CHAPTER 32

"How's the flagpole?"

"It's fine."

The company commander of the Aspen Duchy wasn't too pleased with the current operation.

But what could a mere commander do about orders from higher-ups?

When ordered, you follow.

So, he was following orders, and a minor problem arose in the midst of it.

A few rat-like creatures from Naurillia infiltrated the camp and set it on fire.

Even though more than half of the troops were ambushed in the tall grass, the infiltration was allowed.

No matter how much he disliked it, the operation had already begun.

Suffering here was a matter of pride.

Failure was even less acceptable.

"You should have been more thorough with the defenses."

The owner of the flagpole said. His words made the company commander's forehead veins bulge.

He found it annoying that this guy, who could be killed with a single sword stroke, was talking. But what could he do?

It was true that there was a breach in the unit's defense.

"Indeed."

Whoosh!

The company commander said this and shoved the tent's door open as he stepped outside.

He couldn't understand the situation.

'Does this make any sense?'

The enemy detecting this place? Sure, let's say they could.

But what about after that?

With less than ten people, they bypassed the troops hidden in the tall grass and attacked the main unit's flagpole?

The company commander believed in his unit.

Of course, he did.

He was often nicknamed the Demon Commander.

It was a nickname earned from his harsh training methods.

His philosophy was that one must spit blood during training to avoid spitting blood and dying on the battlefield.

It was a unit he had trained himself.

'They managed to break through this?'

There are soldiers who lose in battle, but none who fail in guarding.

The company commander genuinely believed this.

So, should he blame his allies for their defense?

He couldn't do that recklessly.

The ones who planned and executed this were not ordinary.

They had the courage to infiltrate enemy territory with a small number.

The skill to survive a confrontation with his company commander.

And the perfect finish of setting the fire and escaping.

Even if the company commander had to let them go because the fire spread behind him.

'Luck is also a skill.'

The company commander of Aspen, who had roamed the battlefield for a long time, also knew the importance of luck.

The commander spoke to the waiting lieutenant.

"Call all the commanders except for the platoon leader on duty."

"Yes, sir."

His company was under the battalion, but it had its own operational authority.

In other words, it was an independent company.

And usually, independent companies had nicknames.

The name of this unit was 'Gray Hound'.

In the Duchy of Aspen, a Gray Hound was a dog with grey fur, known for its persistent nature.

A Gray Hound had to be connected to its chosen target, no matter what.

Whether it was for love or for a fight.

Because of this, the Gray Hound unit was also called 'The Tenacious Lovers'.

Now, the commander of that unit had set his sights on an enemy scout squad leader whose name he didn't even know.

'I will catch and kill him for sure.'

The Gray Hound, the grey-furred dog, had chosen its target.

The commander repeatedly etched this resolve into his heart.

He would definitely catch and punish him.

Above his head, inside the tent, clouds started to gather, perhaps due to the work of the shaman present.

It looked like it was going to rain soon.

The recent occasional rain was mostly the work of the shaman inside the tent.

And this shaman was the key to the current tactics.

He still didn't like it, but there was no denying that this was an efficient operation.

If this operation had been nonsense, the independent company Gray Hound, or the 'Tenacious Lovers', would never have participated, no matter what.

A battlefield where victory was promised.

Apart from his burning desire for revenge, he found it extremely uninteresting.

* * *

"By chance, you discovered the enemy's ambush, by chance, you infiltrated their main camp, and by chance, you set their camp on fire?"

Saying it like this does sound strange.

Instead of nodding, Encrid added a footnote.

"Yes, I thought it was the appropriate action at the moment, and it happened by chance."

The scout platoon leader blinked.

What was this guy saying right now?

A guy who was about his age and became a squad leader by luck.

A fool who swung his sword at every chance despite his poor skills.

That was the general assessment of the troublemaker squad leader.

But listening to what he did now, this is something else.

Even hearing it from Encrid, it sounds like this.

The story from the surviving squad members was even more ridiculous.

"Rumors can't be trusted. If possible, I'd like to learn more from you."

Andrew, who used to be so arrogant that it was worrisome before he left.

There was concern that something might happen to him if he was sent off like that.

He had his command of the scout team taken away forcibly, and now he says it was natural. No, he wants to learn more.

Is this really the Andrew I knew?

"In terms of skills, I'd say he's above the level of an intermediate soldier."

Next was Mac, Andrew's mentor.

The scout platoon leader knew Mac's skills.

Half of the reason he entrusted Andrew with the scout team was because he believed in Mac.

And now Mac acknowledged him.

With skills, no less.

"He knows a lot. I just did as he instructed, and this happened."

The last was Enri, the plains hunter.

The squad members' evaluations were unanimous.

They just trusted and followed him.

They all couldn't be lying together.

So this actually happened.

Encrid took over the command of the scout team.

With just ten men, he evaded the eyes of the enemy troops ambushed in the tall grass, set the enemy camp on fire, and returned alive.

'Does this make any sense?'

It doesn't seem possible, but since he set the fire and gathered intel on the enemy's movements, there's nothing more to say.

Trying to piece together everything he heard was bewildering.

He stood still among the enemy, and they avoided him on their own.

He moved through enemy territory in the dark without being caught by anyone.

"Um, well, you must have been extremely lucky."

In the end, the scout platoon leader couldn't say anything else.

Encrid thought that was an appropriate statement.

He couldn't say he memorized the enemy's movements and the state of their camp because of the endlessly repeating day.

"Yes, luck was on my side."

If this was luck, it was extraordinary luck.

It was like the goddess of luck had done more than kiss him; she had spent the night with him.

But apart from luck, there was no other way to explain it.

