Chapter 37: What is the Medium of Sorcery?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 37: What is the Medium of Sorcery?
"Where did you pick up that footwork?"
Ragna asked the question out of the blue on the fifth today.
You taught me, obviously.
Encrid couldn't exactly be honest. "I've cycled through over twenty different training centers."
Some of them had been run by blatant scammers, but many others had taught him well.
"Hmm." Ragna nodded.
As Encrid moved, utilizing the footwork he had originally learned from Ragna himself, Ragna’s expression grew lively. He was actually enjoying this.
Objectively speaking, Ragna was a terrible teacher.
He couldn't help it. Geniuses don't look down at their own feet. Because of that, it was difficult for them to explain the path they had already trodden. How could they put into words something they just did?
If they told someone to strike with a sword, they expected them to just strike. They didn't explain the necessary footwork or the shift in the center of gravity required to make it happen. No—they couldn't explain it.
He was the worst type of person to ever open a swordsmanship school. Encrid had realized this on the very first today.
But that was fine. If the teacher was terrible, the student just had to be exceptional. In that regard, it was safe to say Encrid was the best on the continent.
"Where do I place my feet? Which way should my toes point?"
"Do I really have to tell you even that?" Ragna asked. His tone wasn't accusatory; he was asking out of genuine curiosity.
"Yes."
Ragna corrected Encrid's posture, adjusting the direction of his toes, and then demonstrated the stance himself. That stance was the very epitome of basic mastery. Anyone with a discerning eye would have drooled over such talent. Just watching Ragna’s stance repeatedly was a massive help to Encrid.
"What about the center of gravity?"
"Yes, just move with that timing."
Encrid asked, and Ragna answered. Throughout twelve repetitions of today, Ragna taught Encrid nothing but footwork and stances.
"Stance and feet come first. Basics come next."
"Sometimes you actually swing the damn thing decently."
"Just now? You couldn't even chop firewood with that."
"If an enemy soldier actually dies from that downward strike, thank him three times for dying for you."
"Was that... a dance just now?"
"A dance indeed. Since you’re holding a sword, I suppose I should call it a sword dance, but I’d rather not. Let's call it the stick dance."
Ragna calmly spat his venom.
Was this bastard always this type of person?
Rem was a several times gentler teacher. Sometimes Ragna's words made Encrid wonder if the man was out of his mind, but it was still satisfying. Day by day, it felt like he was breaking out of an egg and being reborn.
Around the time they started on the diagonal slash, Ragna said:
"The line connecting you and the opponent you face is called the line of attack. This line is usually the shortest distance between two people, and it is also the path the weapon travels during an attack."
"Blocking the opponent's line of attack while extending your own is the core of the basics. You understand? No, I don't think you do. Ah, is this one of those things? Where your head understands, but your body refuses to listen?"
"Let me rephrase. You, Squad Leader, only understand with your mouth."
Ragna was a man who couldn't teach without insults.
Encrid learned and learned again.
Twenty repetitions of today passed.
Twenty-five repetitions of today passed.
"...I thought your basics were pathetic, but at least you know how to use your feet."
That was what he heard on the thirty-fifth today.
By this time, Encrid's behavioral patterns had shifted slightly. He no longer died immediately after the mist rolled in. He would dodge the first spear thrust, charge into the mist, and then die. Spears would end up bristling from his body like a hedgehog.
It was a decent enough method. Occasionally, a single spear would actually miss. Why would they pull the spear back when he was rushing in, practically begging to be killed? He understood, though. It must be baffling to see someone charge at you demanding death.
When the spears missed like that, he had to writhe in agony for an hour before finally dying. It was a continuous cycle of unbearable pain—a succession of horrific moments.
Every time, Ragna would call out or shout at Encrid.
"Squad Leader!"
"You crazy—!"
"Hey!"
Later on, Ragna was in such a rush that he just yelled, "Hey!"
Encrid filled each today to the absolute brim.
"Your stance is better than I thought."
