Chapter 90 - It is Correct
The 4th platoon leader of the heavy infantry company had recently been transferred to this unit from central command.
"This is a disaster."
Having been newly assigned to the unit, he saw the monster-slaying mission as a good chance to adapt and undergo some real combat training.
The scale of the mission was indeed substantial—eliminating a large pack of human-faced hounds.
Still, it wasn't outside expectations.
Heavy infantry wasn't called the backbone of Border Guard forces for nothing.
But then, things took an unexpected turn.
Harpies appeared.
It was a frustrating development.
Why harpies, all of a sudden?
Support was called.
The heavy infantry formed a defensive square.
In the meantime, several soldiers supporting the unit died.
The crossbows aimed at the sky only managed to hit empty air.
Then, reinforcements arrived.
Two light infantry soldiers.
That was it.
"You've got to be kidding me."
What's worse, these two had the audacity to stride straight into the harpies' attack range.
It was nothing short of suicidal.
The platoon leader didn't know Enkrid or Rem.
As a recent transfer, he was still acclimating to the unit's dynamics.
Sure, he'd heard about the "spell-breaker" and the "Troublemakers Squad" but he hadn't had time to process it.
So, when he saw these two walking into danger during an already chaotic monster extermination, his immediate reaction was anger.
"Damn it!"
The curse slipped out naturally.
While there was always some tension between heavy and light infantry, watching comrades die was never enjoyable—especially when it involved harpies ripping heads off bodies.
The two light infantry soldiers were, of course, Enkrid and Rem.
Their arrival alone was due to them not waiting for the rest of their unit to catch up.
Thus, the archers requested as backup were still en route.
"Hey, fall back—!"
The platoon leader's urgency cut his words short.
He wanted to yell for them to retreat or duck.
The heavy infantry could endure harpy claws and strikes thanks to their layered armor: thick gambeson, chainmail, and a thin iron breastplate topped off with steel gauntlets and greaves.
Add a rectangular shield to that, and their defensive formation resembled an impenetrable fortress—aptly nicknamed the "Turtle Heavy Infantry."
It was a posture designed to hold out until reinforcements arrived.
In contrast, the light infantry looked like easy prey to the harpies.
And indeed, one harpy immediately spotted the newcomers and charged at terrifying speed.
The platoon leader saw its crimson crest dive downward in an arc.
Even if he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do.
All he could do was brace himself to witness their deaths and vow revenge.
The harpy's talons were about to shred one of the soldiers when—
Sching.
Slash.
The sound of steel scraping and tearing flesh reached the commander's ears.
He could only see the harpy's back.
Harpies were about the size of an adult male, so the figure of the light infantryman who had done something to the creature was obscured.
What the platoon leader did see was the harpy's wing being torn apart, its body crashing to the ground like a botched skipping stone, bouncing once in the air before rolling lifelessly across the dirt.
The harpy, with its crimson crest and swaying breasts, was now soaked in blood, its body covered in a film of dust.
"SKREEEEE!"
The wounded creature let out an anguished cry, but the platoon leader couldn't even blink.
What just happened?
"...Huh?"
In the incomprehensible situation, only a dumbfounded exclamation escaped his lips.
As his eyes pieced the scene together, realization struck.
'A harpy dove in, and… they cut it down with a sword?'
Was that even possible?
It was a feat that defied reason.
If the harpy's talons had veered slightly, if the timing had been off, if the strength behind the blade had faltered—everything could have gone wrong.
Attempting such a maneuver was outright madness.
Who could face a charging harpy head-on and emerge unscathed?
Even among the frontier garrison's so-called "slaughterers," only a handful could pull off such a stunt.
The sound of harpies screeching broke his thoughts.
"Luck. Pure luck."
That's what he told himself.
It wasn't just him, either.
Two harpies gliding above also dove toward the pair, their talons tearing through the air with deadly speed.
