Chapter 419: Following One's Heart
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 419: Following One's Heart
"You're staying with the Border Guard, right?"
Encrid nodded at Krais's question.
"I figured as much and prepared accordingly. If you need anything else, just let me know. Loyalty!"
Ever since seeing the General and the treasure, Krais's eyes had gleamed like gold coins, and the word 'loyalty' constantly spilled from his lips.
Encrid didn't blame him. No matter what anyone said, the man got the job done.
Encrid’s quarters had changed. They were more spacious now, with more rooms, and a new training ground had been built right in front of his door. While the Mad Platoon had their own exclusive training ground before, this one was on an entirely different level.
Smooth, flat stones were laid across the wide expanse. On one side, neatly planted trees bore green leaves that glistened with morning dew.
Dawn was slowly breaking. It was summer, the season of early sunrises.
Trees, flowers, the rising sun.
Watching the leaves sway in the wind, Encrid drew his sword.
Then, he began his usual routine. There were no sparring matches today.
"We'll talk once my axe is finished," Rem had said, grinding his teeth.
"My greatsword isn't ready yet," Ragna had also declined, his brow furrowed.
"Are you planning to stab and slash with that, Brother General?" Even Audin, of all people, had subtly voiced his refusal.
"I'm not doing it," Dunchabel said, avoiding his gaze.
"I've ordered a new shield," Teresa added.
"My ankle might have regrown, but even three ankles wouldn't be enough to face you right now." Even the hope of sparring with Luagarne had vanished.
Sinar was nowhere to be seen.
"I don't think I'm ready yet." When he tried to call out to Pel as a last resort, Pel simply shook his head. He added that he couldn't win yet; he clearly had no desire to fight at the moment.
It was a great shame for Encrid. All he had done was test Aker, the famous sword among famous swords he had recently acquired. Granted, during that test, he had split Rem's axe blade and cut Ragna's temporary sword in half, but that couldn't be helped.
He had a new sword; shouldn't he test it out?
"Don't you think that's a bit cheap?" Rem had sneered, but Encrid replied calmly.
"Properly equipping yourself is also a skill."
"The King just gave it to you... Never mind, let's not talk about it." Rem gave up on the argument. It would be easier to draw upon his sorcery power once more than to defeat Encrid in a battle of words.
"Come at me, you wild barbarian of the West," Encrid teased a few more times, but Rem had learned his lesson and ignored him, closing his ears to the provocation.
Encrid soon shook off his idle thoughts and focused on his training.
Slice, stab, and slash.
The wind rose and leaves swayed in sync with his blade as he swung, imagining a hypothetical enemy.
There is something to learn from everything I see.
Great enlightenment wasn't always necessary. Sometimes, it was simply about repeating movements, reducing minor errors, and executing better forms. As he swung his sword alongside his thoughts, everything he had learned so far naturally blended together.
He infused Moment's Will into the continuous motions of stabbing and slashing.
Two movements in a single breath.
Ragna had executed up to three movements in a single breath. Encrid had seen it when Ragna cut down the Wraith General in front of the Count.
Encrid couldn't do that yet. What Ragna did went beyond a mere trick; it was close to a divine skill. In truth, it felt like the swordplay closest to that of a true knight—or so it seemed.
Repeat, and repeat again.
If the Ferryman had been right beside him, he would have cursed him, calling him an incredibly tedious bastard.
He practiced the Crushing Sword following a moment's acceleration. Then the Capturing Sword, conjuring a hypothetical enemy and mapping out a battle of wits.
The opponents before him varied, ranging from the young genius he had met in the past to those he encountered during his mercenary days: Liebart, Rem, Ragna, and Audin. None of those fights had been easy.
In terms of pure skill, Encrid was already among the very best of the associate knights, but the outcome of a real fight was different from a sparring match. After all, anyone could die to a stray blade.
Do not speak of victory or defeat before the fight.
Three of the instructors who had taught him said the exact same thing. Strangely enough, all three had initially refused to teach Encrid, only relenting after witnessing a persistence that went beyond mere desperation.
