Chapter 253: A Night of Inspiration
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 253: A Night of Inspiration
If you have realized something, move. Act immediately.
"If even the slightest clue comes to mind, do it right away. If you procrastinate, you will let it slip through your fingers. What slips away rarely returns to be yours. To lose it is to have it vanish forever. Even the smallest realization—move your body and engrave it into your flesh."
He remembered it as a brief, passing lesson.
It had happened at a swordsmanship school in a gateway territory just before he entered the southern part of the continent, taught by a brown-skinned instructor.
Encrid did exactly as he had been told. He stood up immediately.
It didn't matter that he had only just returned to the territory today, what he had been doing before, or whether it was time for sleep. None of that mattered to Encrid.
When he stepped outside, the sun had already set. The sleet had stopped, leaving the ground a muddy mess. A nearby torch stand blazed, casting a flickering orange glow over the surroundings.
Whoosh.
The wild horse he had saved stared at him. Passing the animal in silence, Encrid began to move his body in front of the barracks.
Which muscles are important when swinging a sword?
The entire body was vital. The forearms varied his grip strength, and a strong waist served as the foundation to support a strike utilizing centrifugal force.
When cutting through flames...
His thoughts flowed, arriving at the moment he had cleaved the fire. Spell manifestation through a scroll—it was a wondrous and mysterious thing, but the only reality that had unfolded before his eyes was a fireball hurtling toward him.
He recalled his movements from that moment. He had swung his sword perpendicular to the ground.
The back.
Inside Encrid’s mind, the muscles of his body split and scattered. He suppressed his five senses to open a single, intuitive sensory domain. Then, by contemplating his own anatomy, he turned his existence into a continuous cycle of training.
Encrid mimicked the motion of chopping firewood. It was the motion he needed right now. Simultaneously, he observed the minute shifts of the muscles in his body.
It was the beginning of change. The foundation of progress. Something that would become a cornerstone.
There were those watching from inside the barracks: the Madman Company.
Dunchabel drooled, sucked it back in with a slurp, and stood up. If she copied those movements, wouldn't there be something to gain?
"Don't even think about it, Sister. You'll only break yourself."
The one who stopped her this time was Audin. He held her back and stepped forward. He thought the man performing what looked like a frantic fit under the moonlit night was a truly fascinating individual.
Why do You grant such joy to this sinful servant?
Audin muttered to his master, his father, and his God as he took a step forward.
What was Encrid trying to do right now? It was not simply doing as he was taught or told, but a process of embarking on a journey to find joy on his own. It was a path walked to contemplate and identify the deficiencies of his own body, and to forge it anew.
How could watching that not be joyful?
Though he had taught the Isolation Technique—or degraded versions of it—to countless people, this was a realm none of them had ever reached. It was incredibly rare to find anyone who found joy in the sheer process of teaching and learning the Isolation Technique.
"Weight, center of gravity, inhale and expand your abdomen. If your center is disrupted, it is all for naught, Brother."
Audin spoke as he stood beside him. Encrid absorbed his words like a sponge.
Yesterday's technique and today's technique would be vastly different. If everything until now had been driven by habit and inertia, from today onward, he would row his small boat in the right direction, like a ferryman who had finally found his bearings.
Unable to contain his delight, Audin burst into a hearty laugh as he instructed him. It was loud enough to make the passing soldiers in the barracks turn their heads. Their eyes shook with bewilderment.
"What is he doing?"
"Didn't they just get back today?"
"Why is he dancing with a rock in his hand?"
"Is the Madman Company called that not because they fight like madmen, but because they're actually insane?"
Such whispers were exchanged. To them, it was far from a normal sight.
Inside the quarters Audin had just left, Rem quietly pulled the door shut.
"You're letting the cold wind in."
Dunchabel was disappointed to see the door close. She had wanted to watch what Encrid was doing a little longer.
"Hey, just ignore him. Don't act like you know him," Rem grumbled. "If you're going to go crazy, do it gracefully. Why is he acting up at bedtime? It's downright embarrassing to watch."
No one responded. They were naturally that kind of crowd.
Unable to hold back, Dunchabel slipped outside anyway. Rem didn't bother to stop her. In truth, his own mind was growing crowded with thoughts.
Good grief.
What kind of man could be like that? He had gone to the battlefield and fought, yet he didn't get excited about displaying such absurd martial prowess. He let the cheers of those he saved pass right through him. Even after seeing an axe imbued with sorcery, he showed no greed. He remained indifferent to gold coins and jewels.
And then, after falling into a solitary meditation with unfocused eyes and drooling, he had dashed outside to pull this stunt.
