Chapter 34 - Why Go That Far?
"Is the reconnaissance I know different from what the squad leader knows?"
Rem twirled the axe in his hand as he spoke.
"What are you talking about?"
"You look like you've been halfway to dying and then came back."
"A scratch on the side, that's all."
"If that's just a scratch, does getting a cut mean you die instantly?"
Rem laughed heartily after saying that.
This guy hasn't changed a bit.
Not that he could have, anyway. It's only been a few days for him, even though it's felt like months for Enkrid.
"Sure, I almost died."
Enkrid touched the wound on his side as he spoke.
Though, in truth, he had faced death countless times.
But that wasn't something he could openly admit.
"Let me see."
Jaxen approached and peeked at Enkrid's wound.
Enkrid shifted, raising his shirt for a better view.
"And what will you know by looking?"
Rem grumbled, but Jaxen ignored him and inspected the wound.
"It's nothing serious," Enkrid said.
"The bones aren't affected, but if you underestimate it, it'll cause trouble," Jaxen replied.
He wasn't wrong.
"I've already applied ointment."
"Good to hear."
Jaxen nodded in approval.
"Was there a skirmish during the recon?"
Big Eyes glanced at Enkrid's ragged appearance and asked.
His hair was greasy, his eyes hollow from lack of rest, and his body bore the marks of continued marching after battle.
Given the mission, there hadn't been much opportunity to wash, eat, or drink properly.
Looking disheveled was inevitable.
'A skirmish? More like I tore through the enemy's camp,' Enkrid thought.
But there was no need to say everything.
He simply nodded as if to confirm.
Having arrived only to watch Rem and Ragna's sparring match, his body was now drenched in sweat and felt utterly exhausted.
"Got any food? Or water?"
It was time to eat and rest.
Truthfully, he wanted to wield his sword right away, but his current state left him limited.
Besides, after seeing the enemy gathered in the tall grass, it didn't seem like the battle would end here.
He'd likely return to the battlefield soon, so he needed to prepare his body.
"Wash up first. Then we'll serve you a royal feast."
Rem grinned as he spoke.
Enkrid nodded and headed toward a nearby stream.
The infantry camp wasn't placed here by chance. The stream at the back made it convenient to secure drinking water and clean up.
As he dipped his hands into the water, a sharp chill crept up.
'It's getting colder.'
The season for dropping temperatures had arrived.
Enkrid splashed water on his face, stripped down, and scrubbed away the blood, oil, sweat, and grime on his body.
'That guy...'
As he washed, memories of the recent mission filled his mind.
The tall grass, the ambush, slipping past the flagpole, and finally, the man with the sword and torch.
'I feel like we'll meet again.'
It was an unavoidable premonition, a sense that he would face the man again under inescapable circumstances.
'Is this the wall?'
The blind ferryman had warned him—walls would endlessly block his path.
It wasn't worrying, though.
When a wall appeared, you simply climbed over it.
To be honest, part of him was even looking forward to it.
He regretted not settling the fight with that guy.
If they had fought, he'd likely have died.
But even knowing that, he didn't want to avoid it.
He wanted to face him.
The moment he saw him, an inexplicable competitive spirit had ignited.
Sometimes, there are people who make you feel this way.
It's like falling in love at first sight, except instead of love, it's an urge to win against them.
When he returned, his body clean and refreshed, a hearty meal awaited him: warm soup, bread, and skewers of perfectly roasted meat.
It wasn't quite a royal feast, but it was a rare luxury on the battlefield.
"Rabbit?"
At Enkrid's question, Rem proudly answered, "Personally prepared by yours truly."
"No way, I'm the one who caught it," Big Eyes interjected with a glare.
"Right, thanks," Enkrid said before devouring the food in no time.
"Every time I see you, Squad Leader, you always eat so well."
"You need to eat well to fight well."
"You're the most unique human I've ever met."
Rem crossed his arms, spouting nonsense as he watched Enkrid eat.
To hear "unique" from someone whose hobby was assaulting allies? Enkrid couldn't believe it.
"You're the last person I want to hear that from."
Rem burst into laughter again at his response.
After that, the squad members scattered.
Jaxen left, saying he had errands.
Big Eyes declared it was time for his business dealings.
The religious squad member knelt in prayer, while Rem idly lingered outside the tent, likely pestering passing soldiers with jokes.
Meanwhile, Ragna silently watched Enkrid.
He could feel his gaze.
"What?"
Annoyed by the attention, Enkrid turned to ask.
"Just looking."
Ragna answered casually, half-reclined.
When Enkrid tilted his head in confusion, Ragna turned away, saying it was nothing.
He seemed like he had something to say but wasn't ready to share.
Experience told Enkrid it was pointless to press.
He'd bring it up eventually if it mattered.
If not, well, it wasn't worth worrying about.
Having just returned from a mission, Enkrid was exempt from both sentry and meal duties.
He ate well and slept soundly.
Jaxen's ointment worked wonders.
His side wound healed quickly.
With two days of rest, he'd be back in top shape.
Even while resting, Enkrid didn't waste time.
'Ten out of ten, I'll probably lose.'
Seated, he repeatedly swung his sword in his mind.
First, Rem.
Then, Ragna.
Finally, the enemy from the tall grass.
He pondered and pondered some more.
An old swordsman in a coastal town once told him:
"If you don't want to die to a blind blade, you've got two choices. First, pray to the goddess of luck like your life depends on it."
The first was to rely on luck.
"And the second is to think. Think endlessly."
