Chapter 434: Luagarne-style Training
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 434: Luagarne-style Training
For an entire month, Luagarne closely observed Encrid’s progress. She watched him every single day without fail.
She was a Frok, possessing some of the sharpest eyes and keenest senses on the entire continent. When it came to reading and nurturing human talent, she was arguably superior to even the most seasoned knights.
Therefore, merely watching was enough for her to see the truth.
Encrid was already at his limit. He had reached the end of his rope. This was his final stop. It felt like a bite of a dry, steamed potato suddenly getting stuck in his throat.
The conclusion was obvious.
He’s hit a wall.
Stagnation.
What a pity.
The thought arose naturally. For the entire month, Encrid had lived as if scraping together and burning through time that would never return. He acted like someone diagnosed with a terminal illness.
“You’ll kill yourself at this rate,” warned the elf he was sparring with.
“Overexertion is forbidden,” added the human instructor teaching him knightly swordsmanship.
Even the bear beastman half-breed went so far as to use his hands and feet to "persuade" him to take a day off. Though, one might wonder if beating someone to a pulp during a spar just to force them to rest was truly the right way to persuade them.
“This is one of the traditions of the martial priests,” Audin explained.
Knocking someone unconscious just to make them sleep?
Audin’s words were true. The martial priests of the God of War often ruined their bodies through excessive training; in such times, it was the duty of a senior priest to look after them with fists and feet.
Since Luagarne was an open-minded Frok, she simply nodded.
However, the reactions of the others were slightly different. Dunchabel, watching from the sidelines, widened her eyes in shock. He’s getting beaten like that and he doesn't run away? Pel remarked with a stiff face, “A shepherd can easily endure this much,” but no one listened to him.
“I will make sure to rest well,” Ropode said with newfound determination. Although he constantly pestered Ragna for spars, getting knocked out by Audin’s fists just to get a night's sleep was a different story. In a way, it was a wise decision. He wasn't selected for the order of knights for nothing.
In any case, Luagarne continued to watch Encrid’s desperate struggle.
Even though he fights so hard.
It was stagnation, not progress. And even that was a precarious state. He was barely holding his ground, preventing himself from regressing.
The reason he didn't ultimately fall back?
It’s thanks to his mastery of various arts.
His training method of abusing his own body every dawn had forged Encrid’s physique into something far beyond that of ordinary people. Since he had already realized Will, his body had changed to accommodate it.
Will was willpower made manifest. Techniques wielded through willpower placed a massive burden on the body, and as the body endured that burden, it grew sturdier. There was a reason why becoming an Associate Knight granted a completely different level of combat power.
Luagarne pulled a plump, wriggling caterpillar from her leather pouch, placed it on her hand, flicked her tongue out with a snap, and swallowed it whole. One had to eat for the brain to function.
She had spent the entire month observing Encrid, devising various methods to help him.
What would be of use?
She couldn't be sure of anything. She fell deep into desperate thought.
She sat on a chair crafted by Rem, hugging one knee to her chest. Aside from occasionally puffing her cheeks with a low croak, eating caterpillars, or sniffing Epipremnum—a herb that made Froks feel good—she did absolutely nothing.
Froks tended to prefer summer over winter. It wasn't that they hated the cold pathologically, but in dry climates, their skin dried out frequently, putting them in a highly unpleasant state. Their skin would crack like parched earth in a drought, sometimes even bleeding. How could anyone enjoy that? For a human, it would be akin to someone slicing their skin with a knife every day—both in terms of pain and physical condition.
Since cold and wind inevitably dried out a Frok’s skin, they naturally preferred summer. Luagarne was glad for the heat. It allowed her to skip the time spent spraying water on her skin and focus entirely on observing and thinking.
Why was that man struggling so desperately?
I understand.
Luagarne heard what Encrid was saying through his attitude and actions. He was declaring that even if the heavens did not permit it, he would move forward. It was a cry unleashed toward the world with his entire body.
At least, that was how Luagarne saw it.
Then, what should she do for him now? What could she offer his stagnant self?
Thinking alone accomplished nothing. What mattered was action. Luagarne stood up.
“You cannot go on like this.”
Encrid was training, swinging a sword ten times heavier than a standard blade.
Whoosh!
