Chapter 25 - Tallgrass Plains
"This is it—we'll cut through the grasslands and track the scout party's trail. What do you think?"
The scout squad leader's eyes gleamed as he spoke, radiating excitement, confidence, and just the right amount of tension.
It was a new kind of day.
To cut to the chase, their escape attempt failed.
Enkrid, upon waking up, spent the new day reflecting on the previous one.
Where did it go wrong?
Heading east might have been a mistake.
No, things were fine up to that point.
Replaying events in his head was a habit for Enkrid.
Fleeing east, they ran into a crossbow unit.
He ended up riddled with bolts and collapsed.
Lying on the ground, writhing, a final bolt pierced his skull, killing him.
The pain of that moment was something he never wanted to remember.
But without revisiting it, he knew he would keep dying—and that was even worse.
So, he replayed the day, over and over, to identify the problem.
I heard it first, which gave me an opening.
He'd caught an unfamiliar sound, a skill honed thanks to Jaxen.
After that, the Heart of the Beast let him calmly assess the situation.
He had to break through one direction.
He failed, but...
If I try again...
He thought he could do it.
After all, they hadn't been caught by the pursuing unit but had run into a stationed unit by sheer bad luck.
I just need to find another route.
As Enkrid was deep in thought, someone tapped him on the shoulder.
It was Enri.
Enkrid realized he'd been lost in his own head.
"Just keep your cool and follow along. That's all," Enri said.
What was he supposed to be keeping calm about?
"Your face doesn't look good," Enri added, glancing ahead.
Turning to look, Enkrid locked eyes with a soldier trailing behind the squad leader, a rough-looking man.
Though his gaze seemed sharp, it wasn't meant to pick a fight.
If Enri's asking for patience, he must be someone reasonable.
The rough-looking soldier likely planned to bide his time and address Enkrid tactfully.
Deciding that talking wouldn't help just yet, the man averted his eyes first.
Acknowledging this, Enkrid gave Enri a nod and kept walking.
Pushing aside the grass with his hands, he stepped further in.
Soon, a familiar sight greeted him: towering green grass that severely restricted visibility.
It was clear that fighting an ambush here would be unfavorable. Risking one's life to venture in was something no one in their right mind would do.
What if we just avoided this place?
That wasn't an option.
The squad's entire mission was to scout the tallgrass plains.
Ignoring that and turning back would invite all kinds of questions.
Claim they sensed an ambush before entering?
Even if they tried to change the scouting direction, there was no way all ten of them would agree to lie about it.
It was unavoidable. Most "new days" began like this anyway.
Still, if someone asked if he was worried...
Not really.
He had only fought once, but...
Enri had questioned how such an inexperienced soldier could survive, and the squad leader had disparaged his own skill.
One real battle.
It had only been a single encounter, but that single moment had been invaluable.
The Heart of the Beast had left no room for hesitation.
He'd slashed and stabbed, predicting the enemy's movements.
In between, he applied what he'd learned.
His heart raced.
A thrilling sensation coursed through him.
This is a great opportunity.
Before the mission, Rem and Ragna had both critiqued his swordsmanship.
He could now apply what he'd learned from them and what he'd figured out himself.
"Do you see this? The trampled grass?"
"Looks like animal tracks."
Enkrid knew how to use what he'd learned.
Feigning knowledge, he made a comment.
Enri, catching his words, rolled his eyes and asked, "So, you've got hunting experience?"
He didn't.
He'd learned from Enri.
"Just picked up some things here and there," he answered honestly, continuing to chat lightly while quickening his pace to move closer to the squad leader.
Now directly behind him, Enkrid observed the formation.
The squad leader led at the front, flanked by two soldiers on either side.
A rough-looking soldier followed directly behind him, with the rest trailing further back.
Not bad.
It was a well-thought-out formation, ideal for responding to sudden attacks.
Of course, against a crossbow unit, formations hardly mattered.
In the previous day's failure, the scout squad leader hadn't acted foolishly.
He had followed Enkrid's instructions without hesitation.
And he wasn't a bad swordsman either.
The rough-looking soldier was highly skilled.
At least intermediate level.
