Chapter 242: The Daily Routine Remained Unchanged, But What Filled It Had Changed

Translator: RaidenTL

Chapter 242: The Daily Routine Remained Unchanged, But What Filled It Had Changed

Why isn't he leaving?

Edin Molsen wasn't exactly a burden. At first, Encrid had wondered if it was truly alright to beat him like this, but repetition always brought a certain numbness.

Rather than viewing him merely as the son of Count Molsen, Encrid chose to respect him as a persistent challenger—a man whose spirit refused to surrender.

Simply put, Encrid had become fully engrossed in beating him to a pulp.

"Go easy on him. Just a little," Krais said, unable to watch any longer.

"He keeps coming at me."

It wasn't mindless violence. Edin was an opponent who challenged and attacked him relentlessly. How could he treat such a person half-heartedly?

Encrid couldn't bring himself to do it. Because his own path had been the same, he knew that if Edin realized he was holding back, it would be poison to his growth. It would be far more insulting.

To Encrid, respecting his opponent’s effort was the easier, more comfortable path. Of course, this was strictly his own perspective and method.

"Again."

Once more, Edin Molsen approached with a wooden sword. He certainly wasn't doing this out of sheer stupidity.

At least he no longer drew a real blade. In the beginning, Encrid had knocked him down without even unsheathing his weapon, but not anymore. Now, he swung, slashed, and thrust with intent.

Encrid never lost his manners. To him, manners meant acknowledging the sincerity shown by his opponent.

His manners consisted of...

Thwack!

...striking Edin's head without holding back in the slightest.

"Urgh!"

Or thrusting near his solar plexus hard enough to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠make him faint with a sharp gasp.

"Brother!"

Edin Molsen's sister, who was watching from the sidelines, gasped in shock. But that was only in the beginning. As stated before, repetition always brought numbness.

"Are you alright?"

Now, even when Edin collapsed, his sister remained indifferent. If Encrid had intended to kill him, he would have done so long ago. If he had wanted to cripple him, that too would have already happened. After all, they had already sparred over twenty times.

"Well, look who's back again. He's certainly got a sturdy body."

In a way, Rem was Edin's mortal enemy. Had he not killed Edin's brother? Yet Rem didn't seem to care in the slightest. His face was truly made of steel. Were all barbarians like this?

It was a pointless question. It didn't matter. Thick-skinned or not, Rem was Rem—a monster who wielded two axes with terrifying skill. And Encrid was more than satisfied with that monster's prowess.

"I'm warmed up."

At Encrid's words, a smile spread across Rem's face.

"I'll say this one more time..."

"That I might die?"

Even though his words were cut off, Rem kept smiling. Encrid replied to that broad grin.

"You could, too."

"Fuck, I don't usually swear easily, but you know what? I'm at my happiest when I'm smashing the Captain's jaw in."

Encrid agreed with those words, both internally and externally. He truly, deeply sympathized.

"We're alike, then."

"...Do you have a habit of slapping your own face?"

Encrid stared blankly at Rem. Those gray eyes stared right back into Encrid's blue ones.

Rem hadn't just been idling around either. If Encrid had learned the Beast's Heart from him, Rem had also learned something in return. Looking at him now, his skills had improved by leaps and bounds—specifically, his tongue-wagging skills designed to twist an opponent's mood and make their blood boil.

"Yes. I do have such a habit."

When Encrid readily admitted it, Rem furrowed his brow. "You're actually admitting it?"

There was always a bigger fish. Ignoring psychological damage and pulling out an unexpected response was the core of any verbal spat.

"Are you just going to wag your tongue?"

At the question that brought an end to the bickering, Rem's axe sliced through the air with a whoosh. Once again, he held two. Given what the Mad Platoon had accomplished lately, requesting axes from the blacksmith as supplies was child's play.

If there was one difference, it was that while the old Rem didn't care about his choice of weapon, this time he had requested them while meticulously calculating the center of gravity and balance.

"I can't make them that precisely, you know?" the blacksmith had said.

"Well, nothing to be done about that then."

Seeing how he didn't argue with the blacksmith's reply, he didn't seem to care that much. In any case, what mattered was what he could do with those modified axes.

Ting.

Encrid extended his sword and tapped the axe blade.

"Stop breaking my axes," Rem muttered as he lunged.

For a split second, it felt as if his body had suddenly expanded. That was how fast and bold he was. A sudden realization struck Encrid: to whom did the Beast's Heart originally belong? When it came to being daring and audacious, Rem was second to none.

Encrid drew his sword perpendicular to the ground. This, too, was a lightning-fast slash, but...

Swoosh.

The sword cut only empty air.

