CHAPTER 289

For Krais, this was only natural.

Why risk your life in a hopeless battle?

Why fight here, ready to die?

'Unless reinforcements arrive.'

Given the circumstances, it was unlikely. But it wasn't impossible.

To even see a glimpse of those reinforcements, they had to give up what needed to be given up.

Like Green Pearl or the Border Guard Fortress.

They had watchtowers they built over time and newly dug moats, but if they were attacked from both sides, all of it would be useless.

'What we have now means nothing.'

Sometimes, it's wise to wait for the next opportunity. Just holding out isn't always the best course of action.

Krais had come to this conclusion after some thought and said,

"Let's run."

Encrid looked intently at those big eyes.

'This time, it seems like his eyes are clear.'

He didn't look like someone consumed by fear and anxiety.

So, is he asking this with a clear mind, not knowing what will happen if they run away?

Encrid widened his view and scanned the room.

Aside from Big Eyes, everyone else, all the members, had their eyes fixed on him.

Whatever choice he made here, they would follow his words.

That's how it appeared.

Even that odd-eyed wild horse sneaking around outside the tent would do the same.

And Esther, of course.

And Rem, who had left his place, probably sleeping somewhere, would somehow follow them if Encrid wasn't there when he returned.

Ragna, too, would find his way back, even if he got lost and lost again.

Why? What was he to them?

What did they see in him to follow him like this?

He couldn't force his will on them.

He couldn't impose something he had decided to protect.

Encrid couldn't do that.

"You can go."

That's why he said it. Krais was pleased but waited for the next words.

"And you?"

Jaxon, who usually got blunt when annoyed, asked directly.

That guy seemed to be waiting for the right moment to speak informally, like now.

"I'm not going."

"Why not? You've done enough at this point."

Even Krais subtly dropped the formalities. Encrid didn't mind.

Instead, he said what he wanted to say.

"When you sell your sword for gold, you're a mercenary."

It sounded nonsensical, but everyone silently looked at him. Seeing that they were waiting for his next words, Encrid realized that he had learned from them, but they had also learned from him.

The attitude of listening.

Everyone's ears were open. Even if their ears were closed, he could still say what he needed to, but if they listened, that was even better.

"And I will become a Knight."

He swallowed. The thoughts he had regularly, thoughts from some day in the past, were now refined and solidified into a firm pillar.

Encrid sat up, leaning at an angle. Pain surged through his shin and right arm.

It wasn't unbearable. It was tolerable. At least it was much better than dying.

Persistent pain was merely a reminder that he was alive, that he hadn't wasted a day.

"I hear that a lot."

Jaxon commented, almost like he was adding to the conversation.

Encrid pulled his legs in and adjusted to a more comfortable position.

"If you don't plan on selling your sword for mere gold, then you have to sell it for duty and responsibility. And this is my duty and responsibility now."

What is a Knight?

One who protects.

What should be protected?

Legends, myths, and the Knights of the past who shone like the sun said,

Protect the weak.

Uphold justice.

Keep your oaths.

Which is the most important? Encrid came to his own conclusion.

Chivalry.

Is it chivalry to lay down your life for a lady?

If he swore to do so, then yes.

If that's his chivalry, it can be acknowledged.

But he would never sell his sword for mere gold.

Nor would he become a murderer who takes pleasure in killing.

Intangible values. Protecting what he believes in.

Swearing to it and keeping that oath.

To ordinary people, that might seem foolish.

But that's Encrid's dream.

This was the path he had been looking at and walking on all along.

Despite dying over and over again, he never gave up, and that was why he never settled for today.

If Encrid were to flee now, how many people inside the Border Guard would die?

Children, women, the elderly, and young men—there could be a massacre in the hundreds.

Fewer might die.

Or maybe even more might be slaughtered.

One of their opponents was a Cultist. A mad group was involved.

Of course, considering all of that, it might be more efficient to retreat for now.

