Chapter 257: On How to Handle an Idiot (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 257: On How to Handle an Idiot (2)
Krais did exactly as Encrid commanded.
‘A way to deal with the Black Sword.’
Wasn't that exactly what he had been told to find?
Krais pondered, racking his brain. It was a given that the Black Sword was plotting something. The question was, what would they do?
But even before that, how did he even know they had such intentions? It was simple: the enemy had told them. In that sense, they were quite kind.
‘Or they’re just idiots.’
He leaned toward the "idiot" theory, but that wasn't what mattered right now.
"If you think about it, isn't it obvious?" Krais asked.
"What is?"
"These bastards. They kindly warned you, Boss, that they wouldn't leave you alone. And even after you slit the throat of the guy who said that? They sent another one."
Krais spoke as he stepped into the morning sunlight. Pulling his coat tight to block out the chilly air, he continued his analysis.
Meanwhile, Encrid was holding his sword, waving it this way and that. To Krais’s eyes, it looked like someone stirring a ladle in a pot of stew. He was literally just flailing it around.
"This time, they kindly sent someone who doesn't even belong to their group, asking us not to kill him. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if they're actually just really gentle folks."
"Bandits? Gentle?"
"Or they’re just idiots."
The enemy was an idiot—and a kind one at that. Even so, Krais couldn't stop imagining the worst. It was a habit born from the environment he grew up in and his own cynical nature.
‘What if they send a Knight?’
If a Knight-level opponent arrived, could they actually hold out?
He watched Encrid training. Behind him, he saw the closed door of their lodging. Within those stone walls, behind that dull, dark brown door, lay a collection of freaks: a barbarian sleeping wrapped in furs and heating stones because he was cold; a big bear of a man who had beaten up a priest yesterday just because he didn't like him; a directionless fool who wandered at will; a brooding figure who vanished at the drop of a hat; a half-giant former cultist; and a beastman who used to be a bandit.
‘Could we actually take on a Knight?’
For a brief moment, a useless thing called hope intruded upon his grim imagination.
Nonsense. A Knight was a Knight. They were monsters, walking disasters. Krais shook his head, clearing the thought.
"So, what's the plan?"
Encrid was attempting a specific movement, swaying his sword left and right, lifting his feet and bringing them back together. To Krais, it looked like a dance—a dance performed while stirring stew.
Staring blankly at his captain, Krais spoke as his grim thoughts ran wild. "We have to do everything we can."
He meant it literally. The enemy had kindly informed them of the upcoming raid.
‘If I were a bandit...’
If he were the leader of the Black Sword and wanted to kill this group, what would he do?
‘The captain is an Associate Knight who has awakened his Will.’
On top of that, every single member of his company was a monster.
The dwarf used her insight to compare people to metals. The elf, with his characteristic sensitivity, compared others to flora and fauna. Krais, however, viewed his fellow company members as gold coins.
‘How many coins are they worth?’
Immeasurable. With his current capacity, he couldn't even estimate their value. In one light, they were troublemakers who only caused losses, but in another...
‘An incomparable force.’
From an outsider's perspective, they would undoubtedly be judged as an overwhelmingly powerful unit. Krais's mind spun rapidly, calculating what the Black Sword could do, what they were likely to do, and what they would almost certainly attempt. The words spilled from his mouth.
"Assassination, ambush, poison, bribery."
Those were the four main methods.
Encrid was no idiot either. He paused his sword mid-swing. His next movement didn't flow cleanly; he had just failed an attempt to mimic the Snake Walk.
"The journey back will likely be the real problem," Encrid noted.
"And the solution?"
To the same question, Krais made only one request. "Company Commander Torres—no, is he Battalion Commander now? If we ask Battalion Commander Torres for support, will he lend us troops?"
"Probably."
There was no reason he wouldn't. But the duration would be the issue. Torres couldn't leave his own territory vacant for too long. There was no need for Encrid to point out what Krais already knew: Martai was short-handed as well.
That was why a plan to hire mercenaries and turn them into private soldiers was already underway. They were making a massive move this time, intending to pour in all the Krona they earned to completely wipe out the monsters and demonic beasts in the Grateful Forest area.
Encrid thought about Martai's situation, the battle with the colony, and his own training. For the safety of the trade routes, what could the Border Guard do?