The platoon leader's eyes were locked on the two light infantrymen.
The angle of the harpies' attacks differed this time, making their reactions clearly visible.
However, their movements were beyond comprehension.
The ax-wielding soldier dodged the oncoming talons by twisting his body and swung his weapon.
The platoon leader could only register the motion, but in the blink of an eye, the harpy's head split vertically.
The harpy, its head cleaved in two, crashed into the ground, its body bursting like a ripe tomato.
Blood smeared the dirt, leaving a trail of gore and mangled feathers.
Another harpy down.
The other soldier, the one with the sword, repeated a similar feat.
Having already torn through the first harpy's wing, he swung his blade once more.
It was as if the harpy's trajectory had been predicted perfectly, the creature flying straight into the sword's path.
Thud!
This time, the blade struck the harpy's chest.
While it didn't cleave the harpy in half, the sword buried itself between its grotesque breasts.
The harpy tumbled to the ground, its internal organs ruptured and spilling out.
It was as good as dead.
The platoon leader involuntarily looked upward.
Eight harpies remained.
His unit hadn't managed to kill a single one, but these two had already taken out three.
"Frontier defense?"
The platoon leader's misunderstanding deepened.
Their skills were far too overwhelming to be ordinary soldiers.
Was this what elite soldiers were capable of?
He had heard rumors of the "slaughterers of the frontier" before transferring here.
But this was beyond anything he had imagined.
Before he could process further, a group approached from behind the duo—armed with throwing weapons like javelins, longbows, and crossbows.
Their cloaks bore the emblem of an eagle on their epaulets.
The frontier defense force was the real deal.
The soldier leading them had already assessed the situation and seen everything with his own eyes.
***
"His skill..."
It had improved again, to the point where it was no longer certain he could be defeated easily.
The one leading the defense force was Torres—a platoon leader in the frontier defense unit, with various ties to Enkrid.
Judging someone's skill by how they kill a monster was foolish.
However, Torres knew he wouldn't be able to perform such feats against an oncoming harpy.
Let alone do it twice in a row.
"Is it just luck?"
Torres shared the same thought as the heavy infantry platoon leader.
At that moment, a third harpy dove in.
Torres' gaze dropped from the harpy to the figure below.
There stood Enkrid, pulling his sword out of the chest of the harpy he had just killed.
"Hey!"
Torres shouted, a warning to look up.
***
How should one describe this?
Enkrid connected the dots.
He split time into fragments, wielding his sword as his instincts directed.
The result?
The first harpy lost its wing.
"Whi-ew."
Rem whistled beside him, his grip still tingling from the sharp resistance of the harpy, whose heavy weight emphasized the impact.
It wasn't difficult.
Enkrid picked up his sword again.
As the next harpy swooped down, he slashed its chest dead center and released his grip on the sword.
Holding on would have likely torn his hand apart.
It was a precise judgment.
A strike that connected the dots and delivered forceful impact.
The result was another monster slain.
As Enkrid crouched and swung his sword downward, a harpy's talons barely missed his head.
The sharp sound of air being split sent a chill down his spine, but it didn't feel dangerous.
"If you dodge, that's all there is to it."
It was a simple attack pattern.
Dodge, slash, and thrust—a practical application of swordsmanship.
Standing atop the chest of the dead harpy, where the collarbone of a human would be, Enkrid planted his foot and pulled his sword free.
"Kreee!"
The creature's resilience was astounding.
Despite its chest being half-split and its innards spilling out, it blinked its eyes.
Though Enkrid was looking at the harpy he had just struck down, his senses were attuned to his surroundings—particularly the harpy descending from above.
He didn't need to look; the air's ripples were enough.
His perception was sharper than ever.
"Hey!"
The shout reached him, but he was already moving.
Using the wing of the dying harpy, he stabbed it with his sword and heaved upward.
Crunch!
The strain pushed his arm muscles to their limits, with force running through his waist and thighs.
