Chapter 466: No Longer Equals
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 466: No Longer Equals
The setting sun illuminated half of his face, casting the other half into deep shadow.
The sunset split the space between the two of them. The light carved a boundary, as if drawing a line between their respective worlds.
Encrid had already wiped the smile from his face. His expression was now a blank slate. Rem’s face was even more indifferent.
Both kept their arms hanging loose; neither had drawn their weapons yet.
Dunchabel and Luagarne felt a heavy pressure radiating from the two men’s stances.
The calm before the storm, Dunchabel thought.
A wave rising within a quagmire, Luagarne thought.
Their perspectives were similar, yet distinct, shaped by the different angles from which they watched.
Dunchabel saw what was about to be unleashed. Fighting with instinct and intuition, she judged that a split-second decision would determine victory or defeat. Conversely, Luagarne, who enjoyed the battle of wits, believed that whoever won the clash of momentum beneath the surface—before any action even took place—would hold the upper hand.
Both were correct.
It was a silent yet turbulent battle. This could be called the most serious and slowest fight of all their spars. Usually, Encrid would charge in without warning, or Rem would start by suddenly swinging his axes.
Clouds drifted wide and even across the sky, billowing softly. As the sun sank past the western horizon, two faint moons began to dimly appear. The orange sky gradually shifted into a soft violet. Looking at the horizon, it almost felt as if the sky and the earth were touching.
A strong wind, seemingly blowing from that very horizon, swept between them.
Whooooosh.
It was a wind of considerable strength. In the West, they called days like this the "Low Sky," and such winds were known as either the "Inciting Wind" or the "Blocking Wind."
This was a story Rem had told him on their way here. If it was a headwind, it felt like a wall blocking one's steps; conversely, if it blew from behind, it felt like a hand supporting and pushing one's back. It was a unique weather phenomenon.
Facing the wind, Encrid casually raised his hand and gripped the hilt of his sword. Meanwhile, Rem drew his axes.
Shring.
Encrid drew Aker, holding it with both hands as he glared at Rem. Rem held an axe in each hand, letting his arms hang loose once more.
Encrid slightly lowered the tip of Aker, which he had been holding parallel to the ground, tilting the blade to form an oblique angle rather than a horizontal one.
"Oh."
Luagarne let out an exclamation of admiration, her large eyes rolling.
Rem slid his left foot back slightly, shifting his center of gravity to his right foot. The tip of Aker was aimed at Rem's left thigh, and Rem had adjusted his stance so he could dodge at any moment.
A similar battle of wits ensued. To borrow Luagarne's expression, it was a wave crashing inside a muddy pit, deep within a quagmire. When Encrid pushed the wave forward, Rem dodged or blocked it.
"Are we ever going to finish at this rate?"
Encrid silently agreed with Rem's provocation. This was, after all, merely a test—a test of how well what he had learned and practiced would work.
He had unleashed his pressure, but there was no way such a thing would work on this ignorant barbarian. Then what about breaking the opponent's momentum through a battle of wits? It was a technique of sorts he had learned from Luagarne.
You know how to prepare to win right from the start, don't you? You just do it a bit more blatantly.
Adjusting the sword belt, changing stances, shifting foot placement—everything was preparation to win. If one could seize the upper hand by directing the tip of the sword or holding a dagger in advance, wasn't that the right thing to do?
Of course it was. It was just that it didn't work so easily on Rem.
The sword and axes moved in an instant.
Clang!
As Aker's blade whipped downward, the two axes crossed to block it. Rem tried to catch the blade with his axes to wrench it from Encrid's grip, but Aker retreated the moment it struck. Encrid had read Rem's intention to bind his blade from the start and used a snap strike.
A small chip of the axe blade flew into the air, but neither of them paid it any mind.
"You've gotten pretty good, huh?" Rem smirked.
"You too," Encrid smirked back.
Soon, the sword and axes ruthlessly slashed, thrust, struck, and beat, targeting each other's neck, stomach, chest, thighs, forearms, and fingers.
Clang! Cl-cl-cl-clang!
Amidst the evening moonlight dyeing the sky violet, the pieces of metal proved their worth against each other. Sparks flew, testifying to their strength, dancing wildly in an attempt to pierce the opponent's flesh.
After several exchanges of offense and defense—
Clash!
