Chapter 184: Liberation
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 184: Liberation
If he could just endure pseudo-death—a state akin to dying, yet far more bearable than the real thing. If he could just manage that.
Right before his eyes stood a living, breathing textbook, demonstrating every movement in vivid detail.
To Encrid, this was nothing short of a blessing. Whether it came from a magic sword or an evil spirit didn't matter—it was an opportunity.
“Think about why you're stepping your left foot to the side there.”
He even had a teacher on hand to meticulously dissect the textbook for him.
The outcome was inevitable.
Encrid soaked up the swordsmanship like a parched sponge. Or rather, he carved the movements into his body first; understanding could come later. It was a method he had mastered while honing his sense of evasion.
Is there even a need to understand it right away?
If his mind couldn't grasp it, he would simply force his body to. He could engrave the motions into his flesh through sheer repetition and worry about the theory once the muscle memory was set.
“No matter how I look at it, you’re definitely insane,” Luagarne remarked halfway through, her voice laced with awe.
Encrid simply let the comment slide. He was far too engrossed in the sword to care. In truth, he was having the time of his life.
What was the reason he had learned Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship in the first place? It was a thirst that had sprung from deep within. He had yearned for proper techniques, a proper style—a foundation that would give him the strength to forge ahead.
“Start with the basics!”
That was what every teacher, every instructor, and everyone who had ever pocketed his silver coins had told him. It wasn't that he thought they were wrong, nor did he dislike the basics.
It was just...
It's so much fun.
Like any human being, he simply wanted to see what lay beyond.
And so, Encrid smiled as he gripped the sword again and again. It was a genuine smile. A bright, incredibly pure smile.
“To be honest, you're starting to scare me a little,” Luagarne said.
“I agree. It's giving me goosebumps,” Finn chimed in.
Krais, however, remained surprisingly nonchalant. “He's always been like this, but he's especially intense right now.”
Krais had witnessed Encrid's madness countless times. If anything, he thought it was a relief that the man was smiling. Wasn't this better than him silently swinging his sword with a stony face while his palms tore open?
Gripping a magic sword and experiencing pseudo-death was something Krais himself would never dream of doing.
But if it's the platoon leader, I feel like he'd endure it just fine.
It was a passing thought born of intuition. Krais had pierced straight to the heart of the matter: as long as there was the joy of growth, Encrid could sublimate the agony of death into pure effort.
Thus, he lost himself in it. In the sword, in himself, and in the art.
A sword was a tool for killing. Swordsmanship was the method of killing one's opponent.
“Your feet, your hips, your posture—everything is for the next movement. Think.”
With Luagarne's guidance ringing in his ears, Encrid pondered constantly as he swung. To face his excellent textbook, he repeatedly gripped the spirit-possessed sword without rest. There were times when he let go of the hilt upon "dying," only to grasp it again immediately.
Once he had done this over several hundred times... the evil spirit seemed to hesitate.
Is that right? Did I see correctly?
Encrid doubted his eyes. It was strange that the entity, which usually rushed him without a second thought, didn't swing its sword immediately. For Encrid, this was the last thing he wanted.
“Let's not do this. Let's both do our best in our respective roles.”
By "respective roles," he meant that if the spirit had committed to tearing apart the mind of the one holding the sword, it should do its absolute best. Hesitating was a disappointing display.
Prompted by his sincere urging, the evil spirit fulfilled its duty.
It lunged. They fought. He trained. He learned, memorized, and mastered. He pondered and reviewed. Then, he gripped the sword once more.
The cycle repeated.
If one knew how to use their body properly, and if they could perfectly manifest what they envisioned, then the only thing left was to understand the movements. Having memorized the entire style and received Luagarne's step-by-step breakdowns, the task had become quite simple.
The creator of this magic sword and the one who bound the evil spirit to it would probably clutch their neck in outrage if they saw this, but such was the way of the world. Things rarely went exactly as planned.
“Good work.”
The evil spirit's chest had been slashed, and its head severed. A blue light flickered through the iron of the blade. It seemed to be trying to say something. Encrid watched the spirit in silence.
Soon, the spirit bound to the sword spoke.
“Thank you.”
What was there to be thankful for? The spirit began to tell its story. It was a long tale.
“Keep it short.”
Encrid had no desire to listen to a lengthy monologue. Taken aback, the spirit's blue light grew even fainter. Left with no choice, it got straight to the point.
“I was imprisoned here unjustly. And my swordsmanship was never complete—it was only half of a style. Finding the other half was my lifelong wish.”
How a mere swordsman had become an evil spirit required the power of spells and sorcery. But before that, it required a deep, lingering desire from the soul. The spirit's desire was remarkably similar to Encrid's.
One dreamed of becoming a knight.
It is the lost swordsmanship of my family.
