Chapter 326
Encrid was half-dead after receiving the knight’s sword, but after two days of fever, he got somewhat better.
His monstrous recovery ability once again proved its worth.
Of course, he wasn’t in perfect condition.
‘There’s no strength in my grip.’
Perhaps it was a blessing that his shoulder dislocated right after blocking the sword.
Had he endured any longer, it would’ve strained not just his forearm but the entire arm muscle.
His body wasn’t in great shape yet, but skipping the party wasn’t an option.
No, to be precise, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to rest—it was that they wouldn’t let him.
“Captain!”
Starting with Helma, soldiers he recognized began visiting Encrid’s tent one by one.
“Would you like a bite of eel?”
Even the cook came by.
“You were amazing.”
So did a scout commander.
And then, a few loudmouthed soldiers followed.
Some looked awkward but showed their faces in the end.
“It was an honor to fight with you.”
They said in unison.
Encrid silently looked at them.
Those who had entered in excitement fell quiet when Encrid said nothing.
Not even their lips twitched.
Silence filled the air.
A cold winter breeze slipped through the tent’s entrance, brushing their skin with a chill.
A few soldiers’ fine hairs stood on end.
‘Did we overdo it back then?’
‘Yeah, feels like we did.’
They began glancing at each other.
“Uh, Captain?”
Unable to bear the tension, Helma spoke up.
Encrid looked at Helma without a trace of a smile.
He didn’t need to organize his thoughts.
He simply spoke what he always believed.
Only, he wanted to say it after meeting each of their gazes.
Not as empty words that vanished into the air, but as words with sincerity.
He’d learned that from Krys.
So Encrid did as he had learned.
It might’ve felt like a freezing wind to them, but to him, sincerity was more important than comfort.
“It was an honor for me as well.”
Encrid opened his mouth.
He had once spoken of honor after receiving a knight’s sword.
To him, fighting alongside these men was an equal, if not greater, honor.
Why wouldn’t it be?
These were comrades who took up spears to protect their families, their friends, their lives.
Sure, some fought for a few Krongs, but what of it?
In the end, everyone fought for the comrade beside them.
That’s what camaraderie meant.
They were the same.
They risked their lives to scout enemy territory.
They were the eyes and hands of the army.
Without them, he wouldn’t have fought the way he did.
So how could this not be an honor?
He saw no reason to hide his respect for them. His lips opened and spoke the truth.
“It was an honor.”
He continued the words he had stopped earlier.
After a moment of silence, one of the soldiers smacked his own head.
‘Thud!’
“…Ah, damn it, I’m an idiot.”
The soldier muttered, the same one who’d once criticized Encrid.
Helma burst out laughing.
Seeing that, the soldier spoke solemnly.
“Go on without me, Captain! I give you permission!”
“What the hell are you talking about, idiot.”
Helma grabbed the man by the neck and tucked him under her arm.
He choked but didn’t ask to be released.
Still, was it right for him to call Encrid “Captain” when his own commander was standing there?
When Encrid asked that, the middle-aged man beside him, holding a bottle of wine, answered cheerfully.
“It’s fine. A captain is still a captain!”
It turned out this man was the battalion commander himself.
And he said it with a smile.
That wasn’t the end of it.
Nurat came over.
“Captain, you alright?”
He was whispering to Krys like they were old friends.
Nurat was Commander Garret’s direct aide and lieutenant.
Which meant Encrid was technically just a company commander.
Yet she also called him simply “Captain.”
Listening to all this, Encrid got the picture.
“Hey, Captain, tell us your story. We’re dying to know what really happened!”
Even Garret said that.
After all, Encrid had charged into the enemy lines alone and swung his sword, turning the tide of battle on the first day.
Though he’d gone missing and been through a lot afterward, the most unforgettable image burned into the soldiers’ minds was that of one man’s back—one man’s sword—one man’s momentum.
“The Captain’s Blade!”
Someone who’d seen him fight had coined that strange nickname, and it stuck.
Thanks to the medic who fixed his shoulder, an even stranger one spread around.
“They also call him the Sword of Endurance, apparently?”
Krys, ever sharp-eared, had overheard it.
For a name born from how absurdly well he endured pain, it sounded almost too grand.
In truth, “crazy company commander” was still the more common nickname, but nicknames fade fast anyway.
The victory celebration lasted two days.
Encrid used the time to recover and truly rest—eating, drinking, and relaxing.
“Eel!”
“Trout!”
They had everything from seafood to roasted piglets, wine, even expensive whiskey.
“To the Captain’s Blade!”
“Eat and die!”
Garret turned out to be quite the drinker.
Encrid had never lost a drinking contest before, but Garret could really hold his liquor.
He drank three or four bottles of strong spirits alone and still sang with a clear voice.
It wasn’t his first time, either—some soldiers joined in, chanting between verses.
“Ura!”
When the world calls for us!
“Ura!”
We sell our swords for gold!
“Ura!”
Thus we sell our swords for gold!
“Ura!”
We are mercenaries!
“Ura!”
Selling our swords for gold!
“Ura!”
And staking our lives for loyalty!
Encrid had heard that song during his travels across the continent before, but never sung this cleanly.
Garret’s voice was born for it—steady yet smooth.
When needed, it burst with power, and then softened like silk.
As soldiers shouted “Ura!” around him, Garret ended the song and approached Encrid.
“I’ve already made a song for you too.”
That made Encrid tilt his head.
A song?
“I’ll sing it later.”
Garret patted his stomach and laughed.
Handsome, good-natured—he was truly a decent man.
No wonder Markus had placed him here.
Even Graham, the Border Guards’ lord and commander, hadn’t seemed worried about betrayal.
