Chapter 375: Aisia
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 375: Aisia
Why was Aisia here?
The moment Encrid faced her, several facts surfaced naturally, without him even having to rack his brain.
The Sheriff.
Why had the man come for him? Jealousy was one reason, but the Sheriff also saw it as the perfect opportunity. He had already judged Encrid as guilty.
That so-called guilt was for the death of Viscount Vantra, a deed Associate Knight Aisia could have witnessed. If she had stopped him then, it might never have happened.
Yet, it had.
Aisia didn't stop me.
The Marquis’s intervention was the reason Aisia stood before him now. But whose side was the Marquis of Okto truly on? Had the Order turned its back? Was that even possible? An Order without knights... How many Associate Knights did Aisia say were left in the capital?
A series of complex thoughts tangled together like a ball of yarn in the hands of children.
Encrid decisively cut through them. He couldn't act like Krais, nor was there any need to. The person who held the answers was right in front of him. All he had to do was ask.
“Why?”
Encrid’s voice was short, but the question carried immense weight.
Aisia raised her sword. The straight, thin blade stood on the boundary between darkness and light.
“I told you, this is as far as you go,” she replied. “Go back.”
Her eyes were devoid of emotion. It was as if a single, cold sword stood before him rather than a person.
The clashing of metal and the shouting from outside faded into the distance. It felt as though two actors had met on the stage of this narrow corridor.
Encrid drew Silver.
Shring.
The sound of the blade sliding from its metal-rimmed scabbard was chillingly clear. The silver longsword revealed itself, gleaming as if boasting of its form. Encrid gripped the hilt with both hands and steadied his breathing.
Sunlight filtered in from the window to his left—Aisia's right. The light streaming between them drew a long, glowing line that divided the space.
“Step back,” Aisia said again.
Please.
That was how it sounded to him.
“Why?” he asked again.
Naturally, no answer came. He knew too little to piece it together, and Aisia didn't seem likely to give him a straight answer. Without a trace of a smile, she simply stared.
Aisia showed neither bloodlust nor fighting spirit. She merely stood her ground like an inanimate object. On one side of the corridor sat rare porcelain, the kind found only in the south. Her presence seemed no different from that porcelain—she looked like a still life.
Encrid adjusted his grip.
Seeing this, Aisia spoke. “You are drinking the penalty wine.”
“It's a hobby,” Encrid retorted out of habit.
Even at those words, Aisia's expression did not crack. Instead, her aura shifted.
Intimidation.
The shift was instantaneous. To Encrid's eyes, a wall seemed to manifest, centered around Aisia. Her Intimidation didn't just carry the intent to kill; she was projecting a resolve forged from an absolute refusal to back down.
It was an infinitely solid wall—one whose top was too high to scale and whose strength was like reinforced steel.
However, Encrid was a man who enjoyed leaping over or gouging through such walls.
Ting.
Encrid held his sword out wide to the side to measure the distance. The tip of Silver tapped the right wall. He pulled it back, gripped the hilt with both hands, and raised it above his head. The corridor was narrow, but there was plenty of height.
If they fought here, the paintings, the southern porcelain, and the expensive vases would be shattered. But now was not the time to worry about decor.
Encrid steadied his breathing once more. His opponent was reading his rhythm.
Neither Aisia nor Encrid swung first. They measured the timing, reading the rise and fall of each other's breath. It was a dance they had performed countless times before; they had sparred over twenty times, after all.
The line of light cutting between them gradually lengthened.
On the wall between them hung three crossed swords—a decorative display of practice blades topped with a shield modeled after the Sun Beast. The sword in the center hung perpendicular to the ground, its tip closest to the floor.
As the sun shifted, the light passing through the window touched the tip of that central blade. Though unsharpened, the well-polished metal reflected the glare.
The instant it flashed, Encrid kicked off the ground.
Boom!
He couldn't afford to hold back. He dashed forward with explosive force, bringing his sword down with all his might.
The moment Encrid closed in, Aisia reacted. Her sword thrust straight forward—a strike faster than any arrow.
Encrid brought his blade down regardless. Aisia's sword clashed with Silver.
Clang! Screeech!
Encrid tried to shatter her wall with sheer force, while Aisia twisted her wrist to deflect the trajectory of the descending blade. Her masterful parry sent Encrid's strength sliding away.
Refusing to lose his footing, Encrid stepped back to preserve his balance, letting his sword flow with the momentum. He was ready to strike back at any second.
A long gouge was carved into the wall beneath the left window. Even though his strike had been like lightning, she had deflected it perfectly.
Aisia immediately raised her sword from the thrust and lowered it slowly, aiming at Encrid.
It was Sword Tip Aiming.
Her specialty and her greatest forte. Yet, it felt different from what Encrid remembered.
Hadn't Rem already told him?
“That won't be all of it.”
Knowing by instinct. Countless real battles and raw talent allowed one to see the hidden depths of an opponent’s skill. It was a realm Encrid could not yet see.
Did that make it a problem?
Not at all.
The tip of the sword aimed at him. In that moment, only the sword tip and himself remained in the world. That was Aisia's Sword Tip Aiming—an Illusion Sword, a blade of deception.
Encrid already knew the answer to overcoming it. It was only natural; Ragna, Rem, and Sachsen had shown him the solution time and time again.