Is that normal?
No, it wasn't. But that abnormal sight had served as a spark for Rem as well. After all, hadn't an axe harboring flames just fallen into his hands? It was undoubtedly an item imbued with sorcery, meaning it could be wielded with ease. Some lingering resentment had resided within the weapon, but Encrid had cleansed it.
Rem looked back on what he had left behind when he departed from his tribe. They were things of his that he would have to reclaim one day. As his thoughts chained together, he began to digest the stimulation that Encrid had provided.
Gripping his axe, Rem sank into his own world. If there were moments when physical training was paramount, there were also moments when refining and manifesting what one already possessed was what truly mattered. For Rem, it was currently the latter.
And for Ragna, it was the former.
He, too, could not tear his eyes away from Encrid. He had stared blankly at the door even after Encrid left, and continued to do so even after Rem closed it. It was the same when Audin left, and when Dunchabel left.
Was this what it felt like?
The feeling of one's blood boiling? If a human's blood actually boiled, they would die. Yet, that was exactly how it felt.
Inside the quarters that felt both spacious and cramped, he sat perched on the edge of his bed. Ragna felt his blood seething. His pounding heart urged him: Go outside and swing your sword right now.
But he did not. The training sword he had custom-made back at the Border Guard was terrible.
Physical strength.
Ragna was a genius; he had realized his own shortcomings long ago. He had already mastered his method of training, but he needed the aid of proper tools. Normally, such things wouldn't even be necessary.
But look at that man.
He felt a sudden urge to show the world what kind of man Encrid was. How could he not be unsettled after witnessing that? This was why impatience had taken root in the easygoing genius. It was a powerful impression that forced him onto a path he had never wished to walk.
Thus, Ragna wished to forge his own tool. Perhaps a dwarf blacksmith could craft what he desired? Ragna yearned and wished. He wanted to go further.
This was an intense stimulant that went far beyond a mere desire to swing a sword. It was as if he had tasted a poisonous mushroom or a drug he should never have touched. His heart and mind throbbed and burned of their own accord, slipping past the control of his will.
The three of them were not the only ones inspired. Teresa's eyes also wavered restlessly behind her mask. What was it that drove that man to move like that?
The answer lay within her.
The joy of battle.
The instinct for struggle, the blood of a giant, was stirring. Teresa also kicked open the door and stormed out. It felt as though she wouldn't be able to sleep a wink without having a spar with that man right this instant. It would be an untimely duel under the moonlight, but did that matter? Not at all.
With that, Teresa burst through the door.
"What's wrong with her now?"
Krais, who had been examining jewels and various items, looked up. Seriously, not a single one of them was normal.
Through the open door, he could see Encrid, Audin, and Dunchabel. Dunchabel listened to a few words from Audin and froze in a half-squatting posture. Whenever she wobbled even slightly, Audin would smile, grip her shoulder with his palm, and pull her back into place.
"That hurts!" Dunchabel cried out. Pain was suffering, and suffering was a force that immediately made one speak.
"It is meant to hurt, Sister. So, correct your posture," Audin's voice drifted in.
Beside them, Teresa muttered something inaudible. A few nearby soldiers stole glances to watch the spectacle, while the wild horse looked on indifferently.
Krais felt a fleeting sense of worry, but brushed it aside. What he held in his hand right now was a high-priced ruby nicknamed the Crimson Flame.
If I sell this properly, it'll easily fetch over several hundred gold coins.
What did they call it, an explorer's tomb? And they said there are more of these tombs across the continent? Should I just switch careers to a treasure hunter?
No, absolutely not.
That was something you shouldn't do even if you had spare lives. No matter how outstanding a swordsman was, one wrong step on a trap would have them knocking on heaven's door or swimming in the rivers of hell.
I should just stick with this guy.
Encrid was a storm-bringer. By staying by the captain's side, they might find another tomb, or at least encounter similar opportunities. Even now, the guild at the Border Guard was providing a stable income. He wanted to live buried in gold coins.
With his eyes practically turning into gold coins, Krais stared outside and spoke to Sachsen, who was beside him.
"Seriously, everyone here is bizarre, aren't they?"
He spoke without realizing he was no exception. Normally, Sachsen would have ignored or dismissed such a question, letting it pass.
"Perhaps."
Yet, an answer actually came back.
What's up with this guy now?
Krais turned his gaze toward Sachsen. A similar fire was burning in Sachsen's eyes. Cold yet hot? Well, it felt something like that. Sachsen had also been inspired.
"What do you expect from a technique meant for killing?"
