Chapter 95 - The Secret to Looking Young Is Endless Training
"At this rate, were we a couple in our past life or something?"
It was just a remark reflecting how often they met for work.
After all, they'd last seen each other during a monster hunt.
"We could've been mortal enemies instead, don't you think?"
Torres made a lighthearted comment, drawing from old tales, and Enkrid played along.
There are two kinds of bonds that carry over from a past life: ones meant to meet and ones better off avoided.
"We're not enemies, are we?"
Torres chuckled.
"That's true."
The two men bumped fists lightly.
No matter what awaited them ahead, it was better to face it with a familiar face than a stranger.
And so, they set off.
The north gate greeted them with a gravel path as they trudged along.
Only the two of them were departing from Border Guard.
"Is it just us?"
"We'll meet up with a friendly scout unit across the river."
So it wasn't a particularly dangerous mission—perhaps that's why only two were sent.
Various thoughts crossed Enkrid's mind, but he kept them to himself.
After all, Torres was in charge; all Enkrid needed to know was what Torres said.
Thus, they began their journey at dawn.
By the time the morning sun rose, Enkrid's inner garments were damp with sweat.
Despite the lingering chill, carrying full gear while walking was bound to drench anyone in sweat.
His attire consisted of a sleeveless, thin inner garment, layered with a slightly thicker one that covered the arms.
Over that, he wore leather armor imbued with magic resistance and a whistle dagger sheath.
The ensemble was completed with a gambeson, boots, and leather gauntlets.
His pants, however, were thin for mobility's sake—no choice there.
On his waist, he carried a thick-bladed dagger called a guard sword, a newly acquired longsword on his left, and a shortsword on his right.
And that wasn't all.
In emergencies, more weapons were better.
Two knives were hidden at his ankles, and two throwing knives were secured on his left forearm.
Though labeled as light infantry, his gear was hefty.
This time, an additional piece of equipment was added.
"Your left hand is idle. That needs to be addressed," Ragna had instructed. This led to him carrying a buckler strapped to his back.
'Couldn't this double as a cooking pot?'
In a pinch, it could.
Removing the leather handle would leave a thin metal disc.
Still, it felt like unnecessary baggage.
'Oh well.'
He resigned himself to the task.
If the shield didn't suit him, he'd consider alternatives.
'Whether it's sword and shield or just a sword, it's time to move forward. But first, we'll focus on balance.'
Ragna, usually a laid-back slacker, turned into a disciplined instructor when teaching Enkrid.
If asked whether that annoyed him—
'Not at all.'
If anything, he was grateful.
While opening his senses and scanning the surroundings, Enkrid mulled over Ragna's words as he walked.
From the side, it was a peculiar sight.
Torres, carrying only two short swords strapped to his left side, had relatively light gear.
Glancing at Enkrid, Torres thought, 'He's keeping up well.'
Despite the heavy load, Enkrid didn't lag or pant.
His eyes lacked focus, as though lost in thought, but his sharp reactions to the surroundings were undeniable.
'What's going on in that head of his?'
Torres grew curious.
Not just about that.
He had participated in countless operations but never encountered someone who asked so little.
'Not asking anything feels weirdly disappointing.'
On missions where secrecy abounded, it was common to ask about the objectives or plans after crossing the river.
If asked, Torres already had his answer:
'We're soldiers. Our job is to follow orders. Ever thought of that?'
It would've been the perfect chance for a sharp retort.
Yet Enkrid didn't ask a thing.
"Straight ahead."
Enkrid broke his silence.
Torres turned his gaze forward.
They had been walking northwest along the riverbank when they spotted two soaked ghouls.
Their sparse, matted hair hung like seaweed from their pale heads.
Hidden behind a large rock, their skin blended with the stone, making them easy to miss.
'He spotted them before me?'
Was it sharp instincts or simply good fortune?
Torres couldn't tell.
Regardless, monsters—enemies—had appeared.
"One each?"
"Let's do that."
At Torres' suggestion, Enkrid stepped forward to draw their attention.
He pulled the buckler from his back and unsheathed his longsword.
Shrrng!
'Nice sound.'
Any soldier who lived by the blade was attuned to such details.
Torres was no exception.
Instead of drawing his weapon, Torres calculated the distance between himself and the ghouls.
Ghoul claws were venomous—there was no need to get too close.
As the two ghouls lunged at Enkrid, Torres swiftly pulled a knife from his waist and hurled it.
With a precise flick, the knife flew through the air, slicing into a ghoul's head.
Thud.
The ghoul's half-rotten skull cracked as the blade ricocheted out.
Ghouls near water often had decayed bodies, the source of their stench.
The knife had pierced through rotten flesh and shattered bone before being deflected.
Torres watched as Enkrid clumsily deflected the ghoul's claws with his shield and decapitated it with a clean sword swing.
The ghoul's black blood oozed as its headless body collapsed to its knees and then to the ground.
"I thought there weren't many monsters around here?"
Even among platoon leaders, there was a distinction between those in the kingdom's direct forces like the Border Guard and regular units.
Enkrid, though a platoon leader himself, was clearly treated better.
"There's never none. The kingdom probably couldn't spare troops here because of the packs of human-faced hounds. But don't worry, there won't be too many."
Enkrid nodded silently, which made Torres wonder.
"Aren't you curious where we're going?"
"Across the river, right?"
"Stop talking formaly. Whether it's the kingdom's direct forces or regular troops, a platoon leader's still a platoon leader. We're about the same age anyway, right?"
"I'm thirty."
"Then I'm younger."
"Fair enough."
It wasn't a suggestion worth refusing.
"What's your secret to looking so young? We've both been through countless battles, but you—man, it's unfair."
On appearance alone, Torres looked older, with his plain features adding to the effect.
