Chapter 5: Valen-style Swordsmanship
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 5: Valen-style Swordsmanship
"Huh? What? How’d you know?"
"I’m no prophet."
At Encrid’s blunt reply, Rem shook a bug out of his boot and onto the ground, his eyes narrowing with absolute certainty.
"Did you put it in there, Squad Leader?"
"I didn't."
"Tsk."
Rem kept a suspicious gaze fixed on him, but Encrid didn't care. That wasn't what mattered. Encrid brought his foot down, crushing the bug Rem had dropped.
Crunch.
An unpleasant sensation traveled up through the sole of his boot.
Spit.
Encrid spat, ground the bug's remains into the dirt, and spoke. "Can you teach me the Beast's Heart?"
"Huh? You remembered that?" Rem asked, pulling his boot back on and standing up.
"It's not something easily forgotten."
"Says the guy who poured booze down his throat because he wanted to forget everything."
He had indeed done that. Back then, with visions of his head being lopped off by an axe constantly haunting his dreams, life hadn't felt worth living.
"Can you do it or not?"
"You're bursting with enthusiasm today, aren't you? Fine. Let's do it." Rem nodded. "Sachsen, take over breakfast duty for me. I'll do it tomorrow."
He needed to eat to maintain his strength, but there was no need to waste time on chores like washing dishes.
"Sure, will do."
Sachsen was a squad member who smiled easily and got along well with others. He possessed a personality so mild it was a mystery why he was even in a unit like this. When Encrid first met him, he thought Sachsen played the role of a mediator.
Sachsen shook out his reddish-brown hair and stepped out of the tent. Rem watched him leave, then snorted loudly.
"That bastard rubs me the wrong way for some reason."
Naturally, if Sachsen had actually been doing a good job as a mediator, Encrid might never have ended up here in the first place. While Sachsen got along famously with other units, his relationship with the members of the 4th Squad was actually quite poor.
Except with Encrid, of course.
Strangely enough, Encrid tended to enjoy the trust of his squad members. Whether that was because he silently granted their various favors, or because his skills were so mediocre that he seemed destined to remain a squad leader forever, Encrid didn't know. He simply assumed it was one of the two.
Rem walked out of the tent, and Encrid followed.
"He's a shady fellow. Gives off a bad vibe, so you'd better not get too close to him."
And what about you? Encrid asked silently.
Was this really coming from a guy who had picked a fight with a superior in his previous unit and shattered the man's jaw? Rem might be a savior to Encrid, but members of other units—especially his former unit, the 1st Platoon—glared at Rem as if they wanted to murder him. The man who had broken their platoon leader's jaw was hardly going to be popular.
Encrid didn't argue. Arguing changed nothing; it was a waste of time. He would rather spend that time mastering the Beast's Heart. Besides learning the technique from Rem, he had plenty of other things to do.
"Especially seeing how chummy he is with those 1st Platoon bastards. It's unsettling."
Sure, let's go with that.
When Encrid didn't talk back, Rem stopped in his tracks. "What?"
"Squad Leader, you're really weird today. Normally, wouldn't you have snapped at me by now?"
He was right. Normally, Encrid would have told him he was in no position to talk after breaking his superior's jaw. Or, if he wasn't going to get close to them, he would have told Rem not to even look their way. Encrid believed it was better to keep people apart so they wouldn't fight, rather than urging them to become friends.
That was Encrid's secret to leading the highly eccentric Sasa-sa Squad of Death.
"I have nothing to say," Encrid cut him off.
Rem scratched the back of his head. "Well, today's a strange day."
*
After breakfast, the two headed to an empty clearing on the outskirts of the camp. While training on a battlefield might seem out of place, Encrid had always been like this. To those who knew him, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Passersby didn't pay them much attention.
And so, the instruction of the Beast's Heart began once more.
"...Did you secretly learn this from someone else? No, that can't be."
"I just repeated what I learned."
"You're telling me training alone got you this far?"
Another death meant another layer of experience. Encrid found it easier to compose his mind than before. Rem gave him a puzzled look but shrugged it off.
"In my eyes, you've got talent, Squad Leader. To be doing it at this level..."
Rem made a comment similar to the one he had made yesterday.
Talent. If only that were true.
Just moments ago, he had ultimately failed to dodge Rem's axe. The blade had stopped right in front of his Adam's apple. It was close enough that a mere flick of the wrist would have left a long gash across his throat.
"That was close," Rem said with a smirk.
He seemed pleased to see Encrid learning so diligently. A faint sense of satisfaction lingered in his smile. Encrid felt it too.
"What do you even have to do to swing an axe like that?"
That axe strike just now—Rem's axe was faster than the thrusts that had killed him so many times. The blade had come close to grazing his skin in the blink of an eye. In truth, Encrid hadn't even blinked, yet he had still missed the movement of the steel.
"Hmm, talent?"
For the first time in a while, Encrid thought Rem was a real bastard. But then, he had always been this way.
