Chapter 35: He Rejoiced Purely
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 35: He Rejoiced Purely
Every member of the Troublemaker Squad possessed a strong personality, but they all shared one thing in common: they didn't give a damn about their surroundings.
Among them, Ragna was particularly oblivious to the gaze of others, nor did he care to pay them any mind.
'Eat just enough to get by, fight just enough to survive, live just enough to exist.'
Living such a half-hearted life, he also spent a great deal of time sleeping.
Because Ragna was like that, Encrid had been secretly surprised when he previously volunteered to go with the Scout Unit in his stead.
That Ragna volunteered for scout duty instead of me? Has our lazy squad member finally changed?
But that wasn't the case. Ragna was fickle, driven entirely by whim. He had stepped forward caught up in the mood of the moment, but he likely would have backed out within a day—no, within half a day.
Encrid had anticipated as much, which was why he hadn't sent him in the first place. There was a reason Encrid handled most of the troublesome duties in the Troublemaker Squad.
In a way, Ragna’s personality was the exact opposite of Encrid’s. Ragna lacked motivation in everything he did, whereas Encrid was the type to split every spare second just to swing his sword.
Of course, Ragna did swing his sword occasionally. There were times he sparred with Rem, as Encrid had seen upon his return, and times he made a name for himself on the battlefield. Though, naturally, every time he did, Ragna would mutter, "I didn't mean for that to happen."
Knowing Ragna’s nature, Encrid found it strange that he was showing interest in him now.
'What’s gotten into him?'
It was truly a rare occurrence. Though Ragna occasionally asked questions or made demands, he was not the type to watch someone intently for days, patiently organizing his thoughts just to strike up a conversation.
Encrid lowered the hand that had been scratching his forehead.
Among the squad members, Rem was relatively active, but even that bastard only interacted with people outside a certain boundary. It was obvious if one looked closely; he was the type who never let anyone cross his line. In some ways, he was even more difficult to deal with than a slacker like Ragna.
Still, Rem said what needed to be said. Ragna, on the other hand, rarely spoke even when it was necessary. Yet here was Ragna, asking a question. That was why it was so intriguing.
Encrid stared into Ragna’s eyes for a moment. A quiet silence stretched between them. Encrid stared intently, as if in a staring contest, then looked up.
He saw a cloudless sky. After the recent frequent rains, the sky was a brilliant, deep blue, without even a wisp of a cloud.
His chest felt instantly lighter. Looking up at the sky, all his thoughts—why Ragna was acting like this, what his motives were, whether his own guesses were correct—evaporated.
Encrid threw his worries aside. Since he was asked, he would answer. Whether dealing with swords or people, he simply did his best in everything.
'Since when did I waste time overthinking things like this?'
Even when he gave his all, what he desired remained far out of reach, so he had always lived a life of constant yearning.
Ragna had asked: Why go to such lengths?
He was likely referring to how Encrid swung his sword at every spare moment. He was likely referring to his attitude of never treating anything lightly. He was likely asking about the mindset that refused to give up despite his meager skills.
So, Encrid answered the question with a question of his own.
"What if I were actually good with a sword?"
On the outskirts of their temporary camp, in a spot devoid of shade and bathed in warm sunlight, Ragna’s gaze lingered on Encrid’s face.
Encrid spoke again. "What would have happened then? What could I have become?"
Encrid’s voice was smooth and resonant, like a finely crafted instrument. At least, that was how it sounded to Ragna. It was neither feverish with excitement nor heavy with despair. It was calm and serene, like someone reading a fairy tale to a young child.
"Right now, I swing my sword just to survive. But I don't want to live like that."
With those words, Encrid swung his sword. A vertical strike, from top to bottom.
Whoosh.
The blade sliced through the air, dispersing a familiar scent. The smell of the battlefield, mingled with the scent of iron, tickled the tip of Ragna’s nose.
Regardless of whether Ragna was beside him or not, Encrid continued what he was doing. He was training.
Top to bottom. Bottom to top. Diagonally, then horizontally.
Soon, facing an imaginary opponent, he executed a bind—mimicking the motion of locking blades and pulling—before delivering a strike with the back of the blade.
Ragna stared silently at his squad leader.
A lowest-grade soldier of the Kingdom of Naurilia. Ragna knew that the Troublemaker Squad leader’s skills were far above the lowest rank. Yet, that did not make him a high-level swordsman or warrior either. Even if he threw himself into the mercenary world right now, he would be slightly above average at best. A mid-tier mercenary could hardly be considered exceptionally skilled.
Having once been deeply involved in the mercenary world, Ragna knew their standards well. When it came to the sword, he possessed an innate insight that rivaled Frok’s. He measured his squad leader’s skill and could see his limits.
