Chapter 160: A Stepping Stone for a Small Goal
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 160: A Stepping Stone for a Small Goal
"You only need to do that about fifteen more times," Rem said nonchalantly.
Encrid stared blankly at him.
"That’s how you reach the wall—and how you climb over it."
Was he still sulking about something?
Encrid picked up on the mood, but he was too preoccupied reflecting on what he had just accomplished to care.
A single clash.
There was so much to be gained from it; he knew that instinctively.
"Good work," Encrid said, turning away. He needed to review and ponder. This single spar, this lone exchange of offense and defense—what secrets were hidden within it?
"Brother, you took quite a hit there," Audin’s teasing voice drifted from behind.
"You want to go have lunch with the Lord today, you crazy giant?"
The sounds of Rem and Audin bickering echoed through the air.
Encrid ignored them. These days, even when they fought, they knew when to stop. It wasn't that they had become close, but they had developed a strange respect for each other's boundaries.
How did I manage to cut him?
He had left a scratch on Rem’s cheek.
While he was surprised by the feat itself, he was far more engrossed in dissecting the process. Since this wasn't his first time experiencing such a breakthrough, he knew exactly how to analyze it.
It was like a frog trapped in a well jumping just high enough to glimpse the world outside. What does one gain from that? A frog that has jumped that high once can do it again.
Encrid wanted to face that world outside the well.
Even though they were departing for their mission in two days, his devotion remained unchanged. Excluding basic training, he spent every waking moment pondering and analyzing.
Faithfully following the adage that one only sees as much as one knows, Encrid felt the weight of his own shortcomings.
Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu.
Of the five weapons, the one he used as his foundation was the Heavy Sword Style.
Was this enough?
A thought that had occurred to him when he previously used the Two-Sword Style resurfaced. He wanted to try handling other weapons. They said a true knight could master ten different weapons.
He knew he couldn't do that—at least, not naturally. To truly master them meant to learn one thing and understand ten. That was a feat reserved for the talented.
For him, it was difficult. Extremely so.
Then, what should he do?
If I cannot learn one thing and understand ten...
What if he learned them all, one by one?
He could continue his daily repetition, but if there was a way to walk instead of crawl on the path forward...
"I have to do it."
The resolve slipped from his lips.
It was only natural. He was so absorbed that he hadn't even realized evening had fallen. In truth, whether he was eating or resting, a part of his mind was constantly analyzing and reviewing.
From the moment he scratched Rem’s cheek, Encrid didn't feel satisfaction. He felt hunger.
He looked ahead at the path he had to walk.
This is the result.
Muttering to himself, Encrid stood up from his bed. The quarters were cramped, and every eye in the room turned toward him.
Encrid stopped in front of Frok and Luagarne’s beds.
Frok, who was preparing for sleep, looked up and stared at Encrid from where he lay.
"Do you know the Orthodox Sword Style?"
Tomorrow was the day of departure. The lamp cast long, flickering shadows against the walls. Everyone had already washed up in the bathhouse. Finn, the last to return, came in with water dripping from her wet hair.
Esther, who had been grooming her claws on Encrid’s bed, stopped and raised her head. The panther’s deep blue eyes stared straight at Encrid’s back.
"It’s my specialty," Luagarne replied from her bed.
"Please teach me."
Encrid thirsted for knowledge. He didn't wait for someone to offer; he sought it out. To him, Frok was an excellent instructor. Aside from the whip, she was proficient with various weapons, especially the Orthodox Sword Style.
He had realized this through the occasional lessons and spars they had shared. He needed instruction of a completely different caliber than merely watching and mimicking over someone’s shoulder.
Ragna’s Northern-style Heavy Swordsmanship was excellent, and the other styles he taught weren't bad either. However, Ragna had also learned them by watching others.
"I’m just mimicking it after seeing it once or twice myself," Ragna would often say.
The way a genius learned was not enough for Encrid. As always, he felt a deep, gnawing thirst. There was something Frok possessed that he couldn't learn from the other squad members.
Rem? His fighting style had no set form. It was axe-wielding born purely of instinct and a sixth sense.
In their spar, Encrid had scratched Rem’s cheek. Beneath the thrilling rush of emotion, Encrid had seen it—that figure that looked like an evil spirit.
Was that Rem’s true nature, or was it an illusion created by his own mind? He didn't know. He only hoped to see it again.
He wanted to push Rem into that state once more. That was his wish.
He didn't expect to break his limits and realize 'Will' right away. Encrid was not that impatient. Through the years and days he had endured by gathering fragments of dreams, he had learned one thing: take one step at a time, even if he had to crawl.
Even if those steps were slow, as long as he moved forward, he would eventually reach his destination.
One step forward. He decided to set a small goal.
