally.
Encrid pushed his body to the limit even outside of personal training time—on the platform and off it.
“At this point, you’d have to call it crazy.”
That’s what Krys, who had been watching, quietly muttered—Encrid hadn’t changed at all.
Moments like that continued, over and over.
Encrid liked the look in the eyes of the soldiers filled with rage, and he liked the fact that he was moving forward.
“Let’s try swinging weapons now.”
After making them run all day, it was only after a week that he let them pick up weapons.
There was no square formation, no unit tactics, none of that. It wasn’t Encrid’s specialty, nor was it something he could do.
Encrid’s goal was to further develop their basic abilities.
Markus was watching all of this from afar.
“All I did was give him a single title.”
Why’s he working so hard?
The lieutenant beside him nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Any deserters?”
“…They all seem tempted.”
When the lieutenant trailed off, Markus pressed further.
“Can you see any?”
“They don’t even seem to have the strength for that.”
If you don’t have enough strength left to run away, you can’t escape. That’s how Encrid’s training was.
To Markus, Encrid was someone who enjoyed the cheers and praise of others.
But there was something above that.
Encrid was a man who ran straight ahead for his purpose.
Before any cheers or praise, if there was something he needed to do, he did it.
‘What must one do to become a knight?’
Sharpen your sword.
That’s it. Do it, every day, the same way.
That’s how Encrid did it. Watching that, Markus couldn’t help but be impressed. He couldn’t help but marvel.
So, what is he doing it for now?
‘He seemed to be waiting for the title of training company commander.’
He moved as if he had been waiting.
Looking now, he seemed to enjoy killing intent and hostility just as much as cheers and praise.
‘Or does he just enjoy tormenting others?’
That thought was understandable.
Markus was just glad he didn’t have to go down there himself.
—
Vell had a connection with Encrid.
He had saved his life, and since then, they’d run into each other many times.
Because of that—
‘He’ll take it easy.’
He believed, as anyone would, that he would.
Encrid wasn’t normal.
He wouldn’t expect everyone to handle the same training regimen he did.
So, he’ll take it easy.
He must.
That’s what he believed.
That belief collapsed in two days. The tower built on faith vanished without a trace. It was wiped away, toppled cleanly.
“Huff, huff, urgh.”
His breath was caught in his throat.
“Fall behind and you get hit, understand?”
Behind him, the axe-wielding madman was smiling as he chased them.
Swinging his axe in the air, grinning from ear to ear. Even if he didn’t actually kill, it seemed obvious that getting hit by him would be much worse than running, and that was a simple truth.
“Better run, right?”
At first, they just ran laps around the training ground, but now the axe murderer chased after them. They had to run for their lives.
If they fell behind, they’d get hit and then have to run again. This repeated over and over.
“Want to kill me? Then do it. Ambush, sneak attack, I don’t care. Come at me, comrades.”
With that giggling taunt, the shoulders of several soldiers trembled.
They really did want to beat him to death.
Vell didn’t. Or rather, he couldn’t. Just running had him completely out of breath.
After sprinting over several hills, they’d return to the training ground.
“Weapons up.”
After that, it was just endless repetition of the basics.
“If you want, I’ll fight anyone at any time. Just try it, please?”
Between rounds, the axe murderer’s provocations continued, and some soldiers who thought the calm-looking blond swordsman would be easier challenged him.
“If you last five exchanges in a spar, you can rest?”
“It means you’ve proven your skill.”
His name was Ragna.
He was, to put it mildly, not what he seemed.
He thought he’d go easy.
Thwack! Crack!
He swung the wooden sword so fast, he could barely see it. If it wasn’t a wooden sword, if he’d used a real blade—
‘We’d be dead.’
Watching the unconscious soldier, Ragna spoke impassively.
“Weak.”
No, damn it.
It’s not that we’re weak, it’s that you’re insanely strong.
Vell had words rising up his throat at that, but he kept them down.
“If you’re upset, come at me. Please, come at me too. I’m begging you.”
The axe murderer’s words cooled Vell’s excitement.
If you challenge him, you’ll die. Understood.
Sprint all morning, eat lunch, then swing weapons with all your might all afternoon.
It was simple training.
