Chapter 96 - Those Who Have and Those Who Don't
Chapter 96 - Those Who Have and Those Who Don't
Torres would exploit weaknesses with uncanny precision the moment his opponent let their guard down.
He could read the breathing and condition of his adversary as naturally as drawing breath himself.
When asked how he could do such a thing, he replied,
"Just fight as many different types of opponents as possible. That's the quickest way to become an elite soldier in a short time and the philosophy of the frontier defense force."
The last part sounded half-joking, as there wasn't much of a philosophy to it.
Torres smirked after saying that.
Watching the rippling water, Enkrid pondered as he gazed at the river.
'It's different.'
Just as the teachings of Rem and Ragna were different, so too were the sparring sessions and words from Torres.
Even the fairy company commander had a distinct approach.
'There's variety.'
Each had something to teach, and none of it was to be overlooked.
Torres's hide knife technique might seem like a mere sleight of hand, but Enkrid had learned that it could become a lethal move depending on its use.
He even picked up some methods to deceive the opponent's perception for its execution.
It was Torres's style of combat, honed through real battles.
"My father was a gambler, and he wanted to make me the second-generation gambler," Torres explained, perhaps offering an origin story for his hide knife technique.
To Enkrid, it sounded more like a combination of exceptional talent and relentless effort.
"Want me to teach you?"
It was just before the boatman arrived.
"Didn't you call it your secret move?"
"If you want, I'll teach you."
Why was he offering this?
Enkrid didn't know.
However, he was more accustomed to seizing opportunities than questioning someone's change of heart.
He nodded.
"Alright. Watch closely. You hide it like this inside your sleeve."
Torres began explaining how to conceal the knife, how to retrieve it with just a flick of the wrist, and so on.
"Your coordination is terrible."
Torres grumbled as Enkrid struggled with the motions.
Despite the criticism, Enkrid had improved slightly by focusing intensely, a skill he had honed for learning new things.
He was undeniably better than before.
Had this been the old Enkrid, before he had learned to concentrate on a single point of focus…
'Would I have given up already?'
Perhaps he would've walked away, shaking his head.
After all, it would be foolish to invest time in something that seemed hopeless.
"For a custom knife, you'll need to commission a smith later. Until then, practice with thin stones or something similar," Torres advised, even picking up a thin stone for him to practice with.
"You really are clumsy."
He scolded again, though Enkrid didn't let it faze him.
Such remarks weren't worth paying attention to.
He didn't have the luxury of letting such words bother him in the first place.
"But you're persistent."
Even as Torres criticized, Enkrid kept trying, though it didn't come easily.
The key was to slip the thin stone into his palm discreetly, letting it rest inside his sleeve.
Then, with a twist of the hand, flip it out smoothly.
Of course, it wasn't easy.
"A practice sheath would be nice."
Torres muttered, explaining that training usually involved a sheath sewn into the inner sleeve to hold a knife in place.
It was helpful until one got used to the technique.
"This move is an adaptation of a skill gamblers call 'palming,'" Torres explained, watching Enkrid practice.
"Palming."
It was a technique with several prerequisites: the blade had to be shorter than an open palm, and the timing of the concealment had to be precise.
Even grasping the knife required practice.
'This is tough.'
It was several times harder than swinging a sword.
Still, it was easier than getting accustomed to handling a shield.
Time passed as Enkrid trained and sparred until he was drenched in sweat.
Then, just as they were resting, the boatman arrived.
The boatman had come along a patrol route frequently cleared of monsters, which allowed him to travel alone.
"They're planning to build a cabin here after the year's end," the boatman said. "Fishermen might settle, maybe even form a small village if we're lucky."
The boatman was talkative.
Enkrid humored him with brief replies, gazing at the Pen-Hanil River as the oar creaked.
The Pen-Hanil River wasn't just the lifeline of nearby villages but extended its influence to include Naurilia and neighboring nations.
He spotted low grass and scattered trees along the distant banks, waterfalls plunging between rocky cliffs, and a few huts built along the riverside.
The gravel road on this side gave way to green fields that would turn vibrant in the spring.
