Under the command of Battalion Commander Marcus, the infantry battalion constructed a new encampment.
The location was slightly farther ahead than the previous one.
Enkrid thought the position was ambiguous, but he kept his opinion to himself.
The responsibility for building fortifications and determining the camp's location lay with the commander, after all.
And Marcus wasn’t the type to handle things carelessly.
You could tell just by how he praised Enkrid as the greatest hero of the battle.
Meow—
As the new camp was being set up, Esther began whining.
Meow, meow.
The incessant complaints didn’t stop.
“When you think about it, isn’t this little one kind of strange?”
A mystical beast, sure—but there was something oddly human-like about this animal. It almost felt as if Esther could talk.
Sometimes, when the leopard opened its mouth, it sounded like human speech to Enkrid.
Right now, it sounded like:
“This is such a bother.”
Sensing Esther’s mood, he cradled the small creature in his arms.
When they first met on the battlefield, Esther had been tiny, barely larger than a cub.
By the time Esther saved Enkrid by stabbing Mitch Hurrier and dragging him away from the mustachioed inspector, the leopard had grown a bit.
But after that, there had been no further growth.
Now, Esther was just the right size to fit in his arms, and that seemed to be the limit.
Yet this small leopard had once bitten down on Enkrid’s scruff and dashed across the battlefield at an incredible speed.
What kind of strength was that?
“Come to think of it, you’re a leopard of great strength,” Enkrid said, stroking Esther’s head.
Rawr!
The remark didn’t seem to sit well.
Esther nipped at Enkrid’s fingers—not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave faint bite marks.
If it had been serious...
“I’d have lost the finger,” he thought.
Curiosity got the better of him, and Enkrid took a closer look at Esther’s sharp fangs.
The leopard glared at him in return.
Moments like this only reinforced the feeling that Esther was more human than animal.
“Let’s go.”
Outside, Kraiss called for him.
Setting up a new camp was no simple task.
They had to establish new sleeping quarters, secure the supply route, designate the perimeter for patrols, and rearrange the scouts’ routes.
Despite the complications, Marcus had insisted on relocating.
“Hey, Lieutenant, I feel like I fought the hardest in the last battle. So why does it seem like all the cheers were for you?”
Rem wasn’t wrong.
For some reason, all the praise had indeed been directed at Enkrid.
"Mad Platoon, hurrah! Enkrid, hurrah!"
Thinking back to that moment—barely two days ago, around noon—left him with a ticklish feeling in his chest.
Not a bad memory at all.
“Hmm.”
Enkrid remained silent, prompting Audin to chuckle.
“Haha, my mad brother. You just took down a Giant, that’s all.”
“A Giant, huh?”
“Brother, I personally struck down dozens of soldiers, you know.”
Not just struck—Audin had crushed them, delivering fiery, brutal blows.
Enkrid had witnessed it.
That relentless clubbing.
It had filled the enemy with terror and their allies with relief.
Although, some of the soldiers who saw it up close had felt a strange fear of Audin, too.
Venzance had once confided in Enkrid about it:
“That guy in your platoon—the religious one. Why does he kill people with a smile? Is he crazy, or is it just me?”
Venzance had even tapped his own temple as he spoke.
Enkrid had tried to brush it off with an explanation:
“He’s just deeply devout. He’s overjoyed to send people to the god he serves.”
“That’s even weirder,” Venzance muttered in response.
But it was the best Enkrid could come up with. Better to frame Audin as a devout believer than a murder-loving fanatic.
“Those mercenaries drunk on their Slasher’s Blades—if we hadn’t stopped them, it would’ve been a disaster. Yeah, no doubt,” Ragna said, joining the conversation.
With that, the atmosphere turned tense.
From the sidelines, Jaxon muttered:
“Idiots.”
All three of them turned to glare at him.
A palpable tension filled the air. It was clear that if anyone moved first, chaos would erupt.
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In moments like this, the Mad Platoon felt like its usual self.
When Enkrid wasn’t around, they would test each other’s limits and cautiously respect boundaries. But with him present, they had no such restraint.
Kraiss simply observed.
He wasn’t worried.
Without Enkrid, things might have gone south, but with him here, there was no real danger.
Andrew hesitated.
“Should I step in?”
As sub-leader, wasn’t it his job to settle things before the lieutenant had to?
But memories of the countless times he’d been beaten held him back.
Mack grabbed his sleeve and shook his head.
It was as if Mack had read Andrew’s thoughts and was advising him to stay out of it.
Enkrid glanced up at the sky.
The air had warmed.
The sky was blue, without a single cloud. It was spring—a beautiful day.
"Enough."
It was the perfect day to break up a fight.
This time, he didn’t need to step in physically.
Instead, he drew his swords.
Ching!
One blade in his right hand.
Ching!
Another in his left.
The blade in his right hand swung downward in a vertical slash.
The left-hand blade sliced horizontally in a sweeping motion.
It was a dual-draw technique he’d been refining for days.
Adapted from the Valen-Style Mercenary Swordsmanship, it was originally a feint technique. But Enkrid had modified it so both slashes carried equal weight and purpose.
The right-hand slash targeted Rem, while the left aimed at Jaxon.
Clang!
Their reactions were vastly different.
Rem blocked with his axe, while Jaxon retreated, narrowly evading the strike.
