Chapter 287

As Encrid was just moving to the head of the unit, a sharp-eyed scout spoke.

“Someone’s coming out.”

Just as he said, a man trudged out from the viscount’s side. A dim sun, veiled by clouds, spilled down over the man’s head.

‘Big?’

He’s pretty big. As big as Audin.

Encrid stared hard at the man who twisted perspective oddly even from afar. He wasn’t riding; he was walking out on his own feet.

Neither slow nor fast, but full of confidence.

If you stride alone into the middle of a battlefield, that’s confidence or nothing.

“Do we shoot?”

One of the archers asked.

“No.”

Encrid answered.

Even so, some of the archers, uneasy, raised and lowered their hands on the bowstrings.

Starting with arrows loosed by the archers—that was the beginning of battle. That was the basic of war.

Woof! Woof! Grrrr!

A few wolves barked behind the man. They were awfully noisy, but the man merely picked his ear once and shouted,

“My name is Lykanos! Send me your best!”

With his words he stomped a foot, and with a boom the ground shook.

How can someone be that strong?

The soldiers’ spirit cooled. Rem seemed to have been hit, and the one stepping up was lethal. Even compared to that great Encrid, he didn’t look outmatched.

One of the best tactics to break and crush the opponent’s morale before battle—

A duel.

If the hand you’re holding is a festival hand, you should play it.

The Black Blade had, of course, prepared a card.

Ragna took a step. Audin reacted too.

Encrid drew his sword down in front of the two.

Not fast, and lightly.

Whoom.

A blade tinged blue traced the air and barred their steps.

“He’s mine. You two do something else.”

Encrid’s gaze still faced Lykanos.

Even as he did, Encrid also turned over the means to unravel the fight and the field.

How many fights would follow? And what could be gained today?

Krys had set the board; it was Encrid’s lot to reap and carry off what the board allowed.

‘When did I get this confident?’

A thing like confidence surged up from his chest and urged him to step onto this battle.

Encrid didn’t hate it.

It was the place he’d wanted, the place he wanted to be, and it was waiting for him.

“Jaxson.”

“Yes.”

“Find a chance and bring me the pig’s head.”

Today would be fine, or the next battle. No harm if it was late, but some things had to be cleared away.

“Sure.”

Jaxson nodded, indifferent.

That was reassuring. He wouldn’t fail.

“Audin, Teresa. Looks like there’s something big among those wolves?”

When they’d infiltrated the enemy lines there had been three big beasts; looked like one remained.

No, bigger than that?

It wouldn’t matter. A big beast, whatever.

Only, you couldn’t let common soldiers meet that thing. Instinct said so.

“As brother wishes, it shall be done. Let us pray.”

Audin pressed his hands together and quietly stepped back, and Teresa knelt on one knee beside him.

“As you command.”

Then Dunbakel tugged at her collar.

Ragna stood there beside her too. Cold, but his eyes said it plain: he would fight. He was eager. He could hew that thing down with his sword right now.

Watching Ragna’s eagerness was more fun than he’d expected.

He’d never felt frustrated seeing him loaf.

But there was no way seeing talent go to rot could be pleasant.

Of course, he had a stout heart that let things pass without fuss, so it wasn’t an issue.

‘A genius with drive.’

Seeing Ragna stirred with will was enjoyable. Saying the opposite wasn’t painful didn’t mean this wasn’t enjoyable.

And seeing himself standing at his side, following such a Ragna, was also enjoyable.

“Stir it up as you like. Cut whatever you see. Only, after that wolf is stopped.”

If they had a giant wolf ready, this side had a beastman more savage than any wolf and a sword that cut anything.

If you sent them diving through common ranks, you could tilt the battle one way.

No need to strain to raise morale; just the two of them stepping up would change the course of the fight.

A battlefield ruled by a small elite—they would show why that was truth.

That would be enough. Dunbakel nodded and snorted an answer.

“Enough to show Creamhalt.”

Creamhalt was the god the beastmen served.

A god of war and breeding.

To show the god meant to show a fight without shame.

Thanks to Rem. The barbarian’s harassment had evolved one beastman into a mad beastman.

“I’ll yield.”

Hearing Ragna’s flat words, Encrid started forward.

“Took you long enough to show. I thought no one over there had anything dangling. Gonna dawn on you now?”

Lykanos smacked his crotch and shouted.

A taunt, and words to boost his side’s morale.

He wasn’t looking for an answer.

“Wa-wa-wa! No dangler!”

“Nothing there!”

“Idi—ot!”

The enemy spewed curses.

Their side made noise to match.

“What a joke!”

“He’s got one!”

“And it’s bigger than yours!”

“Vermin bandit scum!”

As Encrid trudged forward through the curses and cheers, Graham asked from behind,

“You can win, right?”

“Yes. Even if I die, we win.”

Had he steeled himself for death? Graham folded his arms, hiding his unease.