'It’s already too late.'
The beginning was flawed. He should have focused on the basics from the moment he first held a sword. A lack of talent had robbed him of that opportunity.
What about the squad leader now? It was exactly as he said. His desperate struggle to survive, and the techniques he had honed for that sole purpose, were now holding him back.
Only about two of the things the squad leader possessed were actually useful: what he had been taught by Rem, the obnoxious but highly skilled barbarian, and the thrust he had shown after his sudden, rapid growth.
Aside from those two, his lack of basic training meant his techniques always relied on shortcuts. Those shortcuts were the problem.
Ragna fully exercised his insight, but instead of pointing all this out, he asked about the part that intrigued him.
"If you do become good with a sword, what will you do then?"
Encrid stopped swinging his sword. Beads of sweat on his forehead trickled down, pooling at the tip of his chin before dripping onto the ground. The sweat fell into the dirt beneath his feet and was quickly absorbed.
Sunlight, sword, wind, sky. Embracing it all in his heart, Encrid gave voice to the dream he had repeated to himself countless times.
"A knight. I want to become a knight who charges toward the end of the battlefield."
"Why?" Ragna asked. To him, it was a natural question.
Ragna could see the path. He could see a destination that was obvious even without experiencing it. But would such a path be enjoyable? When there was nothing to do and nothing one wanted to do upon reaching the destination, there was no way to find the will to walk that path.
That was Ragna’s reality. He was a wanderer who could see both the path and the destination, yet had no desire—and no ability—to walk it.
"Does there need to be a reason to want to become something?" Encrid countered.
This was romance. It was romanticism. It was his life and the days he had lived. At the same time, it was the childhood dream that had captivated him. How many times had he repeated this dream to himself?
There was no reason to want to become one. But he had no intention of letting it remain a mere wish.
"I want to live according to what I believe is right. I want to raise my sword for the poor and the sick, for honor, and for the people I love."
What was a knight? Was it merely a killing machine that fought and killed well? People often referred to knights that way—a combat weapon specialized in killing.
But if the knight Encrid dreamed of was nothing more than that, he wouldn't have been able to keep swinging his sword until now. He wanted to be one who expressed his will through honor, faith, and the sword. A sword that embraced chivalry, a concept most had long abandoned.
As he spoke, Encrid thought of Krang. Why did Krang’s words carry such weight? How did his words draw everyone in?
Now, he felt he understood a little. It was because they were filled with sincerity and truth. That was the foundation.
So, Encrid spoke with all his heart.
That came as a shock to Ragna. Of course, since Ragna didn't show even a hint of it on his face, Encrid remained unaware.
Ragna asked himself a question. If I want to live according to what I believe is right, why do I need a sword? Because without strength, it is difficult to realize what you believe in.
Emptiness had always lingered in his chest. That was the source of his helplessness. Yet, as he conversed with Encrid, a different spark ignited in his heart, replacing that helplessness.
Harboring the spark that had begun to bloom in his chest, Ragna fell deep into thought. He sat down on the grass at the edge of the plain.
What was a knight, and what was a sword? One thought led to another, eventually bringing him to a conclusion.
'I will never know unless I walk the path.'
He had found his justification to walk the path.
Encrid left him to his thoughts and swung his sword once more. Amidst the silence, only the sword, the sky, and the wind remained. Because they were slightly removed, the noisy clamor of the soldiers back at the camp could be heard faintly, but otherwise, all was quiet.
The silence did not last long.
"Do you want to learn the sword?" Ragna spoke, his vacant gaze fixed on a sharp stone embedded in the ground.
Whoosh!
Sweat sprayed into the air with the force of a thrust. Encrid froze in that position. Catching his breath, his eyes locked onto the tip of his blade, he answered.
"Yes."
His tone was plain and calm. If there was an opportunity to learn, he would not let it slip away. To Encrid, this was only natural.
Ragna was surprised by his own words. 'Why did I say that?'
But he soon realized the reason. Half of it was a desire to show his struggling squad leader the right path. The other half was for himself.
'When the squad leader is around...'
He found himself moving with all his might without even realizing it. Watching Encrid live his life stimulated him. Ragna needed stimulation—something to keep him walking down a long, tedious path.
The squad leader’s very existence was that stimulation. With Encrid around, Ragna found himself training, however half-heartedly. The moment he saw Encrid improve, an unprecedented vitality surged within him. He had sparred with the squad leader, tried to go on scout duty in his stead, and even warmed up with Rem.
It was highly unusual. At least, it was for Ragna.
