Chapter 347: It Couldn't Get Any Better Than This
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 347: It Couldn't Get Any Better Than This
Encrid had offered to act as Krang’s guard, but it wasn't a duty he had to take up immediately.
"We will stay here for at least a week, ten days at the most, before we depart," Marcus said.
"Don't you think staying any longer would be dangerous?" Krais chimed in, but Marcus simply shook his head.
"Didn't you think it was a bit much of an adventure just to come and meet one person?"
Krais quickly understood Marcus's implication. Encrid understood as well.
Krang had come to see Encrid, but that wasn't his only purpose. If traveling to a city like Border Guard was an adventure in itself, then there had to be other practical goals to justify the risk.
It made sense.
Count Molsen was a giant whose influence reached even the highest circles of the capital’s society. Avoiding the eyes and ears of such a man was one thing, but the Queen still held her ground at the center of power. Whether she truly had no interest in a successor or harbored other intentions remained unknown.
In this climate, Krang was attempting to usurp the Queen's throne.
Would it be easy? No, it would be monumental.
He had started with no foundation, no position, and no advantage. All he possessed was his bloodline as a royal bastard.
No, he also has that unique charm of his.
This was only the second time Krais had ever seen a human who seemed to radiate light just by existing. Naturally, the first had been Encrid.
Well, the Boss is definitely one of a kind.
In Krais's eyes, Krang was unique in a different way.
He was someone who drew people in, using them as stepping stones to move forward. He brought to mind a massive sailing ship that surged ahead while harboring and embracing everything within its hull.
On the other hand, Encrid was more like a banner than a ship.
Standing entirely alone, he forged his own path. He was a banner that served as a guidepost, a goal, and sometimes a shield blocking the way forward.
And his abilities are outstanding, too.
Regardless, that sailing ship—Krang—was fighting an uphill battle.
The fact that he was not only holding his ground but actually achieving results proved one thing: the capabilities of both the man and those around him were formidable.
"So, are we going now or what?"
Now that the cold had worn off, Rem was brimming with motivation. He hadn't understood a single word of the political conversation. He simply picked his nose and grumbled.
"Wait."
Encrid knew how to handle beasts. Showing his palm, he said to Rem, "Not yet. Wait."
At this treatment—which was practically like dealing with a puppy—Rem silently raised his axe. Naturally, an axe swing faster than words followed.
It was a half-intentional tease on Encrid's part.
And so, in their spare time, they sparred. They trained. They conditioned themselves over and over again.
*
Digging a single hole allows you to go deeper than digging several. Choose just one and dig. This is the advice anyone hears when they first pick up a weapon, whether it is a sword or an axe.
Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu.
Stillness, Heaviness, Deception, Speed, and Flow. Which of these would you devote yourself to?
If you grabbed ten men who knew how to handle a blade and asked them, all ten would give the same answer. If you try to dig wells in multiple places, water won't come out of any of them, and you'll end up dying of thirst.
Of course, there is also the saying that you must dig where water is likely to be found—meaning you must choose a path that suits your nature—but the ultimate conclusion remains the same:
"Dig only one well."
Even if you gathered a hundred people, the answer would be the same.
But Encrid did not do that.
He dipped his hands into various wells and dug multiple holes.
Beast's Heart, Sensory Technique, Isolation Technique, Single-Point Focus. He learned every kind of swordsmanship he could find.
A hundred out of a hundred people would call it the wrong path.
Yet, none of the mad company members said a word or questioned him when they saw this. Even if something seemed like the absolute truth when ten or a hundred people spoke of it, once the number exceeded a thousand or ten thousand, a few among them might offer a different perspective.
"Why do I have to do that?" they would ask.
Or, "Is it really necessary? Can't I just do whatever feels right?"
When they said things like that, they would often hear:
"Are all you genius bastards like this?"
Most of them were treated as madmen or envied. And with good reason. Even though they didn't choose the common path, they forged ahead alone. They were people who did not run at the same speed as others.
Ordinary people who looked at the backs of such individuals had to fight against frustration and despair.
Talent was a form of discrimination.
The world is not fair.
The Goddess of Fortune does not love everyone equally.
It was a fact everyone knew.
Encrid often heard similar things.
"Dig only one well."
Some told him to devote himself entirely to the Valen-style Mercenary Sword. Others said:
"Why don't you focus only on the fast sword? At least you'll be better than you are now."
He was often told to master the fast sword, which staked everything on the very first strike. Those who said such things were people who highly valued Encrid's persistence.
But Encrid did not listen. He did not dig only one well.
To be precise, he couldn't. He wouldn't have survived if he had. Moreover, ever since a blessing that felt like a curse had joined him, he had naturally acquired a variety of skills.
Did he not think of the saying to dig only one well during that process?
He did. But he ignored it. The words of the masses couldn't always be the right answer. Encrid acted according to his own intuition.