Unable to perfectly control the weight, the blade trembled as it came to a halt. Along with the movement, the sweat dripping from Encrid’s forehead sprayed into the air. Through his wet black hair, his shining blue eyes were visible.
“You must know, right?” Luagarne spoke again.
“Is there another way?” Encrid replied calmly.
He already knew. If Luagarne had noticed his growth had hit a wall, it was a predictable situation for Encrid. He knew it would come to this eventually. He had squeezed out non-existent talent to move forward, experiencing a thrill of growth unlike anything before, but the limit always approached.
It was a familiar occurrence. The words the Ferryman had babbled last night came to mind.
“Tsk, tsk. That is why you should have stopped at a pleasant 'today.' Do you wish to feel the thrill of moving forward? Is there no such today? There would have been. If only you hadn't wished for 'tomorrow,' it would have been so. A today where you return to yesterday's today, repeating it every day to feel the exact same thrill.”
The Ferryman had scolded Encrid. Of course, before that, he had finally revealed the true nature of the ill omen. It was when Encrid dreamed again after they had parted in silence.
“There is no such thing as perfection in this world,” he had said, pretending to be confident.
Encrid hadn't cared. Did he hate stagnation so much that he would rather a wall appear? Rather than hating it, he was simply looking for a way. Since it was expected, instead of letting his mind wander, he kept his body moving to avoid stopping.
He understood the fragments of the path toward becoming a knight.
To watch the swords of other knights and learn even one more thing.
And at the same time, to hone his own and move forward. One could say that was the path Encrid had realized.
Is this right? He had no such worries. In the time he would have spent worrying, he took Ragna’s black lightning one more time, dodged Sinar’s invisible blade, and struggled to grasp Sachsen’s Mu-sal thrust.
He literally did everything. He had thought so, but...
“Once, there was a highly talented bard. To write a special and grand poem, he never left his room. He repeated what he had always done, believing it to be the best way.”
It was an old tale about how a foolish bard does not use his feet—a story with the moral that inspiration only strikes by experiencing and looking at a new world.
Encrid knew the rest of the story.
“The one who made him realize this was a friend who had baked bread all his life. Thanks to that friend’s single remark, he left behind the song 'The Frog in the Well,' which is still passed down across the continent to this day. Yes, I know the story.”
The bard was a Frok. He had clearly realized his mistake and composed the song. Now, it was a song known to everyone, from children to adults.
Did you think the sky was round?
Did you think the world was round?
Was my world truly that narrow?
Frog, oh frog, you can gain nothing without leaving the well.
It was a song with repeating, simple lyrics. Its meaning was clear.
“Will you do as I say?”
Luagarne was the best teacher on the continent, but she had never had a disciple like this. In that case, what should she do? She decided to try everything. Everything she possibly could.
“Let’s do that,” Encrid nodded.
He had no choice. He had experienced this kind of stagnation multiple times. Even if he didn't fret, it wasn't a situation to be welcomed. It felt as though dark clouds had suddenly rolled in while he was walking by moonlight. The sudden darkness obscured his vision. It was like a perfectly fine rope bridge suddenly snapping in the middle. He was walking along a path marked with signposts, but the world was telling him to walk no further. That was all.
In times like those, Encrid would walk even with his eyes closed, or weave ropes over the broken bridge to hang on and cross. It was no different now.
*
This year’s summer was exceptionally long. Beyond merely beating down, the scorching heat felt as if it would turn a person into a whole barbecue.
“This is a bit crazy, Instructor.”
Before the torture known as a march began, a soldier raised his hand and spoke. He was the son of a noble family who had come from the capital to study. Though from a branch line, his family was one of the noble vassal houses of Okto, whose lord had recently become a duke. Confident in his talents, he had come to the Border Guard, believing that with a bit of training and luck, he would soon be the talent to stand out even among the so-called "mad platoon."
But what on earth was this?
These crazy bastards were telling them to march carrying a longsword, two daggers, a heavy makeshift crossbow on the wrist, armor lined with linen and leather, forearm and shin guards, at least three throwing knives, a hand axe, a small modified round shield, a helmet, and even a short club.
And that wasn't all; they had to wear a backpack too. They called this "full combat gear."
This isn't gear, it's torture.
To him, most of it was torture. The commander and instructor in charge of the scout unit training at the front simply tilted her head and said a single word.
“Then get lost.”
