Chapter 159: You See as Much as You Know
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 159: You See as Much as You Know
The Ten Whistle Daggers. The loose-fitting leather armor was lined with soft cloth on the inside, ensuring it didn't chafe.
The armor was solid. He liked it quite a bit. While it wasn't enchanted to deflect spells like his previous set, it would be more than enough to ward off physical strikes.
Though wearing it in this heat would be a special kind of hell.
But if it was necessary, he would endure it. What choice did he have?
Between the layers of leather, countless thin, hammered iron chains were woven in a grid pattern. It was heavy, but its defensive capabilities seemed exceptional.
"It's my masterpiece," the blacksmith said, and he had every right to boast.
Though the man had offered to take only half-price, the armor was bound to be expensive regardless—from the cost of treating the leather to the labor of crafting each delicate chain by hand. It had taken nearly a year to complete this single piece.
"Put it to good use."
The ruddy-faced blacksmith presented it as a gift.
Unable to accept such a thing for free, Encrid had pestered Krais until the man finally paid the smith. The blacksmith silently accepted the pouch of Krona.
At any rate, he now had the armor and two daggers strapped to his ankles. He secured a Guard Sword behind his waist and tucked eight throwing knives onto his thighs and flanks. He wore the Whistle Dagger sheaths crossed over his chest.
He already knew from experience the exact angle that wouldn't hinder his draw. It was an angle he had used frequently for a long time. He figured it would be useful to have a utility knife for random tasks on the road, so he packed one of those as well.
Should I pack a shortsword too?
It would make a decent backup weapon if his main sword broke.
As he packed this and that, the load quickly became massive. He needed a thick blanket for sleeping outdoors, and a pot seemed necessary as well. He could just tell Krais to carry the pot, but there was still plenty of other gear to prepare.
Charcoal to get through the nights, thick cloth, a wooden spoon and fork, and a thin copper-alloy iron plate would be nice to have too. It would be perfect for grilling food. To set out on a journey, he would have to carry a backpack, and the weight was going to be substantial.
If there was one thing that had kept the sword-clumsy Encrid alive until now, it was this meticulous preparedness. A habit once ingrained did not easily disappear.
Even more so when there were only four of them—though, of course, each of those four possessed formidable martial prowess. Frok, after all, was used to traveling alone.
But Encrid knew the dangers of the road all too well for various reasons and could not afford to be lax. This preparation was what gave him peace of mind.
"Are you really packing all of that?" Luagarne tossed a nagging remark from the side. It might have been admiration rather than a complaint, but Encrid didn't care in the slightest.
His own peace of mind was his top priority.
"Yes. It's a pity I can't carry more."
Gauntlets, and even greaves. It was a thorough arming. He sharpened each knife one by one and diligently polished the blades with sheep tallow until they gleamed with a glossy sheen.
"Planning to blind your enemies with the sun?"
"Sharp of you to notice."
To Frok, who was watching from the side and chiming in, Encrid replied with nonchalance. It was like they were performing a comedy routine.
"Why do I feel like my spot's been stolen?" Rem grumbled nearby.
Encrid ignored him.
"Why aren't you answering me?" Rem's tone turned grumpy.
I shouldn't leave him like this.
If left to grumble, Rem might throw a tantrum, so Encrid finally spoke up.
"I did."
"When?"
"With silence."
What kind of nonsense is that? Rem's face contorted strangely.
Encrid easily brushed off the reaction. It simply meant he had ignored him.
"Tsk."
Rem let it go. If they fought with words, he would lose. It was a lesson he had learned many times over.
Whether there was a mission or not, this was their daily routine.
Encrid did what he always did. He woke in the morning to immerse himself madly in training and prepared for the expedition in the evening. This involved maintaining his gear as well as packing various tools. Frok was half-appalled by the sight of him.
Is he just relentless? Or is he just dense?
He just did it. Both training and preparation were grueling tasks, yet he showed no hesitation, no suffering.
Well, perhaps a glimpse of suffering could be seen when he pushed his body to the limit during the Isolation Technique. But seeing the strange smile he wore after that agony...
Is he just a masochist?
Perhaps.
