Chapter 98 - Escape Route
This Ghoul, despite its hunched back, was incredibly fast.
Its claws were longer than the ones he had encountered before.
Still, it wasn't faster than a Harpy.
Nor were its claws sharper than Rem's axe.
'Dots and lines.'
Enkrid connected the dots, mapping out every movement around him into the realm of instinct.
Facing the approaching Ghoul, there was only one thing to do:
Draw his sword and swing.
Ching!
The blade emerged from its sheath, performing its duty flawlessly.
Kaah!
The foul-smelling Ghoul charged forward, but Enkrid's blade fell in a calculated arc, guided by the movements he had already discerned.
Crack. Slice!
A perfect vertical slash from the crown.
With his left foot forward, the downward strike split the Ghoul's skull precisely.
Retrieving the embedded sword in a single motion, he repeated this two more times.
Each strike, a diagonal slash aimed downward, dispatched another Ghoul.
In mere moments, three Ghouls lay motionless, their skulls split wide open.
Meanwhile, Torres threw a dagger from the side.
Fwoosh!
The spinning blade lodged itself in the head of a Ghoul attempting to flank them on the left.
Enkrid moved swiftly, stepping forward to slash the neck of another Ghoul.
When one got too close, he delivered a powerful punch to its head.
Another Ghoul fell as Enkrid thrust his blade into its skull with one hand.
There was no struggle, no desperation.
Thirteen Ghouls were slain in mere moments.
And amidst their extermination, Enkrid felt something peculiar.
'A pattern.'
The Ghouls attacked in an oddly organized manner, as though they had been trained to fight.
While this made them easier to deal with, it also meant that anyone lacking overwhelming skill could quickly find themselves overwhelmed and killed.
'What could it be?'
These Ghouls were unlike the ones he had encountered in the sewers or along the riverside earlier.
Ghouls were the most common man-eating monsters, simple beasts incapable of thought.
'Could creatures like this employ tactics?'
No, it was impossible.
Unless they had formed a colony.
In such cases, a leader would emerge to command the group, transforming them into what was called a colony.
But there were no signs of that here.
So there was no reason to dwell on it further—it was likely just a quirk his instincts had picked up on.
As he considered whether to wash his blade of the Ghoul's blood in the nearby stream, Finn approached him.
"What's with you?"
Finn stared at him intently.
Her question seemed loaded, but it was likely about his ability to handle the Ghouls so effortlessly.
Enkrid responded.
"I mentioned I lead an independent platoon. It's a highly specialized combat unit."
It wasn't a lie.
After all, the company commander's intent had always been for their role to be extreme.
Who would believe the unit consisted of only nine members?
And yet, it was sustainable because every member's skill exceeded the norm.
Though overshadowed by the fame of the Frontier Defense Force, Enkrid personally knew it wasn't comparable.
'They can't even compare.'
Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxen—those four were still leagues ahead of him.
Even with his ability to dispatch Ghouls so efficiently, they remained beyond reach.
'I still have a long way to go.'
Despite knowing the direction the milestone pointed, those four felt like they were still on the other side of an unbridgeable gap.
In contrast, Torres from the Frontier Defense Force was within reach.
If it came down to a life-and-death battle, he might lose, but it wasn't hard to imagine winning either.
"You're an excellent fighter," Finn said.
"You're amazing," echoed a soldier who had been on night watch earlier.
Several others gathered around, their eyes on Enkrid.
He felt oddly out of place with the attention, not used to such recognition.
It prompted his offhand comment.
"We don't need to relocate the base."
"Agreed," Finn replied.
They decided to return to the temporary camp, guided by a soldier with drooping eyes who pointed out the direction to the stream.
The camp, which also served as a dining area, wasn't far.
"Hey, I killed three too," Torres muttered on the way back, but no one paid him any mind.
No one except Enkrid, who lightly tapped Torres on the shoulder.
"You made things easier," he said.
Deep down, Torres knew his contributions were minor at best, serving only to reduce inconvenience.
'He could've handled everything alone.'
It dawned on him again.
'He's been holding back.'
Or perhaps, Torres reconsidered, it wasn't that Enkrid had been hiding his skill—it was just that sparring and real combat were worlds apart.
If they fought for real, risking their lives...
'I'd lose.'
