Chapter 335: It's Training, Brother
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 335: It's Training, Brother
Nobles, merchants, mayors—the stream of visitors was endless, but Encrid no longer paid them any mind.
It didn't matter. Krais was doing an excellent job of running interference. When told to use his wits, he had truly taken the command to heart.
"To think that I, having come all this way, cannot even meet a mere city soldier?"
Even when a crafty noble visited, Krais’s response was as mechanical as a doll’s. "No, you cannot."
When some tried to flex their muscles, Frok Meelun—now serving as Krais’s guard—was there to meet them. Few were bold enough to challenge Frok’s intimidating presence. Encrid and his inner circle were the outliers; for everyone else, this was the natural order of things.
Yet, Krais didn't rely solely on stubbornness or brute force to drive them away.
"He is preparing for an important battle," he would say, offering the perfect excuse. "This is a matter handled directly by the capital."
With the backing of the royal palace, he kept them at bay. This was enough to ward off the petty nobles, and as for the merchants, Krais didn't even need to step forward himself.
"If you have something to say, go to the Lockfried Merchant Guild. They've signed an exclusive contract with the Castellan."
Passing the buck was more than enough. Leona Lockfried was a woman of immense capability. She handled the run-of-the-mill small and medium merchant guilds with ease.
"Does the Lockfried name carry so little weight?"
Simply invoking her guild's name resolved half the problems. It didn't matter if a sizable guild backed by a noble showed up; what they wanted was to secure a trade route through Encrid and turn a profit. Leona promised them exactly that.
"The trade route will expand. Our guild can't monopolize it all anyway."
Naturally, the merchants who had been trying to curry favor with Encrid flocked to Leona instead. She screened them, selecting only the promising ones. Discerning and extracting value was her specialty.
Watching her in action, Krais couldn't help but be highly satisfied with his choice.
To think a matter that could have become so complicated just by the Captain showing his face could be resolved so simply.
If not for Encrid, she might still be coordinating minor details with Krais even now. One couldn't say Encrid wasn't the reason she had pushed all those trivial matters aside to take on this task. He truly had a precious face—born to be the poster boy and the star of the salon.
Just because Krais was blocking the crowds didn't mean Encrid was idle. On the contrary, he was finally busy doing what he truly wanted.
"Come at me!"
Obsessed with sparring as he was, there was no way his schedule wouldn't be packed.
"Be careful not to die."
Encrid threw himself into the sparring, occasionally even sharpening Rem’s wits. The sessions were brutal. On the surface, it looked like a suicidal stunt where they put their lives on the line, but it was beneficial to both Encrid and Rem.
Naturally, Dunchabel and Teresa joined in, and Audin lent a hand as well. Only Ragna was absent, occasionally swinging his sword at the empty air or falling into a meditative slumber.
Everyone except Ragna watched Encrid with inward astonishment. They couldn't help it.
When did he get like this?
Dunchabel felt the gap between them widen even further. Teresa saw a wall she could not overcome, even if she mobilized all her half-giant strength and tricks. Of course, whether they saw a wall or a gap, neither had any intention of giving up.
A man who had clawed his way up from the absolute bottom stood right before their eyes. One could not speak of giving up in front of such a person—not emotionally, and certainly not physically.
"Giving up? Is it hard? Ah, our beastman is having a hard time. Right. That happens. Then should we just die? If it’s hard, you should just die."
If Dunchabel showed even the slightest hint of flagging, Rem would step in with a sharp tongue.
"Sister, the holy scripture says that sometimes, a new shock can make one forget the original pain."
Audin would also step forward, never hesitating to personally inflict that "new shock"—physical violence—upon Teresa. Of course, neither of them actually uttered those words aloud.
I, too...
Teresa simply resolved herself. It was the same for Dunchabel. The two women had grown accustomed to the attitude of looking up, moving forward, and continuing to advance. Their mindsets were distinctly different from before.
Since both had ears to hear, they knew what kind of person Encrid was and how he had reached this point. According to Rem and the other soldiers, Encrid’s beginnings were humble. Truly humble.
"He was once under me, and I was the better-looking one back then, too."
The source of that nonsense was a fellow named Vengeance, but even listening to the other soldiers, the story didn't change. A low-ranking mercenary who rolled around in the dirt—that was Encrid.
Such a man had now become an entirely different being. He had become a hero of the city, a hero of the battlefield, and the man who made more than half the kids in the Border Guard play-train with wooden swords.