To see that 'seriousness'—whether it looked like a ghost or anything else—on Rem’s face again. And if possible, on the faces of Audin, Ragna, and Sachsen as well.
"Very well," Luagarne nodded without hesitation.
With a polite bow, Encrid went straight to bed. Tomorrow, he had to go to the Pioneer Village and carry out the request as promised. He was setting out on a journey. He couldn't afford to carry any fatigue, so he needed to sleep early.
"You know, I’m realizing this all over again, but I wonder if you know that when a person is too simple, they actually look crazy instead," Rem muttered from his bed.
Encrid didn't reply. If he talked back, they would be up all night. Fortunately, Rem shut his mouth as well; it was just a trivial observation.
"Haha, Brother, I pray that the Lord’s grace fills you, and that you please keep your sanity intact."
It felt like Audin was calling him a crazy bastard in a roundabout way, but a prayer was a prayer, and a blessing was a blessing.
The others remained silent. The night passed, and a new day arrived.
Encrid set out with his usual calm demeanor. As he stepped outside the territory, Luagarne and Krais followed behind him, while Finn led the way.
In his arms, he held Esther. Even when he tried to put her down, she dug her claws into his chest, absolutely refusing to let go. He had no choice but to take her along.
"Let’s go."
Led by Finn along the highway, the group soon encountered ghouls.
"Already?"
It was an early encounter, and quite close to the territory for a monster sighting. Of course, that wasn't a problem.
Two ghouls—gray-skinned monsters that craved human flesh—lunged at them.
Encrid drew his sword. His blade moved with the same casual ease as when he had set out this morning.
Thud. Crack.
The Heavy Sword Style was a discipline based on raw physical strength. With a single strike, he severed a neck and split a skull. Black blood and gray brain matter splattered across the ground. A few drops of ghoul blood splashed onto Encrid’s clothes.
"The foundation of the Orthodox Sword Style begins with waiting," Luagarne said from behind him.
Their journey was a path of training—a continuous discipline. The lesson had begun.
*
A scab had formed on his cheek.
As he stroked it, Rem recalled the first day he had met Encrid. Or more accurately, the first day he had teased him.
"You want to spar? With me?"
He had wondered what was wrong with this bastard. The guy who had arrived as their squad leader swung his sword every day as if struggling for his life, and then had the nerve to ask for a fight.
He was obviously third-rate. No, from a certain perspective, could he even be considered second-rate? By the standards of the military grading system, he was somewhere between low-grade and intermediate. He was truly a talentless man.
"I thought I might have something to learn."
What weapon had Encrid used when they first met? He tended to use whatever he could grab, but back then, he had used swords. He had wielded two, one in each hand—the exact same habit Rem had with his axes.
It was an easy fight.
Thud.
Tripped up, Encrid rolled across the ground. He had fallen awkwardly, leaving a scratch on his face. Rem had done it on purpose.
Where did they find this pretty boy to be our squad leader?
If his face got messed up, surely he would show some kind of reaction. Rem had also been curious about his identity. Was he a noble? The offspring of someone important? Did he have backing in the military?
There was nothing of the sort.
Instead of tending to his scratched face, Encrid stood up and spoke.
"Can we do it one more time?"
"Again?"
A nod.
Was he half-crazy? To be honest, Rem had never met anyone more reckless than himself until then.
He beat him. He struck him and even left a cut on his neck to scare him. He sliced the skin of his forehead, letting the blood flow.
Blood flowing from the forehead blinds the eyes. Anyone who hasn't experienced it wouldn't understand—having your vision dyed red is a different kind of fear.
Yet, the new squad leader did not back down, even though his face was stained with blood, making him look like a ghoul.
"I’m curious about something. What are you going to do if you die like that?"
It was in the middle of a spar. Rem was relaxed, but Encrid was not. The crazy bastard, who had been challenging him throughout the changing seasons, caught his breath and replied:
"Then that will be the end of it."
Was he completely insane? That would be the end? Shouldn't it not end there?
"You’re in bad shape," Rem said. That day, he taught him the Beast’s Heart. If he was prepared to die, well, then he might at least gain something.
It was a futile effort. Encrid’s temperament was not suited to the Beast’s Heart. He closed his eyes whenever things went wrong, so boldness could never take root. Even when he opened his eyes, he couldn't see properly. His body froze in dangerous moments.
"You really have no talent," Rem couldn't help but mutter.
In any case, the squad leader position, which used to change constantly, remained occupied. He survived. Steadfastly.
If asked whether sparring with him was enjoyable... well, it was just something to do. It wasn't as if Encrid was some grand figure in his life. Rem liked women, so there were no strange feelings involved either. It just felt reasonably good to watch him. Like watching bright sunlight, a dry grassland, or a beast running across it—just looking at him brought a simple sense of satisfaction.
