Chapter 429: The Man Who Carries His Dreams in His Sword
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 429: The Man Who Carries His Dreams in His Sword
The overcast sky hung lower than ever.
It looked as if the heavy clouds were brushing against the small hill rising behind the training grounds and the quarters.
While everyone else went about their business, the King and Encrid discussed their dreams.
They spoke while drawing the cold, crisp air—left behind by the receding rain—deep into their lungs and exhaling it slowly.
"I wish to become a knight and wield a sword."
Encrid’s tone and attitude were so plain and matter-of-fact that his dream sounded like someone else's story. He spoke of what he wanted to achieve on the continent, starting with his path to knighthood.
The King listened to Encrid's dream and thought:
There is neither despair nor frustration here.
Encrid did not even mention the ridicule of others. He would simply move forward, and because he had decided to make it so, he did not doubt.
This man did not contemplate failure.
The King's own past flashed through his mind.
"Cut the nonsense about founding a nation! Do you honestly think that makes any sense?"
Those were the words of the brother who had followed him most faithfully. Anu could not blame him; his brother was simply a realist. He wasn't wrong, either. There were many others who spoke such reasonable truths.
"It is impossible. Asking us to invest in such a venture..."
"Are you planning to become a bandit or a highwayman? What is even out there in the East?"
"Why waste your strength like that? Devote your power to holding back the Demon Realm. I shall give you whatever you desire."
The King—Anu—had ignored all of them, rejecting every single offer. None of their words had made his heart beat.
I will do what makes my heart race.
For him, that was founding a nation in the East.
In the end, Anu had achieved it. He had poured his entire life into laying the foundation of his kingdom. Everyone said it was impossible. Everyone said it was meaningless. Everyone threw ridicule his way.
Anu had no time to care about such things. He had far too much to do. He simply forged ahead.
And as he pressed onward...
"Sounds fun. Let's do it together."
...the number of people staying by his side grew.
"You are full of gaps. I shall fill those gaps for you."
That was how he had reached the present. But it wasn't over. It was only the beginning.
Though he didn't mean to exert pressure, a heavy weight settled into the King's voice, and a heat kindled in his eyes.
"The Eastern Kingdom? That is merely a stepping stone! A nation is just a foundation. My goal is to conquer the entire East."
He would explore the unknown, carving out paths one by one, and plant his banner in those lands. The King bared his fangs as he spoke. It was a smile, but it was also an expression that laid bare his raw fighting spirit.
"You want to become a knight? Did you say the Knight of the End of War?"
"Yes."
"You want to erase war from the continent? If the Demon Realm is the enemy, you will erase the Demon Realm; if a demon blocks your path, you will kill the demon; and if the Empire stands in your way, you will tear down even the Empire?"
It was a dream far grander than his own goal of conquering the East. It was a delusion. The King respected the dreams of others, but wasn't this going too far?
Encrid's attitude remained unchanged. His sweat had already cooled. A breeze blew, fluttering Encrid's black hair, which had grown long enough to tickle his neck.
He had no grand lineage. He was no royalty. Nor was his talent particularly exceptional. He was a human who walked and pressed forward solely on the strength of a single dream.
"You are a truly fascinating fellow."
Anu uttered the very words that those who admired him had once spoken to him. Was this guy's dream on a completely different scale?
"If I were to start a war on the continent, you would fight me too. Then, for the sake of the future, I should kill you here."
He didn't actually mean he would kill him. The King had recalled something he had forgotten through the other's words. And for the first time during his stay here, he saw the young man's true will.
That was why he did it. It was a lesson cloaked in a threat of death.
"I will kill you" was merely an excuse to wrap up his whims, because he didn't want to explain them with words. Of course, there was no way to truly know the King's inner thoughts. After all, wasn't he an incredibly fickle man who acted entirely on impulse?
Along with his words, the King rose from his crouching position and reached his hand backward. His adjutant hesitated for a moment. He had followed Anu for over twenty years.
Is he serious?
Though he hesitated, he obeyed the command. He was about to toss a spear into the King's hand, but the King spoke.
"The Bull."
The adjutant didn't just hesitate; he froze. The name of a weapon had been uttered—one that would never be drawn unless against an opponent who absolutely had to die, or an enemy comparable to the King himself.
"My Lord?" Asaluhi asked reflexively.
"Give it to me."
The King was firm. The adjutant pulled out a new weapon strapped to his back and unwrapped the cloth surrounding it.
The shaft was dark brown, its material difficult to discern, and the spearhead was peculiarly two-pronged. Both in material and shape, the spearhead looked like horns. It was a dark gray, horned spearhead. Had it been seen in the dark, it would have been completely invisible due to its pitch-black hue.
The two horns of the spearhead formed the head of a bull, and the shaft was its body.