She was harsh. The soldier couldn't rebel any further. He wasn't the only one who had been beaten to a pulp after trying to stand up to that female instructor. Even if they could beat her, it was a problem.
The monster will probably show up next.
If that guy Rem came, there was no hope. Though he was rarely seen lately, there was a time when he would show up at the drop of a hat, complain that the training intensity was too weak, call them out one by one, and beat them up. It was nothing but one-sided violence. And he specifically targeted those of noble birth.
That Noble Killer.
The noble-born soldier knew Rem’s nickname well. It was quite famous among the nobility.
“Run!”
They were in full combat gear, from sword belts to backpacks, and yet they were told to run, not walk. The soldier grit his teeth and took a step.
“You are undergoing scout unit training. If you can’t even endure this much, go drop dead.”
It was a three-day training exercise. They had to cross a mountain, dig a smokeless pit at the target location, eat, and return.
Even the Demon Slayer wouldn't be able to do this kind of training.
This was just harassment; how was this training? Panting heavily, the soldier trudged forward. He cursed this person and that person, eventually resenting his father for sending him here after being blinded by the exploits of that bastard Demon Slayer. After that, he cursed the Demon Slayer himself, until he was so exhausted that he could only move his feet without a single thought.
That was when... a certain soldier caught his eye.
An iron helmet?
While everyone else wore leather helmets, he alone wore an iron helmet and carried a much larger, heavier backpack. He had three hand axes, two longswords, and on his lower back, he wore a horizontally slung gladius—shorter than a longsword but more than capable of serving as a primary weapon.
And that wasn't all. For some unknown reason, he even had two javelins resting on his shoulders.
Is he a spearman?
By now, it was common knowledge within the Border Guard standing army that equipment varied by branch. Training in full combat gear made them realize it whether they liked it or not. If even a single piece of equipment was lost, the entire unit would be beaten half to death under collective responsibility.
So, it was certain that the current exercise was scout unit training. It was mind-numbingly exhausting, but he couldn't forget that. But why was he carrying javelins? Looking closely now, he even wore iron greaves on his legs.
He was a madman carrying gear that was three times heavier than anyone else’s already heavy load.
Am I seeing things? Am I hallucinating from exhaustion?
As he moved forward with those thoughts, he caught a glimpse of the man’s face. The noble-born soldier recognized that face.
“The Demon Slayer!”
He gasped in shock, but his voice wasn't very loud. He was simply too exhausted. At that sound, the ruler of the region, who had been personally granted the rank of general by the King, turned his head back.
“Dragging your feet will only make it harder.”
With that brief piece of advice, he moved forward. The soldier was left speechless. The Demon Slayer was walking while carrying gear several times heavier than his own.
In an instant, the rebellious spirit that had been brewing among the soldiers, centered around the noble-born soldier, was completely crushed.
Finn, the commander and training instructor, caught up to Encrid, who was walking ahead.
“It’s been a while,” Finn said, placing her right hand on her waist in a casual salute. She was also in full combat gear.
“You seem to have improved.”
When Encrid spoke, Finn thought about how the man before her was still the same, sizing up her swordsmanship the moment he saw her. She brought up Torres.
“Torres said they’ve intensified the Border Guard training in Martai and told us to wait and see. You should drop by sometime.”
Torres. He had already seen him once, back when he was appointed general. Even if there wasn't a formal inauguration ceremony, he had to meet the castellans of each city. He had seen him briefly then.
“If I have time.”
He had structured his training course according to Luagarne’s instructions. Right now, he had no time to spare.
Finn shook her head in amazement. Even after all this time, he was still a monstrous training maniac. Well, that was probably why he had become the Demon Slayer. She had once been this man’s superior, then served under him, and was now just a mere commander under a man who had become a general—yet Finn felt strangely proud of it all.
Encrid was a person with a strange charm that made those around him feel a sense of fulfillment.
*
“What clears a blocked vision is diversity. Do whatever it takes.”
Following Luagarne’s words, Encrid walked and ran among the fully geared soldiers, carrying equipment far heavier than theirs.
“Jump.”
Splash!
He even climbed up the mountains and leaped from cliffs into lakes.
“How to break through limits? I don’t know such a thing. But I do know that just holding a sword isn't enough.”
Only by broadening one’s horizon can one see more. That was Luagarne’s perspective.