Chapter 142: Through Coordination of Senses and Body
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 142: Through Coordination of Senses and Body
Rem turned around after finishing off the sentry.
Encrid and Ragna hadn't even found an opening to intervene. It wasn't as if they were planning to wait for the enemy here anyway.
"How boring," Rem muttered, spinning his axe in his hand. Blood from the blade splattered onto the dirt.
Seeing the path cleared, Encrid turned back.
"Ragna."
At the call, Ragna trotted after his Platoon Leader.
This was a point Krais had emphasized repeatedly: do not leave Ragna alone. It was a necessary precaution; if left to his own devices, Ragna would inevitably wander off and become a lost child.
"Hey, barbarian. Know your place," Ragna grumbled as he followed behind.
In Ragna's eyes, it looked like Encrid had wanted to step forward but failed to find the timing. Since the 'barbarian' didn't seem to know when to engage or hold back, Ragna felt the need to lecture him.
Naturally, Rem was not the type to take an insult lying down.
"Huh? What was that? You want another mouth carved into your neck? Want me to slit your throat right now?"
"Enough."
Encrid calmly cut them both off. This was only the beginning.
They began the climb back up the ridge. It should have been several times more grueling than the descent, but compared to the hell they had endured under the Isolation Technique, this was practically child's play.
The same held true for Rem and Ragna. None of the madmen in this platoon who lived by the axe and sword lacked the stamina for a mountain climb.
"Now, now, Finn, let's move," Krais urged, reminding them that this wasn't the time for bickering.
Finn nodded and set off, leading them across the ridge once more. Finn took the point, followed by Encrid, with Ragna and Krais bringing up the rear. Krais possessed decent stamina in his own right, so he didn't fall behind.
Only Mac was inwardly astonished as he watched the group move.
They’re fast.
Their steps were devoid of hesitation. It looked like a forced march that completely ignored the toll on their bodies, yet none of them showed signs of flagging.
Mac decided he only needed to worry about himself.
"Take slow, deep breaths."
This march—or was it a raid? A strike mission? Whatever it was called, it wouldn't be over quickly. They needed to conserve every ounce of strength. As Mac spoke, Andrew nodded.
"I know."
The reply was brief, signaling he understood the necessity without needing a lecture.
Hearing those words, Mac felt a sudden surge of emotion. When had the boy grown up so much? Once this battlefield was settled and they finally returned to their territory, perhaps it would be time for Mac to find his own place.
"It’ll be tough. But... I don't know. I’m actually looking forward to it."
As Andrew spoke, his gaze remained fixed on the back of his Platoon Leader. Mac gave a nod so subtle it went unnoticed.
He, too, was inwardly expectant.
Just how far would that Platoon Leader go? Would he truly grasp that thing he called his dream?
Mac had ears and wits of his own. What the Platoon Leader desired was something he could not hope to reach in his current state. Andrew’s dream was also at a level that most would dismiss as absurd. Though Mac was here to help him, it was still uncertain whether Andrew could actually revive his fallen family.
"There is no giving up," Andrew muttered.
The young, wet-behind-the-ears brat who used to brag, relying solely on his own meager skills... that kid was gone. In his place stood a man who had been forged by watching the back of his Platoon Leader.
"Indeed, there is no giving up," Mac replied, his voice tinged with unprompted pride.
It might not have been Encrid’s direct intention, but Andrew had changed. And that change had influenced Mac as well. Reviving the family—he would now accept it as a goal that could naturally be achieved.
Mac took another step, mentally organizing the tasks he would need to handle upon their return. He focused on breathing slowly and deeply, moving while minimizing any wasted motion. Beside him, Andrew regulated his breathing in the exact same manner.
While Mac and Andrew whispered, Encrid walked in silence, listening to the breathing of his squad members.
Listen, and listen again.
If one sought to develop kinetic vision through seeing, the same principle applied to hearing. By increasing the speed at which he distinguished and processed sounds, this sense, too, would evolve.
The sound of pebbles scattering, footsteps treading on the ridge, and above all, the breathing of his men.
Shallow and long.
That was Mac and Andrew. Both were preparing for the violence ahead.
What about Rem? Rough. Arhythmic. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Hard to pin down. It suited his personality perfectly.
