Chapter 151: Concerning the Impossible
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 151: Concerning the Impossible
It was early morning.
It was that fleeting moment where the tail end of dawn met the break of day.
As the sun began its ascent, one side of the training ground was dyed in shades of deep orange.
How many people would be out on the training ground at such an hour? Aside from the patrolling night watchmen, Encrid was usually the only one. Thus, seeing someone already out on the field before him was a rare sight.
In fact, he thought it might be the very first time.
Encrid snapped his hand to his waist in a crisp military salute. The man before him was well-deserving of the respect. He was the host of yesterday’s banquet and the commander currently responsible for the territory of Border Guard.
Nod.
Battalion Commander Marcus acknowledged the salute with a simple nod.
Marcus was not alone. In fact, it was rarer for him to be found without company. Two others stood behind him, positioned in the shadows at the corner of the training ground.
One of them, a Frok, took a step forward.
While it was difficult for human eyes to distinguish the features of a Frok, Encrid could tell this one was different from those he had met before. There was no scar on his neck, nor was there a fierce glint in his eyes. Instead, his pale cheeks were slightly puffed with curiosity.
Gurgle.
The Frok made his signature sound, scanning Encrid’s entire body with his large, bulbous eyes. From head to toe, then from toe to head, his gaze finally settled on Encrid’s face. Making it so obvious where one was looking was a talent in its own right.
"I believe introductions are in order," Marcus said from behind.
It was a timely suggestion. The Frok stopped his gurgling and opened his mouth.
"I am Frok."
Well, I can tell that just by looking at your face. Actually, I could tell just by looking at your three fingers. You’re a completely different species to begin with.
"Too many words."
From behind the Frok, the other person stepped forward. No, "stepped forward" was an understatement.
In an instant, an illusion flashed before Encrid’s eyes—the sight of his own head being severed. The vision came first; his body reacted a heartbeat later.
Clang!
The sound of clashing steel rang across the training ground. Encrid blocked the opponent’s strike with his half-drawn sword.
When had she drawn her weapon?
If not for the instincts forged from dying countless times... would he have died? Or would she have stopped? He couldn't be sure of either.
"You blocked that?"
The opponent’s voice reached his ears. It was thin and high-pitched. She was a woman with short hair tied tightly back. She had a round, gentle-looking face, but the sword in her hand was anything but gentle.
"Shall we do more?"
With a voice dripping with ease, a storm of blades lashed out once again.
How should he describe this? There was no word for it other than a tempest. In a single instant, Encrid saw a blade falling from above. He saw a blade thrusting toward his stomach. His neck was slashed, his arm severed. His thigh was pierced. He even saw a sword stabbing the top of his foot.
It felt like standing naked in the middle of a hurricane. Like facing a tsunami aboard a tiny wooden boat.
If I don’t get out of here right now, I’ll die.
The dread of death loomed over him. No matter how many times he repeated the day, and even if there was a stepping stone for growth at the end of it, completely cutting away and forgetting fear was impossible for a human being.
Encrid was merely a madman who knew how to fight through his terror.
If I retreat...
Amidst the storm of blades, Encrid realized he could escape this if he just stepped back. All it took was a single retreat, and it would be over. He would no longer have to stand alone in this tempest.
So, would he retreat?
"Dreams exist to be given up on."
"You’re a bit of a headache, aren’t you?"
"Are you insane? What? A knight? A mere mercenary like you?"
"Sorry, it was my first real battle."
"Go back to your village. Farm, or if you hate that, play at being a village vigilante. You’ll probably land the role of vigilante captain."
Accompanied by cackling laughter, the voices of those who had thrown words at him until now flashed through his mind. His heart hammered frantically. They had told him to give up, that it was meaningless. They had asked him if the path he was walking was the right one.
Within the storm of blades, Encrid died countless times. Yet, the world did not fade to black, nor did the Ferryman appear. He simply died. And died again. Countless deaths.
The light faded. Instead of the dawn’s rays, the shadow of death cast its shroud. Everything battered his body with agony and pain.
He already knew the answer. He only had to retreat. A single step was enough. One step back.
The storm of blades urged him to do so. It told him to retreat, that this was not a place for him to stand. It whispered that if he just stepped back, he would be liberated from all this agony and pain.
He knew it, and he understood it. Yet, he could not retreat.
He knew that taking a step back here would not actually affect his swordsmanship, his trained body, or his physical self. Yet, he could not retreat.
Even though he knew that simply stepping back would end everything. Yet, he could not retreat.
His faded, torn dream asked him: Do you really think you can become a knight like that?
