Chapter 258: On How to Handle an Idiot (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 258: On How to Handle an Idiot (3)
“What, you think you’re the only one who’s busy?”
Encrid blinked twice, staring blankly at the dwarf.
A sharp disconnect existed between his perception of the situation and reality. First, he assessed his physical condition.
He felt a gnawing hunger, as if he hadn't eaten in days, and his muscles trembled as though they had been pushed to their absolute limit. His vision was a blur. The issue with his sight was clearly due to exhaustion—and not just ordinary fatigue. It felt as if he had spent several days scaling a mountain without a wink of sleep or a single bite of food.
His body felt that heavy. A sense of profound lethargy from extreme overexertion washed over him; he could barely even clench his fists.
For a body tempered enough to swing a sword for two days straight without rest, being in this state was nonsensical.
“How much time has passed?” Encrid asked, opening and closing his hands. The strain on his system was palpable.
“...This guy’s got gall that could rival an elf’s,” the dwarf girl said, her lips curling in disbelief.
Encrid didn't actually need an answer from her. He could see Rem and Ragna standing behind her.
Rem, who was busy picking his ear, spoke first. “It’s been a bit over three days. So, did you have your fun?”
“Was it worth it?” Ragna asked, watching him with arms crossed.
Faced with their rapid-fire questions, Encrid turned his focus inward once more.
What exactly happened?
The time that had passed like a dream remained etched in his mind. Every moment, every step had been an epiphany. At the end of those steps, Encrid had been utterly consumed, lost in a state of total immersion.
He had pursued a goal and reached his destination.
A sword style.
He had created one.
He couldn't give it a proper name yet, nor could he fully organize its principles, but one thing was certain: he had birthed a single form of a Soft Sword Style.
Usually, masters of the blade refined the techniques they had learned throughout their lives and passed them down only in their twilight years. Even for those with deep attainments, refining an existing style was a monumental task.
Yet Encrid had created something new.
Thump.
His heart raced of its own accord. Setting aside the physical exhaustion, a smile of pure joy spread across his face as he envisioned the days ahead spent mastering and realizing what he had forged.
“You’re smiling? Have you finally gone a bit mad?”
“I was already planning to take him to a temple in a large territory for treatment anyway, dwarf girl,” Rem interjected as the dwarf circled her finger near her ear.
Filled with rapture and delight, Encrid didn't even bother responding to Rem.
“Look at him, he’s absolutely loving it,” Rem grumbled, but even that didn't register in Encrid's ears.
Ragna, who had been observing Encrid, gave a solitary nod. “It seems it was productive.”
The dwarf girl was a wanderer who had traveled the continent for over a decade. Even for her, this was a rare sight. Regardless of their individual talents or temperaments, these people—Encrid included—were simply, purely insane.
*
The dwarf had arrived a day before Encrid woke up, and until then, the others hadn't let her get anywhere near him. They only brought her over after seeing him finally come to his senses and hearing her incessant complaints.
“I told you, just leave the weapons and go,” Rem said.
The dwarf shook her head. “I have to see the faces of the bastards who are going to use the weapons I made. That’s my rule.”
The dwarf girl made it an ironclad principle to personally hand over her creations and speak with the recipients. Dwarves occasionally adhered to their own idiosyncratic rules with an almost obsessive compulsion, and this was one of them. It was the reason she had stayed this long despite whining about wasting time.
Regardless, her dissatisfaction quickly evaporated.
“I see.”
Encrid ignored his lethargy and showed her the utmost attention.
The rest of the platoon members were either lounging around, not listening, trying to preach divine teachings at her, or simply ignoring her altogether. At least the one named Krais was somewhat decent to talk to, but that big-eyed human was so busy it was hard to even see his face.
In the midst of that, Encrid’s attentive posture was enough to melt the dwarf girl’s heart. In terms of listening attitude alone, Encrid possessed the finest mindset on the continent.
Her mood softened instantly. Her naturally broad-minded personality also played a part.
“Well, at least you’re the harmless kind of crazy,” the dwarf remarked as she handed over the weapons.
The commission consisted of two swords and two axes. They were laid out neatly on a wide piece of leather. She picked up one of them.
“To be honest, smithing isn't my primary specialty. My talents lie elsewhere. Still, it’ll be better than anything made by some half-baked amateur.”
The nameless dwarf spoke with confidence, and Encrid acknowledged her words. She handed him a weapon encased in a leather scabbard. He took it, gripping the hilt as she presented it to him.