It was a question his master had once asked. Why had he asked that back then?
"You enjoy this far too much. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing here. Well, not that it's any of my business."
His master's words echoed in his mind once more. Though his master had been broken in many ways, there had been no falsehood in those words. Sachsen himself had found joy in learning techniques. He had also found joy in refining the art of killing.
But after engraving his master's words, his past life experiences, and his goals into his heart, he had forgotten that joy. Because it was unnecessary.
Yet now, someone had violently dragged up a desire he had buried deep within the abyss of his chest.
Ah.
Sachsen's heart fluttered, just as it had when he first held a sword. Desire and longing merged into a powerful stimulant, making him want to swing his blade. What if he refined his Sensory Technique even further? He wanted to revisit and train every single technique to push himself further. The desire for growth surged within him.
All of this had been set in motion simply because Encrid had dashed out into the moonlit night. Because these shifts occurred within each of them, the quarters remained quiet, yet it was a moment that marked a clear and undeniable change.
"Honestly..."
Krais shook his head and focused back on his work.
*
The night of inspiration passed, and Encrid woke up at the crack of dawn the next day.
Previously, he had found so much joy in using Rejection, but now, training the Isolation Technique was so incredibly fun it was driving him mad. Just moving his body felt like a unique form of stimulation.
Once he finished his morning training, the Castellan invited them to a meal.
"Let's go fill our bellies."
Encrid gathered everyone and headed out.
"I must thank you again, but what was that last night? Why were you doing that under the moonlight?"
It had been such an extraordinary night that even the Castellan, who knew Encrid well, couldn't help but ask.
"It was a good night for training," Encrid gave a brief reply.
Even if he explained in detail, the Castellan wouldn't understand. That someone like him must never let go of even the smallest clue. That he had set his life's direction and was moving forward accordingly. And that his dream was now within reach of his fingertips. How could he explain all of this, piece by piece?
"Right, never mind." The Castellan gave up trying to understand.
Breakfast was a feast. There was well-roasted mutton, marinated pork ribs, steamed catfish, butter and cheese, wine mixed with milk and water, and clear water on the side. The highlight among them was the bread. Its white, soft interior truly proved why Martai was called the Territory of Bread.
"This is incredible," even Rem was impressed by the meal.
"Where is the blonde one?" the Castellan asked.
"He's a heavy sleeper in the mornings," Krais answered instead.
He was referring to Ragna. Encrid didn't care, and the Castellan let it slide. After all, weren't they all madmen? It was hardly surprising that they wouldn't care about a summons from a Castellan.
Resting well and eating well were also important. Encrid ate and drank without pause. His squad members did the same.
"They certainly have good appetites."
The Castellan offered pleasantries, expressing gratitude to those who fought for his territory. Having transitioned from a guard captain to ruling the territory, he seemed to have gained a certain gravity.
"Are you returning this afternoon?"
"No, we'll stay a bit longer before we head out."
When Encrid mentioned he was planning to commission a dwarf, the Castellan nodded. "The local dwarves can be a bit rough. I hope you'll go easy on them."
What did he mean by that? With catfish meat still in his mouth, Encrid nodded indifferently.
After finishing their meal, they moved their bodies again for a while. The aftereffects of last night's inspiration still lingered. Only after washing away their sweat did they head toward the territory's market.
Krais led the way. "I've already memorized the streets." It was Krais's habit to map out escape routes and assess his surroundings.
The first place they arrived at upon entering the market was a small tavern. Martai's market was bustling, but the streets were narrow and crowded. Newly built houses could be seen here and there, along with a building with a domed roof—a temple.
Seeing it, Rem said solemnly, "You should go there, Captain," but Encrid ignored him.
Entering the tavern, Krais spoke. "The bread here is another delicacy. I think they call it rusk? They sprinkle sugar and butter on it, and the taste is just..." He gave a thumbs-up, indicating how excellent it was.
It was a bread that hadn't been served at breakfast. Just as Krais had said, it was superb. It wasn't soft, but rather hard; they said it was made by baking already-baked bread once more.
Doesn't that mean it's half-burnt?
Regardless, as long as it tasted good, that was all that mattered. And so, they ate the rusk and well-steamed duck for lunch. It felt as though they were focusing solely on moving, eating, and drinking, but they planned to visit the dwarf after finishing lunch.
In the middle of their meal, someone kicked open the tavern door and walked in.
"What are you looking at? Give me a plate of bread."
Then, sitting down, the newcomer fixed a steady gaze on Encrid. From the way he glared to his overall attitude, it was obvious. Anyone could see he was looking for a fight.