But having to repeat this every day truly made it hell.
“Is he a demon?”
At a comrade’s remark before falling asleep, Vell silently agreed.
‘Demon bastard.’
Not that he could complain—he trained longer, harder, and rougher than the rest of the soldiers.
“Come, watch the spar, brothers.”
There was Encrid, fighting a bulky religious soldier.
“The axe murderer’s coming out.”
There was a spar with Rem, who casually used the nickname the soldiers had given.
He fought Ragna, and even Jaxson.
Encrid put up a good fight, but he never actually won.
No, he actually got beaten up even worse.
Audin swept his legs out, then—displaying unexpected speed for his size—caught him with a spinning kick.
With that one blow, Encrid flew. He became a bird, sent flying backward into the rack of practice swords set up at the edge of the training ground.
Bang!
After days of rain, his head stuck into the mud.
Wouldn’t he die like that? He was so shocked, his hands stopped moving.
“If you want to rest, die first.”
That’s what Rem, acting as instructor, said to the watching soldiers. Or Jaxson would sidle over and jab them in the side.
Move—it meant get moving.
Even as their arms moved and they swung their weapons reflexively, their eyes never left the fallen Encrid.
The demon of training and discipline got back up again.
He looked as though he’d come back from hell.
His head was split and bleeding, his body covered in mud, black-brown filth dripping off.
Their eyes naturally went from the muddy glob on his forearm to his face.
Is he okay?
Everyone wondered the same thing.
“Mm, that hurts.”
And that’s what he said.
He was a madman. Obsessed with the sword.
‘Sword-maniac.’
Vell chewed over the sudden thought.
“It’s hard to hold back like before now, company commander, especially when you charge at me like that.”
It seemed Encrid had crossed a line.
He saw scenes like this nearly every day.
At first, it was shocking, then horrifying, and after a month, they started to get used to it.
So summer passed, and autumn approached.
For two months straight, with only half a day of rest every ten days, there was talk about needing to hunt monsters.
“Lately the number of monsters around here has increased. They say there’s a horse-type monster with fangs. It’s a subjugation mission.”
So said the battalion commander, and it started under the second company commander’s lead.
“Sigh, damn it, does that mean no training today?”
That was platoon leader Benzense. His eyes glinted with venom, and his whole body radiated a cutting edge.
He had changed in just two months.
“We’ll be fighting all day, won’t we?”
Vell, nearby, answered.
He’d changed too.
Otherwise, he’d have deserted.
If you die in training, there’s nothing more ridiculous.
“Let’s catch those crazy colts first.”
Benzense waved his longbow. He was stronger than before and had received a new one.
It was half again bigger than the old one. The bowstring was made of tendon, tougher than before.
All the archers in his unit were similarly equipped.
Markus spared no Krong for unit equipment. That was another thing to like.
Leaving training to the mad company commander was the worst, though.
“Over there!”
Three soldiers sent as scouts spotted the approaching monsters.
Normally, monsters were carnivores, but sometimes herbivores underwent monsterization, too.
The most troublesome were horses.
A horse with fangs was dangerous just by charging. They weaponized their bodies.
“There’s more than ten!”
At the scouts’ report, the second company commander shouted.
“Archers, ready!”
Benzense obeyed, though he was a company commander himself.
He was a man of principle.
He’d heard the first company commander was absent from training.
At the call for archers, Benzense’s unit sprang into action.
“Fire!”
Benzense spoke, notching and drawing his arrow. The longbow creaked and groaned.
The time when his muscles screamed had passed.
It had only been two months, but he’d spent them with demons worse than these devilish horses with fangs.
Had those days been worth it?
Swoosh!
The arrow flew from the bowstring, piercing the head of a horse-monster.
The sound of it cutting through the air, the thud as it split the skull, were both satisfying.
The head of the struck one jerked back. The charging horse crashed to the ground.
Benzense felt something strange.
Every muscle responded as he wished.
The increased strength and stamina from harsh training gave him a new perspective.
More than that, the extremity of those two months even gave him mental composure.
‘One more shot.’
Even with monsters charging, he felt he had time.
“Fire!”
As he drew, the horse monster’s head seemed especially big.
His focus burned brighter than ever.
