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Chapter 52 - The Turtle and The Frontier Slaughterer (1)

Chapter 52 - The Turtle and The Frontier Slaughterer (1)

"Why don't you try me?"

A soldier stepped forward as he spoke.

His appearance was unassuming.

He was slightly shorter than Enkrid but had a stocky build.

In his lowered hand, a short sword with a sharp blue blade gleamed, reflecting the light.

The Frontier Slaughterers—this was no ordinary unit.

The Border Guard's defensive force was small yet elite.

Despite having only two hundred soldiers, the battalion commander and the Frontier Slaughterers unit leader were of equal rank.

According to Naurilia's military structure, this unit was part of the royal army.

This meant they operated under a separate command structure, distinct from the first and second infantry divisions stationed at the Border Guard.

The Frontier Slaughterers soldier stared at Enkrid with dull eyes.

It wasn't a provocative look.

It was closer to the gaze of someone looking down from a position of superiority, tinged with arrogance.

That expression stirred Enkrid's fighting spirit.

It made him think, This will be interesting.

Enkrid was thrilled.

I can fight.

Gone were the days of collapsing immediately under superior skill or being crushed by overwhelming talent before even beginning.

Compared to his past self, who could only dream of competing, the transformation was exhilarating.

Perhaps because they thought Enkrid hesitated, murmurs spread through the surroundings.

"Spell Breaker!"

"The troublemaking squad leader."

"Let's see what he's got."

"Being from The Frontier Slaughterers doesn't make you invincible."

Despite having had only three short sparring matches, voices of support rose for Enkrid.

It was an unfamiliar experience for him.

He had never encountered such a situation before—not even once in his life.

"Let's go!"

"Show them!"

"The flower of the battlefield is infantry!"

Now, they were even chanting infantry slogans.

It was amusing since his opponent was also infantry.

Still, the earnest support was palpable.

The desire to fight and win burned within him.

The mere thought of battling against an average soldier no longer satisfied his thirst.

The combined morale of the infantry gathered behind him surged.

A tingling sensation spread from his toes to his entire body.

Observing from the sidelines, Vengeance understood the soldiers' cheers for Enkrid.

It's no wonder.

Even Vengeance had shouted encouragement to Enkrid.

A lowest-ranking soldier who spent sleepless nights swinging his sword.

A squad leader managing a group of troublemakers.

His position had been insignificant, his skills pathetic compared to his efforts.

That had been the general consensus. Others likely thought the same.

But now?

Enkrid, the troublemaking squad leader, was showing a completely different side.

By displaying exceptional skill, he had proven himself.

By breaking curses, he had saved allies and changed the battlefield's outcome—an undeniable reality.

Even knowing this, no one had dared to believe it.

But now the unbelievable had become reality.

Now, everyone knew.

The greatest contributor in the previous battle was none other than Enkrid.

The battalion commander's commendation and a pouch of kronas were tokens of recognition.

As with any military, the higher-ups took their cut.

The current battalion commander, notorious for his poor reputation, was no exception.

Rumors abounded that he saw soldiers as mere expendables.

Among the soldiers who had started noticing Enkrid's skill was Bell, one of those he had saved with his shield from a deadly arrow.

I knew it!

From the moment Enkrid saved him, Bell had recognized his potential.

The troublemaking squad leader was destined for greatness.

Absolutely.

It wasn't just Bell.

Everyone who had unknowingly formed bonds with Enkrid now united in their support.

At this moment, Enkrid represented the ordinary soldiers of the Border Guard.

Buoyed by their cheers, Enkrid tapped his sword tip with his foot and steadied his stance.

Simultaneously, he suppressed the electrifying excitement surging through him and calmed his breath.

"You're ready?"

"There's no reason not to be."

Enkrid's composed response made Torres, The Frontier Slaughterers soldier, think to himself,

Interesting.

The Frontier Slaughterers—there was a reason for the unit's nickname.

Yet his opponent wasn't backing down.

Instead, he stepped forward with a faint smile on his face.

Amused, intrigued, and slightly annoyed, Torres wanted to show the clear difference between a regular soldier and a special forces operative.

With a swift motion, Torres charged first.

His speed was terrifyingly fast.

Enkrid waited and thrust his sword straight at the center.

A solid move—it forced the opponent to dodge left, right, up, or down.

As soon as Torres evaded, a powerful follow-up would strike.

But Torres didn't dodge.

Instead, he aimed his short sword at Enkrid's incoming blade.

When the blades met, Enkrid tried to overpower him, but Torres skillfully countered.

Clang! Clang!

Sliding his blade along Enkrid's, Torres twisted it upward, creating an angle that deflected the downward force.

It was a textbook deflection maneuver.

As sparks flew from their clashing blades, Enkrid didn't hesitate. He stepped forward with his rear foot and kicked.

Thud!

Just before his kick connected, Torres blocked it with his palm.

The distance closed—to the point where even their swords couldn't fit between them.

Torres dropped his short sword and lunged deeper into Enkrid's space, crossing his arms to grab his collar. He intended to choke him.

Unbothered, Enkrid pulled his sword upward from between his legs.

It was a bold upward slash aimed at Torres's back.

Even if he got choked, he could leave a significant mark on the special forces soldier.

But Torres twisted away, releasing Enkrid's collar and shoving his chest instead.

Enkrid resisted the push, redirecting his sword into a horizontal slash.

With Torres unarmed, the outcome seemed certain.

Yet, in that moment, Enkrid experienced something new.

His opponent vanished.

Vanished?

For a split second, his concentration faltered.

The opponent had disappeared right before his eyes.

Not even a sound remained.

Then, instinct kicked in.

A survival instinct forged through countless brushes with death guided Enkrid.

