Chapter 424: The Guest
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 424: The Guest
Just as Rem had made up his mind, the others found their own hearts shifting.
It was inevitable.
"Ha!"
From dawn until dusk.
Through rain or snow, humidity or drought.
Watching a man swing his sword like a possessed madman was bound to make anyone stop and think.
While Rem had strengthened his resolve through a specific catalyst, Ragna was busy re-evaluating his own talent. He turned his gaze inward, lost in contemplation.
What is it that I actually possess?
First and foremost, he had a talent for finding shortcuts. It was truly exceptional. Finding a path wasn't a talent that required validation from anyone else; it was something he simply knew.
Not that I intend to live my life as a pathfinder, though.
In truth, Ragna had worked as a pathfinder before, but every single person who hired him ended up utterly sick of him. He was a mad pathfinder who fought incredibly well but couldn't tell north from south to save his life. Some even misunderstood his lack of direction, thinking he went out of his way to find nests of monsters and demonic beasts.
The Pathfinder Guild used to shudder at the mere mention of Ragna’s name.
Setting aside his talent for navigation, he looked deeper.
What else?
The sword. Swordsmanship. Innate talent didn't just vanish, and there were things one could understand without being told. Just as he had a gift for pathfinding, he possessed a certain degree of talent with the blade.
Then, what am I lacking?
Knowing his strengths was enough. He might be flawless as a pathfinder, but that wasn't the case with his swordsmanship. If he were truly flawless and unobstructed, he would have already reached the level of a knight.
But he hadn't. He was blocked. He felt as if the very flow of his swordsmanship was being severed. It meant something was missing.
Lately, to outside observers, he seemed to be slacking off. In reality, Ragna was dissecting his inner self. After this period of reflection, he reached a conclusion and took action.
The basics.
This meant every single movement: the swing, the slash, and the thrust. Ragna started from basic physical conditioning and began to retrace the path he had walked in reverse. Even if he was terrible at finding new paths, retracing his steps by looking at his own firmly pressed footprints was something even Ragna could manage.
In the midst of this, a voice within him asked: “Why do you want to become a knight?”
In the past, he would have stopped, unable to answer. Now, he had his response.
“Only by becoming a knight can I see what lies ahead.”
Ragna was now waiting for that future. He also had an immediate goal: the knight who had come from Azpen. He wanted to defeat him.
Just like Rem, Ragna had changed.
Sachsen had no need for a separate change of heart. Had he not already made up his mind long ago? Instead, his body was simply busy. He moved tirelessly, knowing that if he failed to keep his guild members in line, there were plenty of bastards who would try to poison Encrid’s food the moment he looked away.
Amidst all this, Encrid continued to swing his sword.
Watching the trajectory of that blade, Frok spoke in genuine admiration.
“Clean.”
It was a basic form that looked as if it had been repeated thousands of times over many years. In Luagarne’s eyes, when it came to the basics alone, she had never seen anyone like Encrid.
Is that too obvious? Luagarne thought to herself. On second thought, it did seem almost too obvious.
Geniuses were born with talent. Even if they performed a movement only a few times, they would quickly grasp its principles, interpret them, and modify them.
But can that really be called mastering it completely?
A flash of talent might reveal a shortcut, but that wasn't necessarily a blessing. Without effort, even a genius would eventually be consumed by their own talent. Luagarne had seen many such unfortunate souls.
Then, what was truly needed?
Persistence. Talent without persistence was like the chirping of a bird that could make no sound. Where did that terrifying level of persistence come from?
What is the element that allows him to repeat it so much that he doesn't even feel boredom or weariness?
“Whew.”
Exhaling the air from deep within his lungs, Encrid swung his sword downward. The movement traced a trajectory perfectly identical to the one before. He wasn't swinging his sword while imagining a virtual sparring partner. It was merely a downward strike he performed every day to the point of monotony.
That was how it looked to Luagarne, yet heat was radiating from Encrid’s body. It was an enthusiasm that could never stem from boredom. It was a passion born of pure, intoxicating joy.
He is a fascinating, truly fascinating fellow.