The other wished to fully restore his swordsmanship. In terms of sheer desperation, they were cut from the same cloth.
Encrid nodded. It was a silent promise to look into it if the opportunity arose. He was already too busy chasing his own dream; he couldn't afford to shoulder the dreams of others.
In its final moments, the blue light flickered and faded, and a hazy human silhouette appeared, speaking one last time.
“And let's never meet again.”
The spirit was utterly sick and tired of him. It truly never wanted to lay eyes on a human like him ever again. It was entirely sincere.
Of course, they would never cross paths again. One, cleansed of its malice, would depart for the great beyond. The other would remain on this earth. The soul that had been an evil spirit found great comfort in this fact.
“Seriously, let's never meet again,” it repeated, just to be absolutely sure.
Encrid tilted his head. He was the one tormenting me, so why is he the one saying that?
“My family's name is...”
The final words went unheard. The spirit's energy dispersed, and everything around them began to crumble. Beyond the collapsing world, familiar faces came into view. As he emerged from his mindscape, the evil spirit bound to the sword vanished.
“You won,” Luagarne's voice reached him.
It was reality. Encrid nodded.
“Was it dangerous?”
When Luagarne asked, Encrid shook his head. It hadn't been dangerous. Once inside that space, nothing remained but swordsmanship. It was a battle of wits. He had to defeat his opponent not through brute force, but through the art of the sword itself.
He had gripped the sword well over a hundred times, though he hadn't bothered to keep an exact count. In real-time, a full day had already passed.
The Gray Veil vanished without a sound. As it dissolved, Esther raised her head and glared at Encrid. There was no mistake about it—she was glaring.
Esther was astonished. How did he pull that off?
Banishing an evil spirit through divine power or spells was one thing, but purifying and releasing it through sheer, brute-force physical endurance was another matter entirely.
The latter is difficult even for an outstanding mage.
Though she was currently a panther, Esther had once been a witch and a mage who possessed a spell world. To her, what Encrid had just accomplished defied all logic. Because of that, she found it both shocking and fascinating.
How is that even possible?
In truth, the soul had been purified because Encrid had practiced swordsmanship to a sickening, near-fatal degree, and the spirit had passed on its dream to him. But there was no way for her to know that.
The startled Esther blinked repeatedly. Encrid caught her eye.
“What? Are you hungry?” Encrid asked, waving his hand.
Dumbfounded, Esther let out a snort and lay back down. She decided to chalk it up to a series of coincidences. Even if she tried to analyze it, she wouldn't find an answer anyway.
Encrid admired Esther inwardly. For a panther, she was remarkably expressive. Even now, when he had asked if she was hungry, a look resembling pure contempt seemed to flicker across her face.
Encrid chuckled softly and sat down. While his legs weren't shaking, he had spent the entire day swinging his sword without a single breath of rest, all while mentally enduring pseudo-death. It would be a lie to say he wasn't exhausted.
Still, all things considered...
Krais was right.
Hadn't he compared it to picking up a dropped copper coin? That was exactly how Encrid felt about this ordeal. The only difference was that the coin he had picked up thinking it was copper turned out to be gold.
He had learned a new style of swordsmanship. How much further had this propelled him? It was hard to gauge. However, instead of arrogance, he had gained a measure of confidence.
The Naurilian Soldier Grading System is meaningless now.
Ultimately, he needed Rem. What if he managed to deflect Rem's axe and leave a couple of scratches on his cheek? It was a refreshing goal.
“Let's sleep here before we head out,” Encrid suggested.
There was no reason not to. The Gray Veil was gone, and there was no danger. The cave was free of insects, making it a perfect spot to spend the night.
And so, the party decided to stay.
Once asleep, Encrid had a dream. In his dream, the evil spirit appeared once more.
“Let's duel again,” it said.
Encrid nodded. This time, he won with ease. Movements might begin with understanding, but what if one had memorized them entirely? If the opponent only repeated the memorized patterns, there was no reason to lose.
Furthermore, a deeper layer of comprehension was beginning to take root. The reason for stepping the left foot to the side was to prepare for a thrust after slashing down at the crown of the head. Twisting the wrist in response to the dozens of ways an opponent might dodge or block allowed for a strike from an unpredictable angle.
Basics connected to basics, merging into a single, fluid stream. This was swordsmanship.
As he reflected on this, the dreamscape tore apart, and the Ferryman suddenly emerged from the void. He remained silent, expressing no intention. Yet, he looked deeply aggrieved.
Are you using my curse for something else? he seemed to be saying.
Encrid lightly placed his hand on his right hip, offering a military salute to express his apologies. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the cave. It had just been a bizarre dream.
“You sleep so peacefully,” Luagarne said upon his waking.
“Didn't you sleep?”
