Chapter 121 - Let's Recover First
Ting.
He flicked the blade with his finger, and a clear sound resonated.
Holding it up to the light, he noticed a faint blue hue.
It must have been forged from a unique type of metal.
'Doesn't seem like Valerian steel.'
This was the sword he had quickly taken after killing Mitch Hurrier.
Just by looking at it, he could tell it was a high-grade, expensive weapon.
No way he was leaving it behind.
Would Krais know anything about it?
Enkrid turned his head to the side.
Just three steps away, Krais sat staring at him intently.
Those big eyes were fixed on him, full of curiosity.
Enkrid opened his mouth and asked,
"What?"
Before asking about the sword's metal, he figured he should first address that strange gaze.
"It's fascinating."
"What is?"
"Your left hand."
As he spoke, Krais glanced at Enkrid's left hand.
'Had he always been this skilled with it?'
He didn't think so.
They hadn't just spent a day or two together.
His left hand—it was unbelievable.
Was this what being a genius was like?
Krais himself had no talent for swordsmanship or martial arts, so he couldn't really tell.
'Hadn't he been pretty ordinary before?'
Aside from his reckless actions, his skill seemed average.
When Enkrid had saved him—risking his own life for someone else—Krais had thought, Who even does that?
'Risking your life to protect someone else? That makes no sense.'
Was he supposed to save a fellow squad mate just because they were in the same unit?
Back then, they hadn't even known each other for a full week.
But now, the gap in skill was massive.
The enemy that ambushed them was no ordinary soldier.
That much was obvious at a glance.
Yet Enkrid blocked his attack using only his left hand?
"I trained consistently."
Enkrid replied as if it were nothing.
Krais nodded.
"I see… and, um, you killed the enemy leader?"
Was it the left hand that was strange, or the entire fight?
The battle had been fierce, thrilling, even terrifying.
If things had gone wrong, their squad leader would have died.
And if that had happened, Vengeance, Krais, and Esther would have been dragged into the abyss along with him.
Yet, in that desperate moment, their squad leader had remained composed.
As if he had known the enemy was his to defeat.
"A dogfight."
Again, Enkrid answered indifferently.
Krais came to a conclusion.
'A late-blooming genius.'
His talent had simply awakened late.
That was the only explanation.
There was no need to dig deeper.
Curiosity aside, it wasn't like he would get any other answer.
Even if he tried to be suspicious, what evidence did he have?
Some hidden, incredible secret?
What kind of secret could exist in a place like this?
Unless Enkrid was some kind of fortune teller who could foresee everything in advance.
'That would be ridiculous.'
No prophet or seer could predict events this precisely.
Besides, Krais thought most fortune tellers were just con artists trying to make a quick buck.
'The world runs on Krona.'
Everything moved and collapsed because of Krona.
Why were Naurilia and Aspen at war?
To Krais, the answer was simple.
Whoever controlled the Green Pearl Plains would gain a second granary, an invaluable resource.
'Even I'd fight for that.'
So this war was inevitable.
In an age of war and conflict, wielding a sword for profit was the most natural thing in the world.
And that meant Enkrid's sudden genius was irrelevant.
"What kind of metal do you think this is?"
His thoughts were interrupted when Enkrid held out the enemy commander's sword.
He actually took it with him.
"Good metal."
"You think I asked just to hear that?"
Obviously not.
There was no need to hesitate.
"There's a famous iron mine in Aspen, in a place called Dempf."
"Dempf? Dempf… I've heard of it. That hidden village between the river and the mountains?"
Muttering to himself, Enkrid nodded. He had traveled the continent long enough to know.
Krais continued, "Yes, Dempf's iron has this peculiar glow. It starts with a faint blue tint, deepens over time, and the highest-quality steel eventually loses all color."
That was just what he had heard.
But one thing was certain—if this sword was forged from Dempf iron, it was even more expensive than Valerian steel.
Which meant… this sword was incredibly, absurdly expensive.
"If you sold it…"
"I'm not selling."
"Huh? Are you switching swords?"
For a warrior on the battlefield, nothing was more important than a weapon that fit their hand.
That was common sense.
Even Krais knew that.