As he swung his sword again and again, sweat sprayed in all directions.
In Encrid's eyes, the person closest to being a knight was Ragna. He remembered Ragna cutting down the opponent blocking his path in a single blow—the swordplay he displayed while parting the wave of wraiths. In every aspect, he had clearly surpassed the level of an associate knight. That was why Encrid had asked him:
"Have you reached the level of a knight?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I haven't been there, so I don't know."
Conviction had shone from Ragna as he spoke. It was the kind of confidence only a genius could display. His attitude said it all: I haven't been there yet, but I will reach it.
Absolute faith was evident in his every action.
Encrid knew all too well that his own talent was miserable, and he was surrounded by geniuses like Ragna. Rem was one, and Audin was another. Even Dunchabel and Teresa had improved to an incomparable degree. Their innate talents were simply different.
What about Pel? Judging by how he could gauge an opponent's strength just by looking, he too was more than worthy of being called a genius. Even Squire Ropode—though Encrid didn't know what he was thinking when he followed along—likely possessed talent superior to Encrid's.
Then there was Liebart, a poet drowned in a swamp of frustration and despair. He sang of despair and danced to frustration. Lamenting his talent in such a way, he had walked a crooked path.
"Be frustrated! Despair!" the Ferryman's illusion shouted.
Encrid ignored it all. His posture wouldn't falter, nor would his mind shake from such idle distractions.
Just as he was sweating profusely, he heard the light, steady sound of footsteps approaching. Encrid stopped his swing and turned his gaze.
It was from the direction of the rising dawn. A single shadow walked toward him, silhouetted against the light. The sun, which had risen before he knew it, brightly illuminated the surroundings. He saw reddish-brown hair and two arms swaying naturally.
Encrid knew that a silent dagger could fly from those hands at any moment. He knew that countless blades and weapons were hidden all over that man's body. If Audin's body was like a steel blunt weapon, the man approaching now was a living, breathing weapon—a lethal instrument capable of killing an opponent just by breathing.
As his own skill grew, so did his vision. He could now see Sachsen's "preparation," which had been invisible to him before. He saw the lethality hidden in every step and every gesture.
Watching this, Encrid shifted his stance, tugged at his sword belt, and rested his hand on his waist. Naturally, his hand gripped Aker. It was a famous sword named after a knight from the founding myth—a royal treasure.
Would it be alright if I broke it?
Well, it was given to me, so there's nothing I can do about it, right?
If Sachsen were to attack him right now, it seemed that neither Aker nor Encrid himself would escape unscathed.
Among assassins, they categorized their levels like this:
Revealing killing intent outwardly is third-rate.
Subtly revealing killing intent is second-rate.
Approaching without any presence is first-rate.
Approaching while giving off a perfectly ordinary presence is pinnacle-rate.
Sachsen appeared as he always did, but Encrid's sharp five senses and intuition said otherwise.
"Your skills have truly improved a great deal," Sachsen said as he approached.
"I still have a long way to go," Encrid replied, letting his arms hang loose. He relaxed his muscles further. To unleash an instantaneous burst of speed, one had to be completely relaxed.
"To become a knight, you mean?"
Encrid nodded.
Sachsen stopped in his tracks. Because of the sunlight behind him, his face was cast entirely in shadow. The deep darkness made his expression look colder than ever.
"There is one thing I want to ask."
"Ask."
"Why didn't you join the order of knights?"
*
"Are you returning now?"
In the past, during the time of the former master of the Dagger of Geor, there was a task secretly carried out once an infiltration mission was completed: kill everyone who might suspect the identity of the infiltrated guild member.
In the present day, it was no longer a rule that absolutely had to be followed. But if that target was none other than the Master of the Dagger of Geor, the story was different. The Master was an existence that always had to remain hidden behind a veil of mystery.
"Should I take care of him?" his lover asked. She was also the former master's daughter.
Sachsen did not answer. The words did not come easily.