“I did.” Luagarne stared at Encrid for a moment before asking, “You truly intend to become a knight, don't you?”
There was no need for words. When Encrid nodded, she spoke calmly.
“I see. But it doesn't necessarily have to be in this country, does it?”
Her parting words carried a heavy weight, but he couldn't press her further. Having said her piece, Luagarne turned away. What she had offered was not a question, but advice. Knowing this, Encrid chose not to pry.
This country...
When he was young, he hadn't understood the concept of a nation. As he grew older, he realized that a knight bound by oaths of loyalty was vastly different from the ideal he had dreamed of.
If so, was there another path? It wasn't something he needed to worry about just yet.
When the time comes, I'll decide then.
It was enough to follow his heart and walk the righteous path. That was how he had lived his life so far—in a manner one could call conviction, or perhaps simply stubbornness.
“Let's get moving,” Encrid said.
Just as he spoke, Krais let out a startled cry.
“Oh! There's a secret compartment under the chest!” Krais looked up, locking eyes with Encrid.
Whatever this fellow Dolph's intentions were, he was clearly someone who enjoyed playing tricks. To empty the chest, distract them with a letter, trap them in a dungeon with a magic sword, and then reward only those with keen eyes with actual treasure...
“Ancient gold coins!” Krais gasped.
Something incredibly valuable had appeared. Modern currency had been standardized under the Empire's coinage. The imperial copper, silver, and gold coins served as the standard for the Krona. This monetary standard had been established for over a century.
Yet, what lay before them was an artifact from an era long past—something existing in the space between history and legend. While they weren't priceless, finding the right buyer could easily fetch ten times the value of their weight in gold.
And there were more than ten of these coins. Each coin was about the size of a palm.
“Divide them up,” Encrid said.
Krais made a tearful face but soon nodded. After forcing a share onto Luagarne, who had initially refused, they were done.
“You're taking this, right?” Krais asked, as if it were obvious. He was, of course, referring to the sword embedded in the ground.
Even before Krais finished speaking, Encrid stood before the blade once more. The sword-wielding madman had been liberated and had departed for another world.
So, what was left?
“It looks expensive, no matter how you slice it,” Krais remarked.
Encrid gripped the sword with one hand and pulled it out in a single, smooth motion. It was a display of near-monstrous strength. Perhaps because he had been using the Heart of Monstrous Strength so frequently, he felt even stronger than before.
The sword he pulled out was filthy, but its core remained intact. It seemed usable if he could salvage and sharpen the blade. He swung it a few times; the balance was decent, though the hilt and pommel would require a lot of work.
“That is strength worthy of an honorary Frok,” Luagarne praised him.
“Are you going to sell—no, you're not selling it, right?” Krais asked.
“I'm not selling it.”
It was perfect timing, as his other two swords had recently been ruined. With that, Encrid and his companions packed their belongings and truly began their journey back.
Demonic beasts and monsters were still a common sight. Perhaps due to the aftermath of the large colony, even the usual bandits were nowhere to be found.
Displaying an extraordinary rate of recovery, Finn occasionally requested sparring matches with Encrid along the way. Since they couldn't fight in earnest, they moved their limbs slowly, engaging in a battle of wits. Having mastered the new swordsmanship, Encrid had become twice as experienced, and Finn failed to win even a single match.
Eventually, the time came for Luagarne to depart.
“Well, I am off.”
“See you around.”
It was a simple farewell. Krais waved, and Finn gave a brief nod. Esther barely spared her a glance. Luagarne turned and left without any lingering regrets. Watching the solitary figure of the Frok recede into the distance, Encrid also turned around.
“She left in a flash,” Krais remarked.
“It was strange for her to stay with us in the first place,” Encrid replied.
Isn't that because of you, Platoon Leader? Krais thought, expressing his conclusion in a single, blunt word.
“Demonic charm.”
“Don't.”
It was the nickname Encrid detested the most.
“Demonic charm,” Krais repeated, raising his eyebrows.
Encrid did not let it slide.
“This is the Eilkaraz-style wrist lock. It's a good technique to learn.”
With those words, he grabbed and twisted Krais's wrist.
“Aaargh!”
Krais's scream echoed into the summer sky.
*
Without further incident, the party returned to the Border Guard.
While Encrid and his party were making their way back to the territory, the higher-ups who had dispatched the cultist—specifically, the priest of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult—received a baffling report.
“They failed?”
The speaker was the bishop in charge of the diocese, the priest's direct superior. He was a strikingly handsome man with blonde hair and thick eyebrows. Draped in a white robe adorned with gold embroidery, his appearance was nothing short of magnificent.
His face twisted in sheer disbelief as he asked, “Did an order of knights intervene?”
That was not the case.
“What? A platoon leader? A panther?”
Hearing who had actually thwarted their plans only made the situation sound all the more absurd.