Encrid was only being honest.

He meant it. If that ahead was a wall, if that was death—

He would cross it. And win.

Encrid, strangely, stood before the man without a flicker of excitement.

His condition was neither bad nor good.

“Yeah, it’s there. Bigger than yours, too.”

At the words he tossed once they faced off, Lykanos twisted his mouth.

Listen to the cheek on this punk.

“Bigger than mine?”

“I’ve yet to see anyone bigger than me.”

“…Arrogant little bastard. You. You’re that punk, right? The one they call Encrid or whatever.”

The man already knew his name. Of course, Encrid knew him as well.

He’d heard he was one of the powers in the Black Blade bandits.

He was as big as Audin, and the heavy weapon strapped to his back told what his fighting style would be.

Soon Lykanos slid his left foot in.

Inside the distance Encrid had fixed.

Encrid reacted at once. He drew from his left hip and slashed.

Lykanos, inside the gap, retreated with speed ill-suited to his bulk.

Two steps more than he’d come.

Whoom.

The blade sliced air.

As the sword rose on a diagonal, Lykanos swung his own weapon.

Whoosh!

A black shadow curved in as if from the back of his head.

Seeing the weapon falling vertically, Encrid moved his feet.

Skritch-skritch!

He skimmed the ground and shifted position. He slid his right foot aside, stepping around to the enemy’s flank.

The mace that landed where Encrid had been hammered the ground.

Bang!

Dirt and stones flew everywhere. Some struck Encrid’s body and head, but he ignored the trifles; the moment he took the flank he drew a dwarf’s gladius and thrust straight in.

The first thrust he’d learned repeating the day slid into Lykanos’s side.

A lightning stab.

Lykanos raised an arm and trapped the blade in his flank.

The blade stuck between his arm and side.

Startling reflexes and response.

He tried to twist and break the sword there, but it didn’t go as he wished.

“Hard as hell!”

He barked, and swung the mace again.

Whoosh!

Before the horizontally flying mace arrived, the wind-pressure crushed Encrid’s face.

Encrid judged the mace’s arc by sound without looking.

He ducked.

A bludgeon that could shatter and tear human skin with a graze passed over his head.

Encrid ignited the heart of monstrous strength and wrenched the gladius.

‘Hup.’

With a short inhalation, the muscles of his left arm swelled as if to burst.

Grind-grind!

The blade twisted as if to plane flesh from side and forearm.

Lykanos couldn’t hold and released the blade pinned in his flank.

“You little—”

Blood streamed down the inside of his forearm.

His side armor only bore a scar, but the inside of his forearm was definitely rasped.

“Hurt?”

As he spoke, showing he was settling his breath, he drove the sword in his right hand straight down.

At the same time he recovered the gladius and slid it into the scabbard.

Lykanos drew back his body to the incoming strike.

He wasn’t some brute who only swung a mace. His movements were concise and clean.

He’d trained for years; his combat experience was rich.

The blade cut the air. Through the slicing whistle Lykanos’s gaze fixed on Encrid.

The dull, dark pupils reminded Encrid of Jaxson somehow.

So he looked sly.

Thunk.

He kicked off again and charged. The frozen hard ground cracked and clods popped up like stones.

Encrid set his left hand on the gladius hilt.

He feinted a draw and moved his feet again.

This time he pushed off the ground with his toes to the rear—a backstep.

His steps avoided every pebble-hail bounding up between them.

‘Avoided?’

Lykanos, with that doubt, moved to continue.

He raised the mace and swung from high to low on a diagonal.

At the same time he crossed his feet and sprang forward.

Just before the opponent’s motion completed, Encrid let the sword in his right hand go in the air and cut downward.

To an onlooker it would have looked like he had dropped his sword and was stirring empty air.

But in that hand a Whistle Dagger was gripped, and that was different.

Peep!

A Whistle Dagger buried into Lykanos’s face at near point-blank range.

From the first draw, he’d expected the opponent to dodge and block, so he’d swung with a Whistle Dagger palmed in his right hand.

And now it paid off.

He’d once learned over the shoulder from Torres of the frontier guard about hiding a dagger in the sleeve.

All those techniques came out.

Lykanos’s head snapped back. Then it came forward again.

Regrettably, it wasn’t the result Encrid wanted.

“You litt—”

The blade was wedged in Lykanos’s front teeth.

His upper teeth cracked with a snap, but he’d blocked it.

“Bleh, ptooey, don’t eat that.”

Encrid said. His taunts were always apt.

Lykanos spat the dagger out, and fury blazed in his eyes.

“I’ll kill you for sure. And before I do, I’ll mash that, too. Big, huh? I’ll mince it till it can’t be seen.”

He seemed to find the words distasteful himself, but Encrid didn’t even show a smirk, winning the mental edge as well.

Whoom.

The mace again. This time Encrid held his sword in both hands and let it flow.

