Chapter 135: The Matured Heart (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 135: The Matured Heart (2)
"Here."
Rem didn't care who was watching.
They weren't in some secluded corner or an out-of-the-way spot; they were right in the middle of the camp, directly in front of the barracks.
Rem grabbed Encrid’s wrist, pressed his palm over his own heart, and curled his lips into a smirk. It was a smile laced with his signature mischievous playfulness.
Then, he began to whisper.
His voice was so low that if Encrid hadn't trained his hearing with Sachsen, he wouldn't have caught a word. To convey a message in such a faint breath was a talent in itself. Rem had seemed to ignore the gazes of the soldiers around them, but perhaps this had been his intention all along.
"What ya need is conviction, then you make the heart explode. Once the Beast’s Heart has matured, try burstin' it—just enough so it doesn't shatter."
Keeping the sorcerous nature of the process a secret, Rem spat out only the essential instructions.
Encrid did as he was told. In the first place, if he hadn't trusted Rem, he never would have allowed the Beast’s Heart to be grafted onto his body.
Rem liked that about him. There was a raw sincerity in Encrid’s attitude, his answers, and his actions—the kind of sincerity that always gave its absolute utmost effort.
However, if he approached it with that same intensity this time, he would ruin everything.
"You have to do it slowly," Rem warned.
The warning was like a sharp blade. An unprecedented gravity lingered in his tone, a seriousness entirely different from his usual antics.
It struck a deep chord within Encrid.
It must be incredibly dangerous.
He focused, forcing his heart to beat slowly. But could a person truly move their heart at will?
It was then that he felt it.
Through his palm, he felt Rem’s heart beating.
Thump, thump!
It was explosive. The energy dwelling within that heart flowed clearly through Encrid’s hand.
"Do the same. Just about a quarter of that power."
Was this it? This was the sensation Encrid had been waiting for—the sensation of consciously commanding the heart to beat. It couldn't be explained with words or demonstrated through simple actions. Rem had simply used his own body as a conduit to pass the feeling along.
It was a realm of pure intuition.
And so...
"Looks like my worries were for naught," Rem muttered.
Should this be considered natural?
"One more time," Encrid said.
The two stood still, palms pressed against each other’s chests. They remained that way until the sun passed its zenith and began to tilt toward the horizon.
*
"I’m askin' because I’m genuinely curious—sometimes I wonder if you’re doin' this on purpose. Is it just my imagination?" Rem asked.
"Mmh," Encrid let out a short groan.
"I have to agree with Rem," Ragna chimed in from the side.
"I find that hard to deny as well, you crazy brother," Audin added.
"Agreed," Sachsen nodded.
Being accused of failing on purpose felt a bit unfair.
"You really can't do it, right? It’s not that you can but choose not to?" Rem was dead serious.
Encrid adopted an equally solemn expression. "Yes."
"...Well, tsk. Let’s leave it at that. We’ll try again tomorrow."
Before they knew it, dinner time had arrived. Thanks to the consideration of the Battalion Commander and the surrounding soldiers, they didn't even have to take turns on mess duty, and they were exempt from guard rotations as well. It was the only reason they could devote themselves so entirely to training, but...
Encrid had made absolutely no progress—not even a fraction of a step. At least, that was what Rem thought.
"What’re ya doin'?"
"Are ya actually doin' it right now? You’re not teasin' me, are ya?"
"Come on, try it! I’m tellin' ya to try it now!"
He only heard variations of the same frustration from Rem.
He couldn't get a feel for it. Not at all. But was that a problem? No, it wasn't. Since when had he ever been the type to master a technique at first glance?
In the past, when he was repeating a single day over and over to train his left hand, he had felt something akin to talent—as if a spark of genius had finally descended upon him. In those moments, he could feel his body responding. The rush of ecstasy when a technique became second nature was like nothing else.
Did he feel regret recalling those times? Not in the slightest.
He simply repeated and repeated, pondered and pondered. He was far too busy thinking to feel regret.
"The Battalion Commander is calling for you."
It was a day like any other, filled with endless contemplation. He was supposed to mature the Beast’s Heart and burst it, but it wasn't happening.
It was the third day since they had established the camp. Only then did the Battalion Commander finally summon Encrid. On the battlefield, Marcus had acted as if he would summon him immediately to discuss his distinguished service. It seemed he had finally sorted out his administrative affairs.