He could easily be mistaken for an inn worker.
As Torres spoke, he dipped the fallen knife into the rippling green-and-blue waters of the river, wiping it clean on his sleeve before slipping it into his coat.
The knife disappeared seamlessly, leaving Enkrid marveling at the hidden sheath inside his coat.
Hearing Enkrid's answer, Torres let out a dry chuckle.
A man with a talent for words, indeed.
He thought to himself, I should have brought him into my unit, as he moved to the main topic.
"You know crossing the river won't be the end of it, right?"
A nod.
"And yet, you're not asking anything?"
"Would you tell me if I did?"
Of course not.
Torres didn't know the details either.
It was all conjecture.
"It's not going to be a pleasant affair, that much is clear."
As Enkrid spoke, his eyes blinked, and for a moment, they seemed to glimmer.
At least, that's how Torres saw it.
It overlapped with the image of Enkrid declaring he'd fight more beasts in the past.
Is this guy... looking forward to it?
Because the land across the river was filled with monsters and beasts?
"Fascinating."
Torres enjoyed risk himself, but this man seemed to share the same dangerous thrill.
"Let's go."
The two resumed their brisk pace.
By the time they reached the ferry crossing, Torres spoke again.
"We got here quicker than expected. There's still time to spare."
Crossing the river required a ferryman.
Nearby, they saw crude piles of stones and a barely visible pathway.
The sun was now high in the sky.
Torres found a suitable patch of shade and sat down, while Enkrid began swinging his sword.
"Not resting?"
"This is rest."
No wonder people called him a training maniac.
Torres watched as Enkrid swung his sword into the air.
Step by step, he moved, slashing from below to above and back again.
An opening, Torres thought.
But as soon as the idea struck, Enkrid pulled his sword back, using the muscles of his arm as leverage to swing the pommel upwards like a weapon.
A basic move, masterfully applied.
Flawless.
If that pommel struck a jaw, the victim would be eating porridge for days—if they were lucky.
Worst case, they'd never chew solid food again.
Ugh.
The thought made Torres feel a phantom ache in his own jaw.
Enkrid kept moving.
Despite the forced march they'd endured to get here, his stamina was remarkable.
Watching him, Torres unconsciously grasped the hilt of his short sword and pulled it slightly.
Shing.
The blade made a faint sound as it slid halfway out of the scabbard.
Ah.
He'd gotten too engrossed.
The noise made Enkrid pause mid-swing and turn his head.
Their eyes met.
"One round?" Enkrid proposed.
This wasn't the time for sparring.
But... something about Enkrid made Torres want to test himself.
Not out of hostility, but from a pure desire to measure his skills.
There was also the lingering desire to finish what they couldn't during the last promotion duel.
Time to get serious.
Torres had seen Enkrid handle harpies and the dog-faced monsters before.
He had also watched his dedicated training just now.
It was hard to underestimate him anymore.
Still growing, even at thirty.
"Fine. Let's do it."
Torres sprang to his feet.
Enkrid sheathed his sword, then held it—scabbard and all—in one hand.
Even if hit by the sheathed blade, something would surely break.
Enkrid's swordsmanship relied on powerful strikes.
"Good. Bring it on."
His tone was serious, making Torres loosen his shoulders in response.
Should I throw a dagger?
No, cheap tricks wouldn't work.
Then how?
Calculations raced through Torres's mind, his experiences from countless battles guiding his thoughts.
One strike.
The moment his feet left the ground, Torres moved low and fast, skimming the surface like a shadow.
His speed reminded Enkrid of Audin's tackles.
Reflexively, Enkrid bent his knees and lowered his stance, swinging his sword downward.
Anything approaching would be struck.
But Torres suddenly veered sideways, narrowly avoiding the blade.
Enkrid's sword followed, tracking Torres's movement with eyes, hands, and feet.
His entire body was attuned to not losing sight of him.
He had learned from their last duel—losing sight meant losing the fight.
At the same time, Enkrid closed the distance.
Torres didn't panic.
He executed a prepared move.
Closing the gap to just arm's reach, he twisted his wrist near Enkrid's neck.
That was all.
No weapons in hand, no gripping or striking.
Enkrid instinctively leaned his head back.
Swish.
The match was decided.
In Torres's hand now was a knife with a blade barely a hand's length long.
If this had been a fight to the death, a slight twist of Torres's wrist would've inflicted a fatal wound.
"I was planning to leave a nice scar on your cheek."
"What... was that?"
Enkrid was genuinely shocked.
He had been sure Torres was unarmed.
"It's my specialty. Think I'd tell you if you asked?"
"You won't, will you?"
To his surprise, Torres explained.
"It takes skill. Doesn't happen overnight."
As he spoke, he flipped his wrist, making the knife disappear.
Another flick of his hand, and the knife popped out of his sleeve.
On closer inspection, both the handle and blade were thin, clearly designed for concealment.
"Hidden knife. My secret technique."
Torres sighed and added, "Not something I show just anyone."
"Yeah, I figured."
Enkrid stood up and looked into the distance.
They still had time before the ferryman arrived.
"One more round?"
Torres groaned but stood up.
"Fine. Let's do it."
It had been a long time since Torres felt this kind of passion.
It was like the excitement of holding a sword for the first time.
He let himself get swept up in it.
For the first time in years, he felt like a simple sparring match had made him stronger.
It was a mix of adrenaline, the tension of the upcoming mission, and something else.
The biggest reason stood right before him.
Strange.
It was all because of Enkrid.
Torres realized this instinctively, and the thought filled him with awe and curiosity.
By the time the ferryman arrived, the two soldiers were drenched in sweat, breathing heavily.
"I heard this was a standing army mission, but should you really be training now?" the elderly ferryman remarked.
It was a hard question to answer.