He was improving bit by bit. Every time he changed, Ragna furrowed his brow.
"Just yesterday, you were definitely..." He would mutter things like that under his breath.
"...Where and what did you learn?"
Around the hundredth today, Ragna asked: "Who are you?"
Encrid stared at him, wondering what this sudden nonsense was about.
"You were clearly a mess until yesterday, but how did you... in just one day? Is it magic?"
Ragna was astonished. Encrid burst into laughter at the reaction.
"Why? Do I seem a bit better than you expected?"
"Not just a bit. It's to the point where I wonder if you're really the Squad Leader."
Ragna cast a genuinely suspicious look his way. This was the Troublemaker Squad, and Ragna was a weirdo too.
"So, are you going to stop teaching me?"
"No, it's not that."
Ragna resumed the lesson, still half-doubting. After that, they swung their swords against imaginary sparring partners. They covered the concept of the line of attack, how to grip the sword, and how to use the blade for defense.
"If it's a high-quality sword, you can block with the flat of the blade. If not, you block with the edge."
"Slashing, thrusting, and slicing—these three are the basics. Since your footwork and stance aren't bad, focus on honing these three basic sword forms."
There were many types of footwork Ragna taught him. Advancing, passing, lunging, evading, pivoting, turning, and making wide turns. Just memorizing them made his head spin, but as he practiced, they eventually became second nature.
No matter how dull a student was, when an expert of this caliber taught them one-on-one continuously, they were bound to improve. Even if it was a microscopic improvement invisible to a genius, to Encrid, it was a source of constant ecstasy.
"Picture the opponent in your mind. Then, swing."
Clang!
He kept learning through dozens of repetitions of today. Diagonal slashes, binding, winding strikes, snap slashes, high horizontal slashes, side strikes, overhead slashes, counter-strikes, half-sword fighting, parrying, deflecting, consecutive strikes, lunging, and draw cuts.
As time passed, the venomous remarks decreased.
"That's better than I expected. Where did you learn that binding technique?"
"One of my previous instructors drilled me to death on the bind."
"Excellent."
Ragna said he was satisfied with that. Encrid adopted this method when learning other techniques as well.
"At my previous training center, they said my high horizontal slash was always a mess. If you're going to teach me swordsmanship, it might be best to start from there."
"...I'm the one teaching, but it feels like you came here having already decided what to learn."
"Not necessarily."
When Encrid shrugged, Ragna would give him a brief test. Then, he would soon do as Encrid suggested.
"Let's do that, then."
Ragna would never know, but after teaching Encrid over several repetitions of today, he would deem the progress sufficient and move on. Every time that happened, Encrid pushed forward to the next step.
He repeated today, drenched in sweat under the blazing sun. What might make someone else sick with boredom was not the case for Encrid.
By the time about two hundred repetitions of today had passed...
"Hmm?"
He opened his eyes to see the Black River.
What was going on? He saw the ferryman. The blindfolded ferryman. He didn't see the ferryman's mouth open, but the voice pierced his ears clearly.
"Are you out of your mind? Throwing yourself to death over and over? You absolute fool."
The ferryman's tone was flat, but the content was anything but. Before Encrid could even formulate a reply, he woke from the dream.
Once again, it was the familiar today.
Encrid lay with his eyes open, not moving. He fell deep into thought.
"Did you have a wet dream or something? What are you doing?"
Beside him, Rem babbled some utter nonsense. Ignoring him, Encrid sat up.
Let's just assume he wanted to call me a madman.
Even if he wanted to ask why, it wasn't like he could. There was no point in dwelling on problems that had no answers.
Encrid stood up. "Do you know anything about sorcery?"
At those words, Rem snapped his head around. "Sorcery?"
"If you do, tell me what you know."
Every time the mist rolled in, Rem would mutter something about sorcery. He definitely knew something. Until now, Encrid had been too busy training his basic swordsmanship, but now he had some breathing room.
The training had become second nature. His skills had improved to the point where Ragna was astonished every time. He hadn't tested his skills in actual combat yet, but one thing was certain: Encrid could feel he was better than before.