Watching that, Benzense let go of the string.
Thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip!
He and his men drew and fired in unison.
It didn’t take long for ten monsters to fall dead from the arrows.
Arrows stuck in heads and bodies alike.
“Neigh!”
A death cry rang out.
“There’s more coming!”
Before they could even appreciate their work, the scouts’ cry rang out. Even as they killed ten, a dozen more monsters charged from behind.
These ones closed the distance so fast, there was no time to shoot.
“Engage!”
The second company commander’s shout. Soon, it was man versus monster.
No one could make miraculous progress in just two months.
But strength, stamina, and focus had improved.
Vell felt it, too.
His body felt lighter. Compared to monsters like Encrid, horse monsters were nothing.
“Kill!”
“Crush them!”
“Slaughter them!”
Everyone shouted as they pierced the horse monsters’ heads or hacked through the toughened, monsterized muscle.
He stabbed with his spear and swung a glaive he’d taken as spoils from the last battlefield.
Wham!
The second company commander also swung his glaive, and his strength was something else.
The blade of his glaive sliced off the horse’s front leg.
Fwoosh, violet blood spurted out.
Monster blood is black, but the blood of a beast-monster can be blue or violet.
The peculiar blood of the beast-monsters splattered everywhere.
In a way, the battle was underwhelming.
One of the infantry, his whole body painted with blood, spoke up.
“…Why are these guys so easy?”
He meant it. There was no sense of danger.
Beeeep!
Later, a griffin charged at them.
But Benzense’s archers aimed at its wings, and the soldiers rushed in, hacking it apart.
A griffin could be called a high-level monster, but it was manageable.
It was only one, after all—not a swarm.
After the battle, no one doubted their skills had changed.
The Border Guards’ standing army were always people used to the battlefield.
They’d always been capable, but now they were something more.
Back at the base, Encrid praised them—in his own way.
“You haven’t run yet today, have you?”
Monster hunting was one thing, but running was still running—wasn’t it?
“What a bastard, seriously.”
Vell finally let out the curse he’d been holding in. He’d thought he’d changed, thanks to all this training, but Encrid’s words left him so dumbfounded her real feelings slipped out.
“Challenging me to a spar, right?”
Swearing and talking back counted as challenging him, by Rem’s rule.
“Been a while, Vell.”
Encrid nodded at him and called him forward.
There was no backing out.
He couldn’t even ask him to go easy.
If he was going to fight, he’d give it everything.
That was what Encrid always emphasized.
Now was the time to charge in with everything.
Training continued.
Aside from Vell getting beaten up, Encrid kept doing what he needed to do.
And it wasn’t just training.
“You’ve got a visitor. First guest of the day.”
Before evening, Krys came looking for Encrid.
Encrid never got tired of the daily routine of training, but having someone come to see him brought a brief thrill of excitement.
“Starting with a big shot, huh?”
Krys added.
It was a promising remark.
Led by Krys, Encrid made his way to the market square.
The opponent was waiting at Vanessa’s Pumpkin Inn.
Just as Krys had promised, when word got out, people wouldn’t just spread rumors—they’d come to him.
So, here was the first visitor.
“You? You’re the one who used to be a soldier?”
A man stood in the inn’s backyard training yard. Two scars crossed his face—one ran across the bridge of his nose, the other carved deep into his cheek.
His presence was immediately felt.
And the weapon in his hand matched that presence.
It was a morning star, the head covered in sharp, spiked studs.
Every spike looked razor-sharp, and the whole iron ball was heavy.
“I’m Ibarun.”
The man introduced himself. From behind, Krys added,
“Mercenary Ibarun—he’s really famous. In the city, he’s known as ‘Choking Ibarun.’”
“I think my nickname’s even flashier.”
Encrid muttered, looking at him, and Krys answered like it was nothing special.
“Well, sure. Bees and butterflies always come to flashy flowers.”
Krys’s rumor-mongering nickname was definitely flashier.
A soldier from the end of the war, a title that felt almost embarrassing—but it was exactly what Encrid wanted. He stood face to face with him.
Before he could say anything, the scarred mercenary, Ibarun, spoke up first.
“Let’s have a match.”
Encrid nodded.