Far from falling into frustration and despair at the news that he could never become a knight, he didn't seem to care at all. Having watched him for three months, Frok saw no falsehood in his actions.
Therefore, he was a strange—no, a truly bizarre fellow.
Croak.
That was why he was so interesting. He was exceptionally good-looking too, making him pleasant to watch. Where on earth did a guy like this drop from?
"He's mine."
Luagarne was crouching in a corner of the training ground, using the shade as a roof while she watched. The Elf Company Commander approached and spoke, having slipped beside her unnoticed. The elf's shadow stretched slightly past the shade, appearing distorted.
"Did I say otherwise?" Luagarne retorted indifferently.
"Kyah."
In the shade on the opposite side, Esther, sitting all by herself, bared her fangs.
She does that at the slightest provocation.
Since it didn't concern her, Luagarne let it be. Luagarne was a Frok, and to a Frok, what mattered was desire and lust, interest and stimulation. With that stimulation right before her eyes, she was in such a good mood that even if someone poked her near the heart, she wouldn't kill them in a single stroke.
Of course, since they touched her heart, she would still leave them half-dead.
*
Between his training sessions, Encrid did not forget his duties.
"You're going on an expedition? Four people? Frok too?"
When he reported to the Battalion Commander, the man questioned him but quickly granted permission. "How unusual," was all he added.
"So, how do you feel about not being able to become a knight?" the Battalion Commander asked behind Encrid's back as he turned to leave.
Before offering a military salute, Encrid replied indifferently. "I am fine. Thank you for the gift."
Was there malice in the commander's consideration? No, there was none. Even if there had been, it was still a good opportunity for him.
An impossible dream, they called it? That did not apply to Encrid. He had come all this way chasing what he had ultimately failed to achieve, so this was merely the process of weaving together a torn and tattered dream.
"Thank you?"
"Yes."
"I see."
After that dry exchange, he saluted and stepped outside.
The Elf Company Commander followed close behind. Encrid realized they had been crossing paths quite often lately. Does he have nothing to do?
As Encrid looked at him with a questioning gaze, the elf said something ridiculous. "Have you fallen for me all over again?"
Encrid told him no and turned away.
Returning to his quarters, he immersed himself in maintaining his gear once more.
"You're practically itching to leave, aren't you? Just thrilled," Rem provoked him for no reason.
"If your body is itching, shall we go a round?" Encrid smoothly deflected the remark.
"Suits me fine!"
A refreshing spar, exhilarating blows.
Clang! Clang!
If there was one thing more satisfying than before, it was the glimpse of a different emotion on Rem's face. It was a sort of contentment.
When Encrid activated the Heart of Monstrous Strength and swung his sword down onto the axe, Rem moved his feet with uncanny precision to deflect the force. It was the first time Rem had used a technique similar to the Soft Sword Style.
"A deflection?"
"Why? Am I not allowed to use stuff like this?"
"No."
Of course he was.
The result was Encrid's defeat as a heavy axe blow broke his Heart of Monstrous Strength. Afterward, he sparred with Audin, and then with Ragna. Sachsen, seemingly free again, showed his face, so Encrid sparred with him too.
"You lack training."
His training regimen increased. Sachsen had readily offered to help him train his kinetic vision and reflexes—ultimately, it was all to hone his Sense of Evasion.
"You still have a long way to go."
Though the results were still lacking, he kept repeating the process.
The point was this: with his gear maintenance mostly finished, he dedicated himself to training with near-brutal intensity right up until the day before departure.
"You have acquired more. Therefore, you must organize it properly," Ragna uncharacteristically nagged him midway through.
Encrid thought it was advice worth listening to. "I will."
He increased his meditation time between training sessions. Luagarne would crack her whip or correct his posture when she felt like it, but she mostly maintained the attitude of a bystander. Encrid didn't mind that either.
He was too busy stacking what he possessed, layer by layer.
Basics.
The basics of swordsmanship, and the basics of physical training. Specifically, the basics of Northern-style Heavy Swordsmanship from Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu, and the Isolation Technique.