Above all, enjoyment guided him.
This is fun, too.
And so was that.
It was thanks to the repetition of his daily life. Things that could have been painful were replaced with sheer joy. Since he enjoyed it, there was no need to worry about whether he was digging one well or many.
He stacked swordsmanship on top of the techniques taught to him by the mad company members. Every step of the process was joyful—deeply, profoundly joyful.
Every single day felt brand new.
Waking up every morning was like receiving a gift. Growth, change, and progress immersed him entirely in pleasure.
This was only possible because Encrid was not a normal human being.
Moving forward even if he had to crawl—was it enjoyable to realize that? No. Not everyone could feel that way. It was only possible because he was Encrid.
Because he was truly, deeply grateful that he had stopped settling, every day and every moment was fresh and delightful. All this motivation, the curse that was like a blessing, and the mad company members who had started as a coincidence but remained as a deep bond—all of these combined allowed Encrid to draw water from every single well.
"If I had to divide talent in swordsmanship, weaponry, or physical combat, I would say there are two kinds."
Those were the words of an instructor from the great city. He was a man with firm principles and standards.
"One is this side," he had said, pointing his index finger at his forehead. "The talent of wielding a sword with your mind. Observing, judging, thinking, and devising. The second is physical talent. Whether your body follows what you think or not. You lack physical talent. Closing your eyes when a sword flies at you? What does it mean when that's hard to overcome no matter how much you steel your mind? It means your body isn't following your thoughts."
So focus on one thing. If you're going to use a sword, strike first. This fellow was also the one who had told him to focus on the mercenary-style fast sword.
But none of the mad company members ever said such things. They were talents who shattered common sense from outside its boundaries. Even Sinar was considered a rare existence among the elves.
Above all, in their eyes, the techniques Encrid had accumulated were intertwined. There was no need to cling to a single well.
"That was good just now, I'll give ya that."
Just as Rem had felt moments ago.
Audin's physical combat, following the Isolation Technique, bled into his sword. Within the Capturing Sword, which was built upon the Nameless Orthodox Sword Style, Ragna's heavy sword style was mixed.
Just a moment ago, Encrid had swung down the silver longsword in his right hand while placing his left hand on Spark, sliding his left foot half a step forward. Spark was a blade built for swift, linear thrusts.
Faced with a momentum that looked ready to burst forth at any second, Rem had to swing his axes.
Deflecting and parrying.
In an instant, his thoughts flowed and reached a conclusion.
But Spark did not fly forward. Nor was there any weight behind the sword falling from above.
Just as Rem wondered what kind of trick this was, Encrid closed the distance, using his two main sword strikes as bait.
He immediately forced an ultra-close-quarters fight. It was a technique created by incorporating the Valen-style Mercenary Sword. Furthermore, both sword strikes carried a momentum that made them look 'real.' This was thanks to the realization he had gained from the Crushing Sword.
"Yer crazy!" Rem shouted in excitement.
Before he knew it, Encrid's hand grabbed Rem's arm and twisted it backward. With his arm on the verge of being wrenched out of its socket, Rem kicked off the ground, leapt into the air, and spun his body.
It was a movement bordering on acrobatics.
Since his arm was twisted, he spun his body in the same direction. At the same time, he struck Encrid's forearm with the edge of his hand to push him away.
Pushed back, Encrid caught the longsword he had let go of—or rather, lightly tossed upward—as if it were a calculated move. He gripped it and swung down. It was the Crushing Sword, infused with a heavy downward slash.
Rem was also thrilled by this insanely fun technique. The moment he spun in the air and touched the ground, he kicked off with monstrous leg strength. Rem's body blurred, leaving an afterimage.
It looked as if his body had split into two. A stationary Rem, and a retreating Rem.
Encrid's sword sliced through the stationary Rem.
The retreating Rem arched his back and then bent forward.
Every movement was fast, fierce, and wild. Straightening his body and then snapping forward, he threw the weapons in his hands—his two axes.
Crazy bastard, Encrid marveled inwardly.
What Rem had pulled off was an improvised move.
Whoosh!
With an explosive roar, the axes flew toward him like two spinning discs.
Encrid tilted his sword diagonally, perfectly blocking the trajectory of the two axes.
Crash!
As he caught the flying axes, his entire body shuddered with a booming sound. It was due to the monstrous force packed into the throw.
The axes struck his sword and spun upward. Drawing a bizarre trajectory in the air, the two axes thudded into the ground. Since the weight was concentrated in the blades, they landed firmly.
Encrid stood with his knees half-bent, holding his longsword diagonally with both hands.
"Let's stop here," Rem said, halting as he looked at Encrid, who had successfully blocked his axes.
If they went any further, someone would end up with a broken bone or a severe injury.
It was after all this that Rem had said, "That was good just now."