By Naurilian standards, both the squad leader and the rough-looking soldier were quite competent.
Enri wasn't bad either, walking with a short bow in hand and capable of firing rapid shots.
Not enough to survive dozens of bolts, but still impressive.
Avoid crossbow units at all costs.
Enkrid intentionally stayed close behind the squad leader.
The rough-looking soldier, perhaps mindful of his superior, didn't try to start a conversation.
Rustle.
Hiss!
Crunch.
Then, he heard the sound again.
"Get down."
Grabbing the squad leader by the collar, Enkrid yanked him back.
Previously, only four had survived.
This time, he intended to save more.
"Ugh!"
The squad leader fell back with a startled yelp.
"Enemy!" someone shouted as bolts came flying.
In that moment, Enkrid kicked the legs out from under two soldiers.
Bolts whizzed past above their heads as they hit the ground.
Enkrid, too, spread his legs wide, crouching low.
A startled grasshopper leaped away in a panic.
Pushing off with the elasticity of his thigh muscles and erector spinae, Enkrid stood up and threw a knife.
With a sharp ping, the knife cut through the air.
Though it didn't hit, it forced the enemy to flinch momentarily.
That brief hesitation was enough.
Thunk.
He lightly struck the squad leader's forehead with his elbow.
"Focus."
With that, he sprang forward.
Thump-thump-thump.
His boots crushed dirt and grass as he drew his sword.
All-out effort.
He aimed to pierce his target without losing muscle tension afterward. How to deliver full power yet retain control?
"You'll get the hang of it eventually—just keep doing it," Rem had said during training.
Enkrid was applying that advice here and now.
Thunk!
The blade punctured the enemy's chest.
Twisting it as he withdrew, the steel split muscle, nerves, and heart.
Feigning a horizontal slash, he stepped in close and swept his leg at another enemy's shin.
This one had just raised his crossbow to aim.
"Urgh!"
The soldier doubled over, and Enkrid slammed the back of his head with the sword's pommel.
Crunch!
It felt like splitting a solid piece of wood.
Having downed two enemies, Enkrid spotted another rushing toward him.
The man wore thick cloth armor and carried a large round shield.
Ping-ping-ping!
Enri fired three arrows in rapid succession.
The arrows couldn't pierce the armor; one wobbled before falling uselessly to the ground.
The arrow had been fired too hastily, failing to fully harness the bow's draw strength.
Enkrid quickly switched the sword to his left hand and swung it with force.
Clang!
The blade clashed with the edge of the shield, sending sparks flying.
Although the strike dented the shield's frame, Enkrid's hand was left numb from the impact.
"Graaaah!"
The enemy roared, bringing a heavy strike down toward Enkrid's head.
Thump.
A fleeting moment of distraction could mean death here.
Panic would only guarantee demise.
Such was the battlefield.
Moments like these were when the Heart of the Beast shone brightest.
It granted him the composure to stay calm even in the heart of chaos, his robust heart of muscle and will fulfilling its purpose.
Enkrid could clearly see the trajectory of the shield descending toward him.
"Observe well, and evade well."
That was Rem's teaching.
Observe and dodge.
"There are no unnecessary parts to a sword. From the hilt to the blade's tip, everything must be used."
This was Ragna's lesson.
Watching carefully, Enkrid stepped back at the very last moment, narrowly avoiding the shield as it whooshed past, close enough that the wind from its swing ruffled his hair.
"Huff, huff!"
The enemy gritted his teeth and strained his muscles to lift the shield once more.
Enkrid could hear the heavy breaths from behind the shield, and he noticed the tension in the man's shoulders and movements.
Through the slits above the shield, the enemy's eyes rolled frantically as they fixed on Enkrid.
Continuing to fight against the shield would only prolong the battle.
Enkrid flipped his sword, grasping it so the hilt faced upward and the blade faced down.
With a swift rotation of his waist and knees, he swung the sword with all his might.
The motion was so quick and decisive that the shield-bearer had no time to react.
Whoosh—Thud!
The pointed blade struck beneath the shield's edge, embedding itself in the enemy's eye.
Blood burst from the pierced eye, accompanied by a clear liquid streaming down the enemy's face.