"Sorcery is just sorcery, what else would it be?"
"Just tell me what you know. It sounds interesting."
Normally, Encrid would never strike up a conversation like this. Rem grinned and opened his mouth.
"What brought this on? Fine. Well, let me put it simply. Do you know the difference between magic and sorcery?"
"Magic is more common."
Though rare, mages were seen from time to time. But sorcery? Even Encrid, who had wandered all over the continent, had never seen it. That was how rare it was.
"That's not wrong, but..." Rem said as he tidied his bedding. He rolled up his blanket with a few rough pats, pushed it aside, put on his boots, and headed outside.
Encrid followed him out. It was the exact same today. He didn't feel bored. No matter what kind of today it was, it would only be an enjoyable one for Encrid.
As Encrid followed him out, Rem continued. "Sorcery requires a medium. I know magic sometimes needs a medium too, but for sorcery, a sacrifice or a medium is really important. Without it, you can't even start."
"Did your tribe use that kind of stuff too?"
Rem was from the western frontier. That area had become a frontier because the empire of the central continent had won the war. Before that, the West was the land of foreign tribes. This was already a story from over a hundred years ago. Now, it was firmly established as the western frontier, and the western tribes had been integrated as a single race.
Even now, people called them barbarians when looking down on them, but regardless, sorcery originated from the West. That was common knowledge.
"I've seen it a few times. But did you know there are actually very few real shamans? The ones wandering the continent are all just charlatans."
If Rem said so, then so be it. Encrid nodded and went back to his work.
"Where are you going?"
"To train."
He met Ragna and honed his basic skills once more. Around the time two hundred and fifty days of repeating today had passed, Ragna said:
"Were your basics always this solid?"
Ragna swept back his blonde hair, his red pupils visibly widening. "And it seems you've been using a longsword as your main weapon from the start."
Yeah, you're probably right.
Because he had been training with this sword the entire time. It was unfamiliar yet accustomed to his hand. It was the first time this sword had felt Encrid's touch in this loop, but since this process had already been repeated countless times, it felt familiar. It was a familiarity gained through the repeated today.
"It's about time for some real combat," Ragna said after the training ended.
Encrid nodded, acknowledging it.
"What are you doing? They're telling us to assemble!" Rem called out to the two of them.
On the way back, Encrid got some bread through Krais and chewed on it. He forced down the hard bread after soaking it in water and also managed to get some jerky to eat. He checked his gear and stood on the battlefield once more.
As the longsword he had swapped with Ragna swayed at his waist, Rem asked: "Didn't you say you paid a lot for the sword you used to use?"
"This one feels more familiar in my hand."
"I've seen plenty of guys kick the bucket after changing their weapons overnight."
Was this a curse or worry?
"Worry about yourself."
Encrid let out a long breath and steeled his resolve. Just because the Beast's Heart gave him boldness didn't mean he could rely solely on it. Since he was going into real combat anyway, it would be best if it served a purpose for 'tomorrow'.
Before the enemy came into view, Encrid thought: Sorcery requires a medium. And that medium is of utmost importance. According to Rem, at least.
What if the reason the enemy stayed in the Tall Grass Field wasn't for an ambush, but for concealment? What if there was something they wanted to hide?
Encrid had already seen it beforehand. Flagpoles and banners. When he had set fire to one of the tents, hadn't they been busier trying to put out the fire in that tent rather than killing the intruder?
Soon, the enemy came into view. A soldier from the 3rd Squad right next to him frowned, holding his spear, and muttered: "What's with their formation?"
Since it was a formation clustered around the flagpoles, it held no tactical value. In that case, it must have purely sorcerous value. Six flagpoles and banners towered above the enemy forces.
The mediums of the sorcery.
"Ah!"
Mist spread, obscuring his vision.
Now, shall I glide through this sorcerous mist?
Encrid's ears twitched. The keen sense of hearing he had obtained from Sachsen was about to take the place of his eyes.