Chapter 183: Some Crazy Bastard is Chasing Me with a Sword (3)

Translator: RaidenTL

Chapter 183: Some Crazy Bastard is Chasing Me with a Sword (3)

Luagarne didn't even blink.

Practicing swordsmanship in a crisis like this—even for a lunatic, it was utterly absurd. Yet, it was the right answer.

‘Because it’s him.’

Because it was Encrid, it somehow made sense.

Soon, Encrid, who had been trembling as he gripped the sword, let go and stepped back.

‘Did he give up?’

Giving up is easy the first time. It only gets easier from then on. If he backed down even once, the Tutor would become an insurmountable wall. For Encrid, that would be a fatal flaw.

Luagarne watched him with growing concern.

"It’ll be a problem if you show me a different trick," Encrid muttered. Without even pausing to catch his breath, he gripped the sword again.

"...?"

"Uh, well... the platoon our captain leads is called the Mad Platoon," Krais spoke euphemistically. No, at this point, he was just stating a fact. Wasn't he basically calling Encrid a crazy bastard?

A minor commotion followed.

While only Esther lay back down to sleep, Encrid gripped and released the sword four more times before a faint smile touched his lips.

"This is it."

Then, he swung the sword through the air. Luagarne realized by now that trying to stop him was useless.

So, what should she do?

"What a crazy bastard," she muttered in admiration. Then—

"That’s not it," she corrected him. She would teach him. That was all she had to do.

Encrid welcomed Luagarne's guidance. Fighting to win and the technical proficiency of swordsmanship were two different matters. Luagarne possessed vast experience and outstanding skill—deflecting, striking, and reading an opponent's intent.

It was a conversation held with steel, an orchestra created by blades. Encrid memorized exactly what he saw and suffered, and Luagarne helped him refine it.

The evil spirit dwelling within the Tutor also possessed remarkable swordsmanship, but it paled in comparison to Luagarne’s.

If that sword really only had a ring attached to it—if it was something that activated with just a light touch—couldn't Luagarne have solved it? But as Krais had tested, nothing happened when one merely touched the sword. It had to be gripped tightly, with a specific amount of force.

Therefore, it was impossible for Luagarne to trigger the trial.

Swoosh!

He tried a few more times, but the result was the same.

"I can see it, but..."

The window of time was too short to act. Naturally, Encrid became the only one who kept gripping the sword.

"Since it seems like things are going well..." Finn muttered as she prepared her bed. She pulled a blanket from her pack and took out some hard cheese, scraping off the rind and slicing it thin. She placed the slices on hard bread, and the meal was ready.

"Since it's also my responsibility..." Krais, for whatever reason, stepped forward and gripped the sword once.

And he died. His body was fine, but he suffered severe mental exhaustion. This happened during a brief moment when Encrid wasn't holding the blade.

"Gurgle..." Krais collapsed, froth bubbling at his mouth. It had been a pointless endeavor.

Esther did nothing but sleep, and naturally, their roles were established. Encrid would grip the sword, let go, and return. Luagarne taught him swordsmanship based on those brief flashes. Finn and Krais prepared the beds and meals. Esther ate, slept, and woke up.

Since there was no proper place to relieve themselves, everyone used a corner. Although the barrier blocked them even underground, they could still dig into the dirt to some extent. It was like a hemispherical prison with a slightly convex floor. They relieved themselves in the dug-out spots.

"If necessary, we can go over a week without relieving ourselves."

At Luagarne's words, Finn nodded, looking truly envious.

After a full day had passed, Luagarne was inwardly filled with admiration. Originally, she had so many things she wanted to say, so much advice to give—to the point where something boiled up inside her. The pointers she had given him in passing weren't enough. Normally, these were words she would have summarized on the way back, but at this moment, they were becoming unnecessary for Encrid.

What did Encrid need for the next step? She had intended to give him the answer.

‘But he is already finding the answer on his own.’

Still, a few words of guidance were necessary.

Krais kept his mouth shut the entire time, consumed by the thought that this was his fault. It was supposed to be an easy task, like picking up a silver coin dropped on the ground, but suddenly they were trapped in a situation where they couldn't see an inch ahead. His mind spun rapidly to find an exit. Of course, an answer wouldn't come easily.

‘I was blinded by the Krona.’

It was a mistake born from failing to assume the worst-case scenario. Krais reflected on his error through bitter regret.

As the situation turned strange, Finn completely let go of her worries. She just observed Encrid.

‘He’s swinging his sword even here.’