According to Krais, this was only natural. Marcus’s insides must have been burning with anxiety as they moved the camp and established a new position. When asked why, Krais’s explanations grew long-winded again.
To summarize, it was simple: "If the enemy realizes we’re just standing by, they’ll eventually ignore us. We have to at least pretend to move so they can’t look away. If it were me... well, never mind."
Krais seemed to have something specific in mind, but he held his tongue. Encrid didn't pry; if Krais wanted to speak, he would do so in his own time. Besides, it was time to answer the summons of the supreme commander.
The Adjutant came to fetch him personally. On the way to the barracks, the Elf Company Commander joined them. Approaching with silent, light steps, the elf fell into pace beside him.
"When was our engagement ceremony again?"
Here we go again. Encrid could never quite wrap his head around elven humor.
"Let’s set it for ten years from now."
"Hmm, not bad. But I prefer young humans to old ones."
In the first place, shouldn't Encrid’s own preference matter for a relationship to even exist?
The elf possessed an otherworldly beauty—ethereal and not quite human, making it difficult to feel a sense of familiar affection. Between long, slender eyelashes, jewel-like green eyes shone, and pale blonde hair scattered the light. The skin revealed between those sun-reflecting strands seemed to glow.
"Let’s just go," Encrid said, conceding defeat. If they got into it, this wordplay would drag on forever. He felt it was a waste of energy.
The Elf Company Commander seemed to enjoy teasing him just to this extent. To be honest, it wasn't even that uncomfortable. He was just that kind of person. He was saner than Rem, but clearly, there were eccentric types even among the elves.
"Very well."
Led by the Adjutant, with the Elf Company Commander on his left, Encrid entered the barracks.
"You’ve arrived."
Battalion Commander Marcus was there. Perhaps because he had been living on the battlefield, his beard had grown out messily. Seeing that, Encrid realized his own chin had grown quite rough as well. Thinking he should shave when he got back, he offered a military salute—pressing down on the hilt of his sword and bowing his head.
"Right," Marcus nodded casually.
The three of them stood together.
"Bring some tea."
Upon his order, three cups of tea were soon placed before them. Even if one were threatened with death, they couldn't call it high-quality, but on a battlefield, tea of any kind was a luxury.
"When I go into battle, I usually get annoyed because I can't drink good tea, but this time, even this is satisfying," Marcus spoke first.
Since there were no chairs, they stood around a table used for discussing strategy.
"How about it? Working properly under my command."
Encrid had just swallowed half a sip of tea when the Battalion Commander made the proposal. The Elf Company Commander remained silent.
Encrid stared at Marcus, trying to choose his words, but soon gave up. Since when had he ever been one to use a silver tongue to curry favor?
"I must decline."
"Why? I think I’m a pretty sturdy rope to hold onto."
It wasn't a lie. When Encrid had mentioned he was meeting the commander, Krais had explained the situation. He had predicted everything—from why the summons was late to the exact words that would come out of Marcus's mouth. Encrid was starting to think Krais was a fortune-teller.
"He’ll propose that you come under him," Krais had said. "And he’ll probably call our Company Commander too, just in case. Why? To officially take you in and groom you. Why is he targeting you, Captain? Are you seriously asking because you don't know?"
Krais had stopped and given him a look that asked, Is this guy really that clueless? When Encrid only stared blankly back, Krais had sighed in exasperation.
"What did you do at Cross Guard?"
"I fought. Infiltrated, set some fires. Gathered intelligence on the way back."
"And what did you do at the rear of the camp?"
"I fought. I killed the commander of the detachment that struck our rear."
"And what did you do when you came to the front?"
"I fought. Why are you asking when you saw it yourself?"
"The Battalion Commander knows too," Krais had concluded. "He knows the battles you’ve fought, Captain. Knowing that, how would he feel? Would he covet you or not?"
Encrid had assumed Marcus would prefer Rem or the others, but he quickly realized Krais was right. Rem and the others were uncontrollable wild cards. But Encrid was a sane, reliable leader. The only reason he hadn't noticed the commander's interest was that he had been entirely consumed by the task of making the Beast’s Heart beat.
"It seems you expected this," Marcus noted.