It had a significant weight to it. The blade wasn't long, but it was thick—about as thick as the Guard Sword he currently used. Its length was slightly longer than a shortsword. It was a sword designed as a variation of the gladius.
When he drew the sword, the blade revealed itself to the world with a smooth slide. The silver body flowed in a gentle, streamlined curve.
“Sleek,” Rem commented from the sidelines.
It was exactly as he said. If it were a woman, she’d be a beauty; if a man, he’d be handsome. It was similar to the Naidel used by the elven company commander, yet distinctly different. It possessed a certain heft, and its sturdiness was apparent at a glance.
“Since you already have one decent sword, I figured this would be appropriate as a sidearm,” the dwarf said, gesturing toward the original sword at Encrid's waist.
Though she had taken the liberty of making something he hadn't specifically requested, her assessment was spot on. His original sword was indeed a masterpiece. It was impressive that she had recognized its quality without even seeing it drawn.
As expected of a dwarf, he thought, before clearing his mind of distractions.
Without taking a moment to rest, Encrid stood in the training ground and swung the new sword a few times. What he liked most was the center of gravity. It felt perfectly balanced, centered about two finger-widths above the hilt. It seemed it would make an excellent throwing weapon for his Flicking Sword Style as well.
“Cut, throw, block, or bash. I made it sturdy so you can use it however you like,” the dwarf explained.
Her description matched his impression. The sensation of both cutting and throwing felt right in his hand. In particular, the pointed tip and the length of the upper blade made it look ideal for thrusting.
Encrid tossed the sword into the air, let it spin a few times, and caught it. The balance was indeed superb. He snatched the hilt firmly and swung it through the air a few more times. His movements were noticeably smoother than before, possessing a newfound flexibility.
He had broken through his shell, and a change had occurred. Of course, only a few people noticed.
Encrid, sword in hand, nodded. It was a nod of satisfaction.
Watching him, the dwarf was inwardly impressed.
Look at this guy. Someone had once again stoked the fire and carved this stone. It was a transformation. And for such a change to occur in such a short time?
His talent is no joke.
The dwarf was mistaken, though understandably so. The truth was that countless hours of effort had accumulated, and they had simply happened to burst forth in alignment with the present moment. To the dwarf, however, he looked like a pure lump of genius.
“Aren't you going to give me mine?” Rem urged from behind.
The dwarf casually tossed the axes. She threw both simultaneously, and Rem caught the hilts of both axes with precision. It went without saying that the axes were also magnificent.
Even Rem—that ill-tempered Rem—was moved to say:
“...I’m glad I didn't turn that dwarf into a stuffed specimen back then.”
For some reason, the dwarf girl burst into laughter at that. It was hard to tell what was so funny about it, making one question the dwarf’s mental state.
Rem examined the two axes, looking them over intently. The fire axe had a sharp weight attached to the end, suggesting it could be used like a pick-style weapon for striking with the butt of the handle. The other one was the axe she had mentioned making by melting down the entire glaive used by the Centaur Leader.
“It’s heavy. I like it,” was Rem’s honest review. Naturally, everyone was satisfied.
Finally, Ragna, who had received his sword, spoke to the dwarf.
“It is adequate.”
What he had received was a Northern-style Zweihander. A two-handed sword meant to be swung with both hands, its blade was twice as thick as others, and the pommel and hilt were both oversized.
“I finished it with a Northern-style polish,” the dwarf said with a smile.
Though she claimed she wasn't an artisan and that smithing wasn't her forte, perhaps it was an innate trait of her race. She wore a gratified smile as she watched them appreciate their new weapons.
“Good, that settles it. Let’s meet again if the chance arises.”
The girl spoke heartily and turned to leave, but paused to look at Krais. Krais had appeared at some point and was staring blankly at the dwarf girl after watching the others receive their weapons.
“Hey, human kid.”
In terms of appearance, she was the one who looked like a kid, but the tone and title suited her surprisingly well.
“Yes?”
“I’ll consider making something for you once you’ve polished yourself into a gemstone.”
Krais nodded, not quite understanding. He didn't know exactly what she meant, but he figured it was a promise to meet again, so he took it as a good thing.
And so, the dwarf departed.
After she left, all eyes turned to Encrid.
“Are you feeling alright? What kind of person skips meals just to swing a sword?” Krais asked.
“As you can see.”
His muscles were strained, but not to the point of collapse. He was hungry, but not to the point of starving to death. Everyone in the company knew that Encrid had seized an opportunity to grow. However, no one stepped forward to pry. What Rem and Ragna had said when he first woke up was the extent of it.