Was it as the holy scripture said—that though the beginning was humble, the end would be prosperous? Such a thought occurred to Teresa.
As for Dunchabel...
I won't fall behind.
She gritted her teeth and struggled desperately. Without even realizing it, she was moving in a direction similar to Encrid's own desperate path.
Naturally, how the beastman and the half-giant viewed him was none of Encrid's concern. He spent his time productively, visiting the blacksmith in addition to his training and sparring. He had to. He wasn't anxious, but he couldn't let time slip away either.
Had he not seen the knight's sword? He had even managed to block it by striking first. Though it was only once, the act of clashing swords with a knight had widened Encrid's world, and the starlight shining upon his path grew brighter.
The dream that had once haunted him like a grim reaper receded, turning into starlight. The remnants of that light illuminated his path. It was only natural that his motivation soared higher than ever before. This was why training—which looked like a harsh cycle of suffering to others—brought Encrid unprecedented joy and ecstasy.
"What is this?"
The self-proclaimed best blacksmith in the Border Guard examined the sword gifted by the enemy nation's associate knight over and over. From the silver blade and finish to the grip wrapped in demonic beast leather and the rounded pommel.
"This is no ordinary craftsmanship."
When shown the Gladius and Spark as well, his eyes nearly popped out. The blacksmith's eyes sparkled.
"Even the forging technique is different. This is not a human weapon."
He was a man of excellent discernment, recognizing the value of Spark and the Gladius immediately.
"Are you planning to use all three?"
They had known each other for a long time, so the blacksmith still spoke casually. He was an artisan who valued his work more than the rank of a company commander. While there were guilds where blacksmiths gathered to protect their interests, no such guild existed in the Border Guard. Unless they made farming tools, most were practically part of the military. He was a man who had chosen to challenge his skills rather than lead a stable life in a guild.
Encrid respected the artisan. He thought this man, too, was pursuing a dream of his own.
"I just do it because it's my job. No need for grandiose words," the blacksmith would likely say if asked directly. Even so, his pride was sky-high.
Encrid reflected on his own dream even while looking at the blacksmith. Perhaps his motivation had been soaring too high lately.
The blacksmith asked, still unable to take his eyes off the three swords, "What do you want me to do with them?"
"I've used them roughly, so I'd like you to touch them up. Also, fifty throwing knives—thin but well-balanced—and some iron plates suitable for lining these greaves. My gauntlets are completely ruined too, so I need all new armor..."
To a mercenary, good equipment was a second life. This remained true even now, when he had become an associate knight and could use Will, even if only in fragments.
What if a cheap longsword had been in my hand when I clashed with the knight's sword?
The thought was bothersome. Above all, an excellent weapon that fit one's hand brought joy to a swordsman. That, too, was part of one's skill. In that sense, it had been arrogant of the knight who came before not to bring his favorite weapon. It was overconfidence.
Encrid had escaped thanks to that, but was that arrogance something he should learn from? Or should he ensure he didn't repeat the mistake? Encrid chose the latter. He invested Krona into his equipment and armaments without hesitation.
"The payment?"
"Charge it to the castle."
"Will do."
The Castellan would cover the cost. The artisan touched up the blades of the three swords, sharpened them with a whetstone, and inspected them meticulously. There were no issues. Although Encrid had learned a fair bit about weapon maintenance during his mercenary days, there was still a world of difference compared to an artisan's touch. But he couldn't afford to neglect his training just to learn that.
"Ah, I'd also like to look at some spears and blunt weapons—maces and axes. Do you have any pre-made?"
Encrid was practically requesting an entire arsenal. At those words, the artisan finally looked him straight in the eye. His gaze seemed to ask what he could possibly use them all for.
"Yes, I will be using them."
Since he needed them, he ordered them, and the blacksmith merely nodded. He knew what he needed to know. How could the fame that had erupted on the battlefield possibly escape his ears? Even if the request had been more bizarre, the blacksmith would have complied without a word.
After being momentarily captivated by the three swords, the blacksmith thought: Could I make a better sword than this?
He would challenge himself to do so one day, and he would show that sword to the man before him first. He was determined. If the man liked his sword, only then would they discuss Krona.
"I'll send a few weapons along with your equipment later."
"Then, I'll be on my way."
Afterward, Encrid returned to his immersion in training.
"Tighten your muscles and apply force. By doing so, you can obtain muscles like steel."