What supported this was the Blade's Sense—the future seen just a step ahead by flinging open the Gate of the Sixth Sense. This, too, could not be activated on its own. It required the backing of Single-Point Focus.
I am no genius.
Merely a frog trapped in the well of today. A mayfly climbing out of the well to sprint toward tomorrow.
Therefore, he struggled. Therefore, he crawled forward.
Encrid did not change. He was incredibly consistent. A wanderer roaming in pursuit of a faded dream, the wanderer did nothing but walk and walk. Thus, he polished what was his, steeled his mind, and polished it yet again.
As he grasped the rhythm, power was added to his Heavy Sword Style. He grew slightly more accustomed to the Heart of Monstrous Strength.
And so, it was the day before departure.
"I heard the demonic beasts are running absolutely wild lately. Merchants who used to travel in groups of ten won't even set out now unless there are at least twenty of them. Is it really okay for us to go out like this? Well, I'm sure it'll be fine."
Looking around at Frok, Finn, and Encrid, Krais twisted his words strangely as he spoke. It was after listening to Krais's chatter that Encrid stepped forward to spar as usual.
His opponent was Rem. Encrid stood at a distance from him. As Encrid drew his sword and aimed it, Rem also raised his axes and rolled his wrists.
How many spars had this been? They had clashed quite often lately.
"Make sure to entertain me more today."
Rem had been sulking for some reason. Encrid had stepped up partly to cheer him up. If he's going to be like this, he should have just come along.
They were now in the midst of a season transitioning into summer. Encrid felt the shift in temperature. He felt the subtle direction of the wind.
The changing of the air took but a moment; measuring the distance between them took but a moment. In that moment, that split second, the gap shattered.
At the same time, the lessons he had learned through his repeated "todays" rose up thread by thread and settled into his body. The things he had mastered over time. The lines connecting point to point. The circle drawn around himself—the sword's domain. The timing of attack, defense, and counter, known as rhythm or tempo.
The future seen a step ahead, tracing the opponent's hand movements and breath.
Encrid lowered his hands slightly. It was instinct, and it was what he had to do because he could see the future. The tip of his sword tilted slightly more forward.
Amidst the sunlight, the two axes came to a halt.
He saw the tip of Rem's nose. He saw his eyes. He saw the sweat trickling down Rem's forehead. Forgetting himself and facing his opponent, Encrid found the most rational and fastest path. The point where their domains intersected, the tempo and timing that favored him.
His foot, riding the rhythm, lifted from the ground. The sword, cutting through the sunlight, fell from above.
The axes moved as well. The man holding the axes moved in unison.
A hazy, pale figure—something like a wraith or a ghost—appeared. Regardless, the spirit's axe flew toward him.
Slash!
An illusion of his head being severed—just before the illusion could touch him, Encrid's sword fell from above. It was a lightning-fast strike, accelerated with the full weight of the Heavy Sword Style.
Whoosh.
What did he cut? Nothing.
His neck? It was perfectly fine. What had been severed by the axe was merely an illusion.
"...Well, damn. When did you learn how to make a man get this serious?"
"You dodged it, didn't you?"
As Encrid spoke and turned around, a streak of blood was visible on Rem's cheek. Though he hadn't felt the impact in his hands, he had cut him. Even if it was just a scratch.
Tingle.
A thrill—a surge of raw emotion—vibrated through his entire body. It felt as if a beast's roar was spreading from deep within, creating a resonant tremor.
Come to think of it, this was the first time.
Rem, Ragna, Audin, Sachsen. Not a single one of them had ever received so much as a scratch from his sword.
"There you go."
Luagarne, who had been watching, sprang to her feet and clapped her hands. The sound of her palms meeting was dull, but she looked immensely pleased.
"Um, just now, I mean..."
Encrid couldn't easily find his words. Was this a new experience? No, he had felt this before.
The Mustachioed Man.
When he had faced him for the first time, and when he had been completely absorbed in Mitch Hurier, unleashing his Single-Point Focus. The experience of his concentration breaking through some sort of limit.
Of course, it was far more profound now. Because he had learned more. Because he had mastered more.
They say you only see as much as you know.
And so, it was visible. Exactly as much as he knew.