It had been Krys who’d worried back then, but now those worries felt pointless.
“Yes, I’ll listen to it then.”
After a few drinks, a victory, and some new insight gained, Encrid felt content.
He had received the knight’s sword and spoken of honor.
Now he celebrated victory with those he called comrades.
It was satisfying.
Some soldiers whispered, saying even monsters were human after all.
Of course he was—what else would he be?
“They don’t get it,” Krys said drunkenly. “The Captain might be drinking now, but come morning, he’ll train again! I swear on my—”
He smacked his crotch with his palm for emphasis.
“Really?”
“Don’t believe me? Bet on it!”
Naturally, he began collecting coins from a few soldiers.
Encrid only caught the start of it and ignored the rest.
He knew Krys’s tricks all too well.
There was no need to listen further.
Across the table, his eyes met Ragna’s.
Ragna gave a small nod, and Encrid raised his glass in return.
‘My thanks.’
He’d said it to the ferryman before, but it was meant for all of them—including Ragna.
He had forged what could only be called a crushing sword.
Without Ragna, would he have found that path?
Perhaps he would have found a way somehow.
But Ragna’s presence had shortened that journey—and now, Encrid knew he needed him.
If Ragna were to leave, he’d at least ask once if he truly meant it.
That’s why he’d told Jaxson it was only natural to return.
‘Is it my greed?’
To keep people close.
To have them by his side.
Was that really right?
‘Or do I just need a wall to hide my own weakness?’
A thought from his younger days, lingering still.
But now, it was pointless.
Weakness?
Encrid clenched and unclenched his fist.
The pain was fading by the second.
Thanks to [Isolation Technique] and his regenerative body, his wounds were healing.
His body had changed.
His sword had changed.
His mindset was largely the same, yet undeniably, something within him had evolved.
‘No.’
They weren’t walls—they were friends.
Comrades.
Sometimes teachers, sometimes fellow soldiers.
He would ask them when the time came.
When he stood at a crucial crossroad, he would ask—or rather, tell them.
That they could leave if they wished.
If the path ahead was certain death, as it was now—
‘I’ll spend today.’
Even curses could be used.
Not a passive stance anymore, but a decisive one.
Still, he would always strive to survive the day.
If he couldn’t change that day, he’d let them go.
That was the right thing to do.
Encrid didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t agonize.
He simply decided.
“Eat and die!”
Helma shouted, shirtless, baring only her chest wrap.
Wasn’t she cold?
Her abs were visible, scars and all.
“You’re my woman!”
One soldier hollered, only to get punched in the head and gut before rolling away and vomiting.
Yeah, sure, “your woman.”
Encrid couldn’t help but chuckle.
For that night, he threw away all pointless thoughts.
He focused on resting.
“Your body needs rest, and so does your mind, brother.”
Hadn’t Audin said that too?
He even stopped thinking.
Just for one day, he thought of nothing.
He simply existed in the present.
A day that would never return—a day more precious because of it.
Encrid ate, drank, and laughed.
“I’ll be a cook. A cook!”
A soldier who was good at cooking muttered as he approached, and Encrid replied.
“Why tell me that?”
“Come buy from me when I open up.”
Ah, business-minded too.
Not quite Krys’s level, but decent enough.
“Alright.”
“It’s an honor.”
At those words, two other soldiers watching from the side chimed in.
“So do I.”
“It’s an honor.”
Were they copying him now?
They must’ve been drunk out of their minds.
Encrid laughed and smacked both of them on the head.
“Ow!”
They laughed as they took the hit.
A sloppy imitation indeed.
The next morning, Encrid resumed training after only two hours of sleep.
He wasn’t pushing himself, just loosening his body and building heat—but a few hungover soldiers rubbed their eyes in disbelief.
‘He drank, ate, and partied all night—and he’s up training at dawn? Is this real?’
What could they do? Encrid’s body simply worked better when he moved.
Naturally, Krys won his bets.
Three days later, Encrid had mostly recovered.
It was time to return.
Since he still couldn’t walk properly, Garret lent him a carriage.
Just before departure, Garret approached.
“Commander Encrid.”
“You have something to say?”
Normally, people pestered him to share battle stories.
It wasn’t hard, but the middle-aged man looking at him with shining eyes felt a bit much.
He had even claimed to have written a song.
Still hadn’t heard it, though.
“How about taking command of the Green Pearl Battalion?”
Garret offered, leaning against the carriage and yawning as he spoke.
No tension in his voice at all.
Encrid had turned down better offers before—even one from a lord and commander of the Border Guards.
“No, I won’t.”
He refused immediately, and Garret chuckled.
“Thought so.”
“Then why ask?”
“I’m retiring.”
“Then why?”
“Because whoever succeeds me is gonna have a rough time.”
When Encrid gave him a questioning look, Garret explained.
“This position comes with heavy pressure from the capital. Marquis Markus has been shielding us so far, but who knows for how long?
And besides, doesn’t the whole situation smell like a dogfight waiting to happen?”
What was he getting at?
“You mean… a civil war?”
Krys cut in from behind.
It was another one of those things only they seemed to understand, but Encrid caught the gist.
Defeating Azpen’s forces had been good, but it might lead to other consequences.
Of course, it wasn’t something to worry about now.
Encrid didn’t care. Not yet.
He was too busy digesting what had entered his body—
‘The Knight’s Sword.’
He sat back in the carriage, dozing as it took him back to the Border Guards.
Garret looked indifferent, and Krys didn’t seem concerned either.
Neither thought anything major would happen soon.
When they arrived, the first thing he saw was a familiar face.
“You’re back?”
“Wandering Teresa welcomes you back, Captain.”
“Brother, was your journey peaceful?”
Encrid realized—he was home.