Chapter 136: No Day Can Be the Same
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 136: No Day Can Be the Same
Encrid felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he stepped out of the Battalion Commander’s tent.
The Battalion Commander’s expression hadn't been particularly pleasant, but to Encrid, even that was a novel experience.
‘I spoke of being a knight. I spoke of a dream.’
And yet, the Commander hadn't looked flustered, nor had he mocked him.
Wasn't that refreshing in its own right?
Regardless, that wasn't what mattered now. He had said his piece, and he had refused the offer. Now, it was time to finish what he had started.
Returning to the tent, Encrid went and stood before Rem.
"What is it?" Rem asked.
"We should keep going."
He meant the sensory transmission. It was simply a matter of finishing what they had begun—nothing grand, just the work.
Looking at his platoon leader, Rem couldn't help but think the man was a genuine lunatic.
Is this really normal?
Even Rem, the one teaching him, knew that Encrid couldn't feel a single thing yet. And yet, the man still wanted to push forward. He never seemed to tire of it. It was impossible to even imagine him suffering from the effort.
He was a man who had built a fortress between himself and emotions like frustration, despair, or misery.
Still, Rem was genuinely curious, so he asked, "Aren't you bored of this?"
"Huh?"
Seeing the look in Encrid’s eyes—a look that asked what on earth he could possibly mean—Rem found himself speechless. Right. We’re doing it. Of course. He resigned himself to working diligently.
"Let’s do it, then. I had nothing else to do anyway, so this is perfect."
At Rem’s words, Andrew’s face brightened.
With Rem sticking close to his platoon leader over the past few days, Andrew had been basking in a rare sense of peace, love, and hope.
"Life is truly full of beauty," Andrew sighed.
"Get a grip, sir," Mac chided him instantly.
Enri was gone. Or rather, he had moved on.
He had joined the unit evacuating the wounded a couple of days ago and headed back to the rear. As a member of the Mad Independent Platoon, returning like that would normally be out of the question, but it was a special privilege—a reward for his contributions to their recent victory.
"I think I’ll try living a different way," Enri had said.
When he announced he was leaving, Encrid had simply nodded and pulled the necessary strings to ensure the privilege was granted. Encrid respected Enri’s choice; after all, not everyone was meant to live by the sword.
Still, Enri’s absence was felt.
Even if they were exempt from cooking duty and guard shifts, they couldn't escape scouting the surrounding area. So, partly as a scouting mission and partly due to Krais’s insistent nagging, they went to search the abandoned enemy camp.
With Enri gone, however, just finding their way was a chore.
While Encrid wasn't a professional Pathfinder, he had a decent, average knack for navigation. But "average" wasn't the same as having Enri, an expert guide, around.
Could he rely on the other platoon members?
Compared to the rest of them, Encrid’s navigation skills weren't just average—they were extraordinary.
"I’m no good at finding paths, but I’m great at finding demonic beasts and monsters," Rem said, already contemplating a real battle now that the transmission of the Heart of Monstrous Strength had slowed down. "Since we’re out anyway, how about we raid a monster nest? A path? We’ll find one eventually. I don't really care where we go."
"We’ll get there if we just keep walking," Ragna added. This bastard went without saying—he had absolutely zero sense of direction.
"We merely march forward as the Lord calls us," Audin chimed in. In a way, he was just as dangerous as Ragna. Talking about the "Lord’s calling" sounded like a convenient excuse to do whatever he pleased if they got lost.
Sachsen remained silent, but he didn't seem to have the slightest intention of leading the way. Rather than coaxing the group along, Sachsen would probably prefer to just slip away on his own.
Mac was still there, but... Encrid was slightly better than Mac.
Regardless, the Mad Independent Platoon eventually swept through the enemy camp.
Even though their own army's scouts had already ransacked the place, Krais began filling his pockets with terrifying efficiency.
"As expected."
"There it is."
"Oh, a gem."
Muttering to himself constantly, Krais unearthed pouches of Krona, gem-encrusted daggers, and various trinkets. There were no priceless artifacts, but there were plenty of items that could easily be liquidated for coin.
"Well, people usually hide their belongings before heading out to the battlefield, don't they?" Krais remarked.
It was true. Many soldiers did exactly that. They would dig up the ground in front of their tents, bury their valuables, and tell a comrade to deliver them to their families if they fell. Of course, if both the soldier and the comrade died, the treasure remained buried forever.