Aspects she hadn't been able to see before—because she hadn't looked closely enough—were now visible. Because the act of swinging the sword itself was joyful, he felt no boredom. He simply enjoyed the act to the fullest.
He was, without a doubt, a madman.
Krang, whose nickname "Mourning King" was gradually spreading, had once said: “He’s a bastard who doesn't seem human.”
Luagarne inwardly agreed. Her eyes followed Encrid’s entire day. Observing and studying every action of the man before her—that was her job. Through this, Luagarne also saw the people who were changing because of him.
Recognizing one's own shortcomings and seeking to fix them is not a talent.
It was something that required a catalyst, a stimulus. In that sense, the stimulus named Encrid was fair to everyone.
It was the same for Pel. Pel took pride in his talent. He watched and observed everyone just as much as Luagarne did, but he paid particularly close attention to Encrid.
What a crazy bastard.
There was no such thing as rest. No, he had seen him rest, but he wondered if that could even be called resting. It was impressive enough that he showed no boredom during his daily repetitive training, but this bastard looked as if he were risking his life on every single drill.
Many people said, “I do my best,” but...
I’ve never seen a lunatic like him.
It wasn't just talk; he truly lived such a day, every single day. He lived as if burning the candle of his soul to light up his surroundings. Pel himself wasn't one to neglect training, but like that? Every day?
Gulping, Pel made up his mind.
If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.
He hadn't come all this way while getting cursed out by the old shepherds for nothing. Along with his observations, Pel secretly threw himself into his own training.
Ropode, who was in a similar position, acted in the complete opposite manner.
“Let’s have a match!”
For anyone who knew the old Ropode, this was utterly unimaginable. Originally, he was a man who constantly walked on eggshells, moving only according to the opinions of others. Now, he casually ignored the gazes of others and prioritized action.
“Do you really want to die?” Ragna asked Ropode with deep gravity. He was completely serious.
“Don't kill him,” Encrid added, swinging his sword nearby.
Ropode was like a little bird that had broken out of its shell to face a new world.
He doesn't really mean it.
That was how he took Ragna’s words. Until now, he had caused many misunderstandings by presumptuously guessing other people’s inner thoughts. He would not do that anymore. That was why he remained unshaken by their banter.
Resolve soon became will.
“I want to spar with you to the death!”
“Even after hearing that?” Ragna asked nonchalantly.
“Don't kill him,” Encrid repeated, shaking his head.
Ropode did not let his will be broken by their double act. The two of them certainly loved their jokes. Of course, getting beaten to a pulp after rushing in was entirely his own fault. Ropode didn't stop there. Even after groaning in pain for a few days, he would quickly get back up.
“Lady Teresa, let’s have a match!”
Ropode rushed in without picking his opponents.
“I won't send you to meet the Lord just yet,” Teresa nodded. She had recently gained a small realization of her own.
It happened after she saw several sparring partners coming to find Encrid lately. There were all kinds of people: from mere mercenaries to noble guards who couldn't believe the rumors, warriors from other nations, and wandering swordsmen from the East. Although Frok Meelun was in the city to turn away most of them, a few still managed to make it all the way to the barracks. After all, even Frok Meelun couldn't be in two places at once.
Encrid faced them personally, and Teresa inwardly nodded as she watched. A lion did its best even when catching a rabbit. Encrid never went easy, no matter who he faced. He would draw Aker and activate the Will of Speed. That lightning-fast thrust was like a bolt of thunder.
She acted just like Encrid. She bashed the charging Ropode with her shield—a shield bash infused with the strength of a half-giant.
Thwack!
“Argh!”
His neck twisting sideways, Ropode flew through the air, rolled three times on the ground, and came to a halt. He was knocked out cold. If Teresa had used just a little more strength, he would have been knocking on heaven's door.
“Are you trying to kill him?” Encrid asked, having witnessed the impact.
“Since I engaged in a spar, I merely did my best.”
Teresa, the half-giant, spoke as she radiated heat. Her eyes conveyed her own desire to fight. Since he was not a man to refuse a spar...
“Come.”
Encrid didn't bother to avoid it.