His heart did not waver at the words of those who had passed through his life. There was no reason for it to.
But not this. It could not be like this.
The moment he resolved to become a knight, Encrid possessed the sharpest sword of all. One could call it will, conviction, or even stubbornness. If his mind crumbled, he would have nowhere left to stand. He could not take back the steps he had taken—steps advanced half a pace at a time, or even by crawling.
Encrid did not even think of retreating. Instead...
I am lacking.
He merely realized his own inadequacy. His coordination, his sense of evasion—what if he had trained them? What if he had finally mastered them properly? And what about the Heart of Monstrous Strength? Even the Isolation Technique and Valaf-style Martial Arts would have been of help.
What if he had faithfully honed his basics and trained so that he could thrust his sword straight and true, like the Mustachioed Man?
Because all of those could have been the foundation to overcome this situation, Encrid could not retreat.
"Stop."
The storm ended as abruptly as it had begun. The moment the Frok intervened, it vanished without a trace.
"Phew."
Encrid exhaled the breath he had been holding. His heart hammered so violently it felt as if it would leap out of his chest. His legs trembled. He wanted to collapse, but he endured.
Instead, he looked at his opponent—the gentle-looking woman with short hair. Encrid focused on a single desire. He wanted to know what kind of trick she had just pulled.
"I’ve never seen a kid like you before. You don’t even know how to handle it, yet you endured? If you had held out just a bit longer, you would have died."
The one who had unleashed the storm from beside the Frok spoke.
"Who... are you?" Encrid forced his heavy lips open to ask.
"Me? Aisia."
As she spoke, she took a step forward.
Flutter.
The woman unfurled the cloak draped behind her neck and wrapped it around herself. The cloak billowed as it spread. Its color was a crimson light cutting through the orange morning.
A red cloak, accompanied by a Frok, and personally escorted by Marcus—then who was she?
"The Red Cloak Knights?" Encrid muttered.
The woman nodded. "I am Associate Knight Aisia."
Her smile was bright and innocent, matching her gentle appearance.
That was the end of it. Standing tall and staring back was the absolute best Encrid could manage. Right after, his consciousness snapped. His vision went black, and the Ferryman appeared.
Did I die?
No, it didn't feel like that. He wasn't dead. Then, was this a dream?
As he questioned himself inwardly, a voice answered.
"It is a dream," the Ferryman spoke. Since he still had no eyes, nose, or mouth, it was always a wonder how his voice could be heard. "I shall watch over you."
At the Ferryman’s words, another question arose in Encrid’s mind. "Weren't you watching before?"
At those words, the boat floating on the Black River seemed to tilt ever so slightly. Just as abruptly as it had begun, the dream ended.
The flickering of darkness and light. In that brief interval, the Ferryman’s final words brushed past his ears.
"It seems you’ve skipped today’s training."
What? Why does he sound like he's teasing me?
Well, it was possible. There was no rule saying a Ferryman couldn’t tease someone. Still, the tone and words left a strange impression.
Encrid ignored it. If it was something he couldn’t figure out no matter how much he pondered, ignoring it was the best answer.
By the way... he thought he had heard Sachsen’s voice right before he passed out.
*
Watching Encrid collapse, the Frok was about to reach out when he stopped. Someone had already caught him from behind. It was a man with reddish-brown hair and quiet eyes.
"Your joke went too far."
A quiet-spoken fellow, the Frok thought, shifting his gaze to the side.
There, another man, exuding a rather rough aura, was glaring fiercely at him.
"What do you think you’re doing first thing in the morning?"
Gray hair and gray eyes—was he from the Western frontier? Behind him stood a man as massive as a bear.
"Haha, brother and sister, a fine morning, isn't it? May I ask why you are doing this to my small and precious platoon leader?"
Who on earth are these bastards? the Frok wondered.
Behind the three, a blonde man with red eyes holding a sword also came into view. He was clearly a Northerner, with highly distinct physical features. His hair was a messy, tangled ruin, and there were clear traces of drool around his mouth, but...
His stance with the sword is quite something.
The Frok liked it immensely.
He had come here at Marcus’s request. Marcus had said he wanted him to read a certain person’s talent. He wanted to know if the man possessed the qualities to become a knight. The Frok had stopped by on his way back, right after the battle on the front lines had ended.
A Frok’s eyes were different from those of humans or elves. They read a certain talent that could not be fulfilled through training alone. Because of their unique discernment, people called the experienced Froks "Able Deciders" or "Talent Readers."
The Frok standing here now was one such Talent Reader. While it wasn’t a level where he could perceive everything at a single glance, sometimes merely looking was enough—especially if it was a gem that shone alone even while buried in the mud.