But no one headed to the battlefield expecting total annihilation.
Krais was second to none when it came to the talent of finding hidden goods. Even though the scouts had turned the place upside down once, if Krais dug beneath a cot or near a specific tree, something invariably turned up.
"How do you find all of that?" Encrid asked, purely curious. He was standing watch, but with no enemies in sight, he had nothing else to do.
"What else? He’s sniffing out the Krona," Rem chimed in, looking just as bored. "Look at his nose. Doesn't it look like a gold coin?"
Krais ignored Rem’s nonsense. Knowing that arguing would only put him at a disadvantage, he let the comment go in one ear and out the other—a skill Andrew desperately needed to learn.
"The answer is easy if you just think about it," Krais said, tapping his temple. Without anyone noticing when he’d prepared it, the leather backpack slung over his shoulder was already bulging.
"Think?" Encrid asked.
"If I were to hide something, where would I put it? What if the camp is destroyed and I’m the only survivor? Humans can't easily abandon hope. So, assuming the camp is blown to pieces but I still need to retrieve my things, where would I hide them?"
"...A place you can recognize at a single glance," Encrid realized.
"Exactly. Look at this branch—it’s unique. It’s not far from the tents, and it’s the perfect spot to drop by quickly before marching out, isn't it?"
It made sense.
"And above all," Krais said, his eyes shining with a familiar passion, "the more precious the item, the better you want to hide it."
The man truly had a sharp mind for this. Of course, once the logic was explained, it seemed simple—but the amazing part was that Krais had predicted all of this before they even arrived.
"Do you still want to open a salon?"
"Why do you think I’m working so hard? In my later years, I’m going to open a salon, spend all night making jokes, play around, eat well, and rake in the Krona."
To call it a dream... well, it was a bit crude. Yet, Krais was dead serious. He looked ready to risk his life to achieve it.
And since Encrid’s own dream was far more absurd, how could he mock him? Compared to becoming a knight, the dream of opening a salon for noblewomen was practically realistic.
He offered no blame, no criticism, and no mockery. The same applied to Enri’s dream of marrying a florist widow and living a peaceful life.
I want to become a knight.
Once again, Encrid felt a flutter of excitement. It felt as though he was drawing closer, step by step, to the dream he had yearned for so desperately. It wasn't just excitement; a thrill of deep emotion rippled through him.
He was walking. He was drawing closer. Even if he had to crawl, even if it was only half a step at a time.
So wait for me, my torn and faded dream. I will stand by your side soon.
"Alright, all done!"
After searching a few more spots, Krais handed Encrid two thin-bladed throwing daggers. "Take them. It’s nothing much."
Encrid wondered why he was being given them, but then—
"Hey, did we come here just to be Big-Eyes' cleaning crew?" Rem snapped. He was clearly asking Encrid to rein Krais in.
"Shall we spar when we get back?" Encrid offered. Placating Rem had become a daily routine.
Once they returned to camp, they resumed their training. It was the same even after the meeting with the Battalion Commander—a continuous cycle of practice that seemingly yielded no progress.
The next day, after practicing the Isolation Technique, Encrid suddenly began swinging his sword.
‘Focus.’
Through Single-Point Focus, he channeled every one of his senses into his blade. It was exactly the same as usual, yet fundamentally different.
How could every day be the same? Though Encrid didn't realize it, he was already a different man from the one who possessed abysmal talent. He now had many things to compensate for his lack of natural gift.
Experience. New skills.
Beast’s Heart, Single-Point Focus, Blade’s Sense, the Isolation Technique.
And the thousands of hours of training accumulated since his journey began. His time was now twice as dense as it had been before.
Encrid lost himself in that density.
At some point, his vision blurred and his pupils dilated. The sword he swung grew sharper; his footwork grew swifter.
‘Frok, Mitch Hurier, the battlefield.’
As he reviewed his past battles while swinging his sword, everything began to merge. Heart, beast, monstrous strength, battle, pondering, review—they were all pushed aside, leaving only himself and his sword in the world.
Only a faint afterimage and a few stray thoughts remained.
He swung with fierce intensity. His healed right wrist flexed with more resilience than ever before. Was this the effect of divine power, or the medicine from the Elf Company Commander? It didn't matter.
Stray thoughts surfaced, blurred, and vanished. Soon, everything was gone.