It was the dawn training session. Encrid didn't tilt his head at Audin's words, but he did raise a question.
"Are you saying it's a body that won't be injured even if struck by a blade?"
"That is correct, brother. You understand well."
It made no sense, though he didn't say so aloud.
"It is possible," Audin spoke first, before Encrid could even ask how. "You should already know the way. While asking and answering isn't bad, isn't it sometimes better to realize it on your own?"
The answer lay in the counter-question. Encrid nodded. What followed was a process that made all his previous training look like child's play. Audin held a hammer with a thick layer of cloth padded at the end.
"What are you going to do with that?" Dunchabel asked, her voice laced with anxiety.
"It's training, sister. If you wish, you may line up."
Dunchabel did not line up. She thought this was going too far. Even if she were to do it someday, now was not the time. She wanted to absorb everything about Encrid, but it was right to postpone this.
Encrid, however, silently followed Audin's instruction.
Thud!
It was simple. Brace yourself and take the hit. That was all. Audin struck Encrid's flank with the cloth-padded hammer. He didn't strike with full force, but it was a blow that would have shattered an ordinary person's ribs and rattled their internal organs.
"Oh, excellent!"
Audin struck with precision, gauging the durability of Encrid's body just by looking. And Encrid took the hit.
"Isn't that just torture?" Krais remarked as he passed by. He was so busy he was practically running, yet it was a sight he couldn't tear his eyes away from.
"It's all training that builds flesh and blood. If you wish, you may line up, brother."
"If you do that to me, it's murder, Audin." Krais spoke with absolute seriousness, then fled so fast his feet were a blur.
Yeah, off you go.
Encrid inhaled deeply as he watched Krais recede.
"Hup."
"Brace your core, the center of your body. The moment you waver, something will break. Here it comes."
Audin's voice rang out, and soon, the cloth-wrapped hammer struck his flank once more.
Thud.
The shockwave coursed through his entire body. A sharp sting jolted his mind.
Is he enjoying this? Encrid wondered through the pain. Could Audin actually be enjoying hitting me?
The corners of Audin’s mouth seemed curled upward more than usual. He usually wore a gentle smile, but right now, it seemed just a bit wider. On the surface, that smile looked incredibly benevolent. But one must never be deceived by appearances.
The devil comes with the face of an angel.
Encrid unconsciously repeated the words of the holy scripture.
"I look forward to the day we can remove the cloth, brother."
Striking him with a cloth-wrapped hammer was already crossing the line, yet Audin was already talking about the next step. Encrid offered a faint smile.
"Me too."
In truth, if this were a meaningless exercise, it would be useless, but that wasn't the case.
Will is...
Will, the power of his volition, was moving. Something derived from the Will of Rejection settled into his body, performing a sort of rejection. Was it rejecting the impact? No. It was different. It was enduring.
Among the techniques used by knights, there were a few standardized arts. Intimidation was one of them—the foundational stage. Naturally, other arts existed as well. One of the most widely known was 'Endure'.
Also referred to as the power of tolerance, it was originally a technique of the paladins that had spread throughout the knighthood. As for its utility...
The instinctive reaction that occurs the moment one is struck.
It was like iron armor wrapped around the body to ignore that reaction. Mastering this and wrapping it around the entire body formed the basic foundation of a knight. Once achieved, one would possess a body that could not be cut even by a blade.
Ah.
This was why the brown-haired knight had been so shocked when he was cut by Ragna's sword. Encrid realized it now.
Will.
Simply training the muscles could not create a body capable of withstanding a blade. But what if one wrapped their Will around themselves, as if donning iron armor? Once again, a signpost had appeared.
The sparring between Encrid and Rem also took on an unprecedented level of violence.
"You can't go easy on me like before. You've really improved a lot. Seriously."
Rem held his twin axes. After sixteen clashes, Encrid had left a cut on his cheek.
"Ah, did that hurt? I should have gone a bit easier on you."
"Hmph. Let's see who dies today."
"I'll burn you to ash and scatter you in the river."
The provocation was sharp. Rem felt a sense of urgency at the changes he saw in Encrid and Ragna. He realized he had to change. His training hours increased; he began swinging his axes in the empty air, driven by abundant motivation.
This kind of provocation didn't feel bad. Rem's momentum shifted. Even as he watched, Encrid said what he had to say.
"Didn't you say you used a sling?"
Hearing the words urging him to use a new weapon, Rem forgot his surroundings in his immersion and pulled out the weapon.