Word had it that while he was immersed, oblivious to his surroundings and unable to hear a thing, they had taken turns standing guard like sentries to ward off anyone who approached.
As Torres later put it: “He was harder to meet than a king.”
Regardless, after the dwarf left, Encrid slept for an entire day. He woke up, filled his stomach, and went right back to sleep. What he thought had been a brief moment had actually been three days, and he had supposedly swung his sword throughout that entire period of immersion.
Sometimes fast and powerful. Other times slow, like a sea turtle. But he had never stopped.
Naturally, his muscles had been pushed to the limit, but his body had been tempered by the Isolation Technique. After a full day of deep sleep, he was back to normal.
While resting, eating, and sleeping after waking from his trance, Encrid organized the realizations he had gained. It wasn't until the late afternoon of the second day that he spoke.
“Rem.”
Rem had been sitting in a corner of the quarters, stroking his axes. Bullying Dunchabel out of boredom only lasted so long; he was just about to get restless.
“I’ve been waiting a long time.”
Rem sprang up at the welcome call. The axes in his hands gleamed with oil.
It was time to spar.
The result was that Encrid did not win. In fact, he lost more easily than before.
“Again.”
He thrust his sword toward the axe blades, repeating the same maneuvers over and over, but he rarely succeeded. A few times he was halfway successful, but naturally, it wasn't enough to satisfy him.
Consequently, he was repeatedly pushed back. But what did that matter? More important than winning or losing a spar was internalizing the new techniques he had created.
“Good.”
The sparring, which began before sunset, continued until they were drenched in sweat, finally ending after midnight. There was an incident where a maid, complaining about having to heat bathwater so late, went silent upon seeing the state of Encrid’s body.
Inspired by something, Zimmer requested a spar with Ragna after seeing him swinging his sword morning and night. Audin’s prayer sessions grew longer, and his expression seemed to have softened even more. Dunchabel, watching Encrid, began mimicking the Isolation Technique without being told.
“There are methods suited to one's own body. I shall teach you a few,” Audin offered, helping her. While Audin was indeed helping, to an outsider, it looked like Dunchabel was being tortured.
Teresa also sweated in silence, busy honing her skills with her shield and sword. In truth, Encrid’s state of immersion had served as a fresh stimulus for all of them.
The Wild Horse spent its time watching the humans. The soldiers had left a pile of hay in a corner for its feed. Usually, horses would relieve themselves anywhere, but this one was intelligent enough to dig a hole in a corner of the barracks to do its business. It was a bizarre sight to see it digging with its hooves.
The stable keeper marveled at its strength.
“Haa, if only I could get a bridle on him, he’d be perfect.”
The man responsible for Martai’s warhorses lamented. Cavalry and warhorses were the core of the mounted units, after all. He was a man who had raised such horses his whole life. He was truly disappointed, but he didn't try anything with the Wild Horse, as it would radiate killing intent whenever anyone approached carelessly.
Encrid watched the Wild Horse and thought, Should I give him a name?
As for its strange behavior, there were plenty of humans around him who acted just as oddly. Would adding one more horse to the mix change anything? Back at the Border Guard, there had even been a mage who transformed from a leopard into a human.
Encrid pushed the thought of a name aside for later. For now, the Wild Horse seemed busy exploring its surroundings. Everything around it likely piqued its curiosity. Even so, it never approached people. Soldiers who saw its peculiar blue and red eyes remarked that they felt an inexplicable chill. It was due to the killing intent unique to monsters.
The days of training and sparring like madmen passed. On the third day after the dwarf’s departure, the group also prepared to move. It was the moment Krais, who had been tirelessly exploring the territory’s markets and having private audiences with the Castellan, announced it was time to leave.
“Let’s head back.”
It was time to return to their own territory. Encrid led the way, and the Castellan saw them off.
“I wish you good fortune.”
They set out at dawn, and by the time the sun rose, the territory was no longer in sight. Krais acted as their guide. They had left their horses behind and were traveling on foot. Only the Wild Horse walked beside Encrid.
“Ah, it’s snowing.”
“The devil’s bastards are starting to scatter it again,” Rem remarked.
As they walked, white powder began to fall from above. The white grains melted upon hitting the ground or the group’s armor. Fortunately, there was no heavy wind or blizzard. The small white particles only slightly limited their visibility. The snow fell quietly and peacefully, and in truth, it wasn't particularly inconvenient.
As the group entered a path flanked by two mounds, their way was blocked.
One of the figures standing there was a familiar face.