With a roaring crash, Encrid lunged deep into Rem's space. Seeing this, Rem drove his knee upward, which Encrid blocked with his left forearm.
Thunk. Clatter, thwack! Crack.
Luagarne and Dunchabel saw Aker embedded in the ground.
Thunk was the sound of Aker stabbing into the earth.
Clatter was the sound of the axe in Rem's left hand dropping to the ground.
It had all happened in the instant the axe and Aker clashed. Encrid stepped back, rubbing his left forearm with his right hand.
Thwack was the sound of Rem's knee striking Encrid's forearm.
"...You've gotten fucking good," Rem said.
"I think so too," Encrid replied.
And why wouldn't he? Experiencing a Knight's strike had brought an unexpected change to Encrid. It was both a stepping stone and an acceleration of his growth.
Encrid had swept one of the axes aside with Aker, lunged into Rem's chest, and slapped his jaw with his right palm. Rem had read Encrid's move in that split second, trying to disrupt the charge with his knee and twist his waist to dodge.
But at that exact moment, Encrid's hand executed something akin to a Knight's strike. In other words, it shot forward at an unimaginable speed. Rem couldn't dodge it in time.
Crack was the sound of Rem taking the blow to his jaw.
He never expected such a thing to happen in a spar with Encrid, but it had. Rem's head spun. He could have forced himself to keep standing, but a loss was a loss. He slumped right down onto the ground.
"Whew, makes me want to puke."
Naturally, getting hit clean on the jaw tended to make one nauseous.
"You did turn your head at the last second, though," Encrid said, retrieving Aker from the ground.
It wasn't a clean hit. But it was definitely a valid strike. What if they had kept fighting?
I can win.
Therefore, the victor had been decided here.
"Krrrrrrr."
Luagarne's cheeks puffed up larger than ever before. Even to her, his progress was astonishing.
Dunchabel was even more shocked. Her golden eyes widened larger than the moons in the sky. After staring at Rem for a long moment, she asked, "Did you get weaker?"
Crack.
Rem cracked his neck side to side a few times as he stood up and replied, "Come over here. Want to test if I've gotten weaker?"
Of course, Rem hadn't gotten weaker. He had recovered from the blow just now without even needing to take a breath. But in a real fight, it would have been a fatal opening.
"Kack!"
Dunchabel took a few beatings that day, while Encrid quietly caught his breath. Something inside him had been about to burst and boil over, but it fizzled out and cooled down with a hiss.
He was happy, but a wild ecstasy didn't surge within him. It was enjoyable, but not to the point of bursting into laughter. It was simply confirmation.
I've finally made it this far.
It was simply proof. Having witnessed Oara's death, seen her fight, and now triumphed today, Encrid was finally able to mimic the movements of a Knight.
"There won't be anyone left among the Associate Knights who can match you now," said Rem, who had just finished thrashing Dunchabel.
"Another round?"
"...Let's do it. Fine."
Luagarne was deeply shocked, but she accepted the result. In a way, it was only natural. Had she not already seen him fight the monstrous ghoul? Yet, why was she still surprised?
Is there any reason not to be?
Whenever she looked at Encrid, he always seemed to have reached his limit. It was incomprehensible how he kept improving like this. It was as if he were someone who had fought with his life on the line thousands of times to realize something, and then spent hundreds of days refining it over and over.
Even in his daily life.
He poured all his time into swinging his sword and contemplating. She had helped him with that and witnessed it. Encrid was already far superior to anyone else on the continent when it came to sheer experience.
A body tempered by the sum of all those experiences, meticulously trained techniques, and ideas that catch opponents completely off guard.
That was what had allowed him to surpass Rem just now.
In the second spar between Rem and Encrid, neither of them got hit in the jaw or knocked down. But Encrid was certain.
I can take him.
If he set his mind to it, he could defeat Rem. Equals? They were no longer equals. He held the upper hand.
"You probably just thought you could take me if you set your mind to it, but drop that thought, alright? You know it'd be different if we fought with our lives on the line."
"Don't you know too? I haven't been sparring with my life on the line either."
"...Man, the way you talk really has a way of making a guy's blood boil."
Before they knew it, they were on their third spar. Rem's eyes changed. Encrid's aura shifted as well.
"One of you is going to end up dead like that," said Dunchabel, sensing their momentum with her sharp instincts.
This was their second campsite, reached after walking a full day. With their backs to a campfire made of gathered dry brush, the sword and axes clashed once more.