Rem's body blurred. The accelerated axes plunged down like beams of light—one from above, one from below. At first, Encrid had been caught off guard by axes that bent like whips. Once he endured that, he was struck by slashes as swift as rays of light.

So, what about now?

Clang-clang!

Encrid flicked his sword up and down. The blade rippled like a wave, deflecting the two slashes.

Soft Sword Style: Wave Crossing.

He had glimpsed it from the rapier swordsman, refined it through Pel the Shepherd, and finally perfected it while fighting Rem.

Rem didn't care that he was blocked. The moment his attack was deflected, he tossed one axe into the air. Then, holding only a single axe, he charged headlong.

Unorthodox and daring. Bizarre yet bold. That was Rem.

To put it simply, Encrid lost.

"That was close."

"Did it hit?"

"It did."

Should he be satisfied with those words? Was that enough? No, there was no need for that. Encrid had learned something new again today. More precisely, he realized what he lacked.

From the Blade's Sense to the Gate of the Sixth Sense, and the Sense of Evasion—Sachsen had called it Sensory Technique. He had never neglected to hone it, yet ironically, that very technique became the cause of his defeat.

I was too sensitive.

It was because he had paid too much attention to the axe Rem threw upward. Should he have ignored it then? Even though that bastard Rem had kicked the falling axe mid-air to accelerate it and strike his shoulder?

Selection and focus.

It was a review. He reflected and realized. It was a familiar process, Encrid's daily routine. The only difference from before was his rate of comprehension.

It was similar to when he had first awakened his talent. Just as it had been with the Beast's Heart, Sensory Technique, Single-Point Focus, and the Isolation Technique, this time was no different.

Rejection.

It was merely Rejection, but he had experienced Will. That experience had granted Encrid a completely different perspective.

What was a genius? It couldn't be explained; to them, everything was natural. It felt as though he had obtained a fraction of that naturalness. The transition from defeat to review, and the speed at which he realized his mistakes and identified what he needed, was entirely different from before.

Encrid himself didn't consciously realize this. He was simply doing what he had always done. Of course, to Rem and everyone else, it was plain as day.

To think he has Will.

To think that troublemaker Captain possessed Will.

Wow, seriously.

The fledgling who didn't know when he would die on the battlefield had somehow become a rooster with a beak of steel. No, he couldn't even be called a rooster anymore. It would be more accurate to say he had become a beast.

Hiding his admiration, Rem spoke. "That spoiled brat of a Count's son. He's definitely up to something, seeing how he keeps this up."

"I suppose so."

Already deeply immersed in his own thoughts, Encrid didn't care. Even if he had heard, he would have ignored it. Hadn't everyone, not just Rem, commented on it?

"That brother is hiding something deep inside," Audin had said.

Sachsen had gestured that it was annoying, and Krais had even formulated a few hypotheses.

"His reason for being here? Broadly speaking, I see two possibilities. First, the Count might be coveting the Captain. Second, he's trying to find the Captain's weakness."

In fact, Krais said he had felt something similar in Edin Molsen's gaze—a look that felt like surveillance or investigation. Encrid partially agreed. Edin Molsen's guard had shown a similar demeanor, but to Encrid, the guard's gaze wasn't what mattered.

Should I draw him out?

The guard had never once shown his full strength. Occasionally, his eyes would flash with a murderous glint, and Encrid had looked forward to it, but the man ultimately held back. He didn't step forward any further. He didn't display his full ability. He never raised his momentum to a dangerous level.

"That bastard knows his stuff."

According to Rem, the guard had also stepped into the realm of Will. Which meant he was at least on par with them. In any case, the guard had refused even requests to spar since then.

"I am merely Lord Edin Molsen's guard."

Then why had he attacked before? It was a test, a confirmation, a gauging of strength.

For what?

Encrid briefly wondered if he really needed to know. There was probably no need. That was why he ignored it. He ignored Edin Molsen even when he stared with those strange eyes. He ignored Edin's sister even when she stared directly at his face with a peculiar look. He ignored the guard even when he occasionally loitered around.

Sachsen had subtly suggested giving an order to get rid of them if they were bothersome, but he ignored that too. He simply gave Edin a proper fight whenever he asked to spar.

Months passed with Edin Molsen staying in the territory, and soon, the season arrived where complaints about the cold slipped naturally from everyone's lips. It felt as though it would snow any moment.

Meanwhile, there had been a few changes.

"I am Teresa, the wanderer."

The half-giant would frequently mutter to herself. It was fine during the day; it seemed like a resolution, a reminder. However, when she said it in her sleep, it was a nightmare-induced mutter accompanied by drenching cold sweat.

