Extra's Survival: Raising SSS-Rank Characters Is My Only Option

An unusual crowd was starting to gather around the seventh-mile drill yard.

The news that the clerk-lord of the Third Office was going to take a strike from Ysolde Marr, commander of the Second Watch, had spread across the Wall faster than Encrid would have liked. By midday, men from nearly every watch had found reasons to be in the area, and by afternoon there were hundreds gathered around the yard to see the spectacle for themselves.

The Crooked Lantern had gone further. Someone had started taking wagers on whether Encrid would still be alive after Ysolde’s strike.

Encrid had heard about the wagers.

He had even bet twenty gold on himself!

Because as far as he was concerned, there was nothing uncertain about what he was doing.

However, Merta and Gus didn’t seem to have the same thought.

Merta had changed considerably since her days as a bandit. She still had the same sharp eyes and the same habit of looking at people as though she were deciding how difficult they would be to rob, but the few months she had spent at the Wall had taken some of the recklessness out of her. These days, when she thought someone was about to do something foolish, she preferred to complain about it first.

She cornered Encrid the morning before the challenge.

”My lord,” she said, slate tucked beneath one arm, ”I always knew you were a little loose in the head, but have you truly lost your mind?”

Encrid continued writing.

Gus stood beside her, looking considerably less diplomatic.

”Young Master, have you lost your mind?”

”No.”

Neither of them looked convinced.

Merta folded her arms.

”You have also been taking that ugly-looking pillow to the training grounds every night.”

”It is not ugly.”

”It looks like something a drunk man would sleep on after losing a fight.”

Encrid paused long enough to glance at her.

She didn’t back down but stepped closer.

”What are you doing with it?”

”Preparing.”

”For what?”

Encrid returned to his writing.

”For the confrontation.”

Merta stared at him.

”You are going to let Commander Marr hit you.”

”One strike.”

”That distinction is not making me feel better.”

Gus nodded vigorously.

Encrid ignored both of them.

They could think what they wanted.

To everyone else on the Wall, this was a gamble. A clerk with no reputation as a fighter had challenged one of the strongest people in the entire fortress and had agreed to take a single strike from her.

To Encrid, it was nothing of the sort.

He had spent the better part of the last several days testing the Pillow of the Sleeping God in secret.

More importantly, he had spent the past few days preparing for the exact moment when he would need it - and he was fairly confident that he could handle Marr’s attack.

’Well, if there is nothing outside my expectation that is.’

✧ ✧ ✧

That afternoon, Encrid arrived at the seventh-mile drill yard.

The crowd fell strangely quiet when they saw him.

He was wearing plate armour.

Not proper field armour, however.

The suit had been purchased from a merchant at a considerable discount because it was too large to fit any of the men who had originally been interested in it. Even after being strapped tight, it hung from Encrid’s frame like borrowed furniture.

The plates were plain and slightly dull, with several old scratches across the breastplate. Beneath them, visible wherever the pieces failed to meet properly, were thick straw cushions tied against his body with lengths of cord.

There was one around each shoulder, several across his ribs, and more around his hips.

The overall effect was less that of a man preparing for combat and more that of someone who had decided to wrap himself in bedding before being thrown down a flight of stairs.

A few men in the crowd laughed.

Others simply stared.

Encrid paid none of them any attention.

He walked into the centre of the yard and stopped.

Ysolde Marr was already waiting.

She had been watching him approach, and unlike most of the crowd, she did not seem amused.

Her eyes moved slowly over the armour, the oversized plates, the straw cushions, and finally the cords holding everything in place.

”What is that?” she asked.

”My preparation.”

Ysolde raised an eyebrow.

”Your preparation?”

”Yes.”

”For taking my strike?”

”Yes.”

There was a pause.

”And you believe that will protect you?”

Encrid considered the question and replied confidently.

”That is the purpose of preparation.”

A few people in the crowd snorted.

Ysolde did not laugh.

She had been fighting on the Wall for nineteen years. In that time, she had faced more than enough men who thought they understood her strength. Soldiers had challenged her because they wanted her position. Young officers had challenged her because they wanted her reputation. Others had simply mistaken confidence for ability.

She had beaten every one of them.

Some had arrived wearing mail. Others had brought shields, heavier weapons, or whatever clever protection they believed would give them an advantage.

None of it had mattered.

Ysolde had become known as the second-strongest fighter on the Wall for a reason.

And now Encrid stood in front of her wearing oversized ceremonial armour stuffed with straw.

She looked at him for several seconds.

”It seems, Your Excellency, that you are belittling my strength.”

”I am not.”

”You have dressed yourself like that because you believe one of my strikes can be made harmless.”

”I have not said that either.”

”Then what exactly are you saying?”

Encrid looked past her at the crowd.

There were far more people here than he had expected.

Six hundred, perhaps.

Enough that whatever happened next would be repeated in the Crooked Lantern before sunset.

He turned his attention back to Ysolde.

”The agreement has not changed.”

Her expression hardened.

”One strike.”

”One strike.”

”And after that. I am finished.”

Ysolde’s mouth curved into a thin smile.

”Good.”

She stepped forward and rested one hand on the hilt of her weapon.

”You are not the first man to mistake restraint for weakness, Encrid.”

Her voice carried across the yard.

”You will not be the last.”

She drew her weapon.

The sound of steel leaving its sheath travelled through the suddenly silent drill yard.

Encrid stood opposite her, absurdly over-armoured and completely still.

Six hundred people watched.

Then Ysolde Marr took her first step toward him.

✦ ✦ ✦