There was no way Enkrid would abandon his familiar sword.
"What if I use both?"
That wasn't directed at Krais.
It was just Enkrid talking to himself.
A warm spring breeze ruffled his hair.
Between the shifting strands, his gaze remained fixed on the sword.
Krais saw that look in his squad leader's eyes.
How to describe it?
Bright, vivid eyes, full of life and excitement.
Like a boy receiving an unexpected gift.
Seeing that, Krais couldn't bring himself to suggest selling the sword again.
His squad leader—Enkrid, with his lake-like blue eyes resembling Esther's—looked genuinely thrilled.
Enkrid didn't care whether Krais was watching him or not.
Why had he suddenly become so skilled with his left hand?
He didn't need to make up some grand excuse.
Actually, he didn't have an excuse.
It wasn't something he could explain.
Saying 'I trained for it' was the best he could do.
Sure, it made him sound like some kind of prodigy.
But what other choice did he have?
More than anything, Enkrid had felt something this time.
A sudden leap forward.
A rapid surge in skill.
Mastering in a few swings what should have taken a hundred.
'It's strange.'
Would it happen again?
He didn't know.
And honestly, it didn't matter.
As long as he kept moving forward.
Talent had never been his concern.
'Once I recover…'
Then he could try various things.
Seated on a rock outside the medical tent, Enkrid lost himself in contemplation.
Training, his left hand, his right hand, the brawl, Mitch Hurrier, his sword, battle, the warzone.
The more he thought, the more he wanted to get up and move.
But—
"You were told not to push yourself. Why do you think I'm sitting here watching you?"
Krais interrupted his thoughts.
Right.
He was right.
At the very least, he had to rest for a few days.
That was the medic's strict order.
The supply unit was handling the rear lines, and the 2nd Company, 3rd Platoon—Vengeance's—was left behind for defense.
Reinforcements were expected soon.
Once they arrived, Enkrid would head to the front lines.
For that to happen, his body first needed to recover.
His right hand still couldn't be freed from the splint.
There was a wound on his shoulder—not too deep, but a cut nonetheless.
A dagger had also left a hole in his left forearm.
Individually, none of them were serious injuries, but any major movement could reopen them.
'This is a mess.'
His whole body ached from forcing joint locks.
If not for his training in the Isolation technique.
If not for his absolute focus.
If not for the support of the Heart of the Beast.
If not for the sixth sense warning him.
'I'd be the one dead.'
Enkrid sat in a daze, focusing entirely on recovery.
Even as he rested, he swung his sword in his mind.
At first, he envisioned using only his right hand, then later, gripping a single blade with both hands.
At the end of his mental training, Enkrid held his own sword in his right hand and Mitch Hurrier's sword in his left.
'Will this work?'
He had no idea.
He just wanted to try.
Something about it felt... right in his hands.
Dual swords.
'Strength comes first.'
That had to come before anything else.
Wielding a sword with two hands was entirely different from handling one in each hand.
Some of his instructors had outright mocked the idea.
This sort of thing—using two swords half-heartedly.
"Dual swords? That's just a surefire way to die. If you can't even master one sword properly, you think you can handle two? Even skilled swordmasters don't bother with that nonsense."
One instructor had been particularly blunt about it.
Where had he met that man?
It was in a major city.
A guy who preached that refined swordsmanship came from a refined body.
After training under him, Enkrid had a rather bitter experience.
As he mulled it over, hunger set in.
Rest and food were crucial for recovery.
"Mealtime."
Right on cue, Krais arrived with food.
Thin wheat bread, thick bacon, dried fruit, and cheese.
A feast.
"Did you raid the supply tent?"
"No. The supply officer seemed grateful to you, sir. I mean, he was this close to losing his head if things had gone south."
Krais tapped his neck with his hand.
It made sense.
The rear camp existed to supply the troops.
If an enemy raid had wiped it out, whose fault would that be?
Who would be held responsible?
No need to ask—the supply officer was accountable.
If the supply tents had gone up in flames, he'd have been swiftly executed.
Losing a battle could be tolerated, but failing to keep watch?
That was unforgivable.
"Let's eat."
Enkrid chewed, swallowed, and drank.