Whenever Audin heard those self-mutterings, he would quietly place his hand on her forehead.

"May you sleep like quietly settled ash."

For the God of War was the incarnation of burnt ash, and Audin was his representative. The prayer continued. A follower of the God of War offering prayers with his hand resting on a cultist's forehead—it was a highly incongruous sight, but even upon waking, Teresa never voiced any complaints.

After waking, she would merely blink her eyes, always cast a single glance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at Encrid at the very end, and then drift back to sleep. It was a familiar routine by now.

Aside from that, there were many other changes to their daily lives. Dunchabel decided to do other work instead of getting beaten by Rem, and the reason was Rem's coercion.

"It's only right that I receive tuition fees."

Rem argued that since he had trained Dunchabel, she had to pay the price. Dunchabel didn't mention that she hadn't wanted any of that training in the first place. In fact, she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had asked Encrid:

"What is up with that barbarian?"

It was a difficult question to answer. A madman? Someone with a broken head? A noble killer? An axe murderer? Too many options came to mind to choose just one. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Fortunately, Dunchabel didn't wait for an answer.

"My skills have improved."

When Encrid personally faced Dunchabel, he found her words to be true. Dunchabel wasn't cursing Rem; she was asking out of genuine amazement.

"They have."

Whenever she was struck hard on the thigh with the flat of his blade and whimpered, Dunchabel would shed a tiny tear and nod. She really had improved to an unrecognizable degree. Were all beastmen like this? Or was it because of some legend about golden eyes? There was no way to know. Nor did he care.

Feeling Dunchabel's gaze, he looked in her direction. He saw her golden eyes. She was currently thinking of Encrid as a monster. After enduring Rem's violence, she had gained the confidence to win even if there were two of her past self. Yet, in the meantime, Encrid had gone even further.

He's a genius.

She was mistaken, but it wasn't her fault. Anyone would have thought the same. Above all, it was Will—only a fraction of it, but Will nonetheless. He had realized it. Willpower, the exclusive domain of knights and those with knight-level martial power, had descended upon Encrid.

Watching Encrid, Ragna realized that the time had come to fill his own deficiencies—things he had recognized before but hadn't done due to a lack of motivation.

"Krais, I want a double-layered sword like this."

"Do I look like someone who just brings you whatever you want? If so, you've judged me correctly."

After weighing the pouch of Krona Ragna handed over and counting the silver coins inside, Krais showed an attitude deeply loyal to currency.

A sword appeared in Ragna's hand. The blade was unsharpened, and its size and shape were similar to a bastard sword, but its weight was several times heavier than a normal weapon. Holding the sword, Ragna began to swing it slowly.

There was no speed. He executed each movement slowly, simple-mindedly and faithfully. He spent more than half of his waking hours doing just that. It was a massive development, something that would shock anyone who knew Ragna. Encrid spent most of his waking hours training, but this man was that Ragna—the very incarnation of laziness. Although it was less than half a day, the mere sight of him training like that was nothing short of a miracle.

In any case, returning to the present, Rem demanded Krona from Dunchabel. And Dunchabel complied without complaint.

"Go earn some Krona."

Recently, packs of demonic beasts and monsters had been swarming around the area like never before. It was winter; it was only natural. When the season of food scarcity arrived, they were bound to become more rampant.

"Looks like it's going to snow," Krais said, cutting Ragna's hair.

Encrid silently looked up at the sky. Dull, dark clouds subtly crept in, blanketing the sky. If it got just a bit colder, the devil's secretion would begin to fall. Around this time last year, they had struggled quite a bit to clear the falling snow.

But now...

"Training Company, assemble!"

...this single command would be more than enough.

In any case, life went on even after the rapier swordsman departed. The daily routine remained unchanged, but what filled it was in the process of changing.

Edin Molsen had become a long-term guest, and in the meantime, his guard had left first, claiming he had business to attend to. It was a farewell without any formal goodbye.

The beginning of winter, when the first snow seemed imminent. Dunchabel went out on a request to subjugate demonic beasts. Finn had been wandering outside for some time and eventually transferred from the Independent Platoon to serve under the Elf Company Commander.

"Can I go?"

She looked more energetic leaving than she did when she first arrived, so perhaps he should consider it a good thing.

"Do as you wish," Encrid said indifferently.

There was no reason or need to hold her back. Teresa had arrived, and Finn had left. It was a day where, despite everything, the daily routine remained unchanged.

"Independent Platoon Leader, you are summoned!"

In the late afternoon, as he was swinging his sword, drenched in sweat despite the winter cold, a messenger arrived.

"They said it's urgent."

At those words, Encrid immediately headed to the Battalion Commander's office.