An unprecedented pressure emanated from the King as he gripped the spear. It was an intimidation that made one feel compelled to bow and prostrate oneself.
Encrid, who had been sitting beside him, felt a pressure as if he were sinking into the ground even while seated, but he quickly activated his Will of Rejection.
The will harbored within Encrid pushed back against the King's intimidation, asserting his own existence. Because he refused to be crushed, it was rejection; it was defiance.
Encrid pushed off the ground with his palms and stood up.
Asaluhi watched with startled eyes, as if simply standing up was an incredible feat. To stand without a single tremor before the King wielding The Bull was unheard of. Above all, that man had already been struck down twice today by the King's hand.
It would only be natural for him to be exhausted. It would be natural for his resolve to waver.
But he did not. Encrid stood holding Aker.
The true intention behind the King's words? He didn't care about that. His legs, drained of strength from two sparring matches? He didn't care about that either.
The opponent had heard his dream and declared he would break it. He had openly unleashed a murderous intent to kill him.
Encrid did what he always did. He raised his sword and defied. He patched up his torn dreams, just as he always had. He took his stance and looked straight at his opponent. He walked, looking only toward his dream, just as he always had.
He tensed his legs and steadied his breathing. Just as he always did, he chose to live in the moment where dying didn't matter.
The King's spear moved. At a speed that left a faint white afterimage, the two horns thrust toward his chest.
Encrid held Aker at an angle to block. It was an attack he wouldn't have been able to stop if luck hadn't been on his side.
Ting.
The spear, which had approached in the blink of an eye, stopped as it grazed the blade of Aker blocking his chest. Then, trapping the blade between its two horns, it spun sideways.
Stopping was an even more astonishing feat than the thrust itself. Despite thrusting with such speed, the spear had stopped with only a faint ting, trapping the blade between its horns to snap it.
Grind.
The blade caught between the two horns shrieked. Encrid gripped the sword tightly as it threatened to tear through his palms and escape, holding on with the grip strength he trained every morning alongside his Heart of Monstrous Strength.
When Encrid's blade neither broke nor slipped from his hands, the King spoke.
"Try blocking this too."
As if overflowing with leisure, the King spoke even as he withdrew the spear and thrust it forward again. In Encrid's eyes, the horns of the bull multiplied to six.
The spear, branching out into three paths as it extended, all seemed real. And in fact, they were. Because speed is relative. To Encrid's eyes, the three-pronged thrusts were all real—a miraculous feat performed by the King repeatedly thrusting and pulling back.
There wasn't even time to shout.
Encrid relaxed his muscles for a split second, then instantly tensed his entire body as he slashed his sword. If there were any soldier who could recognize the technique mixed into Encrid's swordsmanship right now, that fellow would deserve to receive Luagarne's teachings immediately.
The slash, which combined the Crushing Sword and the Will of Speed, clashed with the horns of the bull. Just like before, the horns merely grazed the blade and retreated.
Ting.
Encrid pulled Aker back. It was time to catch his breath. For some reason, the sword felt heavier than before. No, the weight of Aker was transmitted to his arms more vividly than ever. He thought it might be because he was exhausted.
Instead of attacking, the King spoke.
"You realize Will, create techniques one by one, and once you surpass that, you fight with Will itself. That is the knight you speak of."
Encrid had no leisure to reply. The King continued.
"If you can fight with Will itself, wouldn't you need a weapon to match? The answer is obvious. The Bull is such a weapon. It is what is commonly called an imprinted weapon. My Will is contained within this."
As he spoke, the King thrust his spear again. It was impossible to even guess when he was breathing. Encrid slashed upward once more.
Ting!
Once again, the blade and the horns only grazed each other. Encrid couldn't even judge whether it was the right time to make a decisive move. Even though The Eye that Sees an Inch Ahead was active, the next moment was invisible, as if shrouded in fog.
He had to predict the next move by watching the shifting of shoulders or the tensing of feet, but his opponent showed none of these. That was why it looked as if a fog had rolled in.
The sword in his hand felt even heavier than before. Every time it clashed with the spear, it felt as if someone were secretly attaching pieces of iron to it. The fog, the weight—everything was bothersome, but...
So what?
Encrid ignored it, drawing air into his mouth and holding his breath. His cheeks puffed out. He would do everything he could. Just as he always did.
Encrid's sword seemed to vanish into thin air with a whoosh. It was a thrust that mobilized everything he had. It was the activation of the Will of Speed. It was a strike that mobilized his breathless state, Single-Point Focus, the Heart of Monstrous Strength, and even his Sense of Attack.
"Not so fast."
The King thrust his spear, altering the trajectory of the blade.
Ting!
Another similar sound rang out. Encrid pulled back the sword whose trajectory had been thrown off. If once didn't work, he would do it twice, three times, and if that still didn't work, he would do it ten times.