The old swordsman used to say that if you survived a fight with half your life hanging by a thread, that battle became your asset.
To survive those battles, what must you do?
Think.
Ponder.
Strategize endlessly.
If you ever face an enemy without a plan, then all you can do is put everything on the first option—the goddess of luck.
"Think and plan if you don't want to end up like that."
'He was a good teacher.'
It had been advice perfectly suited to Enkrid at the time.
Even now, that advice shone brightly.
Enkrid contemplated and strategized.
What must be done to win?
At the very least, what should be done to avoid defeat?
The desperate measures Enkrid took to find the answer were what became known as the Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship.
Though some dismissed it as crude trickery, that very swordsmanship was Enkrid's core skill.
Deceptions, headbutts, three-sword techniques, dagger throws, and even drawing techniques designed to throw stones—methods that seemed absurd and anticlimactic after the fact but proved highly effective against first-timers or less-skilled opponents.
In his mind, Enkrid wielded his sword.
He assumed a thrusting stance, then threw a stone.
Pretending to draw his sword, he hurled a throwing knife instead.
Rem deflected it all with his axe, while Ragna evaded it with agile footwork.
Meanwhile, an opponent holding a sword and torch ignored the flying stone, charged forward, and thrust his sword into his own heart, splitting it.
Reality might not play out exactly as imagined, but at least in Enkrid's vision, this was how things unfolded.
'Again.'
He rehearsed endlessly.
Enkrid spent the entire day contemplating and fell asleep the moment his head hit the ground, utterly exhausted from the grueling mission.
The next morning, Krais brought breakfast rations: watery soup, salty jerky, and crumbly bread.
"You're on duty?"
"Yes. You slept soundly."
"I was exhausted."
Krais rolled his large eyes and asked, "What happened? Tell me."
Krais, also known as Big Eyes, was the battlefield informant.
Enkrid hesitated briefly before deciding there was no need for secrecy.
The matter would soon be widely known anyway, and it wasn't classified.
However, he limited his explanation to mentioning that the enemy was ambushing near the tall grass.
"Damn it. If they're ambushing, they don't intend to let us pass easily. But what's the point of ambushing there?"
Though Krais knew little of strategy, he often hit the mark.
'There isn't one.'
Had the reconnaissance route not passed through the area, the ambush would have gone unnoticed.
Without Enkrid's foresight, it might have ended with the annihilation of the scouts.
An ambush is a tactic for countering an attack.
But the army wasn't advancing toward the tall grass, so it was pointless.
"That's the thing; it doesn't make sense."
"I don't know yet."
That was the correct answer—he didn't know.
He assumed the higher-ups had some plan.
What was certain was that the enemy was up to something, judging by their troop formations and the fierce intent to annihilate approaching forces.
Normally, such troop deployment would be overkill.
The conclusion was clear: the enemy was preparing for something.
"Damn it, I thought this would be over."
"Orders will probably come today or tomorrow."
Not long after their idle chatter, someone shouted from outside.
"Move out! Fourth Company, move out!"
It was the voice of the Fourth Platoon Leader.
"Your leg's not injured, is it?"
The man stuck his head into Enkrid's tent.
"I heard you went through hell."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"Rumors are spreading. They say you're the hidden child of Lady Luck."
Since the whole affair was attributed to luck, such a reaction was expected.
"Then who's my dad?"
"How would I know?"
The platoon leader chuckled at Enkrid's joke and added, "You must be tired, but the unit's moving eastward. Let's go."
Enkrid rose to his feet.
East meant heading toward the tall grass.
Knowing about the ambush, they wouldn't enter it directly.
"Feels like a fight's brewing. The air's different."
Rem suddenly appeared beside him, speaking quietly.
"Think so?"
"Don't get cocky just because you've improved. You'll get yourself killed."
Was that concern or a curse?
Not just the Fourth Company, but the entire infantry battalion was moving.
That meant most of the six hundred infantrymen mobilized for this battle were on the move.
With the rhythmic sound of footsteps, the infantry advanced.
There was no battle that day.
After moving, they set up a temporary camp, lit fires, and settled in.
No commander in their right mind would order a charge into the tall grass while risking an arrow to the head.
The relocation seemed more like preparation for unforeseen circumstances.
By the next morning, Enkrid's side wound barely bothered him.
Orders came to handle meals within each squad.
Enkrid's squad of six gathered around a pot to cook stew.
"I caught a lizard on the way," Jaxen announced, adding the drained lizard meat to the stew.
"For once, you're doing something useful," Rem said, pleased.
Jaxen didn't respond.
Rem growled, annoyed at being ignored, but Jaxen simply brushed it off.
'Strangely, they seem to complement each other.'
One talked, the other ignored—it somehow worked.
Marching, eating, and resting were exhausting tasks in the military.
During all this, Enkrid noticed a peculiar gaze fixed on him—Ragna's.
"You'll wear out my face," he joked.
Ragna averted his gaze.
"It's nothing."
It was clear Ragna had something to say.
The tension remained high, as though a battle could break out any moment, but another day passed without incident.
Enkrid used his spare time to practice the techniques he had visualized.
Some were easier than expected; others were not.
As he swung his sword in a quiet corner that morning, Ragna approached.
"Why Go That Far?"
It was an abrupt question, yet Enkrid understood it perfectly.
In the military, people who couldn't communicate were common.
Ragna wasn't eloquent, often speaking as he pleased.
It fell to the listener to make sense of his words.
Enkrid scratched his forehead with a finger.