So, what would happen if he taught the squad leader? It was an act born more of selfishness than altruism.
And Encrid didn't bother pondering the reasons. 'What’s gotten into him?'
He hadn't even asked for help, yet Ragna was readily offering to teach him. When he learned the Beast's Heart, it had only been possible because he pestered Rem relentlessly. And when he learned from Sachsen? Those had all happened because he had taken the initiative and pushed himself forward.
But this time was different. After staring at him for days, Ragna had suddenly approached, asked a few questions, and now offered to teach him.
Encrid knew this was a golden opportunity. He had no desire to question why. Even during their spars, Ragna had kept his mouth shut about swordsmanship, offering nothing beyond the movements required in the moment.
When it came to the sword, Encrid was like a starving jackal. He had asked countless questions and pressed hard during their spars, but Ragna had always evaded giving answers. Yet now, he was suddenly offering to teach him.
"First, then..." Ragna brushed off his backside as he stood up, pursing his lips. He seemed to be choosing his words.
Encrid waited patiently, lowering the tip of his sword. As he waited, Rem’s words echoed in his mind.
"I'm not really cut out to teach the sword. I swing purely on instinct, and that's not something you can just teach. So, Squad Leader, it'd be better for you to learn systematically."
It didn't seem like Rem refused out of a genuine reluctance to teach, nor did he seem to be hoarding his techniques. If that were the case, he wouldn't have taught him the Beast's Heart in the first place. At the time, Encrid had simply accepted it and moved on.
Leaving the pensive Encrid to his thoughts, Ragna spoke.
"That thing you learned from the barbarian—Beast’s Guts, or Conscience, or whatever it was."
...It was the Beast's Heart. How on earth did he get "Beast’s Guts" from that? If Rem had heard that, he probably would have swung his axe on the spot.
"And that one thrust," Ragna continued, looking straight into Encrid’s eyes. "Aside from those, I think we need to rebuild everything else from scratch. Are you fine with that?"
Unable to understand for a moment, Encrid tilted his head.
"I'm saying you have to rebuild your foundation from the ground up. Can you do it?"
Ragna knew no other way to teach or learn the sword.
For a moment, Encrid found it hard to accept. "Why?"
The Valen-style Mercenary Sword. No matter what others said, he believed it was an excellent technique and sword style.
"Because if you keep using that mercenary sword style, you'll never get any better than you are now."
Ragna continued his explanation. Though his examples were crude and his explanations vague, Encrid understood immediately. The core point was simple: his current state had a clear ceiling.
He could still make progress if he kept training the way he was, but his progress would be slow, and he would never be able to break through his limits. When asked why, Ragna said it was because Encrid had acquired too many miscellaneous, disorganized techniques.
"The point is, your basics are lacking."
He never expected to hear such words. Whenever he had taken silver or gold coins to various training halls, they had always emphasized the importance of the basics, so he had accepted it and invested a significant amount of time.
But thinking about it carefully, it made sense that he was hearing this now. He had always been in a position where he had to pay to learn. Encrid couldn't afford to waste that precious paid time on just practicing the basics. So, he had practiced the cuts and thrusts he considered basic on his own.
That was the problem.
A brief realization washed over him. A sudden wave of ecstasy surged through Encrid, vibrating through his entire body. The hand holding his sword trembled.
Because he could see a path. Beyond the wall and the darkness that had always blocked his view, a path—crude as it might be—had finally opened. The ecstasy of this moment was something he wouldn't trade for any other emotion in life.
Seeing his hand tremble, Ragna spoke in a cautious tone. "Now, you have to choose. Rebuild from scratch, or be satisfied with where you are."
Ragna expected Encrid to give up. Throwing away everything he had built to start anew meant climbing back up from the very bottom. It meant his skill, which was roughly upper-middle tier in the mercenary world, would plummet back to the lowest level.
Could he endure that? Especially for someone who made a living by the blade in the middle of a warzone? Unless he had multiple lives, it was a reckless gamble. Even if he wanted to, it wouldn't be easy. When the moment of death approached, his body would naturally revert to the techniques already engraved in his muscles.
"You'll have to put a few of your lives on the line," Ragna said. His words were blunt, but they carried genuine concern.
Encrid nodded. Since the gesture was ambiguous, Ragna questioned him with his eyes, prompting Encrid to speak.
"I'll rebuild it, then."
"Are you serious?"
It was an answer that surprised Ragna instead. There hadn't been a single shred of hesitation in his voice, even though his hand had been trembling violently just moments ago. Ragna had assumed that trembling was from anger, frustration, or despair.
But Encrid’s reaction was the exact opposite.
"Yeah."
He rejoiced, purely.