Rem fought by blocking the sword tip with his axe.
Ragna ignored the tip entirely, erasing it with the sheer will to cut down whatever stood in his way.
Sachsen beat the sword away before the technique could even begin.
All three were correct, but none were applicable to Encrid. He had felt this ever since he first channeled a portion of Will into his body.
It only has meaning if I solve it my way.
To move forward, one must walk properly. You cannot walk by stepping on thin air, nor do you move forward by lifting your foot in place. Only when you make the process your own can you truly progress. That was the path—setting foot on the road, treading upon the soil, and pushing through the sand.
If the others had their ways, Encrid had to find his own. He didn't expect it to happen all at once. He was not a genius; he knew that well now.
“You are a genius.”
The words a mercenary had said to him when he was young no longer lingered in his heart. Instead, only the sword remained. The dream remained. What was it that patched up his torn dreams?
The sword.
Even when he had regretted Aisia's departure in the past, he had wished he could have sparred with her two hundred more times.
Why was she blocking his path? He didn't know. Did he know he shouldn't linger because he had to save Krang? He did. Yet, Encrid felt no impatience. If his heart wavered at every obstacle, he wouldn't have been able to endure this long.
He decided to immerse himself completely in the present. If she blocked him, he would leap over. If she stood in his way, he would break through.
In a fleeting moment, Encrid reached a conclusion and drew the sword of his own method. There was something he had wanted to try if he ever faced Aisia again.
Encrid closed his eyes.
If seeing was the problem, what if he didn't look?
“……You really are crazy.”
Something akin to emotion leaked from Aisia’s voice. She couldn't help but be shocked. She had kept her composure when he joked about the penalty wine, but this was too much.
Closing his eyes?
To attack with eyes closed—was this the act of a sane human? Even when they fought with eyes open, Aisia had always won. Whether he staked his life or not, the outcome of their spars was a constant. And yet, he closed his eyes just because the sword tip blocked his vision?
“Are you underestimating me? Or did you undergo some special training?” Aisia demanded.
From her tone, Encrid sensed she wasn't here because she wanted to be. If she were here of her own free will, she would have swung her sword instead of talking. That was how all her spars with him had been.
Of course, it was none of his business. Encrid relished this moment. He smiled, genuinely excited to face her. With his eyes closed, he listened. He used his ears instead of his eyes.
“If you hone your sensory techniques, you can see without looking.”
Sachsen had said it countless times. Indeed, the soldiers under his command often displayed such skills, grasping the movements of someone behind them without looking. Audin had spoken of feeling vibrations in the air.
“Knowing by instinct.”
Rem had spoken of the sixth sense. Ragna had simply asked if it was even necessary to know what was happening behind one's back—meaning, all you had to do was swing and cut.
Sachsen’s method was the most grounded: “Vibrations in the air are felt through touch, and sounds are heard with the ears.”
Distinguishing faint sounds was the foundation of sensory techniques. They were all similar; only their way of speaking and their realization differed. Encrid, too, had honed himself to the point of possessing the blade of the sixth sense—his sense of evasion.
Relying on that, Encrid moved. The man smiling with his eyes closed launched the first attack.
“You crazy bastard,” Aisia spat. Her voice carried a hint of respect amidst the condemnation.
Encrid relied on memory for his strike. He remembered where Aisia stood and tracked the sound of her voice. Then, he activated Moment's Will.
Boom!
The ground beneath him exploded. Stone dust erupted from beneath the carpet. Encrid swung his sword with everything he had. He had no intention of holding back just because his opponent was a friend.
* * *
Aisia could not let Encrid pass.
If you go past me, you die.
Even if she let him go, Encrid would not survive what lay ahead. So, she would stop him here, regardless of whether she was here by choice or by force.
That is for later.
Before her stood an opponent clashing with her in earnest. Closing his eyes and splitting the moments, Encrid closed the distance. His sword plunged down without hesitation.
Aisia struck back at the exact same speed, her Intimidation flaring. Somehow, his strikes seemed twice as fast as when his eyes were open.
She held her thin sword horizontally and slashed upward, twisting her ankle to disperse the force. Just like before, she deflected the power of his strike with her rapier. Blocking him head-on would be too slow, so she caught the moment of impact and twisted to disrupt his flow.
The rapier moved like fluttering cloth.
Tring!
The sound was soft compared to the violence of the strike. Encrid's sword slid off to the side. Aisia loosened her grip, then tightened it instantly. The muscles in her forearm surged with power as she thrust forward.
Whoosh.
The air reached him before the blade did. The sheer pressure made the fine hairs on Encrid's body stand on end. He had no time to recover his longsword.
Instead, Encrid shifted Silver to his left hand while his right hand gripped the sword at his waist. He drew it in a reverse grip.
The Gladius blocked Aisia's sword tip.
Clang!
With a precise point of impact, the thrusting force of the rapier was absorbed by the Gladius. Encrid's feet left the ground as he was pushed back.
In terms of physical strength, I have the upper hand, Aisia noted. Encrid's strength was monstrous; a single clean hit would be devastating.
But she would not be hit. And because he fought with his eyes closed, he lacked precision.
Encrid opened his eyes as he skidded back. Aisia aimed her sword once more. She could fight like this all day; it was the training of the Order.
And Encrid?
“One more time,” he said, and smiled.