Encrid felt a sensation as if he were observing his own body from the outside—an absurd, detached state of being.
In that state, he watched his sword.
Swinging, thrusting, slashing, pulling.
Crunch, crunch.
His feet trod upon the ground, shifting the fine gravel. As he moved, the direction of the sword shifted, and its position changed. Only the trajectory drawn by the blade remained in Encrid’s eyes.
Point to point. Lines connecting the points.
A swaying blade, a heavy strike, a sword tip thrusting like a flash of light, a swing designed to corner an opponent, a half-turn as his arm flexed like a whip.
Whoosh!
The sound of the sword cutting the air echoed through the camp.
If anyone who knew the old Encrid were here—especially those who knew his beginnings—they would have been astonished.
Despite swinging his sword for so long, he had always remained in the same place. He had been a broken scarecrow, possessing nothing but the stubborn will to move forward. A scarecrow that couldn't stand, yet refused to stop squirming.
That scarecrow was now standing firmly on its own two feet.
‘He’s gotten scary good.’
Stepping out of the tent, Rem marveled anew. When had Encrid become able to lose himself like that, completely absorbed in the sword? When had he learned to stand on his own?
The broken scarecrow was no more.
As Rem squatted and watched, chin resting on his hand, a swell of emotion rose within him. Seriously, when did he improve this much?
Beside him, Ragna also stepped out and watched. Hearing the wind-splitting sound of the blade, Ragna knew that his platoon leader’s swordsmanship had ripened. Though he had felt it during their spars, watching Encrid swing with such immersion gave him a strange feeling—as if someone were lighting a fire in his chest.
His motivation soared. Spurred by that feeling, Ragna quietly drew his own sword.
Shring.
He began to swing his sword in the corner.
Audin was the same.
‘He has built his body well.’
What kind of talent did it take to move one’s body exactly as desired? It required training to perceive every single part of oneself—moving it, feeling the pain, and pushing past the limit.
Knocking on the door of one’s limits—that was the essence of the Isolation Technique. The greatest beneficiary of the technique Audin had envisioned was standing right before him.
Encrid’s joints were supple. His wrist would never be injured by the same impact again, for he had focused relentlessly on joint training.
‘Lord, Your servant expresses his joy.’
To feel pure joy just by watching someone else was rare. And because it was rare, the joy was all the greater.
Sachsen felt a strange sensation as well.
‘I did the right thing.’
Teaching him the senses, staying here—even though he hadn't acted out of calculation, he had no regrets. At one point, he had thought staying here was a waste of time. Looking at his platoon leader now, he didn't feel that way at all.
Esther watched Encrid from the side, resting her chin on her forepaws.
Magic and spells were the path to becoming an explorer of a new world. The joy and ecstasy obtained through them were incomparable to anything else. That was why she had walked the path of spells. The joy of inquiry, the ecstasy of discovery, the fulfillment of building her own world—these were the forces that drove her.
Then, why was this man swinging his sword into empty air like that?
The sight of Encrid reminded her of herself when she was lost in her spell world. Even with her basic knowledge of swords, she could feel his skill was formidable.
A thought arose.
‘What is it that makes you move like that?’
It was pure curiosity—the inquisitiveness of a spellcaster and an explorer. For Esther, this was a surprising change. Having spent her life turning away from everything to delve into spells, resulting in her current cursed body, she was surprised by her own interest in another person. Yet, she found herself enjoying it.
Novelty was a source of vitality. Even this emotion was new.
Soon, Encrid’s sword stopped.
He came to a sudden halt, sweat pouring over his body.
Esther moved. Holding a piece of cloth in her mouth, she trotted over. As she delivered it, Encrid, who had been staring blankly into space, took it.
"Thank you, Esther."
Meow.
Don't mention it.
Encrid wiped his sweat, suddenly noticing how remarkably warm the weather was. Was this peace due to the weather? Or was it thanks to focusing entirely on his sword without a single stray thought?
It felt as though the congestion in his chest had vanished. Now that he felt so refreshed...
"Rem."
He could see the tail end of the technique Rem used—the Heart of Monstrous Strength. Now that it was in sight, he had to grasp it and pull. All he had to do was make it his own.
Whether it would go as planned was something he would find out right now.
"Let’s do it again."
It was a day that felt no different from any other. Yet, no day could ever be the same.
That was only natural.