Giving up what needs to be given up and reclaiming it later might be a better approach.

But he wouldn't do that.

Encrid's emotions didn't waver.

It wasn't something to waver over.

He had made up his mind to do this, and so he would.

The Border Guard was behind him, and Encrid had sworn to protect them.

Even though he wasn't a Knight, Encrid had kept the vow he made to himself that day in the past when he decided to live this way. He had lived like that ever since. That was the kind of person Encrid was.

Krais's face turned pale again. His eyes drooped, showing his discontent.

"This is foolish."

"I agree."

Encrid replied to Krais's comment, recalling a day from the past.

* * *

Swooshhhhh.

"The rain is pouring down horribly."

The mercenary leader didn't particularly dislike rainy days, but slogging through a sticky swamp for a job was starting to irritate him.

It was a relief that they weren't passing through the center of the swamp but rather through a path cutting through a small forest on its edge, but that didn't make it enjoyable.

The small forest bordering the swamp often gifted them with long bugs crawling into their armor, and fearless mosquitoes bit the hands of the mercenaries as they walked.

"Damn it!"

Smack!

One of the mercenaries, slapping a mosquito on the back of his hand, cursed in frustration.

Where the hell were these mosquitoes coming from in this downpour?

"Are we there yet?"

A mercenary with a fierce look in his eyes shouted.

The guide brushed back his wet, drooping black hair and replied.

"Soon."

"You've been saying that for a while now."

The leader approached. He was big and looked so intimidating that just his appearance gave off an aura of authority. Despite staring directly at him, the guide's blue eyes remained calm.

"The rain slowed us down."

"Hmm, fine, let's keep moving."

Thud.

The leader lightly slapped the back of the guide's head and shook his own.

Then he turned to soothe his mercenaries.

"You filthy dogs, stop flapping your lips before I toss you into the swamp."

As the leader spoke, he slashed through the long vines blocking their path with his thick blade.

With a thud, the cut vines scattered to the sides, revealing the way ahead.

Though the leader's words were rough, they quelled the discontent. The guide, Encrid, watched this and thought that this mercenary group was quite decent.

Despite his harsh appearance, the leader took good care of his men, and the mercenaries themselves had their own code of conduct.

At least they weren't the type to stab a comrade, friend, or client in the back during a job.

If you didn't have that sense, you'd end up as food for bugs or trees while working as a guide.

If you didn't want to die on the road, you had to pick your people carefully.

This time, it seemed he had picked well.

"But why are you using that guy instead of a proper pathfinder?"

Was he asking because he knew everyone could hear, or was he saying it for them to hear?

One of the mercenaries asked this as he moved behind the leader.

Swooshhh, splatter, splatter.

Despite the pouring rain, their conversation was clearly audible. Thanks to the trees covering overhead, the rain was somewhat less intense.

"He's cheap."

"What?"

"I said, he's cheap. Though his pathfinding skills aren't great. But on the other hand, he knows how to handle a sword."

Meaning, he's half a fighter and half a pathfinder, making him useful.

So, by paying just the pathfinder's fee, they could get an additional combatant. The mercenary leader summed it all up and said Encrid was cheap.

Of course, one dim-witted subordinate muttered, 

"He's not that cheap."

He started babbling about how he knew other pathfinders who were cheaper.

"Any of them actually know how to find a path?"

A comrade from behind sneered.

"Want me to kill you? This guy's getting cocky."

After that, there was a flurry of silly jokes.

Jokes about killing and sparing.

Typical talk among rough mercenaries.

The job was to be done while staying in a small village within the forest.

It was a relatively safe village, with hardly any monsters or beasts nearby.

The swamp might have been home to a Lizard Colony at some point. But some wandering swordsman supposedly came and slaughtered them all a dozen years ago.

Since then, whenever monsters started to gather, the village would hire mercenaries.

A few gold coins a year kept them free from threats.