‘What if they expand their patrol area?’
The thought was vague. He needed to think deeper.
"We're heading back as soon as we get the weapons from the dwarf, right?"
"The moment we receive them."
If there were no issues, that was the plan.
"Understood."
With that, Krais disappeared for the morning. Encrid once again had time to himself—time for his sword and his soul.
*
At dawn, he had practiced the Isolation Technique with Audin. Audin's words lingered in his heart.
"If you have found the answer to why you train your body, then next is 'how,' is it not? And I believe I have already shown you that method, have I not?"
Audin was a good teacher. His words meant Encrid had to think for himself; he was saying the foundation had already been laid.
Encrid was neither dull nor stupid. The only problem was his body, which rarely moved as he wished.
So, what about now?
‘Because I move forward.’
He faced tomorrow. He could face it. That mindset remained the same, but now, it was twice as enjoyable as before.
Encrid swung his sword. Even if the movement felt meaningless, it didn't matter. That was his way of thinking—his method of meditation.
He entered his own world. He submerged himself, sinking deep to observe, contemplate, and grasp. He layered his thoughts upon his previous realizations.
‘No one is telling me which swordsmanship to master.’
Even Ragna, who had taught him the Heavy Sword Style, didn't particularly care if he used a different sword.
Right on cue, Ragna came out, stood beside him, and swung the absurdly heavy sword forged back at the Border Guard blacksmith. There were no fancy movements—just a straight, honest strike from top to bottom. It felt as if the sunlight itself was being cleaved by the blunt blade.
‘Cleave, and cleave again.’
No matter what blocks it, cleave. That was Ragna's sword, his essence. The core of the Heavy Sword Style.
Encrid reviewed everything he had learned.
The Valen-style Mercenary Sword was an Illusion Sword.
The Nameless Swordsmanship was an Orthodox Sword.
What he learned from Ragna was the Heavy Sword.
Afterward, he had learned the basics of the Soft Sword from Ragna and mastered it to some extent on his own. By watching his enemies, he had realized how to deflect and sway.
‘No, I learned this from Audin as well.’
Valaf-style Martial Arts.
Martial arts, in the end, meant using one's hands, feet, and body as weapons—the shortest weapons a human could use. What were the basics? Deflecting, speed, weight, lightness. Everything was mixed together. It could not be neatly divided into the five essences of Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu.
Valaf-style Martial Arts was an all-encompassing technique. A perfected ideal. It was not swordsmanship, yet he could still apply parts of it to his blade.
Swinging in deep immersion, Encrid reflected on what he possessed and focused on the Soft Sword. Even when training his physical body, he placed great weight on flexibility. Though he still lifted heavy stones and iron blocks, he spent just as much time loosening and stretching every single muscle fiber.
Why the Soft Sword? Because he had properly opened his Sixth Sense.
‘The Soft Sword is defense—a defensive form.’
For that, the most important thing was the eyes. In other words: perception. Only by seeing and grasping properly could one twist and deflect the point of contact.
Everything seen, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt... the five senses blurred and merged, replaced by a single sensation. If his previous Sixth Sense had been merely a branch of a new sensation, an extension of the five senses, now it was a new sense in the truest sense.
There was a reason people described this as opening a third eye.
Sachsen, having slipped out at some point, sat on a rounded boulder chair to one side. It was a stone chair roughly carved from a large rock embedded in the ground. It must have been freezing to sit on in winter, but Sachsen didn't seem to mind. His own training had been far harsher and more painful than this; a little cold didn't even register.
Encrid's figure entered Sachsen's view.
‘What...’
‘...makes that man move like that?’
It was a lingering question. Yet, just like that question, a reason to remain here had also taken root.
‘Entangled.’
The captain had become a necessary person for Sachsen to achieve his own goals.
"Yaaawn. Hey, wildcat. What are you staring so hard at?"
Rem, the barbarian, also came outside, yawning wide. It was a petty provocation, and Sachsen ignored him as usual. Rem's gaze shifted to his captain.
"...Well, look at this?"
The barbarian expressed a rare moment of surprise. It was the same for Ragna and Audin. Swinging a sword while completely immersed in one's own world—they were all people who had experienced this at least once. They recognized Encrid's state immediately.
He was deeply absorbed, locked within his own world.