"Aaaaaargh!"
The now one-eyed soldier screamed in agony.
Despite his bleeding hand from gripping the blade, Enkrid drew a short sword.
With precision, he stabbed the thrashing, blinded enemy in the neck and withdrew the blade.
Spurt!
Blood spurted in time with the action, forming frothy bubbles in the man's throat as he collapsed to the ground.
"Over here!"
The sheer brutality of the scene left others stunned and speechless, staring at Enkrid in disbelief.
How many had he killed in such a short span?
Retrieving the sword that had pierced the eye, Enkrid wiped the blood-stained hilt roughly and moved on.
This time, six men followed him, two more than before.
"...What are you?"
The reconnaissance squad leader, sticking close to Enkrid as they ran, asked in awe.
"Do you really not know?"
It wasn't a time for talking—running was the priority.
Enkrid sprinted eastward once more, cutting down every enemy he encountered.
Even as he delved deeper than before, something felt wrong.
'I've misjudged the direction.'
He was certain the east wasn't the way out.
This time, he faced fifty spearmen—a unit the size of a platoon, far too much for them to handle.
Having already lost the others, only the reconnaissance squad leader and a gruff-looking soldier remained with him.
"Unlucky," muttered the gruff soldier.
"Damn it," said the squad leader, scanning their surroundings with a distressed look.
Enkrid, however, simply muttered, "I'll take five of them down."
And he charged forward, resolve in his every step.
From the perspective of the spearmen, he must have seemed utterly mad.
Charging into fifty armed soldiers?
Such reckless behavior was the mark of a lunatic.
Even the way he wielded his sword showed he wasn't extraordinary—skilled enough to be called experienced, but no more.
Yet, in the span of that mad charge, Enkrid slew three spearmen.
And then he was impaled by a spear.
It was excruciatingly painful.
His final memory was of the long banner lying behind the spearmen as his vision faded.
***
"This way. If we kill the enemies beyond the grasslands, it'll count as merit, right? Or maybe capturing them alive would be better?"
As he listened to the squad leader's words, Enkrid once again reviewed the day in his mind.
A reflection.
'There's no way out in the east.'
This time, he resolved to head north.
Practical combat was excellent nourishment.
Even Rem and Ragna, despite their hostility toward each other, agreed on this.
And didn't Jaxen say it too?
The best way to hone one's senses was to fight for one's life.
In the face of death, human focus could surpass its limits.
Enkrid was living proof of those words.
'I've improved.'
It wasn't arrogance or overconfidence—it was an objective truth.
He had grown significantly.
And he continued to grow even now.
In the repeated days that followed, Enkrid died nine more times in the north, six more times in the east, and twelve more times in the west.
The battles continued.
Skills didn't improve in an instant; that was inevitable.
But progress, step by step, was achievable.
Enkrid felt joy.
He was growing.
Today was better than yesterday.
"Uraaah!"
Thwack!
In one of the repeated days, the sharp tip of a brave soldier's spear grazed Enkrid's cheek.
It was a strike he wouldn't have been able to avoid before.
It resembled the thrusts of a master spearman, yet he evaded it.
And he didn't stop at evasion.
The countless battles had ingrained good habits into him.
As he dodged, he brought his sword down vertically, slashing from above.
Thunk.
At that moment, Enkrid felt something strange.
The sensation in his hand was faint, almost nonexistent.
Though the blade had clearly severed the soldier's arm, it felt as though he had cut through a rotten branch.
It was effortless.
The severed arm flew cleanly through the air without a sound.
A flawless strike—what many called a silent cut.
The kind of strike achieved by those hailed as geniuses.
"Ah."
For a brief moment, Enkrid's concentration wavered in astonishment.
It was the first time he had experienced such a thing in battle.
He could feel the solid weight of the sword in his hands, the electrifying sensation filling him with ecstasy.
"Ha, this is amazing."
Covered in blood, he laughed uncontrollably, overwhelmed by satisfaction.
"You crazy bastard!"
To the enemy, he was nothing short of a madman.
Regardless, Enkrid died countless more times.
And he repeated the same day again and again.
Through the endless repetition, the lessons he had learned in training seeped deeply into his body.