Talk about consistent. But then again, to overcome the Tutor, he had to swing his sword. Still...

‘He’s definitely not normal.’

That was the thought that came to mind whenever she looked at him. Behind his outstanding skill, this kind of madness was a requirement. Watching him, Finn felt something new filling her chest—a small, yet profound realization.

At some point, she had set her own limits and stopped. While those limits were being shattered one by one after meeting Encrid, today she finally grasped the clue to a certain truth.

‘Limits are not set by me.’

Eilkaraz-style martial arts, her qualifications as a ranger—why did she not try to go further? Why did she stop?

‘Because everyone said that was enough.’

But Encrid was different. Even without saying it directly, he spoke through his actions, his attitude, and his posture toward life. Finn quietly welcomed the wave of emotion. It was unexpected, but it kept her focused.

Esther was blaming herself.

‘It was a pathetic spell. A pathetic thing that was barely even a curse.’

It was something that could hardly be said to have reached the domain of true spells. Yet she had failed to notice it and got trapped? If she had been her former self, before she became a panther, she would have bitten her tongue and died of shame.

There were excuses, of course. From casting enchantment magic on Encrid's sword to continuously consuming spell power to strengthen her body—everything was a strain. Since her body was bound by a curse and her spell world was closed, she had been operating through expedients. All of those had backfired.

‘Even so!’

To not notice something like this? It was because she had turned away from what she had to do. Because she thought the way back would be leisurely, she hadn't focused on recovery. Esther needed time to recover her spent power and lost physical strength. She didn't know what would happen next, but she wouldn't just stand by and watch.

Esther lay down. She buried her head and tried to sleep lightly. In a week at most, she would recover enough mana to break through this pathetic barrier.

As these situations intertwined, a strange period of time passed.

"It is important to know what you lack."

Even in the midst of this, Luagarne did not spare her teachings. It was separate from the Tutor's swordsmanship; it was pure instruction. Fighting to win and the proficiency of swordsmanship were different matters, and Encrid was feeling this clearly.

Luagarne was an excellent teacher. She was far superior to any instructor at the training center where Encrid had wasted his Krona.

"What happens if you don't hold cards when playing a card game?" Luagarne asked.

For Encrid, it was a perspective he had never encountered. He was inwardly surprised by the words that followed, realizing once again what an excellent mentor Luagarne was. She was someone who could go beyond teaching and set a milestone for him.

*

"The basics. Start from the basics."

"Whatever you do, you must build your body first."

"If you don't know how to grip a sword, you cannot lift it. If you don't know how to lift it, you cannot swing it!"

"Your eyes must be opened for there to be a next step, but must you keep holding the sword?"

"That's why all that's left is contemplation. Contemplate and review. You have no choice but to burn the candle of life. Until it goes out, you must burn using your own body as fuel. If you don't die, you will gain something."

"Can't you just farm? Do you really have to hold a sword?"

There had been countless instructors. They always said in unison that the basics were important. So he did just that. He was faithful to the basics. He tried to keep his eyes wide open, tried to move his feet quickly, and never swung his sword carelessly.

Even so, he would often hear those words. Telling him to just farm. Asking if he really had to hold a sword.

"If a man sits at a gambling table with a bag of silver coins, what should be in his hands?"

Luagarne had also tried to stop him at first, finding it absurd, but she seemed to enjoy the situation now. Or perhaps that was just Encrid's misunderstanding. Reading a Frok's expression was not easy for a human, but he felt it intuitively.

"Since you can't sit at a gambling table without cards."

"Yes, cards. Right now, you're a sucker sitting down with a bag of silver coins on your back."

Silver coins were the foundation. No one sits at a gambling table without a single copper coin. But then, no one sits down with just a few copper coins either.

Somehow, the moment he heard those words, he felt proud.

‘They told me to build the foundation.’

And now, they were saying that foundation was built. Because he hated his slow progress, he had struggled and sought out the Valen-style Mercenary Sword to learn it. Then, could the mercenary sword be that card?

"It can. But what's better than that is a swordsmanship refined over a long time. That Valen-style Mercenary Sword is, in the end, an attack method that is too biased. If all the cards in your hand are Jokers, you can't use them."

What an amazing analogy. A Joker only shines when linked with other cards. The Valen-style Mercenary Sword was like that.

Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu. Lionesis Oniak had defined the branches of swordsmanship. Later generations created styles based on those branches. Even Northern-style Heavy Swordsmanship was not just one thing. The same went for Central Continental Orthodox Swordsmanship. Swordsmanship was created by mixing the suitable parts of Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu, weaving them together through trial, error, and talent.