There was nothing particularly secretive about it, so rumors started to spread within the scout platoon.

Encrid, the troublemaker squad leader, was a man of luck, a man who the goddess of luck had entrusted with a coin, luck itself.

Or that he had used up all his lifetime's luck on this scouting mission.

The return to the main camp was uneventful.

During the half-day walk, it only drizzled for a short while.

Rain fell from a clear sky.

It was rare but not unheard of.

And all the way back, Encrid was preoccupied with one thought.

'Was that the best I could do?'

It was a question he asked himself.

If he had repeated 'today' a few more times, could he have achieved a different result?

Regret lingers in everything. Encrid had realized this since he was young.

What mattered were the choices and the process of making those choices.

'I thought it was the best I could do.'

Being able to repeat today brought different thoughts.

He wondered if it was indeed the best choice, feeling doubt and regret, questioning if there were other options.

'Only four.'

That was the number who returned alive.

Including himself, that made five.

Half of his unit is died.

The results questioned Encrid.

Was this the best he could do? Was there no other way?

'Five died.'

Those five were neither Encrid's family, nor friends.

They were merely comrades who shared a short mission.

Their presence or absence wouldn't change anything.

At that moment, on that day, they were simply Encrid's responsibility.

The dream he had harbored in his heart for a long time, the conviction that had guided him straight till now, reprimanded him.

Was that really the best he could do?

Couldn't he have protected them better?

'What kind of knight do you aspire to be?'

Young Encrid was captivated by the mere notion of being a knight.

The boy enchanted by the songs of minstrels about knights had grown into an adult.

Over time, Encrid realized he possessed mediocre talent.

Rolling through battlefields, he recognized his limits.

Yet, he never abandoned his dream.

Even if that dream had become worn and tattered leather.

Even if it had turned into a piece of cloth torn and shredded by the sword of reality.

He never gave up.

Thus, he wasn't just someone who remained enchanted by the mere title of knight.

A knight is a protector, a knight is someone who steps forward, a knight is someone who acts on their convictions.

'What kind of knight do I want to be?'

By repeating today, Encrid could step beyond his limits.

Therefore, he had to uphold the things he had seen, heard, realized, and established through his eyes and ears.

'What kind of knight do I want to be?'

His torn and shredded dream, turned into the word conviction, reprimanded him.

Encrid accepted that reprimand.

By doing so, he decided to let go of what had already passed.

Even if he could have saved five more by repeating today, it was now beyond his control.

That 'today' had already ended.

Clinging to it was foolish.

"The main camp."

One of the soldiers walking with him said.

"Phew, we made it."

From the back, Enri, who was being supported, muttered.

"So, are you going to rush to that flower shop widow as soon as we return?"

"We can only go once this battle is over, right?"

At Encrid's words, Enri responded with a joyful face.

The joy of having survived, of making it through the ordeal alive, filled his heart.

The same was true for everyone else.

Especially for the ex-thug soldier.

He kept ruminating over the events that had transpired on the way back.

How had he managed to survive?

He thought he would live and die like a thug, but somehow he ended up joining the army.

And somehow, he came to serve under Andrew.

And then there was this scouting mission.

He had learned a lot from it.

The ex-thug soldier, limping on his injured leg, approached Encrid.

It wasn't intentional, but he hadn't spoken a word to him the entire way back.

'If you don't repay kindness, you're not a man.'

That was something his older brother, who had taken him in when he was young, used to say.

That brother was long dead, but the words he had said had become a guiding principle in his life.

Even if he had lived a rough life, the ex-thug knew to repay kindness.

"I'm sorry for my rudeness. I will repay the favor of saving my life if I get the chance."

Encrid looked at the soldier who suddenly approached and spoke, then nodded.

Did he really save his life?

In truth, it was a situation where he could have died, and surviving was due to the soldier's own luck.

In fact, repeating today, this soldier had died many times.

It was just that on that day, at that moment, the goddess of luck had briefly stayed with him.

"Do as you wish."

He answered indifferently and turned around, seeing Andrew and Mac next.

"I owe you."

Mac spoke first, his gaze unusually friendly.

Andrew was even more so.

"I'd like to see you again sometime."

He had thought of him as an endlessly arrogant kid, but his attitude had changed.

His eyes had become respectful.

Encrid pressed his palm gently against his aching side and spoke.

"If we're on the same battlefield, we'll see each other again. The flower of the battlefield."

"Is the infantry."

He used the infantry's motto as a farewell.

The scout platoon leader, who had been watching from the side, approached.

"You may all return. The wounded should visit the medical tent for treatment. You've all done well. And, well, never mind."

The scout platoon leader almost mentioned rewards and recognition to Encrid before stopping himself.

'Report first.'

They had done something almost unbelievable.

He wasn't sure if the higher-ups would even believe it, so talking about this now seemed premature.

"Alright then."

Feeling the pain in his side subside quickly, Encrid decided he didn't need treatment and started walking.

It was time to return.

'Hope nothing happened.'

He hadn't had time to think about this in the tall grass, but now that he was returning to the camp, he wondered if his squad had behaved.

Maybe they had gotten into fights with other soldiers.

Or perhaps they had been fighting among themselves.

Whatever the case, it seemed like something might have happened.

There was a reason his squad was called troublemakers.

He hadn't even reached the barracks when—

Clang!

The sound of metal striking metal hit his ears.

His hearing, trained through Jaxon, immediately pinpointed the source.

It was coming from the main barracks.

Encrid quickened his pace.

As he approached the barracks, he saw people gathered around.

At the center were two figures with weapons locked.

In front of the troublemakers' barracks.

The one holding the axe was Rem.

The one with the sword was Ragna.