CHAPTER 27

The name of the scout squad leader was Andrew.

His full name was Andrew Gardner.

Once a baron, he is now the sole heir of a fallen family.

He had only one desire: to revive the Gardner family in his generation.

"Andrew, you are our hope."

His mother's last words as she lay dying from illness remained vividly in his mind.

She had saved money by working as a seamstress and a maid in other people's houses.

And all that money was spent on Andrew.

From swordsmanship lessons to clothes and food.

While he didn't have an affluent upbringing, he didn't lack either.

His mother, overwhelmed by work, gradually fell ill and died.

Her one wish was the same.

"Continue our family line, and become a great person."

He decided to honor that wish.

There was only one way Andrew could think of to revive his family.

After all, it was an age of war.

He would fight and fight again to prove his abilities.

He received timely help at a point when training and connections were crucial.

Before she died, his mother sought help from a man who was once like a brother to her husband.

"He has talent," said the man who was his father's sworn brother.

After that, Andrew underwent rigorous training and joined the army.

He started as a professional soldier and earned the position of squad leader at a young age.

'I need achievements.'

That thought filled Andrew's mind.

He was confident in his abilities.

His confidence came from killing three or four ordinary soldiers on the battlefield.

"You must be cautious in everything."

His advisor and supporter constantly nagged him. It was almost unbearable.

But Andrew didn't ignore those words.

'Surviving is also important.'

One must stay alive to ensure the revival of the family.

That doesn't mean he could abandon a challenging life.

What happens to those who give up on challenges?

His father, who had lost the family's prestige, was a perfect example.

His father, who lacked talent since childhood, swung his sword every day, but his efforts were futile.

Eventually, his father couldn't dream of reviving the family. He gave up quickly.

Spending the remaining assets became the entirety of his life.

He died, stabbed by a gambler he got into a fight with.

'A life without a future is bleak.'

Thus, while dreaming of reviving his family, he also valued his own life.

Of course, there were always annoying matters.

One such annoyance was the troublemaker squad leader who caught Andrew's eye.

Andrew was in his position due to his abilities.

He was working tirelessly for the great task of reviving his family.

But what about that guy?

He was a bottom-tier soldier who had luckily become a squad leader, a salary thief.

Was he worthy of being a professional soldier?

Andrew saw traces of his father in him.

'He'll just live collecting his salary and eventually die.'

He would only pretend to train by swinging his sword.

It was laughable that a mere soldier wore a sword belt and carried a sword under the pretense of training.

If he knew Encrid, he wouldn't have thought that way, but Andrew didn't know him.

And now, from the morning, that troublemaker squad leader was staring at him.

Their eyes met.

An unpleasant feeling flowed between their gazes. At the end of that feeling, Andrew's brows furrowed.

'His eyes are irritating.'

Just as he was about to speak, the troublemaker squad leader spoke first.

"Your eyes are unpleasant."

"Hmm? Who are you talking to right now?"

Andrew's brows furrowed sharply, his scowl reflecting his state of mind.

One of the soldiers who had accompanied him stepped forward first.

"What did you just say?"

The soldier had a scar on his forehead. Wasn't he the one who used to wander around fight clubs?

Andrew had once told him,

"Follow me. I'll give you a life better than that of a thug."

Since then, he had become Andrew's loyal follower.

His skills were still poor, and he hadn't completely shed his thuggish habits, but he was decent in a fight.

That's why Andrew had brought him along.

There were three such soldiers.

The three of them stood up and surrounded the troublemaker squad leader.

* * *

Encrid had repeated several 'todays' and come to a conclusion.

'As a squad member, it's not enough.'

They needed to follow his words faithfully and act on his commands. That was the minimum requirement.

So what should he do?

How does a knight earn people's trust?

How do they stir excitement as soon as they step onto the battlefield?

It's for a simple reason.

Skill.

It was possible because they had shown their abilities.

Then what was needed to make the ten, including himself, move as one?

What was needed to earn trust?

It was impossible to get close and build a bond in just one day.

The only thing left was violence based on coercion.

"That mouth seems to be a problem. Should I give you a pretty tattoo or something?"

The soldier with the scar on his forehead said, his eyes gleaming. He had the look of someone who had beaten up a few people.

This guy's lines are always the same.

Encrid thought as he looked at the positions of the three.

For them, this was the first time, but for him, it was just another repetition of today.

The reason for the repetition? There was only one.

The more overwhelming the violence and coercion, the better.

For that, experience was necessary.

Aside from skill, he needed to know their reactions and patterns.

For that reason, the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique was excluded.

He had to subdue them with pure skill.

The first hurdle to overcoming today's repetition was to subdue the three thug soldiers.

"Cat got your tongue?"

The thug-turned-soldier swaggered.

Encrid thought words were unnecessary.

So he acted accordingly.

He took a step forward without a word.

The opponent reacted, flinching and raising his fist, preparing to fight.

One of the three even placed his hand on the hilt of his short sword.

Encrid lifted his left foot first, and that step was very slow.

With bewildered eyes, they watched, unsure of what was happening, finding it too ambiguous to say anything.

Then Encrid's right foot struck the ground swiftly.

By mixing slow and fast movements, the slow one appeared quicker.

It was a simple trick, a tactic to launch the first attack.

