Chapter 480: Just Because You Killed a Giant
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 480: Just Because You Killed a Giant
"Mister, I’ve made up my mind."
Jiba trotted over and spoke as Encrid was drying his wet hair after washing up.
His hair was getting a bit long; he’d been thinking it was time for a trim.
Encrid seemed like a different person compared to moments ago. He had returned to his usual, calm self. Drying his damp hair with the cloth Jiba’s mother had given him, he asked with a look:
What decision?
Jiba looked up, met Encrid’s eyes, and spoke resolutely.
"I’m going to be your bride, Mister. Just wait five years."
Croak, croak.
Luagarne chuckled, puffing her cheeks beside them. Dunchabel tilted her head and chimed in.
"Will five years be enough? I think you’ll still be a bit underdeveloped."
Jiba was still just a child.
"Look at my mom. I’m going to grow. A lot."
What exactly was going to grow?
Off to the side, Jiba’s mother quietly straightened her back and puffed out her chest. Beside her, the Western man—who had forgotten his previous hostility—nodded solemnly.
Indeed.
Pride was evident on his face.
She was certainly well-endowed, but that didn't matter to Encrid.
"Who is this kid?" Rem asked.
Although Rem had popped in and out a few times, the first day was the only time he had spent any significant amount of time in this tent. He didn't know the cheeky brat, Jiba.
"Jiba. A brat whose dream is hard to support," Encrid replied bluntly.
Rem nodded at the assessment. "That’s a first—a kid whose dream isn't supported."
One could support almost any dream, but this was a bit different. Marriage required the consent of both parties; it wasn't something that could be achieved through one's will alone.
Of course, Encrid had absolutely no such thoughts about the girl. To him, she was simply a cheeky brat he was glad had survived. That was all.
Jiba stepped back as if she had said her piece. In truth, she had no choice. Encrid had just returned from a life-or-death struggle and needed to rest. The heat of battle still lingered around him, and there was more than just one or two people waiting to see him.
"Your skills have improved significantly," Rem noted.
It was true. The people shouting about a "great warrior" or "savior" weren't just spouting empty praise. Rem had a discerning eye; he knew talent when he saw it. He measured Encrid’s current skill against his own, now that he had reclaimed his sorcery.
In real combat, various factors influenced the outcome. An estimation wasn't everything. For instance, was it impossible for an Associate Knight to die at the hands of a Squire? No. It was entirely possible.
That was the nature of real combat. Just because one utilized Will didn't mean their body turned to steel.
His current estimation was merely a rough gauge of Encrid’s level, but that didn't mean it was meaningless.
What was swordsmanship, and what was a fight?
Strength, speed, stamina, judgment, adaptability, boldness, the sheer grit to squeeze out one’s very last breath, an unshakeable mentality, sharp eyes, and keen senses. It was the combination of all these things used to kill an opponent.
Looking at him now, all of Encrid’s abilities had risen to a high, balanced level. It wasn't just that he had grown stronger; a sort of concentrated experience had seeped into his very being.
It really is strange.
Rem had watched Encrid for a long time, but seeing him transform like this periodically was fascinating. Not that he couldn't understand it—the world was vast, and Rem didn't know everything. Therefore, couldn't something like this happen outside the boundaries of his understanding?
Though it’s hard to believe.
It was certainly possible. Those called geniuses were bound to break molds. Rem had also reached his current height by shattering such molds in the past, so he held no rigid stereotypes.
Rather, it was those with mediocre skills who trapped themselves in their own limitations and screamed that something was impossible. Only those with impoverished minds did so. But Rem was not like that. Neither was Luagarne. Dunchabel didn't think much of it either.
Most of the Westerners didn't know Encrid’s past, so to them, he was simply a marvel in the present.
"I’ve improved a bit."
He had progressed even further than when they had sparred on the way here. Encrid nodded calmly.
Slaying the two giants wasn't just about the kill count. It was the moment his accumulated experience translated into raw skill. Encrid himself found it hard to put into exact words, but what was certain was that the path toward becoming a knight—the clue he had been searching for—now appeared as a much thicker, clearer branch than before.
"Impressive."
Ayul spoke up from beside Rem. She did not hide her admiration and awe. "It’s my first time seeing someone fight better than Rem," she added.
Juol was even more astonished. He had known Encrid was a capable fighter, and he had heard about him subduing the twins, but this was on another level.
