Chapter 435: Lake of Experience
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 435: Lake of Experience
Encrid had been forced to a halt so many times in his life that he had forgotten what impatience even felt like. He simply moved forward.
He ran, he leaped, and he scaled mountains.
Luagarne never let a single tool go to waste. She used whatever was at hand, whether it was a person or an object. To her, he was just another one of those tools.
Just yesterday, Encrid had fought against three opponents at once: Dunchabel, Teresa, and Ropode. He had thought they might refuse a three-on-one bout out of pride, but the three of them had accepted without a second thought.
Luagarne had taught them a formation that allowed them to fight in unison without obstructing one another. With that alone, Encrid found it difficult to seize the upper hand. Their tactics were incredibly troublesome.
Dunchabel used her signature swift footwork and agility to circle him, thrusting her blades whenever she saw an opening, while Teresa persistently shoved her shield into his face from the front. Her techniques for obscuring his vision had become more refined, and her overall skill level had clearly improved, making her a formidable opponent in her own right.
Beside those two, Ropode swung his sword with dogged precision. It wasn't the Heavy Sword Style; it was a method of swinging that involved calculating various tactical moves. For instance, Ropode would sometimes swing not at Encrid directly, but into empty space. When that empty space was the only place Encrid could dodge to, Encrid was forced to deliberately parry the strike.
This naturally created an opening, and Dunchabel’s scimitar would come flying into the gap.
Encrid caught another glimpse of Ropode’s talent.
Calculating tactical maneuvers while fighting as a trio?
Such a talent would truly shine when commanding a small force. Ropode was indeed in the process of awakening his true potential—a sense that allowed him to read the flow of battle as if looking down from above.
This could be applied not only to small-scale tactics but also to individual combat. It was the very textbook of the Orthodox Sword Style. While Luagarne spoke of suggestion and restraint, Ropode faithfully swung his sword to corner his opponent.
Impressive.
Encrid recognized Ropode’s talent. Luagarne had seen it long ago and awakened it with just a few pieces of advice.
One might have felt the stark difference in their innate gifts, but Encrid didn’t care in the slightest. He was already too busy catching his breath during his daily training; what else could he afford to worry about?
Dunchabel’s skills had also improved by leaps and bounds, though what exactly she had done to achieve it remained a mystery. She displayed killing techniques that utilized her entire body—two scimitars, fingernails, and even toenails. It was swordplay born from pure instinct. Yet, she extended her claws with calculated intent in the midst of the chaos. It was erratic, which only made it harder to block.
At any rate, barely holding out against those three was yesterday’s feat. Today, a different proposition was put forward.
“Have you ever fought against a mage?”
Before Encrid could answer Luagarne’s question, a woman with long, straight hair, wearing only a thin robe, stepped out from behind Frok. Naturally, it was Esther.
“Is it necessary to improve his swordsmanship?” she asked.
Encrid thought for a moment and said, “It might be.”
To be honest, he had no idea, but there would surely be something to gain. Being able to treat everything in the world—everything in sight—as a teacher was Encrid’s greatest strength.
Esther did not refuse. She blinked her large eyes a few times, combed through her hair with one hand, and raised the other.
“Then, let us begin. Scythe of Demuiller.”
As she spoke, she extended her thumb, index, and middle fingers in a seemingly meaningless gesture. At that exact moment, Encrid drew Aker and swung.
Clang!
A blade of compressed air, hurtling through the void, collided with Encrid’s swinging sword and shattered. Encrid felt a faint recoil in both arms. It felt as though he had blocked a full-force strike from a thick-armed warrior.
Though it was enough to startle anyone, Encrid immediately pivoted and lunged forward the moment he blocked the attack. He kicked off the ground, leaving an afterimage behind. It was a speed difficult to track with the naked eye for anyone who wasn't a knight.
“Beware of the snake.”
Esther’s words pierced through the gap and forced themselves into his ears. No, it was a voice that resonated through his entire head. It felt as though he had no choice but to listen.
It was bizarre. How could a human voice ring so vividly in his ears when he was charging forward with absolute focus? Along with the voice, Encrid saw an illusion of Aker turning into a snake and wrapping around his arm, but the vision vanished in the blink of an eye.
It was thanks to his Will of Rejection automatically activating.
Clang!
Encrid’s sword was stopped right above Esther’s open palm. It was a mage’s barrier.
How to break this? He had already experienced it once—when he severed the Count’s neck.
He raised his sword vertically and brought it down in a Heavy Sword Style downward slash. He infused it with his intent to cut. While not as powerful as Ragna’s Black Lightning, it was a strike akin to a thunderbolt.