"If it must be done, I will do it with my own hands."
His lover nodded. That made sense to her.
But when would he take care of it, and when would he return? Setting aside the backlogged requests, the bigger issue was that the Master's prolonged absence was causing discipline to break down. If he showed even a single opening, there were plenty of bastards waiting to make a move for his position. Off the top of his head, there were more than five.
No, probably closer to ten.
Even so, because she respected the Master, she followed his will.
Even without a specific reason, Sachsen was still here. He could have left before the civil war started, or even after, and he didn't have to return all the way to the Border Guard. He also had countless opportunities to kill the man who suspected his identity along the way.
Regardless of success or failure, why hadn't he even attempted it?
There was a mountain of things he was curious about and couldn't understand.
"May I ask why?" she asked—not as a guild member serving the Master, but as his lover.
Sachsen was momentarily lost for words. "I think I'll know if I ask him."
"What?"
"Why he didn't become a knight."
To the woman, it sounded completely out of the blue. But not to Sachsen.
Master.
All throughout his journey here, the words of the former master lingered in Sachsen's mind.
"A technique without heart only ends up as a killing art, you idiot."
He had wondered if those were really the right words to say to someone who had come to learn the art of killing.
"Do you like being good at killing people? Is it fun?"
He didn't feel it often, but it was indeed enjoyable.
"Don't smile. Seeing you smile makes me feel like I made the wrong choice."
He hadn't even been curious about what that choice was. The Master had said similar things ever since he first brought him in.
"If there is something you hold dear, things that would have ended as mere killing arts can become a sword that protects someone."
Sachsen had asked the Master in return: "Then what are you protecting, Master?"
"My daughter, my family, the fools who live looking only to me, and a fence to keep bastards like you from being unleashed upon the world."
It was a story half-understood, half-incomprehensible. A story that, in truth, didn't even matter. A story to be heard and simply brushed aside.
What mattered to Sachsen was the power needed for revenge. But now that his revenge was settled, should he find a new target for vengeance? Should he repeat the process of hunting down and killing the remaining ones one by one? Was that the right path?
He believed it was something he had to do before even weighing right and wrong. That was why he was here.
"Now, Sachsen Bensino, legitimate son of Bensino. Do you want to become a murder maniac? Is performing the act of killing perfectly the sole goal of your life? Is that your dream? Is that your everything?"
The Master's words echoed one after another in Sachsen's mind.
*
Encrid fell into brief thought at Sachsen's sudden question.
Why, indeed?
He hadn't really thought of a specific reason. But thinking about it, he could have stayed in the order of knights. If he had remained in the capital and expressed a desire to join, who would have refused him?
Krang was ready to create a whole new order of knights for him if necessary, and Aisia had subtly suggested that he don the red cloak. The Marquis of Okto, who had now become a duke, had even said so outright:
"What do you say to staying in the capital and joining the order of knights? I believe it would be a fine opportunity for you."
While Marquis Vaisar had tried to forge a connection by acting as his backing, the Duke of Okto wanted him to become a new pillar of the land altogether.
Encrid had calmly brushed aside all those offers. At the time, his only desire was to return quickly and swing his sword in peace, morning and night.
"Just because."
Feeling the need to explain in more detail, Encrid added, "I simply followed my heart."
To go deeper, it was because he couldn't see the kind of knight he aspired to be. Encrid had not found chivalry there. He had seen the orders of knights in the capital, but was there chivalry within them? Honor? Faith? Fidelity?
Help the weak.
Take up the sword and fight for justice.
A battlefield where children do not have to fight.
The fight of those who guard one's back.
These were virtues currently ignored. Encrid felt no need to don a red cloak to walk the path he desired. That was the underlying reason behind his words of following his heart.
"The order of knights I wished for wasn't there, either."
Realizing his explanation was lacking, Encrid spoke as if simply listing his thoughts. It was a brief explanation, but the meaning was fully conveyed.
"What a big dreamer," Rem would have said.
But Sachsen only furrowed his brow at Encrid's words.