Encrid caught his breath and asked, "You threw those on the fly, didn't you?"
"You already know, so why ask?" Rem said with a smirk.
Encrid's method of throwing his sword was something he had come up with after days of contemplation. But not Rem. He had showcased a technique created on the spot after observing his opponent.
Yet, its level of completion was extraordinary.
"And after that?"
"Sling, charge, physical combat."
He was talking about what would follow the axe throw. It was a killing technique that couldn't be continued in a friendly spar.
He would hurl a stone with a sling, kick off the ground to charge, and then close in to swing his fists and feet. Rem's physical combat was also top-tier.
What was most terrifying was the reckless charge that would follow while the opponent was busy dodging or blocking the stone. He intended to exploit the moment the opponent's posture and breathing faltered.
"Good," Encrid nodded. He could picture Rem's movements in his head.
"Glad ya like it," Rem nodded. He, too, was pleased with Encrid's growth.
Of course, Encrid hadn't learned everything at once either. It was a truly peculiar talent. He would suddenly master something out of nowhere, yet from an observer's perspective, his growth seemed agonizingly slow.
But he never hesitated, never stopped, and held no prejudices. He genuinely admired, reacted to, and reflected on his opponent's techniques.
It was an excellent attitude.
"Having fun?"
"You even have to ask?"
Aside from Rem, he occasionally swung his sword at Ragna, and his conditioning with Audin continued as usual.
Meanwhile, "Take me too!" Dunchabel chimed in, without even knowing the full details. She was offering to join the escort mission.
Encrid nodded. It was certain that assassins or other threats would make a move.
Would it be dangerous? Was the path ahead a thorny one? Was it a task filled only with peril?
Most likely.
Yet, even knowing that, Encrid felt a sense of anticipation.
"Why do you look so excited?" the quick-witted Big-Eyes asked, as if those thoughts were written all over Encrid's face.
Every time, Encrid answered honestly. "Who do you think will attack us?"
Three or four assassin groups Krais knew of flashed through his mind. Having started his life in the back alleys, he knew a lot.
No, he knew even more now. The information he had gathered while running the Gilpin Guild as an information network was not insignificant.
"Troublesome bastards?"
At Krais's words, Encrid smiled brightly. The smile looked so much like spring sunshine that Krais frowned.
"Is this something to laugh about?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Tap, tap.
Rem, who had been watching, tapped Krais on the head and said, "If you try to understand what goes on inside this guy's head, you'll end up crazy too."
Encrid found those words slightly offensive.
The craziest bastard of them all was calling him crazy. Was this what they meant by the pot calling the kettle black?
No, that's not it.
That was a saying for when similar people slandered each other. A different saying would be more appropriate now.
The dog covered in dung scolding the dog covered in dust. Yes, that was it.
"Fine. Bring it on, Rem. I accept your challenge to a duel."
"...Where in my words did you hear a challenge?"
"In all of them."
"Sounds like you're just picking a fight."
In Krais's eyes, the two of them were cut from the same cloth.
At any rate, five days flew by as they spent their time preparing.
"The business was wrapped up sooner than expected."
A formal request came from Marcus. A member of the royal family was requesting escort services.
Publicly, it was to escort a member of a merchant guild belonging to a noble family; privately, it was to protect the royal bastard. The duration was set separately, making them the primary targets of the request.
The route was from Border Guard to the capital of the kingdom.
They decided to leave in two days. A day passed, and by evening, they had finished deciding who would go and who would stay behind.
"...Damn it. Just like a stray cat, sneaking in like that."
Encrid had just returned after procuring various useful equipment and buying some seasoned jerky. He had also gotten some brandy in a canteen. There might be moments when he desperately craved a few sips of alcohol.
Just as he walked in, Rem looked at the person sitting inside the barracks and spoke.
"Sneaking? You're probably just too dull to notice."
At any rate, the man's talent for concealing his presence was truly superb. Sitting indifferently without even lighting a lamp, he looked like a still-life object that had merged with the cot.
"You're back?" Encrid said, standing as he entered the barracks.
Sachsen, who had returned, nodded. "Yes, I'm back. But it seems I'll have to leave again soon."
"Where?"
"I have business in the capital."
"...By capital, do you mean the place where the royal palace of Naurilia is located?"
At Encrid's question, Sachsen blinked once while sitting in his chair and replied, "Obviously."
Was it a coincidence, or was it good luck?
"We happen to be on our way there."
Sachsen blinked again.
Where were they going?
"He's just dead weight, dead weight. Ya really gonna take him?" Rem chimed in from the side, but Sachsen didn't even pretend to hear him.
"Are you going to the capital?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
Sachsen thought it was incredibly coincidental.
He had been looking for an excuse to go to the capital—specifically, the royal palace. And the sooner, the better. It was happening tomorrow.
So, it couldn't get any better than this.