Swoosh. The pouring rain. Blurred vision. Damp clothes and armor—so soaked that the gambeson he was wearing was pretty much ruined.

It was lucky he wore something cheap in this weather.

But when the rain let up a little, the bugs would swarm, and it was hot too.

These trees seemed to act as some kind of totem, maintaining a humid atmosphere instead of refreshing air.

It was a routine job. Clearing out lizards and maintaining the village's surroundings.

Encrid had been toughening up in the nearby village for over half a year while working as a guide to make a living.

"We've arrived."

Though it was a bit rough, he led them to the village he was familiar with.

"Welcome."

The village headman, a middle-aged man, welcomed the mercenary group, and after that, they dealt with the lizards that had been drawn by the swamp's scent.

They hung ropes made of tree bark, which gave off a smell that the lizards disliked, around the swamp's trees.

They also drove stakes into the ground, though it was hard to tell if it would be effective.

"This is ancient wisdom passed down through generations."

The village headman seemed to firmly believe in it.

With so much going on, the village frequently needed the help of mercenaries.

If a lizard slipped through their defenses, they'd need swords again, and there were hardly any others besides the mercenaries who could step up.

Some villagers could fight as combatants, but most seemed far removed from battle.

Since Encrid was also there as a guide and didn't have much else to do, he found himself practicing his sword in a secluded corner of the village.

"Mister."

A small child approached him. A bright-eyed kid with fair skin.

The child couldn't have been older than twelve.

Encrid didn't underestimate him just because he was young, having once been defeated by someone his age, but the kid didn't look like someone who used a sword.

"Why do you work so hard?"

What followed was predictable. Idle chatter, the frequent visits of the kid—specifically, a young girl. That's how Encrid became friends with the little one.

"I'm leaving the village in three years."

"Is it your dream to die away from home?"

Calling it a dream to die outside the village—you're quite bold.

Where does she think she's going all by herself at that age?

"No, geez, that's not it! You've seen the herbs that drive away lizards, right? Do you think this is the only place in the world with something like that? The herbs that come from this swamp are different."

He'd heard that herbs were the main source of income for the swamp village.

"Oh, so your dream is to die away from home?"

"Oh, come on! Seriously!"

So, what are you going out there for?

"I'm going to find some really amazing herbs. And I won't be going alone. I'll just join up with a mercenary group that comes by later!"

She called it a dream. To sell herbs disguised as something unknown to the world.

Encrid didn't mock other people's dreams. He just worried.

"So, your dream is to die searching for herbs, huh?"

"Ugh, really!"

He didn't think their relationship was all that deep. It was a moderate friendship, a way to pass the time.

It was something to do when resting a body tired from training.

The young girl probably had a similar thought, too.

Among the mercenaries who came to the village, most had fierce faces, but there was one guy who seemed relatively gentle, someone who just swung a sword in a corner every day.

She talked to him, and he wasn't a bad companion for a bit of banter—that's all it was.

The mercenary group's job lasted over a month, and the two continued their trivial conversations.

"Is your dream to be a guide?"

"No, a Knight."

"A Knight? Like the one they call the Nightmare of the Battlefield?"

"Yeah."

"...Maybe you could join me in gathering herbs instead. You can follow me later if you want."

"Let's just not talk."

"No, I really respect you, mister. I'm serious. I mean it."

"Look me in the eyes when you say that."

Why was she talking while staring off into the distance?

"Huh? What did you say?"

"Now you're pretending not to hear?"

She was quite the cheeky little girl.

And then, as always, danger arrived without warning.

"Hey, what's left for either of us if we fight here? Let me be clear. If you've gotten what you came for, leave. You weren't hired for this."

In Encrid's opinion, the leader of the mercenary group was a decent person.

At least for a mercenary leader, he was. He meant it.

Then out of nowhere came fifty bandits.

They spouted nonsense about hearing rumors of hidden jewels in the swamp village.

The leader of the mercenary group had to make a choice.

And the villagers were left in despair.