And it was quite, no, extremely useful.

"Ugh!"

The soldier with the scar on his forehead gasped, trying to throw a punch.

But Encrid was faster, kicking his opponent's shin.

Thud!

As he kicked the shin sideways, the opponent's stance faltered. Immediately, Encrid struck the temple of his off-balance opponent with the back of his hand guard.

It was a satisfying, powerful swing.

Thwack!

"Ugh!"

The opponent let out a short cry and staggered to the side, collapsing.

Encrid's next movements were fluid and smooth.

As he turned sideways, a short sword aimed at his exposed side sliced through the air. Almost as if it was a rehearsed move, he grabbed and twisted the wrist of the soldier holding the short sword.

The key was to apply just enough force to avoid causing serious injury.

Crunch. Snap.

He twisted the wrist and struck near the jaw at an angle, causing the second soldier to faint and collapse.

He gently laid the collapsing soldier down on the ground.

As he stood up, he picked up the fallen short sword. Encrid, his breathing unchanged, asked,

"Want to continue?"

The last soldier who had stepped forward broke into a cold sweat.

It was the opponent who had drawn their weapon first.

He wouldn't have any complaints if Encrid stabbed him right then.

"What's your intention?"

The scout squad leader, who had been watching up to that point, stepped forward.

"I didn't like you from the start. A rookie barely learning to walk."

Encrid turned away from the frightened soldier towards the scout squad leader.

There was no need to get angry over trivial matters, so he usually let things slide without putting much meaning into what others said or did. That had been the case until now.

But if there was a need to get angry?

Then he would say everything he had to say.

"If I follow a guy like you, we might all get wiped out on even a simple scout mission, so let's settle this with skill."

Defiance was a serious offense.

However, the situation was delicate.

Encrid was originally a squad leader.

If the other had respected that, it might have been different.

But the scout squad leader had shown complete disregard and hostility.

No one could blame him for not putting up with it.

In fact, the higher-ups wouldn't care which of the two led the scout squad.

Didn't the platoon leader tell them to look after the young squad leader when he left?

Now was the time for that.

Not just to watch his back, but to step up and take charge.

"…Whoever wins the fight will take command of the squad?"

The scout squad leader frowned and asked.

"That works for me. I have no intention of being under someone weaker than myself."

In fact, in the troublemaker squad, except for Krais, there were only monsters who fought better than Encrid.

But that was just an excuse.

It was best if the opponent got riled up and attacked first.

"Bring it on, you wet-behind-the-ears brat. Have you ever slept with a woman? Or is your manhood still underdeveloped?"

Andrew's expression hardened.

He hadn't had his first experience yet.

He had used that time to train his body.

He felt as if the scout squad leader was mocking all the time, effort, and everything he had done to get this far.

Thump.

The squad leader drew his short sword.

"You can draw your sword too. The length of the blade won't determine skill."

"Alright, then."

The rough-looking soldier beside Andrew initially tried to intervene but then shook his head and sighed, stepping back.

He had worked as a mercenary for quite a long time and had seen such situations countless times.

There had been discord from the beginning. It might be better to resolve it now.

Letting emotions fester would be a bigger problem.

Men often cleared the air by fighting it out.

Moreover, he knew Andrew well. He had taught him swordsmanship.

In some ways, Andrew might seem like a brash young upstart.

But he knew how to handle a sword and had a straightforward nature.

Most importantly, he knew right from wrong.

'It won't be easy, though.'

If things went south, he would step in.

However, there was one thing.

Judging by the troublemaker squad leader's stance and the position of his feet, he didn't seem like an ordinary opponent.

His thick, hard calluses, which had formed from gripping a sword for so long, were evident on his palms.

They were not the marks of someone who had trained for just a day or two.

"Alright. I'll do it barehanded."

"This bastard?"

Andrew got excited. That was a flaw.

He easily showed his emotions.

The man thought to himself that this was something to point out later.

He decided to sit back and watch comfortably.

It didn't seem like it would end quickly.

Both of them were not exceptionally skilled, but neither did they appear completely incompetent.

Nevertheless, he secretly hoped Andrew would win.

Being excited didn't mean his basic skills would disappear.

He had talent.

The troublemaker squad leader gestured, beckoning Andrew to attack. Andrew charged forward.

And then.

Thud!

"…In one blow?"

What was this?

The rough-looking soldier's eyes widened in surprise.

The moment Andrew charged, the troublemaker squad leader made a feint with his left hand.

Sensing this, Andrew swung his short sword.

But his opponent perfectly read the trajectory of the sword and struck the blade with the leather gauntlet on his left hand.

As a result, Andrew's chest was momentarily exposed.

The troublemaker squad leader lunged into Andrew's open chest. In that tight space, his body moved dynamically.

Whack!

He kicked off the ground, twisting his body inside and drove his elbow precisely into Andrew's solar plexus.

That one blow was enough.

"Ugh."

Andrew groaned. His legs trembled. His breath caught, and his limbs went weak.

That's what happens when you get hit in a vital spot.

Andrew groaned again, bending his back like a shrimp.

If this had been a real fight, he would have been dead.

'What a strength.'

He managed to deliver a blow through thick gambeson armor.

His skill was better than that of an average mercenary.

An inevitable question arose.

Why is he considered a bottom-tier soldier?