He tilted his head back, exposing his chest.

A flash of light erupted from below his chin.

Swish!

The flash grazed his cheek.

Within the briefest moment, Enkrid regained focus.

If I lose sight of him, I'll die.

The warning etched into his instincts was clear.

The light soared upward and then fell.

Enkrid caught it with his left palm while lifting his knee.

Thwack! Thump!

Pain seared through his palm.

In the instant before impact, he saw Torres's eyes twitch with shock.

Blood dripped from Enkrid's left palm, which had just intercepted the blade of a dagger.

The sudden injury came as a result of Torres discarding his short sword and swiftly drawing his dagger for a lethal strike.

A drop of blood hit the ground with a faint plop, followed by a slow, steady trickle.

Torres exhaled sharply, miming the act of sheathing his blade, and Enkrid released the dagger's edge without resistance.

Pain surged through his left hand—a searing, burning ache.

A similar sharp sting spread across his cheek, accompanied by the warm flow of blood from a cut sustained earlier.

Had that strike landed fully, it could have split his jaw. It seemed luck was on his side—or perhaps it was something more instinctive.

'Terrifying…' thought Enkrid.

"You've got some luck, huh?" Torres remarked, his voice cutting through the tension.

At some point, Rem had moved behind Torres, his axe resting on his shoulder.

He stood close enough that a swing would reach.

Beside him, Ragna was poised, his left hand placed on his sword, his left foot shifted half a step forward—a stance that unmistakably signaled readiness for a draw strike.

"You shouldn't take it any further," Ragna muttered.

Torres wasn't just surrounded by the two of them;

Jaxen, the squadmate with auburn hair, stood at his flank.

Jaxen held no weapon, but his presence felt even more dangerous than Rem or Ragna.

The culmination of their earlier sparring had left Enkrid's instincts hyper-aware, warning him of the risks around every corner.

And there was more.

Enkrid's gaze dropped between him and Torres to find a slender, leaf-shaped blade—clearly of fairy craftsmanship—wedged between them.

"That's enough, platoon leader of The Frontier Slaughterers ," came the calm but firm voice of the fairy commander.

Her blade had slipped between them unnoticed.

"Why so tense? It's just sparring. A few more seconds, and I'd have been full of holes," Torres quipped, retrieving his dagger.

He rubbed his abdomen where Enkrid's strike had landed, raising both hands in mock surrender.

Finally, the onlookers, who had been holding their breath, exhaled in relief.

"Damn, that was incredible!"

"Are you kidding? How is he ranked as a low-grade soldier?"

It seemed no further evaluation was needed; the audience recognized what they had just witnessed.

"At least mid-grade! No, higher!"

Even soldiers in the crowd could tell the difference.

And Torres—his reputation well-known—spoke first.

"I'm Torres, platoon leader of The Frontier Slaughterers." He tapped his insignia and extended his hand.

Enkrid sheathed his blade and extended his uninjured right hand to shake it.

"Enkrid, 4th Company, 4th Platoon, 4th Squad Leader," he replied formally.

Torres grinned, his demeanor friendly, as though they hadn't just been at each other's throats moments before.

"I've heard of you—the troublemaker squad leader," Torres said, laughing.

Those within the city who knew of Enkrid knew him well.

"You're skilled. Let's spar again sometime," Torres said as he turned to leave.

As Torres walked through the crowd, soldiers instinctively parted for him.

His title as one of the Frontier Slaughterers commanded respect, even among allies.

The fact that someone of his stature had acknowledged Enkrid spoke volumes.

But the soldiers weren't merely impressed by Torres.

"Why does he have to look good doing it too?" someone muttered, watching Enkrid brush his damp bangs aside.

The spectators, who had gathered at the training ground, now viewed Enkrid in a new light.

It hadn't been intentional, but the event shifted perceptions.

From that day forward, no one casually dismissed Enkrid.

Gone were the whispers questioning his competence.

Anyone doubting him was swiftly rebuked:

"Are you serious? That's the guy who saved the battalion in the last campaign."

Even those returning from leave, oblivious to the recent events, couldn't help but fall in line.

"You don't know? He destroyed the curse! You think that just happened on its own? Idiot!"

Enkrid's feats had become the stuff of legend.

Witnesses stepped forward, bolstering his reputation further.

"I was nearly skewered by an arrow, but he stepped in and blocked it just in time," Bell recounted.

"Not to mention he charged headfirst and shattered the curse. I saw it with my own eyes!" Andrew confirmed.

Even Andrew's caretaker, Mac, added, "He always took on the riskiest missions during recon. And his swordsmanship? That's not for me to judge—it's on a whole other level."

The shift in atmosphere was undeniable, though Enkrid remained focused on his duties.

When his promotion was finalized two days later, it barely changed his routine.

"You're something else, Squad Leader," Rem teased during a shift at the southern gate.

"Why?"

"People can't stop talking about you. Don't act like you don't know."

Enkrid shrugged it off, focusing instead on his training.

After their shift, as they prepared to leave, a man intercepted them.

The stranger's presence was unsettling.

"Let's talk," he said, his tone sharp.

Before Rem could retort, Enkrid intervened, dismissing his companion.

"Go ahead without me."

Rem hesitated but eventually relented, muttering as he walked away, "Fine, but don't forget about me!"

Once alone, the man scoffed. "Discipline is a mess in your squad."

"Wouldn't be called the troublemaker squad otherwise," Enkrid replied calmly.

The man walked along the low walls of the barracks, and Enkrid followed.

"You know who I am?" the man asked.

"You're the First Company Commander," Enkrid replied.

The man nodded, his reputation preceding him as the leader of the formidable turtle infantry of the Border Guard Battalion.