Even among the elite ranks of soldiers, Torres ranked in the middle tier.
But Enkrid seemed beyond that.
Realizing this made Torres regret teaching him the Hide Knife technique.
"Hey, don't practice that anymore," Torres said, noticing Enkrid fiddling with a thin stone out of habit after the battle.
"Why did you teach it, then?" Enkrid replied with mild amusement.
"…Just forget it," Torres muttered.
Enkrid had no idea what Torres was feeling.
The sting of seeing someone surpass you, someone you thought far below, was not a pleasant one.
Of course, Enkrid couldn't understand such feelings—this had been his life.
Throughout his journey, others had outpaced and overtaken him, never looking back.
But even so, he never gave up on his dream, swinging his sword until his palms bled.
That was the kind of person Enkrid was.
"Let's go wash our blades," he said.
Ghoul blood reeked and carried oiliness that could damage a blade if left uncleaned.
"Alright," Torres replied, albeit listlessly.
Having been excluded from the hunt, both headed to the stream, where they also washed their sweat-soaked clothes.
Drying them was another issue, but they had until nightfall to let the campfire handle it.
The stream's water was clearer than expected, flowing swiftly enough to carry away waste.
Finn even declared it safe to drink.
After filling a leather canteen and taking a sip, Enkrid's stomach growled.
"You too? Me too," Torres remarked with a chuckle.
After gathering their belongings and tightly wringing out their clothes, they returned to camp.
"Here you go," a now noticeably kinder soldier said, handing them a long branch to hang their clothes near the fire.
Nearby, another soldier was skinning a snake.
"Lucky find, huh?" the man said, prompting nods from Enkrid and Torres.
Despite its unappetizing appearance, snake meat was rich in protein—a highly sought-after food.
Even Audin had said so: if it was available, you ate it.
"Yeah," Enkrid replied, sitting nearby.
Torres joined him, and Finn took a seat across the fire.
The campfire crackled softly, producing almost no smoke.
'This is a skill, too,' he thought.
Enkrid had seen hunters and scouting parties manage such tasks with ease before.
They would start a small fire with tree bark and leaves, then carefully add finely chopped, dry wood to keep it burning.
Of course, this wasn't a simple job—it required some finesse.
Whenever Enkrid tried, he failed more often than not.
For these people, however, it seemed second nature.
Smoke briefly rose and then disappeared without a trace.
One of the team members slid charred coals under the neatly stacked logs.
"Logs tend to give off a lot of smoke when burned," they explained.
This meant they had to be cautious not just when lighting the fire but also when adding logs afterward. While it wasn't likely that the smoke would be visible from Cross Guard, such caution was second nature to scouts.
Soon, two team members grilled snake meat while others prepared dried jerky over the fire.
One of them fetched a large pot, boiled water, and added a mix of fruits and berries before straining them out.
"That one's nicknamed the Cook," Finn remarked, sharpening her hand axe with a whetstone as she sat with her back to the ground.
Seeing her focus reminded Enkrid of Rem.
'I hope he's not causing any trouble,' he thought.
After a brief nod, the group began their meal.
The snake meat was surprisingly tender and well-seasoned with salt, making it unexpectedly delicious—especially the tail.
"When I return, I'm opening a restaurant," announced the soldier responsible for the meal.
The firelight illuminated his youthful face, and he admitted to being only twenty-two.
"You should aim to become a great ranger instead," Finn teased.
"I prefer being a chef, Captain," he countered, eliciting laughter from Finn, who waved him off with a good-natured nod.
The atmosphere was warm and tight-knit.
Enkrid chewed on the snake meat and warmed up some jerky.
When he offered the Cook some seasoned jerky, the young soldier's eyes lit up.
"This is amazing! Where'd you get it?"
"In the city. I'll tell you when we get back."
The young man nodded eagerly, savoring the treat. "Promise!"
After a hearty meal, they divided into shifts and rested.
"Proper rest is part of a ranger's duties," Finn said.
"Scouting here isn't that meaningful anyway. The priority is survival, and stamina is key to that."
The resting spots were carefully chosen.
Some used hollowed-out trees as shelters, others climbed up branches, and a few remained by the fire.
Once their rest was over, Finn addressed Enkrid and Torres directly as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
"There are three ways into the fortress. Let's discuss them. First, there's the rat hole."