Audin’s breathing was so long it was difficult to tell where one breath ended and the next began. Ragna’s was ordinary. Sachsen’s couldn't be heard at all.
Then what about himself?
If there was a breath most similar to his own, it was Ragna’s. Ordinary. It was perfectly fine to breathe normally and take the steps his body was accustomed to.
"I’ve been wondering for a while—you didn't receive Ranger training somewhere, did you?" Finn asked, glancing back slightly.
Encrid replied casually, as he always did.
"I picked it up by watching a Ranger I know."
It wasn't a lie, considering he had learned it by watching Finn in previous loops.
But it felt like he had answered this exact question before. It reminded him of Enri. The memory of that time resurfaced; he had been asked where he learned to navigate the plains and had given a similar response.
I wonder if he made it back to his territory safely.
Since Enri had joined the unit escorting the prisoners, nothing bad should have happened.
Even as Encrid’s thoughts drifted, he did not stop his training.
Listen, see, and feel.
He walked, refining and sharpening his senses.
With the long ridge stretching ahead as the dividing line, the right side was the enemy, and the left was the allied camp. By now, the allied forces had likely begun their maneuver as well. Encrid only needed to fulfill his assigned task.
As he continued to train while walking, he threw a question at Rem.
"That charge you did earlier—how did you manage it?"
"If you're asking how I did it, I feel like I might just have to smack the back of your head, Platoon Leader."
Rem’s reaction was lukewarm, his tone bordering on a scolding.
Encrid soon realized why.
I asked without thinking.
Because asking usually yielded answers, he had asked reflexively. Perhaps he had fallen into the habit of giving orders and expecting information. Humans are not perfect, and Encrid was no exception.
Though he was skilled at dealing with people, accustomed to advancing alone, and possessed the grit to crawl forward without ever turning back...
I’m still lacking. I forgot to ponder it myself.
People make mistakes; that is human nature. However, what set Encrid apart was his speed of correction. He admitted the mistake, recognized the flaw, and adjusted instantly.
Without replying to Rem, Encrid sank into his own world as he walked. Rem’s words implied that the answer was something Encrid should have already known.
The answer lay in what he had already mastered. Sprinting, charging—what did they require? Power, physical strength, and explosive thigh muscles.
The Heart of Monstrous Strength. What would happen if he multiplied the power in every muscle of his body and burst forward all at once?
Of course, training was necessary, and time for discipline was required. Yet, he was simply glad that the path was finally visible.
Ah, this is it.
When a smile of sheer delight crossed Encrid’s face, Rem saw it and smirked.
Seriously, why the hell did you ask when it’s so obvious? That was the meaning behind his grin.
Led by Finn, the group pressed on diligently. As they walked, Finn found himself astonished once again. Every single one of them moved like a monster. Not a single person fell behind. Was this easy? No, it definitely wasn't. And it wasn't as if they had formal Ranger training either.
This one is different from his pretty face.
In particular, the squad member nicknamed 'Big-Eyes' was impressive. Even though Finn had heard he wasn't a combatant, he didn't lag. Of course, compared to the others, it was clear he was keeping up through sheer, stubborn willpower and stamina. But even that was remarkable.
Crossing over the ridge, they stopped upon reaching a patch of land covered in short shrubs.
"At this point, I believe we’ve reached their rear," Finn whispered.
The primary advantage of a small group was mobility, and they had utilized it to the fullest.
It was time for another descent. This time, Audin and Sachsen stepped forward to lead.
"Ah, why them?" Rem pouted, but they had agreed to take turns. If things went south, they would need to pull back using evasive maneuvers, which required fresh eyes to watch the rear. Krais also needed protection.
As Encrid walked down the slope, he wondered if Esther was watching from somewhere. He had brought her along, but as soon as they had set foot on the mountain path, she had hopped out of his arms and vanished into the brush.
Is she out hunting?
He didn't know, and it wasn't something he needed to worry about.
Encrid descended the slope and encountered the enemy sentries. This time, they were less fortunate than before.
Weeeet!
The moment the enemy soldier spotted the intruders, he blew his whistle. It was a swift reaction. He leveled his spear and shouted, "Who goes there? Halt!"
Encrid approached without a word. One of the sentries swept his hand over his waist—he clearly had a knack for throwing daggers. A knife appeared in his hand, held in a reverse grip.