This spar wasn't long. Instead, every single technique was terrifyingly lethal.
Clang!
Even the clashes of metal were few. Rem's weapons weren't like Aker; the more they collided, the more their edges chipped. Before long, the axe blades had turned into sawteeth. They might as well have been called axe-saws.
The two of them fought as if it were half a real battle. Within that clash, Encrid was surprised anew. Rem showed yet another side of himself. He acted as if sparring wasn't everything he had.
Thus, killing intent surged between them. And then, suddenly, both of them stopped.
Their shoulders heaved, and rough breaths escaped their lips. Even though neither lacked physical stamina, they were like this. That was how much mental energy the fight had drained. The sword and axes remained frozen, each pointing at the other's heart.
"If you mess around... pant, pant... you'll get a hole. Right there."
"Whew... You're already dead."
That was Encrid's reply to Rem's words.
"Bullshit."
"Cut the crap."
The two looked at each other and burst into laughter.
"Well, fine. We've got over ten days of traveling ahead, and I know you'll keep asking to spar. I guess I can let you win a bit."
Rem stepped back.
"You're not letting me win, you're just losing," Encrid made sure to point out.
"Sure, sure, fine. Let's say I lost."
Rem said, finding it incredibly strange. What a bizarre feeling.
He had lived a life where the experience of losing was extremely rare. He wasn't called a genius for nothing. There were days when he was called the strongest in the West, the greatest talent of the Western tribes. Among those who had taught him, few had lasted more than a month.
Though learning sorcery was a bit tricky.
Even that, he had learned, mastered, and understood. Several shamans had debated over making him their successor. And then he had left that land. Even after leaving, losing was a very rare occurrence.
Recently, there was that crazy directionally challenged bastard, and that wildcat guy who suddenly went mad and ran wild. Before that, there were days when the very concept of defeat was hazy.
So defeat could never be familiar to him. It should have been unpleasant. Yet, he didn't feel bad. It was different from when he dealt with that directionally challenged bastard.
Why doesn't this feel bad?
There were probably many reasons, but one of them was likely because that crazy captain of theirs still showed no intention of stopping. He hadn't treated Rem as a mere stepping stone to pass by, nor as an ultimate goal to reach.
It was just something that happened.
Something that occurred as he marched toward his dream. That was why he was still swinging his sword like that even now.
"Camping here is uncomfortable in many ways," Dunchabel said as she built the fire.
"And I'm thirsty," Luagarne chimed in.
Since the weather grew increasingly dry as they headed west, it made sense that the Frok would find it hard.
"Alright, let's see," Rem said, and began to dig the ground. Encrid and the others turned their gaze toward him. "Just wait a second. We need to drink something sweet, don't we?"
This was the West, the land where he was born and raised. Though there were plenty of headaches waiting for them the deeper they went, it would be a waste not to enjoy the present.
Always, constantly having fun. Wasn't that his creed?
After digging the ground roughly, Rem shoved his axe in and hooked something with the back of the blade to pull it up.
Crunch.
The ground broke apart more easily than expected, and something popped right up. It was a round fruit, too large to hold in one hand but a bit small for two.
"Do fruits grow underground?" Encrid asked in wonder.
"It's a specialty of the West, the Ground Squirrel Fruit."
Its hard outer shell was made of hardened dirt. When Rem cracked it open, a wrinkled fruit emerged from within. He brushed off the dirt, sliced it with the edge of his axe, and split it in half, revealing sloshing liquid inside.
"Drink up. Once you taste it, you'll never forget it for the rest of your life. Merchants of old used to call it Nectar."
Encrid took the fruit first and took a sip. As he swallowed, a sweet flavor seemed to start in his mouth and spread throughout his entire body. It was incredibly sweet, yet not to an unpleasant degree. It was the kind of sweetness that made him want to keep drinking.
"If you eat too much, it'll actually make your mouth drier, so one per person a day is about right."
"I've decided. You're our guide for the West," Encrid praised him in admiration.
Rem spat out a curse. Just hearing the word "guide" made him curse reflexively. Of course he was the guide; who else had been leading the way all this time?
Sometimes, that bastard of a captain had a real knack for turning a person's stomach inside out with a single word. This was entirely different from admitting defeat. It felt like he was being compared to that directionally challenged bastard for no reason, which made him highly annoyed.