She elaborated.
"It's a route used by smugglers. Those who know about it use it freely, and it's not heavily guarded. But the danger lies in who else knows about it."
"Next?" Torres asked.
Finn continued, listing the options: scaling the walls at night or disguising themselves as merchants at dawn to sneak in.
"The quickest way is the first, the safest is the second, and the easiest is the third."
Even without explanation, the risks were clear: the third option was the least risky, followed by the first and then the second.
From Finn's tone, it was evident she didn't consider any of these options particularly dangerous.
"Getting inside the fortress isn't the hard part," she said.
"The real challenge is finding the cat."
Enkrid agreed—it would be troublesome if the target was imprisoned or already caught.
Without any clues, they might even need to investigate the fortress dungeons.
"If there's no trace in the city, we'll retreat. The scouting party will return to the main group," Finn added.
"Sounds about right," Torres replied, as though expecting it.
After discussing further instructions received from the main unit, Torres remarked, "Only the three of us will infiltrate. Which route do we take?"
"That's for you to decide," Finn replied, folding her arms. "You know the situation here best."
After some thought, Finn chose the rat hole.
"Unless we're incredibly unlucky, we won't get caught. We'll leave at dawn."
"Not at night?" Torres questioned.
Finn explained, "Morning is better. The guards are more alert at night, and it's easier to scale the walls the following evening."
Enkrid observed the flow of decisions quietly.
After eating, training, and practicing his sleight-of-hand with stones, the day ended, and they returned to their shelter.
The situation seemed surprisingly calm—almost too peaceful.
"Is the Aspen scouting party not active here?" he wondered.
The next morning, they set out with Finn leading.
Contrary to Enkrid's expectations, they didn't take a wide detour.
"People assume the western side of Cross Guard is a natural barrier with its monsters and beasts," Finn explained.
"Scouts do patrol occasionally, but it's rare, and they wouldn't deploy their best here. Without a clear purpose, even Aspen's scouts avoid this area."
Finn's pace was quick, her ranger skills apparent.
Her ability to spot and avoid traces of monsters and beasts was remarkable.
Her steps were particularly noteworthy.
She pressed her heels into the ground first, a subtle movement that caught Enkrid's attention.
"We'll need to take a slight detour here," Finn said, hacking through the undergrowth with the axe at her belt.
Enkrid drew his sword and sliced through the bushes, cursing himself for not inspecting his blade earlier.
He'd been too focused on training.
As they cleared the brush, they stumbled upon clusters of red berries.
"Don't eat those—they're poisonous," Finn warned playfully.
"Noted," Enkrid replied.
"You could talk to me casually, you know," Finn suggested.
"Sure," Enkrid agreed.
He rarely turned down such proposals—unless it involved sharing a shelter.
Finn glanced at him mischievously. "How about sharing my shelter after this mission?"
"No."
"Tch."
"Hey, I'm walking right next to you," Torres interrupted.
"I know," Finn replied shamelessly, her bold personality shining through.
They reached a small ridge overlooking the fortress walls.
Beyond the ridge, the gates lay to the west.
There were no moats, but Finn explained, "Why bother with moats? Getting here past the beasts is nearly impossible for most."
Her skill as a ranger was evident.
Few could reach this point, let alone lead others here.
The group approached the rat hole.
Finn entered first, invoking a ranger's motto as she went.
"The ranger always leads," she declared.
Enkrid followed, observing her smile, her leather helm, and the orange hair peeking through it.
Behind them, Torres brought up the rear.
What awaited them inside, however, was utterly unexpected.
"Idiots," a voice sneered.
Before they realized it, they were surrounded.
A unit armed with long spears and shields awaited in the spacious passage, wide enough for three people to walk side by side.
Behind them, the sound of bowstrings being drawn filled the air.
Turning, they saw soldiers armed with shortbows blocking the exit.
They hadn't even walked half an hour into the passage—it was a trap.
Spears and shields ahead, arrows ready behind.
A perfect ambush, inescapable for anyone but knights of exceptional skill.
"Damn it all," Torres muttered, despair thick in his voice.
"We've been waiting for you, you wildcat," the enemy commander sneered.
Finn's expression darkened at the insult.
"You bastard…"