“It will be blocked,” Esther said, her hands moving restlessly to change their shape.
As she drew various sigils in the air, barriers layered over her head and caught Encrid’s sword.
“Loita’s Sticky Spiderweb.”
If a passing mage had witnessed this, they would have been horrified. Esther had manifested the spell first and chanted the activation word afterward. This was a technique called post-chanting, which ordinary mages wouldn't even dare to attempt.
In the end, Encrid was utterly overwhelmed by Esther. The old saying that a prepared mage is more terrifying than a knight did not exist for nothing. She proved it.
The magic shown by the Count had been massive and overwhelming. Because he had broken through the Ten Thousand Wraiths, Encrid had judged that he would have the advantage in a fight against a mage.
But he was wrong.
Of course, Encrid did not know just how incredible of a mage Esther truly was. Especially when it came to single combat, Esther was a genius whom no other mage could easily match. Even Galaf, the mage who grasped the river whom he had encountered on the battlefield prepared by Azpen, would have fled the moment he saw Esther if she had been in her normal state.
Esther had felt threatened three times while facing Encrid. Cornering such a mage to this extent was an incredible feat in itself, but Encrid did not realize this.
“Again?”
Encrid simply did what he always did.
“As much as you want,” Esther nodded readily.
Since her opponent wanted it, she would oblige. She did not back down. That day, Encrid ended up with a broken left arm and singed hair that had to be trimmed short.
“That looks good on you too.”
Luagarne, who possessed a keen aesthetic sense, liked Encrid’s short hair as well.
Encrid did not make any leaps and bounds in progress through all of this. However, what he gained simply by shifting his perspective was by no means small.
“When facing a mage, even engaging in conversation means giving them the initiative.”
Esther offered advice on how to deal with mages. Encrid took everything to heart. Receiving teachings, reflecting on them repeatedly, and digesting them was what he did better than anything else.
And so, he did.
Esther showed a smile. Seeing this, Encrid said, “You shouldn’t smile at others so carelessly.”
Come to think of it, she was a woman who smiled as rarely as Sinar.
“Why?” Esther asked.
“I think you’d know if you looked in a mirror. Don’t you know that you threaten to gouge people’s eyes out if they look through that thin robe of yours?”
“No, I know. This is also a weapon. Those who lose their minds looking at my face naturally forget for a moment that I am a mage.”
Where did tactics begin? Encrid gained a small realization once more. What if one could shake an opponent’s gaze simply by grooming their appearance? It was a concept that aligned with the principles of the Valen-style Mercenary Sword.
“Excellent.”
“My face is always excellent,” Esther replied, her smile fading.
He had been referring to her tactics, not her face, but Encrid didn’t bother to correct her. Anyone listening to their conversation from the side would have called it incredibly dry, but the two of them felt they were sharing a friendlier conversation than ever before. Esther silently acknowledged that she had blended into this group before she knew it.
“What about that soldier?” Encrid asked at the end of their spar. He was asking because he had seen Esther bring a soldier to teach, occasionally calling him over for tasks.
“He has talent,” Esther replied shortly.
That was all. Encrid didn’t ask further. It wasn’t that Esther wanted to raise a disciple. Her first reason was to redefine her own magic by teaching it. The second was because she knew that if left alone, the soldier would only learn clumsy magic and inevitably cause trouble. It was better to steer him in a helpful direction.
It was a perspective she had gained from constantly watching what a fellow like Encrid did. Must a mage be narrow-minded?
Not anymore.
Esther admitted it. Though her life had been one of isolation, research, and struggle, she had learned quite a bit by keeping people around and observing them. In fact, it had been of even greater help to herself.
“Right. Just don’t kill him.”
Encrid said this because wild rumors had been circulating that Esther was using the soldier as a sacrifice.
“If he dies out of sheer bad luck during the process, there is nothing I can do,” Esther said, knowing just how perilous the path of magic was.
Encrid nodded, reading that there was no malice in Esther’s words. She wouldn’t actually use him as a sacrifice. Of course, a few soldiers had conjured up their own fears after seeing the characters engraved on their friend’s body when he was dragged away by Esther. But if their minds were fragile enough to break over that, they would shatter in vain on the battlefield anyway.
Encrid wanted to raise strong soldiers. To do that, they had to easily overcome trivial rumors like these.
Thus, sparring with a mage became a part of Encrid’s daily routine.
“What will you do if your opponent uses suggestion and restraint?”