If he stopped just because an endless wall blocked his path, he would never be able to cross it.
The blade of Aker began to dance in the air, shattering and breaking the sunset light. The King deflected every single one of those strikes with the horns of The Bull.
Pitter-patter. The dark clouds spat out a few thin drops of rain.
T-t-t-t-ting!
Aker and The Bull met and parted countless times. After clashing and separating in that brief instant, Encrid stumbled backward. Thin raindrops fell onto his sword, hissing as they turned into steam.
"As I thought, you must die."
The King spoke, and though Encrid stumbled, he did not loosen his grip on his sword. A brief moment of glaring at each other passed.
"Axe, I know you're back there, so don't bother throwing anything."
The King spoke again, addressing Luagarne.
"Your senses must still feel awkward, and if you take the wrong path now, you'll suffer for the rest of your life."
The King continued, his gaze fixed on Encrid.
"You look like you're trying to grab me if things go south, but I won't give you the distance in the first place."
Straightening The Bull, the King slammed the shaft onto the ground and withdrew his murderous intent.
"And I am a beastman, and I haven't even transformed yet!"
That final shout made the hairs on everyone's skin stand on end. It was a shout packed with confidence, not arrogance, proven over many long years. Because he had lived for so long, the King's personality fluctuated, making his speech erratic, but the meaning within it was clear.
"Why so suddenly?" Luagarne asked. She, too, had been fingering the hilt of her Loop Sword from the side. Frok had also been planning to pounce if things went wrong.
The King knew this, but answered as if he didn't.
"It's a whim. Asaluhi."
"Yes, my Lord."
The King tossed The Bull back. Catching it, Asaluhi shook the warm spear to cool down the horn-made blades before wrapping it back in the cloth.
"Let's go."
The King decided and moved. It was an action as impulsive as his arrival. Not that anyone stopped him.
The King brushed past Encrid, who was on the verge of fainting while standing, stopped to whisper something, and patted his shoulder once with his palm. Then, he strode away with long, easy steps.
"Then, we shall meet again if there is another occasion," Adjutant Asaluhi said, looking back.
No one replied. Asaluhi made eye contact with Dunchabel, who was watching from a tree, frozen stiff, and withdrew with a gentle smile. Every single one of them had been ready to attack.
Near the exit, Teresa stood holding her shield.
"We shall take our leave."
Asaluhi followed the King out.
*
"Why did you do that? They didn't seem like people who would come to the East."
Asaluhi quickened his pace, catching up behind the striding King as he asked. He had followed the King for a long time. Though briefly flustered, looking back, he could roughly understand his master's intentions.
What the King had given was a gift. Including what he had whispered at the very end, he had left Encrid a gift.
"I received a gift first."
"What do you mean by that?"
When Asaluhi asked again, the King smirked and replied.
"I was good with both the sword and the spear the moment I picked them up. You know that, right?"
"Yes, I know."
There was a time when the King was called the Mercenary King due to his innate talent. He possessed natural physical talent and charismatic charm.
"I was born the child of slaves, but before I turned sixteen, I freed even my parents from slavery."
Afterward, he won great fame by slaying a lion with a single spear.
"And yet..."
The King swallowed his words for a moment. The brief rain had already stopped. The air and sky were cold but crystal clear. A cool breeze brushed against his cheeks.
I used to wonder if it was right to dedicate my entire life to conquering the East.
The King, having swallowed his inner thoughts, spoke. It was the toll of time. He had briefly forgotten the ambition of his youth. He thought he needed talent, but was it truly necessary? Why was it said that one could not forge ahead alone? Why did he feel it was insufficient, even though he had already established a kingdom in the East?
It was because he had lost his ambition.
During the span of about ten days—which could be considered short or long—the King had looked at Encrid and realized this once more. He had reawakened his forgotten ambition.
"The will shown by a fellow who wields a sword so clumsily is greater than mine."
Asaluhi tilted his head, then suddenly asked.
"Do you believe that fellow will become a knight?"
"I do not know."
"It is not an easy path."
Asaluhi also had eyes. That man could not become a knight. No such talent was visible in him. The King smiled at his adjutant's words and spoke.
"His talent is indeed meager. I've never seen anyone so untalented."
Compared to others, he had nothing that could be called talent. From what the King had felt during their sparring, the opponent's talent was abysmal. And yet, the King believed he would become a knight.
"Can one become a knight simply by swinging a sword all day? Or is it only possible if one overflows with talent?"
"Aren't both necessary?"
Effort and talent—were they not the foremost prerequisites?
The King spoke with his usual smile. He spoke while thinking of the fellow who had reminded him of what he had forgotten.
"A man who carries his dreams in his sword will surely be able to surpass his limits."
That was how the King saw it.