One blade stopped dead, while the other cut through empty air.
As Enkrid sheathed his swords, Jaxon asked:
“What was that supposed to be?”
Rem, on the other hand, smirked.
“You wanna go? Sounds fun.”
As Rem shifted his stance, Esther, still in Enkrid’s arms, thumped against his chest.
“Let’s take this somewhere else,” Enkrid suggested, swords still in hand.
Fighting here felt inappropriate, especially with Esther nestled against him, making his chest bulge awkwardly.
Rem stowed his axe and nodded.
“Let’s do it.”
And just like that, another peaceful day unfolded for the Mad Platoon.
Enkrid put his swords away, calmed Esther down, and began walking.
“At least that’s settled.”
If they’d been ordered to carry supplies, it might have soured the mood.
Thankfully, Marcus had declared them the heroes of the battle. Their gear was minimal, far lighter than what other soldiers had to carry.
“Heroes deserve a carriage, not backpacks,” Marcus had declared with his usual flair.
While the rest of the troops lugged heavy equipment, Marcus seemed unbothered by the slower pace.
The commotion surrounding the Mad Platoon eventually died down.
After all, their antics were nothing new.
As they marched, Enkrid began to ponder their next move.
Would they strike the enemy’s rear?
He voiced his thoughts to Kraiss, who shook his head.
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
If they had the upper hand, hitting the enemy’s rear seemed logical.
“Holding the enemy’s position and fortifying it would give us a greater advantage on the battlefield,” Kraiss explained.
Enkrid tilted his head, confused.
Why not attack if they had the chance?
Kraiss, sensing his confusion, elaborated:
“If we strike their rear now, we reveal our position and strength. The enemy will counter with forces capable of handling us. After their Giant, assassins, and mercenaries failed, what do you think they’ll send next?”
The answer wasn’t hard to guess.
Enkrid sighed and said the word aloud:
“Knights.”
Kraiss nodded.
“At least squires. Or they’ll send an elite unit. Either way, they’ll adapt.”
His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he continued talking, not waiting for Enkrid’s response.
“The advantage of this terrain, difficult to breach, is ours now. Their attempt to strike us with elite forces failed, which must have shaken the morale of their main army. Naturally, they’ll try to return the favor in the same way. But don’t think for a moment that we’re avoiding an offensive out of fear of knights or similar threats,” Kraiss explained, his tone measured yet brimming with insight. “As I mentioned earlier, this is about gains and losses. A commander must view the battlefield through that lens. You might lose in one skirmish but secure a decisive advantage elsewhere. Even if you lose the battle, you can still win the war.”
He continued without pause, eyes gleaming with a sharpness that belied his often laid-back demeanor.
“From that perspective, it’s not advantageous to attack their rear right now. Instead, holding our position is the right move. By simply being here, we force them to keep us in mind. And what do you think their leaders will focus on? Their thoughts will be in chaos. Meanwhile, our main force can advance unimpeded. As for Azpen? They lack the resources to divert troops here while still fending off our main force. That’s why we won’t engage needlessly.”
Kraiss gestured toward the new camp. “Even the choice of this awkward location for the camp is strategic. There’s no need to move further to strike their rear. If they attempt any tricks? We withdraw immediately, regroup, and retake the position in a day or two. This camp is a stepping stone.”
Enkrid had always valued honesty, especially with his squad.
“Keep it short,” he said flatly. He understood about half of what Kraiss had said; the rest slipped past him.
Kraiss, catching his breath after his impassioned speech, smiled faintly.
“I’ll simplify it for you. Imagine someone standing behind you, ready to strike the back of your head, while someone else holds both your arms in front. How does that feel?”
“Like shit.”
“Exactly. That’s where the enemy is now.”
Enkrid nodded. He understood enough: there was no need for them to fight right now.
Satisfied with that conclusion, Enkrid turned his attention elsewhere. Setting up the new camp was someone else’s job. As soldiers pitched tents, lit fires, and prepared supplies, the Madman Squad gathered in their usual spot.
“Rem,” Enkrid called.
There was no strict order of importance, but implicitly, Rem always came first. Left unchecked, the feral berserker might cause chaos just for fun.
Ragna shifted his gaze from where he lounged on a heated rock. Jaxon, Audin, Andrew, and Mack all turned to face Enkrid, awaiting his next move.
“Let’s begin,” Enkrid said.
Rem grinned, baring his sharp canines.
“That’s more like it. This is the squad leader I know.”
His grin reflected satisfaction—and something deeper: a silent wish that this man wouldn’t die here.
“I’ll warn you upfront—you might die,” Rem said, his tone casual.
“That’s fine,” Enkrid replied calmly.
Death wasn’t an obstacle for Enkrid. He had already resigned himself to reliving this day, over and over, chasing a dream that had long been shattered and forgotten. The ambition that burned in his eyes now was as fierce as ever.
Rem’s gaze mirrored it. When had he last encountered someone like this?
Never.
This man—this human—was, without a doubt, insane.
Rem let out a low chuckle.
“Alright then. Let’s do this. Let’s see what dying feels like.”
He nodded, ready to begin. It was time to learn something new—something Rem had displayed during his battle with the giant.
Enkrid, feeling a rush of exhilaration, steadied himself. The thrill and calm intertwined, creating a strange but familiar state of being.
This was the sign: the predator’s heart was truly ripening.