The dying harpy was hurled upward, smashing into the oncoming one.
Thud!
The collision sent the attacking harpy tumbling.
After using the harpy to block its kin, Enkrid rolled to the side, dispersing the impact by redirecting the force.
It was an intentional, calculated movement to minimize the residual shock on his body.
He rose immediately after rolling, rushing toward the harpy on the ground.
With a sharp downward strike, he split its head in two, as if splitting firewood.
That made four.
Rem had taken down one, and Enkrid three.
The first one to fall had already been finished off by a soldier who lodged a quarrel into its skull.
The harpy flock fluttered their wings above and began to scatter.
Harpies never fought losing battles.
They fled.
Enkrid let his arms hang loosely, suppressing the lingering regret.
"Just a few more..."
He wanted to fight.
He needed more experience, more time to refine what he had learned and absorbed.
He needed to adapt and train further in real combat.
Perhaps then, he could fully integrate what he had gained in the sewers.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Rem chuckled beside him, clearly having already grasped Enkrid's state of mind with his sharp instincts.
"Some might call it madness, but your skill has reached an extraordinary level. Still, it's curious, don't you think? I knew real combat would help, but to achieve this much in just one day?"
Though he didn't probe too deeply, his skepticism was evident.
It was only natural.
Leaping to this level of growth overnight was far from normal.
Enkrid offered his usual excuse.
"Just lucky, I guess."
Rem knew skill couldn't be built on luck alone, but he wasn't about to argue.
What did it matter?
Seeing this man so excited as he wielded his sword made it enjoyable for him too.
"Once, I barely survived being chased by harpies."
Enkrid muttered.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
There wasn't much emotion or significance behind his words—just a statement of fact.
Enkrid briefly recalled a fallen comrade from that time before brushing the memory aside.
"This isn't revenge, but..."
At least killing this harpy flock brought him a measure of satisfaction, even if the lingering regret outweighed it.
"Both of you, your units—wait, hold on."
The heavy infantry platoon leader, who had been holding their defensive formation, approached, looking incredulous.
"4th Company, 4th Platoon, 4th Squad Leader Enkrid," Enkrid answered with a salute.
"Squad leader? Not part of the frontier defense force?"
"No, the frontier defense force is over there."
A familiar face—Torres—approached, raising a hand.
Even so, his eyes remained fixed on Enkrid, scanning him from head to toe.
He seemed to want to ask what on earth Enkrid had done to grow so much in skill.
"We were sent as reinforcements," Torres said, "but we didn't even get to fire a single arrow."
What was going on?
Soon, the heavy infantry company's 4th platoon leader and Torres exchanged quick greetings and summarized the situation.
While listening to their conversation, Enkrid suddenly asked a question.
It was an important issue for him.
"Is it over?"
"...What are you asking?"
"The monster cleanup. I'm wondering if it's finished."
What's with this guy?
Why's he asking that?
Two light infantry soldiers had just killed four harpies and saved a heavy infantry platoon.
It wasn't an extraordinary achievement, but it was commendable.
Yet one of them was seriously asking if it was over, while the other—clearly a foreigner—was grinning beside him.
What was with these lunatics?
The platoon leader thought for a moment before replying.
"Our original target is the extermination of the man-faced hound packs, so no, it's not over."
He hadn't forgotten the mission's purpose.
A pack of man-faced hounds had been disrupting trade routes around the Border Guard, immobilizing merchant caravans.
That's why they had been deployed.
The pack hadn't yet appeared on the trade routes outside the city walls, but their presence in small numbers nearby made it clear that trouble was brewing.
Their task was to clear out the monsters and beasts around the area to ensure the city's safety.
"I'd like to join."
At Enkrid's words, the platoon leader thought to himself.
'Does he just want to fight more? He looks like he's itching for a battle. Is there something wrong with my eyes?'
No, his eyes weren't wrong.
His observation was absolutely correct