And that was exactly what these people were. In the Frok’s eyes, they possessed a talent found in one in ten thousand—no, one in a thousand chosen from those ten thousand.
"Who are these fellows?"
"The mad platoon members," Marcus replied from behind. He had already heard a brief explanation.
Hadn’t Marcus said they were all crazy bastards? He had even mentioned it was a miracle they only followed their platoon leader.
It’s a pity, but...
Right now, he didn’t have the luxury to take them in. Above all, given the hostility they were currently displaying, they weren’t the type of people one could easily recruit. Besides, just because they possessed such talent didn't mean they would all become "knights."
In truth, there was no absolute need to take them.
What was a knight? It was a world where one could only set foot if every single condition aligned, a title reserved solely for those who gathered in that exclusive realm.
"There are plenty of interesting kids here," Aisia said from behind. She wasn’t particularly bellicose. She had merely conducted the test Marcus wanted.
Aisia showed her palms as she spoke, indicating she had no intention of fighting.
It would have shocked Encrid to know: after her very first strike, she had sheathed her sword and never drawn it again. Everything had been achieved solely through momentum and pressure.
Using momentum and pressure—essentially, raw presence—to force an opponent into unconsciousness was something one couldn't even dream of unless they were at least at the level of an Associate Knight.
In truth, it was highly inefficient. It would have been much simpler to just hit him and knock him out. Why go to such lengths, leaking her presence all over the place? It also consumed a non-trivial amount of mental energy. Aisia had only done it because she had no choice but to comply with Marcus’s request.
A test for a promising sprout—that was all it was. There was no reason for hostile tension to escalate further. Above all, Marcus’s next words drew everyone’s attention.
"Well? Can he become a knight?"
If there was potential, he could become a Squire. That meant he would soon be assigned under an Order Knight. It was a gift from Marcus, and its value was by no means small.
What was Encrid’s dream? What he wished for, what he wanted most. A gift was only truly valuable when it aligned with such desires. Marcus thought he was putting what he had learned in the political arena to good use. He had prepared exactly what his counterpart desired most.
The question was asked. Aisia spoke first.
"No."
The Frok followed immediately after.
"Out of the question."
What was a knight? Gather ten thousand talented individuals. Sift through them to find a thousand. From those thousand, filter and filter again to find a select few. Only those who entered that exclusive world were called knights.
"This one is a no. How about you? Interested?" The Frok asked, looking directly at one person.
The place his large, round eyes focused on was Ragna. Ragna blinked his sleep-crusted eyes and said, "Not interested."
If he left his platoon leader, he was nothing but a lazy bum. Since he knew this better than anyone, his refusal was only natural.
Well, this is a shame.
The Frok smacked his lips in disappointment. Looking at their appearances, a female Frok would certainly have taken a liking to them. On top of that, their skills were outstanding, so he thought it would be quite fun if they joined the order.
Yet they refused? Even when it was an offer from the Red Cloak Knights? While they couldn’t take everyone, they could have accepted at least one.
"They’re an interesting bunch. But I’ve fulfilled your request. Don’t forget that, Battalion Commander Marcus."
"Ah, of course."
Aisia and Marcus conversed behind him. Aisia tapped the Frok on the back. "What are you doing? Let’s go."
Both of them were busy people. They had to return to the capital to deliver the news of victory along with the terms of the treaty with Azpen. Besides that, they had a mountain of work to do.
"I think I’ll stay for a few more days before heading out," the Frok said.
"Wait, what?" Aisia tilted her head. Her ponytail swayed from side to side.
"Go on ahead," the Frok insisted.
Aisia opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. In truth, there would be no issue even if she went alone. Her affiliation alone was proof of her identity. She was a member of the Red Cloak Knights. It didn’t matter if the Frok didn’t accompany her. Above all, weren’t the Frok race hedonists who couldn’t control their own desires and interests? Leaving him be was the best answer. She figured he had simply taken an interest in that red-haired soldier.
"Alright, then."
With those final words, Aisia turned around.
Vengeance, who had coincidentally volunteered for the night watch, witnessed all of this. Bothered by his own unsightly behavior during the night of the banquet, he had come out to the morning training to talk to Encrid, only to see everything unfold.
No one paid him any mind.
The fact that the path of a knight was impossible for Encrid—what was so grand about that? The world was already overflowing with such people.
"I’ll be in your care for a few days," the Frok said to Marcus.
Marcus nodded.
Leaving the unconscious Encrid behind, the morning encounter thus came to an end.