"Watch out—this area's current is slow, but things like that can be dangerous," the boatman muttered, adjusting the direction of the boat to avoid a jagged gray rock jutting from the water.
If the boat hit it, it would surely break apart.
The boat drifted calmly down the river and eventually reached the opposite bank.
"I'll be off, then."
The boatman left.
"Should we wash up? We've got some time before the meeting," Torres suggested, glancing at the sun overhead.
"Good idea."
Sweat had dried on their bodies, leaving an unpleasant odor.
No one knew how long the operation would last, but it was better not to start off in discomfort.
Eating, sleeping, and staying clean whenever possible were the basics of a soldier's life.
"Alright, then."
Torres quickly stripped and waded into the river.
The water rippled with a bluish-green clarity that seemed clean and refreshing.
Enkrid followed, unstrapping his gear piece by piece until he stood bare and stepped into the water.
The icy chill made goosebumps rise across his body.
Torres widened his eyes in surprise.
"Wh—what the… what are you?"
Was there anything to be surprised about?
Torres's gaze dropped to between Enkrid's legs.
He shut his mouth and didn't finish his sentence.
Enkrid followed his gaze to his own body.
Ah, there was something to be surprised about.
"You bastard… you've got it all."
Torres's voice sounded almost teary.
"You could've just had the face!"
"Now you're making me want to thank the parents I never met."
"You're an orphan?"
"Yeah."
Not knowing one's parents wasn't unusual here; most soldiers had similar stories.
"Maybe it's better than having parents who beat you while teaching you things."
"Maybe."
Enkrid never craved a parent's affection.
He only wanted to wield a sword.
In the days when he had nothing, absolutely nothing, the only things that kept him going were the dream of knighthood and the sword.
Would the world be kind to an orphaned child?
Unlikely.
The fact that he had survived was remarkable enough.
It helped that the villagers where Enkrid had grown up were honest and kind.
'A knight.'
That was all he lived for.
He dreamed of knighthood to forget hunger.
He swung a stick like a sword to forget his suffering.
That's why Enkrid didn't crave affection.
Instead, he yearned for the sword.
It was the dream that carried him forward—the start of his pursuit of knighthood.
Faces of a few villagers who had shown him kindness flashed through his mind.
They hadn't been like parents who doted on him, but at least they hadn't let him die.
Even so, those good people weren't immune to the devastation of war.
'War devours everything.'
If it were possible to end such wars, that would be ideal.
And to contribute to that, what must one do?
"Swing the sword."
Enkrid knew only one way—swinging his sword repeatedly until it was over.
That was his life.
His parents, his siblings, his dreams, his goals—his everything.
Bubbles rose to the surface of the water.
As Enkrid, submerged beneath the river, became lost in thought, Torres tapped him on the shoulder.
"Fuaa."
Exhaling deeply, Enkrid emerged from the water.
"They're here," Torres said, his gaze fixed on something.
Turning to follow his eyes, Enkrid saw a soldier leaning lazily on one leg, accompanied by two others armed with short, club-like weapons.
At first glance, they looked more like bandits than soldiers.
Their weapons consisted of crude clubs, and they wore tattered leather armor.
Their gear was light.
Forgoing thicker gambeson armor likely meant they prioritized mobility.
Instinctively, Enkrid assessed their combat capabilities, a habit honed through Audin's training and the Isolation Technique.
'Good balance in both arms,' he noted.
Despite standing casually, the lead soldier's arms hung at their sides, ready to act.
'They could throw something if needed.'
A hand axe for throwing dangled from the soldier's belt, confirming their skill in handling projectiles.
The two soldiers behind them were less remarkable, armed with daggers at their waists and holding clubs.
'Orange hair.'
Enkrid's gaze finally settled on the face of the lead soldier—freckles, orange hair, and a small frame.
It was a female soldier.
"Well, well. Enjoying your bath? Feeling refreshed?" she said in a cocky tone, addressing the two men.
Enkrid realized, with some irritation, that his instincts still needed sharpening.
'I didn't sense them approaching.'
It wasn't entirely surprising; he hadn't expected anyone to come this far.