Water instead of alcohol.
Krais stayed by his side, tending to him—not overly doting, but attentive enough.
Like that, three days passed.
"We're moving out. Are you coming?"
Vengeance, fully armed, asked the question.
Reinforcements had arrived in the rear.
The frontlines were getting even more intense.
With his entire squad up there, Enkrid had to go as well.
His wounds from slashes and stabs weren't fully healed, but walking wouldn't be a problem.
"I'm going."
Beside him, Krais was lost in thought.
'Seeing the lieutenant fight...'
Didn't seem like he'd die anytime soon.
Maybe it was better to stick with him instead of staying back.
If he grabbed a few good spoils along the way, he'd make a nice profit.
Besides, the supply officer had been replaced, and none of the soldiers in the incoming 3rd Regiment were familiar faces.
Staying in the rear would be tough.
Might as well...
'Head out and collect some loot.'
And so, Krais joined the march.
"Nyaa."
Even after three days of rest, Esther still looked drained.
Enkrid picked her up.
She wasn't that heavy.
Was she even eating properly?
Why didn't she seem to be growing at all?
Young beasts were supposed to grow fast, weren't they?
She looked almost the same as when he first saw her.
"You, are you eating well?"
Enkrid asked while stroking her head.
Esther blinked and lifted her gaze.
A man with eyes like hers was looking at her.
Who was worried about whom here?
He nearly died again this time.
Thump, thump.
Esther smacked Enkrid's chest with her paw.
Her way of telling him not to worry about her.
"Alright, alright. I'll bring you food when I get the chance."
He completely misread her intent.
Not that it really mattered.
'Foolish human, let's go.'
Closing her eyes, still weighed down by fatigue, Esther let herself be carried.
Enkrid took a step forward.
The only difference now...
Was that he carried two swords at his waist instead of one.
"Two swords?"
Vengeance asked.
Enkrid nodded.
He had seen Enkrid use his left hand before.
They had even sparred.
The guy was always pulling weird stunts, so he just accepted it.
With that, Enkrid joined Vengeance's platoon and marched to the frontlines.
No issues arose during the movement.
As they arrived, the chilling air of the battlefield welcomed them.
The stench of blood and steel filled the path, and the sky darkened as if it might rain.
The damp scent of water, blood, and metal blended together, carrying the stench of death.
This was the frontline base.
And here...
"Goddamn, thought I'd grow old waiting for you. What the hell? I told you to rest, and you come back even more messed up? Huh?"
"It just turned out that way."
These crazy bastards were waiting.
Rem, looking ready to punch something, was halted by a casual wave of Enkrid's hand.
Somehow, every time they split up, something chaotic happened.
Oh well.
It was what it was.
Vengeance handled the debrief, allowing Enkrid to return to their tent without issue.
He briefly recounted what had happened in the rear.
"You keep having all the fun when I'm not around."
Rem grumbled, digging at his nose.
That was it.
They were alive.
They were here.
That was all that mattered.
Settling down in a corner of the tent, Enkrid asked for a battlefield update.
Jaxen came over and quietly explained.
"We're just watching each other."
There hadn't been any major battles while Enkrid was away.
The forces here—including reinforcements—amounted to over two battalions of infantry.
That was more than a thousand foot soldiers gathered here.
Along with the direct command unit, scouts, and rear guard protecting the supply lines.
'So this is the start of a full-scale war.'
The main battle—the one with knights, mages, and shamans—was waiting at Green Pearl Plains.
Meanwhile, both sides were watching this battlefield closely.
Somehow, things had escalated into a stalemate.
The infantry battle to secure the flanks had become the deciding factor in the greater war.
Whoever won here would gain the upper hand.
This fight would inevitably affect the main battle.
At the simplest level, morale was at stake.
A victory here would give their army more strategic options.
Opening the flanks would allow for the use of special units.
The main armies of both nations were hesitant to deploy more forces beyond infantry—both sides were just watching and waiting.
A full-scale war could break out at any moment, and tension filled the camp.
Everyone was visibly on edge.
Except for the Madmen squad.
For Enkrid, it was simple.
'Ah, so a battle is coming. And soon. What should I do? I guess… train.'