Chapter 24 - Three
"The wind is blowing this way, right? But these short grasses here are flattened in the opposite direction, forming a circular shape. Do you see that?"
Enri stepped on the base of a tall grass stalk, pushing it aside to reveal the shorter grass underneath.
As he uncovered the traces left in the grassland, Enri began to explain with ease.
"Ah, I see."
Enkrid responded, studying the ground closely.
It made sense when explained, but finding it alone would have been challenging.
This place was known as the Tallgrass Meadow.
Looking around, it was an endless expanse of green.
A bard traveling across the continent once gazed at this plain during the height of summer and named it "Green Pearl," signifying its lush, verdant beauty.
Among the greenery, the tall grasses appeared darker, like the depths of an ocean.
It was an apt name.
This damned grassland wasn't a pleasant place for humans to roam freely.
If one let their guard down, the swaying grasses would slap against their face and eyes.
Bugs clung to every part of the body.
Crickets and grasshoppers leapt about, while frogs occasionally appeared in pools of water.
Seeing a frog brought to mind the Frog who had once kicked him.
Of course, Frogs claimed they were entirely different creatures from actual frogs.
Killing a frog in front of them elicited no reaction, but threatening to crush their heart would ignite a fierce response.
"Just one hit to the side."
Even though he had reflexively blocked it, one strike had been enough to knock him down.
How much time would he need to match the strength of a Frog?
Not yet, but someday, perhaps he could face that Frog in battle.
Doubt lingered.
It was inevitable—persistence didn't always mean an absence of doubt.
But there was no time for doubt, either.
Instead of wasting time questioning, he'd rather swing his sword one more time.
As soon as negative thoughts crept in, Enkrid pushed them away.
There was no sense in worrying over what couldn't be resolved immediately.
With that, he focused again on Enri's explanations.
The soldier, a former prairie hunter, exuded positivity.
Even when the squad leader acted like an idiot, Enri simply shrugged it off, telling Enkrid to endure it.
Not that Enkrid needed to—he was used to shrugging things off himself.
Enri, ever the hunter, observed their surroundings even in this situation, pointing out details.
It made for an engaging listen.
"There's not much animal droppings here. Why's that?"
Enri tilted his head, puzzled.
"Is that an issue?" Enkrid asked, pushing aside the thick, tall grass leaves falling over his head.
"This grassland might look like useless weeds to humans, but it's a haven for creatures that rely on this grass as their staple food. Normally, there should be more signs of animals, yet there are few here."
Fewer animals.
Why?
Enkrid brushed off an insect clinging to his cheek with his fingers.
It wasn't a leech, but it extended a sharp proboscis as if to suck blood.
Looking at the bug and the obstructive grass around him, he felt an overwhelming urge to grab a sharp scythe and cut it all down.
"Shh, you talk too much," the reconnaissance squad leader said, glancing back.
He frowned at a cricket leaping past but made no complaints.
'That's unexpected.'
Enkrid had thought the leader would be full of irritation, ranting about the inconvenience of the grassland.
Instead, the man kept quiet.
Though the sea of green dominated, patches of grass had turned pale brown—a sign of the coming autumn.
When winter arrived, the flourishing grass would vanish, leaving only traces behind.
With the return of warmer days, the tall grass would grow again, nourished by the remnants of the previous year.
The cycle repeated every year.
'Death, then regrowth.'
Was it nature's law?
What about the events unfolding in his life?
Today's repetition weighed on his mind, no matter how much he tried to shake it off.
Daily monotony couldn't be ignored. But Enkrid had already decided on his approach.
'Use whatever can be used.'
This was no exception.
He didn't see it as a blessing.
Even if it were a curse, nothing would change.
After trudging through the grassland for a while, someone tapped Enkrid's shoulder.
It wasn't Enri.
It was the soldier sticking closely to the squad leader.
"Our squad leader might seem childish, but try to understand. He has his reasons. He needs to make achievements, but they keep assigning him to reconnaissance duties. He's frustrated."
And what was this all of a sudden?
"You're a squad leader too, right? Forget about the nonsense earlier, please."
An odd timing, to say the least.
Still, Enkrid accepted the apology without much thought.
There was no benefit to harboring resentment while on a mission.
Not that there was anything worth getting angry over.
Enkrid still believed the same. Rather than waste energy on such things, he'd devote more time to training.
"Fine."
"You're generous, squad leader."
The soldier smiled.
His faded blond hair and sharp features gave the impression of someone skilled in combat—a complete opposite of Big Eyes.
Simply put, he couldn't be called handsome.
Nodding briefly, Enkrid turned and instinctively tuned his hearing.
It was then he caught an unusual sound.
Rustle.
Hiss.
Crack.
Thanks to what he'd learned from Jaxen and consistent training, the effort paid off.
'That sounds different.'
The ten members of the reconnaissance team walked close enough to see each other's backs but not quite touching shoulders.
By now, he was familiar with the sound of tall grass being parted.
But the noise he heard now was different.
It came from farther away.
It was the sound of someone moving through grass.
Intermingled were the hisses of beasts and the crunch of footsteps.
Humans.
They weren't allies.
The tallgrass meadow itself held little value—it was simply a barrier to cross into enemy territory.
But beyond the meadow was a plain with no place to hide, making it foolish to traverse.
Did their opponents have an equally foolish squad leader who sent a reconnaissance team here?