Moreover, he had been submerged, lost in thought.
Had he been too careless?
No, he'd taken precautions.
His weapons were within reach on the riverbank, and their approach had been unusually stealthy.
Standing on higher ground, the orange-haired soldier spoke again.
"Not coming out?"
Torres stepped forward first.
"Want to keep staring?"
"Well, there's got to be something worth staring at," she shot back bluntly.
Enkrid emerged from the water, water streaming off his muscular frame.
Torres had been startled earlier, but it wasn't just about seeing a man's "symbol."
The Isolation Technique had transformed Enkrid's body into something extraordinary.
Audin's teachings, repeated and etched into his flesh, had left visible results.
Sculpted shoulders gave way to muscular arms that flexed with every move.
His chiseled chest led down to angular abs, and his powerful thigh muscles were a testament to his discipline.
The lead soldier's eyes briefly lingered before muttering, "Looks like there's something worth staring at after all."
Torres, observing from the side, grumbled, "Well, at least someone's got it going on."
"Get dressed," the orange-haired soldier said with a cough, her composure slipping slightly.
Torres and Enkrid fetched fresh clothes from their packs, leaving their sweat-soaked garments, crusted with salt, to dry.
Once fully armored again, Enkrid stood tall.
"Scout Squad Leader, Finn," the orange-haired soldier said, extending a fist.
"Frontier Defense Platoon Leader, Torres," he replied, bumping her fist.
Finn's fist then extended toward Enkrid.
"Independent Platoon Leader, Enkrid," he said.
The designation of "Independent Platoon" was an improvised title, as Enkrid couldn't officially command a platoon within the company.
"Independent Platoon? Never heard of that, but nice to meet you," Finn said, bypassing his fist to pat his abs.
"Nice abs."
"I had nice abs too," Torres muttered, clearly loud enough to be heard.
"Let's talk while walking," Finn suggested.
"If we move now, we can reach the campsite before sundown."
With her two subordinates saluting briefly, the five-person group set off.
During the journey, Finn revealed the details of their mission.
"You didn't come here without knowing where you are, right?"
"We've heard it's a land of beasts and monsters," Enkrid answered, recalling what Enri had mentioned.
The area north of the Pen-Hanil River was infamous for being a haven for magical beasts and creatures.
Only skilled pathfinders or hunters dared venture here.
"And it's right under the nose of Cross Guard," Finn added grimly.
"Our original mission was to gather intelligence through a contact. Up until now, that's all we've done. But…"
Their contact—a spy referred to as a "cat"—had failed to make contact for four days.
Finn's tone grew heavier.
"The new orders are to go in and retrieve them. The last message we received indicated they had crucial information."
A chill ran down Enkrid's spine.
His instincts screamed danger, a warning born from countless brushes with death.
'This is bad.'
No, it wasn't just bad—it was deadly.
He felt it in his bones: death awaited, perhaps multiple times over.
Following Finn's plan would mean infiltrating Cross Guard's territory.
"Damn it," Finn muttered with a bitter laugh.
"I know it's a shitty mission. But there's a way—there's always a way."
Her laugh was laced with self-deprecation.
Enkrid had already learned one thing during his previous encounters, like the mage's trap:
Escape was futile.
Whether he fled all night, stayed awake, or ran to another location, the outcome remained the same.
The only solution was to face the challenge head-on—and find a way to overcome it.
A grin spread across Enkrid's face, one filled with anticipation and exhilaration.
Finn raised an eyebrow.
"They sent a crazy one?"
Even Torres nodded slightly, half-serious.
He, too, was nervous, but Enkrid's reaction was beyond comprehension.
Of course, Enkrid felt nervous as well.
But his mindset was different—he saw this as another opportunity to push beyond his limits.
'Surpass it.'
To climb over the wall of his current self, to grow stronger—this was what brought a smile to his face.
It didn't mean he wouldn't fight with all his might to survive.
The thought of dying still sent chills down his spine.
But he was focused on what lay ahead, beyond the fear.
As they walked, Enkrid's shoulders tensed with a mix of anticipation and determination.