"I knew from the moment I first saw you that you were no ordinary man, but..." He couldn't even finish his sentence. What he had witnessed was just that spectacular. "You blocked the curse, and you killed the giants... I don't even know what to say."
A middle-aged Westerner who occasionally came by to strike up a conversation suddenly squeezed himself into the group. He had clear tear stains on his face as he popped up between Geomnarae and Hira. He grabbed Encrid’s hand, repeatedly expressing his gratitude.
"Ah, Chief," one of the shamans recognized the man.
Encrid hadn't even known the man was the chief. His attire was similar to everyone else’s, he never brought an entourage, and he didn't possess outstanding martial prowess. Since he would occasionally drop by to say thank you and leave some fruit, Encrid had simply assumed he was a good-natured tribesman.
He had a friendly face and a gentle way of speaking. Though he spoke with a distinct Western accent and occasionally used regional slang, the chief always showed consideration for Encrid, explaining words in detail or kindly repeating himself. He was a thoughtful man.
Is that why he’s the chief?
"You were the chief?"
"You didn't know?"
Encrid shook his head.
"It doesn't matter anyway."
Encrid had blocked the curse and killed two giants. The chief looked ready to give him anything, even his own organs. He had already been overwhelmed with gratitude when Encrid became their human totem, but now, he had slain the giants.
"If there is anything you want, I feel obligated to get it for you, even if I have to stake my position as chief."
After a brief commotion—Jiba’s absurd declaration, the chief’s gratitude, and Ayul’s astonishment—everyone eventually dispersed to tend to their own business.
"Let’s talk later," Rem said as he left the tent.
There were those who hailed him as a savior, and there had been a moment of intense, burning passion. Although the way people looked at Encrid had changed, it didn't mean his daily life did.
"Let’s spar later," Geomnarae said quietly. Although his body was still aching, Encrid saw him slowly getting up and stretching.
"Didn't you say you’d do it the moment you recovered?"
"I figured a half-hearted spar wouldn't be any fun," Geomnarae replied, smacking his lips. He, too, was a Westerner. He had originally intended to just play along, but now he disliked that idea. He wanted to wait until the Western affairs were settled so they could fight with sparks flying. As he spoke, he bared his fangs, which looked exceptionally sharp.
Encrid nodded. "The result won't change, though."
"You have a rather irritating way of speaking, don't you?"
"I’ve heard that from time to time."
Having nothing else to do, Encrid reflected on the insights that had manifested within him. Reviewing was a long-standing habit, and it was exactly what he needed right now.
"So you’re going to review everything you have, one by one?" Luagarne remarked in passing.
Encrid knew exactly what he was doing. It was something he had been doing all along. From basic footwork to how to swing a sword, how to grip it, and everything he had learned so far.
Starting from the Valen-style Mercenary Sword, to the Nameless Orthodox Sword Style he learned from the magic sword Tutor, to various steps, swordsmanship, and arts. Beyond the process of retracing and combining them, he was dismantling them again, analyzing the principles behind each technique.
Why?
Because I feel like I can go further.
It was something he realized through contemplation in the realm of intuition and the sixth sense. What did he need right now?
"You won't be needing me for a while," Luagarne added.
It was just as she said. Though he would still swing his sword as he always had, it felt more appropriate to physically manifest each technique rather than just pondering them.
"I suppose so."
"I wonder if the timing is good," Luagarne muttered as she prepared to head out. She had been going out constantly lately, but he didn't bother asking why. When the time came, she would surely tell him.
Under these circumstances, his daily routine remained unchanged. Encrid was still fully absorbed in his training.
"You’re free to leave now, but if you find it more comfortable to stay here, you may do so. If there’s anything you want, just say the word. I can procure almost anything," Hira said, biting down on a tobacco pipe. She had treated him well before, but now she was even more hospitable.
Jiba’s mother remained the same. "This is Wind Rabbit meat, a specialty of the West. Please, try some."
The Wind Rabbit was an animal native only to this region. Since they were light and twice as fast as ordinary rabbits, it was said that one needed to be among the finest hunters in the West to catch them. The meat was so tender it felt almost delicate. Minced in the Western style, mixed with grain flour, and grilled flat, it melted in the mouth.
"There’s a guy named Krais in our unit. If he ate this, he’d probably insist on opening a restaurant right away," Encrid praised.
Since Hira and the other Westerners kept asking what he wanted, Encrid finally gave them an answer: he wanted sparring partners.
"Geomnarae, aren't you healed yet?" Hira called out, but Geomnarae shook his head.