He’s going to get himself killed like that.
Watching him struggle desperately on the battlefield made Rem lend a hand. At the very least, he was a fellow Rem didn't want to see die.
The spars continued. Time flowed.
"How did you do that?"
Encrid acquired the Beast’s Heart. From that day on, he began to change. His skills improved. Sometimes, it was visibly noticeable. Other times, it was so slow that one wondered if he was making any progress at all.
Did Encrid change within that flow? No, he was the same. Still exactly as he was at the beginning.
"Spar?"
His words had become shorter than when they first met. By now, Rem knew all too well how incredibly frustrating the man’s brevity could be. Still, the spars continued.
A scratch had formed on his cheek. The scab had hardened.
Haha, by that Encrid? By that squad leader?
Rem had been forced to show his true strength. He had almost unleashed his hidden techniques. No, this wasn't right.
How should he put it? It was a personal desire, but not yet. Rem had to remain a step above Encrid. He wanted to play around a bit longer. To do that, this level wouldn't suffice. If he was caught, if they fought in earnest, where was the fun in that?
To tease him while sparring, Rem couldn't afford to be pushed back. He couldn't let himself be caught, not even for a single moment.
That strike that scratched his cheek—even if it was only by a hair’s breadth—for that single moment, he had been caught.
He didn't like that at all. He even felt a sense of anxiety. Moreover, the question Krais had asked on the battlefield still lingered in his heart.
"Can you handle an Associate Knight?"
"If they come at me, I can kill them."
Because Krais had been serious, Rem had answered seriously. Somehow, he had felt a strange pressure from that big-eyed guy. What a fascinating fellow. That incredibly clever bastard had simply nodded. It meant he understood, even with a brief answer.
He could kill them, but not if he was worrying about what came after. If he risked his life, was it fifty-fifty? To be honest, his chances of winning were probably around thirty to forty percent.
After that question, Krais seemed to have resolved to avoid the enemy’s main forces. Since the battlefield had flowed that way, it was probably the right call.
Yet, that had strangely wounded his pride.
"Hey, quiet slacker."
That was why he hadn't followed them. He had work to do here. And that idiot was probably thinking the same thing.
At Rem’s words, Ragna poked his head up. He was leaning halfway against the wall of the quarters.
"Want to spar with our lives on the line?"
His tone was playful as usual, but it carried a weight of seriousness.
"...Let’s do it."
Ragna stood up. The slacker had changed too. Even in Encrid’s absence, a spark had ignited in his eyes. Without a trace of a smile, Rem headed out to the training ground.
"Giant, you come along too."
He called out to Audin on his way.
"Haha, since the Lord calls..." Audin stood up with a smile.
He left the devious wildcat alone. Direct combat wasn't that guy’s specialty anyway. He’ll come if he needs to. That bastard wasn't the type to show up just because he was told to. Above all, he was truly a devious one.
Rem himself was a hunter, wasn't he? That bastard was like a vicious night hunter, or a hunter of men.
On one side of the training ground, Rem picked up his axes. Ting. He clashed the two blades together and took his stance.
"Don't resent me even if you die," Ragna said, facing him.
"My thoughts exactly."
Soon, the two moved. All the soldiers training nearby stopped what they were doing and gathered to watch.
Clang! Thud! Crash!
Heavy sounds echoed from the clashes. It was a three-way rotating spar. Everyone shook their heads in awe at the sheer ferocity of it.
"I’d like to join in too."
The Elf Company Commander chimed in.
"We’re doing this with our lives on the line, you know?"
When Rem questioned her, the commander smiled and drew her sword. The leaf-like Naidel reflected the light. It was a declaration of intent.
Afterward, as she showed that her skills were no less than theirs, they clashed together. They all knew they were of one mind, even without speaking. When you exchange blows and trade punches, you just see it.
Not yet.
Truly, not yet. It was like the heart of a troublemaker wanting to maintain their superior position over Encrid. Since they had decided to live in the present, fighting with their lives on the line was the beginning of change—and its acceleration.
All four of them were individuals who had been called geniuses. Every single one of them was refining their skills. However, it didn't end with mere refinement.
Rem fought Ragna, Ragna fought Rem, Audin joined in between, and occasionally Sachsen would barge in. The Elf Company Commander took turns sparring with them. Whenever things became too serious, the others would jump in to balance and diffuse the tension, repeating the cycle.
Having unleashed their talents, these were days where the things they had to show Encrid upon his return only multiplied.
*
Meanwhile, Encrid was traveling a path that was rougher than expected.
"Kaaaaah!"
Packs of demonic beasts lunged at them one after another.
Well, it was enjoyable in its own way. For Encrid, it served as both an opportunity for training and a testing ground.