If anyone came to watch, they would think there was no greater mess than this. The quasi-lord who ruled this area and was called a general fought to the death at the drop of a hat, and the guy who seemed to be the weakest rushed at anyone in sight.
Some of those who came to spar were so impressed by the skills of Encrid and the others that they wished to join the unit.
“I wish to serve under the Demon Slayer.”
No one bothered to stop them. But even those people came to their senses after a short while.
“I’ll start from the Border Guard Standing Army. No... no, thank you. You want me to serve under Lord Rem? I was wrong. I think I’ll try farming. Standing army? No way. I’ll just be a farmer.”
They changed their minds in an instant. No matter how hard a sane person struggled, they could never catch up to madness. There was a reason they were called a mad unit.
“Spar!” Ropode shouted.
Pel watched with a subtle gaze. Rem wondered when he would finally head West. Sachsen tirelessly went in and out of the camp. Ragna devoted himself to basic training like never before.
Audin also found his thoughts drifting to his restriction.
Lord, may I lift the restriction?
It was a thought that occurred to him often lately. Audin simply believed that God would grant him another revelation when the time was right.
Dunchabel had realized her weakness: an excessive desire to live. Because of that, her first instinct was always to look back and think of running away.
I had no choice but to do that to survive.
The survival instinct of the beastmen was more exceptional than that of other species, and for Dunchabel, it had grown even stronger during her exile. Why was it that even after preparing herself for death, the desire to live quickly resurfaced? It was because she truly did not want to die.
I must overcome this.
The existence of Encrid was truly peculiar. Just watching him made Dunchabel realize what her own problem was.
It was just another ordinary day at the training ground. Pel saw someone approaching through the three trees near the entrance. It wasn't a familiar face. He wasn't wearing a guard's uniform, either.
The man wore a cloth vest. His arms and fists were covered in scars, and he had an angular jaw with prominent cheekbones. His body was defined by lean, corded muscle. Pel’s gaze swept over the stranger’s entire body in an instant.
“Let me play too.”
The moment his lips moved, his voice rang out, and his figure instantly loomed large.
“Ha!”
Startled, Pel drew the Idol Slayer and slashed upward. And why wouldn't he? The man who had been walking slowly in the distance had closed the gap to his nose in a single breath.
His instincts drove him to swing the Idol Slayer, and the opponent struck the blade with his bare palm. With a sharp slice, his palm was slightly cut, but...
“That’s a sharp sword.”
He simply licked the wound once, and that was it. The magical power of the Idol Slayer had failed to take effect.
“You look a bit boring.”
The intruder spoke as he stepped further into the training ground. With Encrid at the center, Rem, Ragna, Audin, Teresa, and Dunchabel stood to his left and right.
Ropode, who used to be highly perceptive of others' moods but had now lost all sense of caution, asked: “Who might you be?”
It was obvious at a glance that he was no ordinary soldier.
“Just passing through,” he replied.
Even though the opponent had done nothing, Encrid felt a heavy pressure and was reminded of someone. It was a memory summoned from the realm of instinct. An opponent who had come from Azpen, tearing through a tent to unleash a sword strike.
A knight. An opponent against whom even blocking a single blow had been overwhelming.
“They said the rumors were exaggerated, but...”
The man spoke, letting his hands hang loose. He had done nothing and hadn't even raised his Will, yet there was not a single opening to be seen.
But did that mean they had to back down?
Encrid raised the sword of his mind. For willpower was a blade sharpened on the whetstone of resolve. Steeling his mind, he straightened his back and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
It wasn't just Encrid. Rem, Ragna, Audin, Dunchabel, and Teresa did the same. None of them had any intention of backing down.
The summer heat warmed the air. It was hot enough for heat haze to shimmer. Though they had been dripping with sweat from the muggy heat, the sudden tension chilled that warmth to the bone.
At a moment when no one spoke, someone else intervened. It came from behind the newly appeared man.
“Stop playing around.”
The newcomer approached and spoke, but the tension did not break. Although the man in the vest had initially intended to create this atmosphere, things were a bit different now.
Well, look at this.
The man in the vest stared intently at Encrid. The one maintaining this atmosphere right now was that bastard.
The protagonist of the rumors—the Demon Slayer.