"Not yet."
He wasn't trying to avoid it. It was just that he needed proper preparation to fight seriously.
Was it surprising, or was it only natural? There was no shortage of sparring partners. These were Westerners, and Westerners considered turning tail and running a disgrace. If Encrid wanted to fight, there were plenty of people willing to step up. Backing down just because an opponent was strong was not the Western way.
One man, in particular, stood out. He had arrived ten days ago, witnessed Encrid’s fight, and come seeking to learn.
"To a Westerner, a wound on the back is a disgrace." He had short gray hair, an angular jaw, and a resolute expression.
"What if you’re injured in an ambush?"
"Well, that can’t be helped."
Westerners weren't rigid; they possessed plenty of flexibility. Above all, they enjoyed jokes. Encrid smiled and took the wooden sword the man offered.
"I enjoy fighting in various ways. Seeing me like that, my friends sometimes call me cheap or cowardly." His words were quiet, his attitude casual. These words followed after he had abruptly brought over two wooden swords and handed one to Encrid.
Encrid deftly caught the wooden sword. Luagarne had gone out again, and Dunchabel sat to one side, acting as a spectator.
"Yaaaaawn." Dunchabel opened her mouth wide, stretching her limbs. She looked completely at ease. It also seemed like she had been sleeping a lot more lately.
Encrid held the wooden sword and tipped it up and down. He could tell without even swinging it properly.
The balance is off.
It was a poorly made tool, or perhaps the material was flawed. Yet, despite that, it bore the marks of careful carving. Its rough texture made it look like a newly crafted weapon. In other words, it was an item carved specifically for this spar.
His opponent kept talking, making Encrid wonder when they would actually start.
"But calling it cowardly is underestimating the opponent’s preparation too much—"
The man cut his own chatter short and abruptly swung his wooden sword.
Whoosh!
Because he wore a cloak to conceal his arm movements, the fabric fluttered violently, whipping around. The patterns engraved on its surface were designed to disorient the vision. The wooden sword, the cloak, the words—everything was a setup for victory.
It’s a tactic.
Deception was also a tactic. But that didn't mean the tactic worked. It didn't matter to Encrid. He noticed immediately that the wooden sword was made of rotten wood, hollow in the middle.
Encrid pretended to clash swords but let go of his weapon at the last second. His opponent swung his wooden sword with full force.
Thwack!
The discarded wooden sword snapped right down the middle.
Just how rotten was the wood he brought?
With that thought, Encrid slipped inside the man’s guard and struck upward near the solar plexus with the hard heel of his palm. He didn't use his full strength; if he had, there would be one more corpse to bury.
Thud!
A satisfying impact vibrated through his hand. His opponent couldn't react. Encrid had slipped into the gap on an off-beat. The upward palm strike lifted the man’s feet off the ground. When he came back down, the sparring partner collapsed forward.
To an onlooker, he looked dead.
"...Ugh."
Having his breath knocked out, the opponent lay prone on the ground, unable to speak.
"Are you trying to kill him?" Dunchabel asked, walking over to grab the Western warrior’s back and straighten him out.
"Gasp... wheeze... huff... ugh..." Rough, ragged breathing followed. "I saw my late father."
Encrid looked down at his hand. It seemed his control of his strength wasn't perfect yet.
There was a female warrior waiting her turn nearby. If the man who just fought was like a hunter who used tricks, this woman was more like Rem. She held a large axe over her well-trained shoulder muscles, her hair tied back. She had just seen a man nearly die from a single blow, but she was entirely unfazed.
Encrid liked that about her.
"I don't think you’ll die even if I swing with all my might. Can I go all out?" she asked.
Encrid nodded.
Afterward, Encrid deflected her heavy axe strike using only his blade, then struck the back of her neck, knocking her unconscious.
Encrid realized there were quite a few decent fighters within the tribe’s enclosure. From the looks of it, their numbers were growing even larger than before.
"Is he really that amazing?"
Unfamiliar faces would approach, wanting to catch a glimpse of the hero who had slain the giants.
"Mind your manners. Mess around, and you’ll die," Geomnarae warned the rowdy warriors from the side.
"Got it."
The warriors nodded easily. Though what Encrid had accomplished was astonishing, they also had their own tasks to attend to. Sharpening their weapons with whetstones, meditating, sparring, training.
It was obvious at a glance. The entire tribe was preparing for battle.
In other words, killing the giants wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.