Shaking off his thoughts, Encrid spoke. "To some extent, yes."
"May I ask the reason for your refusal?"
Encrid took another sip of the warm tea. He felt his mood improve slightly. It was a rare moment of relaxation after days of focusing solely on his heart.
Come to think of it, I’ve only just managed to relax my shoulders.
Had he been tensing up again? The thought occurred to him. Had the obsession with learning become a chain binding him? A shackle preventing him from moving forward?
Clink.
In his mindscape, he felt the sensation of chains crumbling and scattering. Though it lasted only a few seconds, Encrid was able to speak with a heart several times lighter than before.
He raised his head. Just because his heart was light did not mean his words would be. Marcus’s proposal was an opportunity too good to miss for anyone aiming for the top of the military hierarchy—especially for someone who had started as a mere common soldier.
Yet, he refused.
"I have a dream."
It was something he held in his chest, even if others might laugh. A dream he had never forgotten since the moment he first held a sword. A dream that had borne fruit, nourished by a burning desire. He had spoken of it before, but it had never carried as much weight as it did now.
It was a dream stained with ridicule, torn by disregard, and faded by sarcasm, yet those shredded traces were now proving their worth.
Every day, I have been with you in your steps.
"I intend to become a knight."
In that moment, Marcus saw an illusion. A shiver ran down his spine, and behind Encrid, he saw a different backdrop—a battlefield, swords, and something blindingly bright.
What is this?
It was a statement delivered with absolute sincerity and full strength. It wasn't just a refusal; it was the declaration of a man moving forward.
There was something similar in Marcus’s own chest—something he had given up on in his youth. What had his life originally been meant to be? He had wanted to become a sword for the royal family.
What was his life now?
Grit.
Marcus ground his teeth. His jaw tensed, causing his head to throb. Seeing a dream so pure it practically radiated light made him feel as though he were the one being questioned.
Do I truly have the right to command this man?
Was his proposal not born of mere vulgarity? A wish to climb higher, to seize more power? There was no true loyalty in his heart. There was no dream of reaching the pinnacle. It made no sense to take in such a man while he himself settled for the status quo.
A brief realization forced Marcus’s mouth open.
"Ha."
A sigh laden with emotion escaped him. Since elves prided themselves on their sensitivity, the Company Commander understood the meaning behind that sigh.
With just a single sentence?
A human’s state of mind was like waves whipped up by a typhoon. They could not be consistent like elves; they were fickle creatures who changed at a whim. The Battalion Commander’s heart seemed to be exactly like that now—a sailboat riding a storm, unable to find its direction.
"I will walk the path of becoming a knight."
With those words, Encrid offered a final military salute and stepped outside.
Marcus nodded reflexively.
The Elf Company Commander worried that Marcus might harbor jealousy or envy and do something rash. Humans were prone to such shifts.
"Phew."
Marcus let out a deep sigh and stood there for a long time, brow furrowed. It was only when the tea in his hand grew cold that he finally reacted. Without even noticing the elf still standing there, he let out a short laugh.
"Well, I’ll be."
The Elf Company Commander felt a sense of resolution in that laughter. Marcus was wearing a refreshing smile.
"How do you see it?" Marcus asked suddenly. "Will he become a knight?"
"I do not know. That is up to him."
"They say elves always speak straightforwardly."
"It’s been a while since my blood has boiled like this," Marcus muttered.
In name and reality, Marcus belonged to the noble faction. Naurilia claimed to be a centralized state, but the nobility had usurped much of its power. Because the nation's strength was scattered, it struggled against the Azpen Principality.
"Aren't you leaving?"
"I am going."
After the Elf Company Commander left, Marcus sat down in his chair. His back was drenched in sweat from just a few words. He felt like shit, yet he felt great.
His mind was made up.
Becoming a knight?
He couldn't laugh. How could he laugh at a dream spoken with such truth? He had simply been stimulated.
Fine. Then I...
Instead of the damn noble faction, he would move toward something truly new. It was something he had contemplated for a very long time—the fork in the road he had yet to choose.
Marcus reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a single letter. It was a letter he had received long ago but had ignored—a trace of the past he couldn't bring himself to throw away.
"Fine then."
Marcus’s eyes shone with the passion of his youth. At the edge of the unfolded letter, the royal seal was faintly visible.