Was it dangerous? No. Rather, it was an opportunity—one of the few training opportunities in a lifetime. An opportunity to realize one's limits and leap several steps forward in an instant.
"Hey, cat, we need to secure the perimeter. You too, directionless fool. Hey, big bear?"
"I know, brother. Sister Teresa and Sister Dunchabel, you must join us as well," Audin spoke, and they moved quietly.
On this sudden winter morning, Encrid's companions formed a circle around the lodging. Their task was simple.
"Don't come near. And don't make any loud noises."
Crowd control. They turned away anyone who approached.
"Hey, I heard you beat up a priest. I came to talk about that," the Castellan said, visiting the site.
"That man was someone shameful to even call a priest, Brother Castellan. At any rate, not right now."
To some, this was incomprehensible. A few of the soldiers frowned, wondering what the group was doing. Those who understood Encrid's state simply backed away quietly. More than half of the soldiers in Martai's barracks were Easterners, and while Easterners were tough, stubborn, and noisy...
"Make a sound, and I'll split your head open."
"It is said that silence is golden. The Lord said, raise your battle cry on the field, but be gentle when you return home. Therefore, I kindly ask you to sew your mouth shut for a moment and remain quiet."
"Quiet. Or I cut."
"Do not cross this line."
The four acted according to their usual personalities. Dunchabel quietly watched Encrid and began to move her own body as well. Impatience tormented her; she had to train in whatever way she could.
Teresa found the man fascinating all over again.
‘I am Teresa the Wanderer.’
After steadying her mind with her usual mantra, what she saw was a face smiling like a madman while swinging a sword alone.
‘Is even training enjoyable? Not just battle?’
Born and raised in the embrace of a cult, Teresa did not know the world. Her world was narrow. Even now, she did not know the right or wrong of her choices. Except for one thing.
‘I want to fight.’
She wanted to swing her sword at the man occupying the small training ground. Fiercely enough to split his skull. She wanted to execute a shield charge against his torso. She wanted to throw punches and kick him.
She wanted to fight.
With a chilling level of desire boiling up, the morality of the matter didn't import.
"Calm down and control your heart, Sister."
It was Audin, always by her side, who spoke. Teresa adjusted her mask and replied.
"I am Teresa the Wanderer. I endure well."
Patience is a virtue. Though she was born with no relation to such virtues, she now wished to uphold them. Only then could she fight him and meet her moment of ecstasy.
*
Within his own world, Encrid sometimes wandered, sometimes ran, and sometimes crawled. It didn't matter which. He thought of swordsmanship.
Midway through, the Ferryman appeared like an illusion and spoke. Since his face was visible now, it felt as if some strange familiarity might develop. That was what happened when you saw someone often.
"You madman, this is not a wall I built."
What was he talking about? It was an illusion, a hallucination. Encrid ignored it. What mattered right now was not the Ferryman, nor was it the repeating today.
Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu.
Among the five divisions of swordsmanship, the ones Encrid had properly mastered were the Orthodox and the Heavy. However, even though he had mastered them, they felt uncomfortable. Aside from the difficulty, he had never felt they fit him perfectly. Why?
‘Clothes that do not fit my body.’
Swordsmanship built upon talent, rooted in talent, and cultivated on the soil of talent. It was not the path of a dullard.
He hadn't realized all of this just now. Rather, he simply moved toward the next step, guided by what he felt in the realm of his Sixth Sense and intuition. Still walking, crawling, running.
Simply.
‘Where is my path?’
He merely set his direction through that brief question. In this way, Encrid moved beyond the basics of the Soft Sword Style and found a new path. It was the process of creating a new swordsmanship.
Everything couldn't be done at once. Emerging from his immersion, Encrid merely understood what he had accomplished. He also knew that the process of refining what he had achieved today—integrating it into his body and continuing to build upon it—still lay ahead.
‘Swordsmanship.’
Whether it was aiming to become a Knight or creating a new swordsmanship, both were incomparably crazy endeavors that would sound like empty, fabricated tales to others.
But so what? Since when had the gaze of others ever mattered?
When he finally awoke from his immersion, the sun was still high in the sky.
‘It was only a brief moment.’
Encrid thought as he raised his head, only to find the Dwarf Girl pouting her lips in front of him.
"Hey, I'm a busy person too, you know," the dwarf said.