"There's someone else besides us," Enkrid said.
The sharp-featured soldier ahead blinked, confused.
"What?"
His expression asked, What are you talking about?
Frowning, he tilted his head.
"I think I hear it too," Enri chimed in from the right.
"What?"
When Enkrid stopped walking, the reconnaissance squad leader stepped back, asking, "What is it?"
"Enemies."
Enkrid's immediate response was clear, but recognizing the threat was a separate matter.
Ping!
Thwack!
Before they could fully grasp the situation, the enemy's attack had already landed.
"Argh!"
The squad leader stepped back, and a short bolt lodged itself in the leading soldier's skull.
Enkrid quickly identified the direction of the shot by the sound and examined the bolt's form with his eyes.
Bolt.
A short arrow, ideal for close-range use.
It wasn't meant for longbows.
Crossbow.
The conclusion came swiftly.
As the leading soldier collapsed with a hole in his head, Enkrid shouted immediately.
"Get down!"
At the same time, he grabbed the squad leader by the collar and pulled him down.
"Urgh!"
The squad leader let out a gasp.
As they pressed themselves flat to the ground, the dying cries of other soldiers echoed.
Front, right, and left.
Even if they avoided the initial volley by lowering their stance, death was inevitable.
So what should they do?
They had to charge out.
Choose a direction and break through.
There was no room for hesitation.
Enkrid, lying flat with his stomach nearly scraping the ground, threw himself toward one side.
Rustle!
The bushes parted, signaling his movement to the enemy.
Predictably, bolts from crossbows came flying toward him.
"Foolish!"
Enri shouted in alarm.
It looked like a suicide move.
Thwack!
Half by luck, Enkrid avoided most of the bolts.
One, however, struck his left shoulder, but he could now see the enemy.
The attackers had cleared some tall grass to create a space for movement.
Among the bushes, he spotted a figure dressed in green, holding a crossbow.
The moment he saw them, Enkrid drew his sword.
Always strike with your best attack, in any stance, at any time.
He acted as he'd been trained.
He propelled himself off the ground, closing the distance.
The enemy tried to reload their crossbow.
A fatal mistake.
As soon as Enkrid reached striking range, he planted his left foot and thrust his sword.
The tip of his arming sword pierced through the air and grazed the enemy's neck.
The blade cut through the thin skin of the neck, leaving a sharp line of blood that burst forth, soon flowing in thick streams.
The soldier clutched at their neck before collapsing.
Enkrid didn't stop.
He immediately darted to the left.
It was too close for bolts.
A spear tip aimed for his chest.
Feigning a charge, Enkrid abruptly stopped, letting the enemy's spear stab at empty air.
A short spear wielded by a soldier came into view.
The soldier's eyes mixed excitement and surprise—a seasoned fighter's gaze.
Crossbows, spears, green uniforms.
The gear was meant for an ambush.
Enkrid absorbed the information in a flash and took another step forward, swinging his sword horizontally.
The spearman retreated, dodging the arc of the blade, then thrust their spear again.
Instead of dodging, Enkrid pivoted on his right foot, spinning halfway around, and stabbed his sword again.
A seamless combination of offense and defense.
The sword pierced the enemy's torso, a dull resistance registering in his grip.
The enemy's armor was thick cloth, easy to penetrate with enough force and a sharp blade.
"Ugh..."
The soldier groaned, dropping their spear and grabbing Enkrid's sword with both hands, blood dripping from their palms.
I can't pull it out.
His thoughts were brief; his actions quicker.
That's the rule for survival on the battlefield.
He released the sword and picked up the fallen spear.
Whizz.
Another enemy swung a crossbow like a club.
Thanks to his crouched position, it skimmed over Enkrid's head, dislodging his arming cap.
The cold air against his scalp brought a sharp clarity.
Enkrid drove the spear into the visible top of the enemy's foot, decorating it with a new injury.
Thud!
"Argh!"
The scream drew attention.
Screams had their uses—they demoralized the enemy.
Enkrid lunged at the injured man, grabbed his uninjured knee, and twisted it backward.
Snap!
"Ughhh!"
It was a technique he'd learned from a devout squad member, crude but effective.
He grabbed the short sword from the fallen man's waist, straightened up, and used the injured enemy as a shield while catching his breath.
One side's cleared.
The three-way encirclement had one gap now.
If things went south, there was room to escape.
"...Lowest-tier soldiers, you said?"
Enri had approached from behind, speaking in disbelief.
"That's right."
Catching his breath, Enkrid replied.
Enri shook his head.
"That level of skill for the lowest tier?"
"Damn it, I'm just an idiot!"
The recon squad leader spouted nonsense, seemingly unaware of the situation.
"Don't go ahead. Stay back."
One of the surviving soldiers, who looked competent, stepped in front of the squad leader.
Only four of them remained.
The rest of the recon squad had been wiped out.
Over twenty enemies glared at them with murderous intent.
"...What the hell?"
One of the Aspen soldiers muttered, looking astonished at Enkrid and then at the three dead bodies on their side.
Enkrid paid no attention to their surprise.
As always, he focused on finding the best course of action.
The crossbows remained a threat.
The enemy vastly outnumbered them.
And he had lost his sword.
"Run!"
This was the moment for the mercenary tactic: retreat.
Without hesitation, Enkrid turned and sprinted.