What Luagarne was talking about was one of those. To be precise, she was referring to the swordsmanship learned through the Tutor.

"This is a magic sword, but what is contained inside is real."

In reality, Encrid had rarely learned any swordsmanship other than the basics. It had all been superficial. Luagarne emphasized the necessity of a proper style once again.

"If you properly learn a swordsmanship derived from the Orthodox Sword Style, it will feel as if the opponent is reading your mind."

He was experiencing that already. The evil spirit living inside that sword was doing something similar.

"I see."

Encrid nodded, his eyes burning like fire. Reflected in the torchlight, his usual blue eyes were mixed with a reddish hue. When it came to learning, Encrid expressed his emotions without hesitation. That was incredibly fascinating to Luagarne.

‘He is truly a sword-maniac.’

Everything he had learned and mastered so far was preparation for handling a sword, rather than the actual skill of handling it. This was the gist of what Luagarne said. Encrid realized this anew as he learned through the Tutor.

"I'll go grab some swordsmanship for a moment."

With a dry joke, he gripped the sword again. It was a repetition. He just had to learn the sword through a much softer, more peaceful death than actually dying.

Honestly speaking...

‘It’s easy and fun.’

For Encrid, it was.

Encrid gripped the sword, swayed his body for a short time, and then returned. Blinking, he shook his head.

"Did you get beaten again?"

"This time, both my legs were cut off."

He was far too calm for someone saying that.

"It looked like a vertical crown slash at the end, but before I knew it, it became a diagonal neck strike."

Since he saw the process, he perceived it. Then what was needed here? Encrid picked up the broken sword he used instead of a wooden sword, along with its scabbard.

Luagarne's heart fluttered. As her interest surged, her cheeks puffed up naturally.

"You really are..."

An incredibly interesting guy. Even the Tutor could not restrict him. No, look at this—his mind had already surpassed the Tutor!

She kept those words to herself. She couldn't teach him a new swordsmanship; Luagarne was bound by a related covenant. However, guiding him on the swordsmanship he had learned elsewhere was entirely possible.

The two of them did just that. Entering the mental trial, stealing the technique, and implementing it exactly. It was possible because he perfectly controlled his body. Afterward, Luagarne refined it for him.

Once he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mastered a sequence, he gripped the sword again. This time, Encrid reported that his fingers had been cut off.

"After that, it stabbed my neck, and the blade bent like a snake."

"It used a wrist snap," was Luagarne's answer.

Training again. Even though the dark circles under his eyes grew darker, Encrid remained calm. He did take breaks; if he didn't eat and drink, his body would break down.

While resting, Finn, who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was staring blankly at the sword, muttered, "It reminds me of an old legend. There was a story about how drawing a certain sword makes you a king."

Encrid heard that. Making someone a king just for drawing a sword? He thought it was too crude, even for a legend. Isn't a king someone who exists through politics and complex situations? Well, legends are naturally exaggerated anyway.

Encrid spent most of his time immersed in swordsmanship. He had already gripped and released the sword over a hundred times. It should have looked like an act of self-abuse. But Encrid was calm. The pain remained in his body, but to someone who truly repeated "today," it felt weakened.

‘It works.’

Encrid felt joy once again in the learning process.

It took exactly a day and a half. Instead of having to die to repeat ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the day, he could immediately engage in a high-quality exchange of swordsmanship just by gripping the sword. It was thanks to immersing himself without wasting a single second.

A short but rich time passed. That was enough.

"That's enough now," Luagarne said.

Was this thanks to the Tutor? No, it wasn't. Above all, Encrid was different from before. Compared to when he struggled with feeble talent, he was a different man now.

Encrid chewed over his past "todays." In all those processes of reviewing and reflecting, how had he passed them by? What had he gained? It was a time that couldn't be described simply, but if asked to speak of it now, Encrid could summarize it in one word.

"Talent."

What he felt among the Gnoll pack had become deeply engraved in his systematized body. From the Beast's Heart to the Sense of Evasion. He had trained his body to increase his strength, agility, and reaction speed. He had even realized how to perfectly control his physical form. Boldness, concentration, and heightened senses supported him.

"You... what are you?"

Luagarne was stunned. From her perspective, it was as if a talent that hadn't existed before had suddenly manifested.

He gripped the sword once again. Soon, along with the sensation of the muddy ground, a lump of iron rushed at him.

Clang!

Sword met ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sword. If there was anything different from before... it was simply that Encrid had now grasped his opponent's swordsmanship.