See it with your eyes.
React with your body.
Move the body in perfect coordination with the senses; the key was to increase reaction speed. This was the technique known as the Sense of Evasion.
Whoosh!
The dagger flew. Timing his movement to the projectile, Encrid lowered his stance and charged. It was different from dodging by activating Single-Point Focus. This wasn't about hyper-concentration; it was about pure reaction speed.
Calmly and nonchalantly. Since that was the core of the technique, he did exactly that.
Without activating the Heart of Monstrous Strength, he mimicked the stride of a knight rushing toward the front lines. As his boots kicked off the ground with rapid thuds, the enemy soldier thrust his spear. The tip of the blade lunged toward his chest.
See, react, evade, and deflect.
He bound everything into a single breath, merging the actions into one continuous motion. Extending his left foot, Encrid twisted his torso to avoid the spearhead and shoved the shaft with his palm.
With a sharp clack, he pushed the spear aside, throwing the soldier off balance.
"Huh?!"
The startled man’s face loomed close. Encrid hadn't slowed his pace for a second. Just as Rem had shown him once before, Encrid rushed past the spear and closed into the enemy’s chest.
The subsequent struggle was anticlimactic.
Thuck!
Encrid drew his dagger, plunged it into the back of the soldier’s neck, and ripped it out. Blood sprayed violently from the severed artery. Sheathing his dagger, Encrid felt a sense of grim satisfaction.
It works.
It was a technique he had mastered without needing endless repetition today. The Sense of Evasion—a technique that unified the body’s coordination.
There was also something else he had realized through this training. Fundamentally, his body’s base reaction speed was changing. What did that mean? Even without Single-Point Focus, he could move faster than his opponent. That was the key to seizing the initiative and dominating the space of an encounter.
It was only natural that the fight ended so quickly. Even if the opponent’s skills were mediocre, and even if Encrid felt like he had only just taken his first steps...
It works.
That realization alone was a joy.
Sachsen watched Encrid’s performance with approval.
Yes, that’s how it’s done.
It was basic, but clean. To put it negatively, it was the result of brute-force training. To put it positively, it was the reward for walking a steadfast path. That was the core of this training: steadfastness.
Wasn't it a technique that suited Encrid perfectly? The training to develop body coordination in line with one’s senses would only make reaction speeds faster the more it was repeated.
Did he say his dream was to be a knight?
Just because a dream was absurd didn't mean one shouldn't pursue it. Sachsen knew this well from his own life. If he had spoken of his own hidden goals during his childhood, everyone would have laughed.
Though his thoughts drifted, Sachsen’s hands performed their duty with lethal precision. Before anyone noticed, he had slipped behind the second soldier, pressed a dagger to his throat, and slit it.
Pshhh.
There was no need for a dramatic fountain of blood like Encrid’s kill.
"Gurgle!"
The soldier clutched his neck, his spear clattering to the ground. Pressing the wound was a useless gesture; the major vessel had already been severed. Through countless missions, Sachsen had watched men die exactly like this.
Blood seeped through the man's desperate fingers. With a light kick to the back of the knee, Sachsen brought him down. The soldier collapsed, gasping like a fish out of water. He had no strength left to scream, let alone blow his whistle again.
"Let's move."
They had neutralized the sentries in an instant, but the initial whistle had already stirred the enemy camp. It was time to pull back.
"Indeed," Encrid replied, turning around with a look of satisfaction.
They retreated into the mountains once more. They moved with the speed of ghosts, their withdrawal as swift as their strike. All the Azpen unit saw when they rushed to the scene was the disappearing backs of figures climbing the ridge.
"Pursue them!" the enraged rear commander of Azpen shouted.
The enemy soldiers immediately gave chase, but how could they hope to catch a small elite force that had already vanished over the crest? They were faster, more agile, and if the enemy pursued with only a small number, they would simply be walking into a counterattack by monsters.
To Krais, this was the natural outcome. If the enemy could strike with small elite forces, then it was only logical that they could do the same. Of course, it only worked because they were a group like the madman platoon.
"Double-time."
Encrid’s voice drifted back. Krais stared at his Platoon Leader’s back. He wondered, not for the first time, if Encrid had read his tactical intentions perfectly from the very start.