Luagarne began to share her experience throughout the process. It was the experience of Frok, who had spent over a hundred years coveting battle and combat, searching for the unknown within them to explore the mysteries.
“Suggestion and restraint are not everything, but if you can pull them off, there is no Illusion Sword style superior to them.”
“That is easily shattered by an honest, heavy sword.”
“You just need to include the opponent’s honest, heavy sword in your calculations. Brother, it would be even better if you could deflect, catch, and break it.”
-Suggestion and restraint can be done with just the eyes. If the opponent is sensitive, you can do it with intent alone.
Ragna’s opinions soon slipped into Luagarne’s teachings, Audin chimed in, and even Sachsen left notes despite claiming to be busy. Rem, surprisingly, did not step forward often.
Encrid gained experience from Luagarne. From the words of the others, he learned how to break through that experience. Furthermore, he executed it with his body over and over again.
“It wouldn’t have been fun before, but you’ve gotten a bit better now.”
In the midst of this, there was also Ragna’s praise-that-didn’t-sound-like-praise.
The Encrid of the past—the one who couldn't even manifest a technique properly even when taught—was no more. As if proving he hadn't built his body through the Isolation Technique for nothing, his physique had become sturdier than ever. Just looking at how he stood, straightening his body from his feet up and distributing his weight evenly between both legs, showed how much his sense of balance had improved.
In short, he had become an Associate Knight capable of withstanding even the Black Lightning.
Although Luagarne hadn’t intended everything, the time, experience, and training she provided were of immense help to Encrid. While his skills didn’t leap forward immediately, his perspective widened with each lesson. The depth of his thoughts changed as well.
This naturally influenced the others as well. In particular, Ropode overcame a certain wall under Luagarne’s tutelage. To begin with, Ropode was a man born with this kind of talent. Though he couldn't see an inch ahead, he possessed the knack for pushing his opponent into a trap with his sword.
There was an ancient adage passed down on the continent:
Is it best to predict one step ahead?
Or is it best to make even that one step move according to your own intentions?
It was a saying regarding the two directions of using the Orthodox Sword Style. Ropode possessed the talent to faithfully follow the latter.
“Not bad,” Encrid said during their spar, and Ropode nodded with a satisfied face. It was recognition from the very person he wished to be recognized by. How could he not be pleased?
Yet, Ropode showed contentment before joy or ecstasy. Because Frok enjoyed observing humans, he liked beautiful humans, and liking charming humans meant he was skilled at reading their expressions.
Luagarne saw contentment on Ropode’s face. An utterly fulfilling contentment. She realized once again that this was the greatest difference between a fellow like Encrid and others.
He never knew contentment at any moment.
“Again.”
Wasn’t that the word he uttered most during training? Even if he enjoyed the moment and bathed in ecstasy, he was never satisfied.
Would he stop, satisfied, once he became a knight?
Not a chance.
Luagarne knew the world of knights. Even within that world, disparities existed. Ragna was a prime example.
If he were placed among knights, he would still be at the starting line.
Of course, he would be better than a broken knight. Outstanding talent? Once one reached the level of a knight, talent was barely worth discussing. By the time one rose above knights, comparing talents became laughable. They were all individuals for whom the word "genius" was an understatement.
From then on, what was needed was not talent, but effort, direction, enlightenment, and a high quality of willpower. The world of knights was vast. Luagarne knew this. The knights of Naurilia were proof enough.
And what about that knight in the western kingdom? What about Mercenary King Anu?
Every single one of them was a walking disaster. Ragna had risen to a similar level, and the elf seemed to be there as well. Yet, they still had their shortcomings.
A knight was not the end, but the beginning. Most Associate Knights who failed to cross the wall of a knight did so because they did not know this. At least, that was the judgment of Luagarne the seeker.
The power of a knight was a mirage that could never be reached if one ran toward it as the final destination. In that regard, she had no worries about Encrid. That man, a bundle of sheer greed and ambition, seemed to have absolutely no intention of stopping.
It is a pity about his talent.
To the point where such a thought arose naturally. What if that man had outstanding talent? What if he had possessed at least an extraordinary level of talent, above average? He wouldn’t even need to be called a genius. What if he had just that much?
Or, if not that, if only he had been given more time than others.
For instance, what if one day for others was a week for him?
It was a futile delusion. Dwelling on things that would not and could not happen was foolish. Doing so while looking at Encrid was even more foolish. For right before her eyes was a man who would swing his sword even once more in the time others spent worrying.
Luagarne believed that man would become a knight. It was a conviction that required no reason.