A serpent-blade. He meant to shed and strike.

‘Brute.’

Even with the heart of monstrous strength lit, the opponent still had the stronger power.

‘Will?’

It made him wonder.

If there was a Will of denial, there might also be a Will that granted brute strength.

He couldn’t shed it properly; the mace and blade caught and stuck.

From that posture Lykanos heaved and drove the mace in. He set his other hand on the far side of the mace and swallowed a breath—hup.

He meant to press him down with strength. Encrid slid his left foot back.

With a pop his knee bent halfway.

He was being overborne by strength.

As he pressed down from above, Lykanos opened his mouth.

“What? Thought you couldn’t be pushed by strength? Hey, punk, you think you’re the only one who’s strong?”

‘No, there are plenty stronger than me. Always.’

Audin went without saying, and Rem, Ragna, even Teresa—he had no confidence he could beat them for strength yet.

“Your front tooth’s broken.”

With the force he’d used, he could see the front tooth that had blocked the dagger was broken.

“Women won’t like that.”

Encrid’s apt remark was enough to draw Lykanos’s rage.

“Raaagh!”

The brute bellowed.

Encrid gathered the very strength he’d use to roar.

Was he quick to anger?

A brief doubt slipped into the battle, then was gone.

There was no time or leisure for that.

The opponent was strong. Very.

Worlds apart from those clumsy mercenary punks who called themselves Junior Knight class or whatever.

With weapons still locked, Lykanos took his left hand off, clenched a fist, and swung.

Thud!

Encrid tightened his traps and turned his head, shedding the blow.

Valaf Style martial art—body shedding.

He didn’t just take it.

He shifted his posture as he took the hit and kicked the opponent’s shin.

Thunk!

A heavy thud rang off the guard.

“Hurts, punk.”

Lykanos spoke and let his weapon go entirely.

Then he reached with his right hand to grab Encrid by the collar.

Encrid used his left. He drew the second sword, the gladius, to slice off all the fingers.

Lykanos must have even predicted that; he pulled the reaching hand back. Hands and feet traded in a flurry. Encrid mixed in sword-strikes and kept up the close fight, but there were no kill shots.

They traded attacks full of ferocity and savagery that still couldn’t kill.

Encrid’s head split on one side and bled, and Lykanos—who’d lost his helmet in the fight—had split lips and a cheek cut, pouring blood.

Besides that, Encrid took a shot in the gut and couldn’t shed it cleanly, and his breathing rose a little.

In that gap he clipped Lykanos’s chin with his toe, showed off a tricksy martial move by spinning once in midair and coming down, and Lykanos’s head spun for a moment.

When at last the two who had been clinched sprang apart, neither body was normal.

“Haven’t seen one like you in a while.”

“I see them all the time.”

“First one who doesn’t lose a single exchange.”

“Ah, that I’m used to.”

Winning was what he was used to.

Grit.

Lykanos ground his molars. His face looked the worse for the broken front tooth, but his killing aura was the same.

“Unlucky bastard.”

Right after that. Lykanos swung the same mace, and Encrid thought it was odd.

Something had changed. But he couldn’t say what.

Nor was there space to open distance wide and avoid.

So he had to block. He lifted his sword and laid it on, soft. The mace didn’t stick against the serpent-blade this time but slid aside.

Skrrk-krak!

As he was shedding the thick iron club meeting his edge, in the instant split and split again—

Lykanos’s body moved twice as fast as before.

Encrid’s focus flared like never before.

The mace?

That was a shell. In slowed time, Lykanos drew his real weapon.

A stiletto-like smallsword, the mace its scabbard.

He thrust as he drew.

It was faster than any sword Encrid had ever seen.

The moment he parried—an arrow of light seemed to fly.

It touched his body before his eyes could register it.

Just before that sword skewered his torso like a spit, in a state of hyperfocus where brain and eyes felt aflame, a sense of evasion fired.

Encrid twisted his body by instinct. Thanks to that, the blade grazed his side and drove into his right upper arm.

Every instant passed like a dream, like fleeting frames.

The ching of a sword drawing, the bite of steel into flesh, the pain that followed—

None of it existed.

To keep from dying in those sliced-up frames, because he fought every day like a madman, Encrid moved on reflex.

The movements that followed were the same.

As he twisted his body and freed his right arm, he brought up the sword in his left and struck.

The gladius turned into a frighteningly fast slash and crashed at the opponent’s face.

Encrid’s blade traced from the jaw up over the opponent’s left eye.

Thud, rip!

Two different meat-tearing sounds rang between them and both recoiled.

No—more like they were flung apart.

“Loose!”

Someone shouted.

Then both armies loosed arrows, caring nothing for the two.

The end of the duel, the start of the general engagement.

Encrid staggered and dropped to one knee.

Someone behind caught his body.

“We’ll pull back.”

It was Jaxson.

Encrid nodded.