"If training solved everything, would there be anyone in the world who couldn't swing a sword?" Rem chuckled.
Just as he had read the satisfaction on Rem's face earlier, Encrid realized this bastard thoroughly enjoyed teasing him. He was a strange fellow. Then again, was there anyone in this squad who wasn't strange?
"What if I train more? What if I put in more effort? What if I swing my sword without even sleeping?" Encrid asked reflexively.
It was a dilemma he had harbored for a long time. Should he give up if he lacked talent?
Encrid had not given up. If he chose to press forward instead of giving up, what did he actually possess? Nothing but the resolve to move forward without tiring. If the so-called geniuses took ten steps at a time, his only will was to keep walking steadily, even if it was only a fraction of a step, without stopping.
"Man, you're really weird today. Did you chug an elixir of seriousness or something?" Rem said, casually hooking his axe onto the cord tied around his waist.
"No."
"Squad Leader."
Rem called out to Encrid, his humor fading. Encrid met his gaze. After a brief silence, Rem spoke.
"People die if they don't sleep."
Tremble.
The moment he finished speaking, Rem's cheeks quivered as he tried to hold back his laughter, before finally bursting into a loud guffaw. It was his answer to what would happen if Encrid swung his sword without sleeping.
"Fuck off."
Encrid gave him the universal gesture of the continent, flipping him the middle finger.
Rem chuckled and suggested they go grab some lunch. Encrid didn't pester him to teach him more. You can't get full on the first bite; Encrid knew that truth all too well.
*
After lunch, he reviewed his own swordsmanship.
The basic sword forms: thrusting, slashing, and swinging. What he had learned after the basics was Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship. It wasn't some cheap, shoddy style. He had traveled far and spent a considerable amount of money to acquire it. It wasn't a style one could learn for a mere few silver coins.
Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship. Though Valen had never reached the rank of a knight, his swordsmanship was highly renowned in the mercenary world. If one had to classify it, it belonged to the Illusion Sword style.
He didn't know how Valen himself had originally used it, but he had managed to master several of its techniques in his own way. Encrid poured his energy into them.
'Even though the same day repeats after I die, what remains in my body doesn't disappear.'
He hadn't learned the Beast's Heart with his mind; he had engraved it into his body. Which meant whatever was left in his body remained intact.
He pushed his body to its limits. He swung his sword until his heavily calloused palms tore open once more. Normally, common soldiers didn't use swords; for most, the spear was the standard weapon. It was a privilege he enjoyed solely because he was the leader of the Sasa-sa Squad.
Encrid had no intention of letting go of his sword.
He trained repeatedly. His grip throbbed with pain, but he endured. His stomach ached because his lunch hadn't fully digested yet, but he endured. He focused every ounce of sensation into his toes and fingertips.
The Illusion Sword was a sword of deception. It dictated that one should use any means necessary to deceive the opponent. In fact, a few techniques of Valen-style swordsmanship were already widely known in the mercenary world—for instance, pretending to trip only to thrust at the opponent.
One couldn't call it cheap. Why should doing whatever it took to survive be considered cheap? If someone argued that a knight would never do such a thing, Encrid wouldn't bother debating them. That person had their own values, and he had his.
The time allowed to him was half a day.
His legs didn't tremble. If his legs gave out from just this, the physical training he had done every single day would have been utterly meaningless. Encrid's legs were sturdy.
"Having a sturdy body is quite an advantage," Rem said to Encrid when he returned.
A messenger had just come and gone. In this sixth repetition of today, he could estimate the passage of time just by looking at the sky.
"It's a body trained for over twenty years," Encrid replied casually and moved back to his platoon's position.
"Make sure that sturdy body of yours doesn't end up as a training dummy out there."
Just before the battle began, Rem chuckled again.
"You have to do duty tomorrow," Sachsen added from beside him.
One bastard seemed to be teasing him, while the other was firmly expressing his refusal to do cooking duty two days in a row. Regardless of how they expressed it, both of them seemed to want him to return alive.
"See you later."
*
The sixth "today" began.
Encrid killed the enemies more easily than on the fifth day. He tripped the first enemy who rushed him, then slammed the edge of his shield into the back of the man's head. He feinted by shaking his sword before thrusting it into the second enemy.
Valen-style swordsmanship. These were techniques he had learned separately by traveling and spending money, not the ones commonly known in the mercenary world. It was said that a swaying blade tip was like a haze that disoriented the opponent's vision.
He put what he had learned into practice, and it worked. He felt a sense of accomplishment. The joy of growth and fulfillment filled his chest once more.
He had achieved quite a lot through the repetition of a single day. Encrid didn't waste his day just because he would regress after dying. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was fiercer. More focused. More immersed. He had lived harboring a deep yearning to never miss an opportunity if it arose, so he had to be.
And so, Encrid did just that. He slashed, struck, and tripped the enemy soldiers. The repeated battles brought him a different kind of experience.
'The Beast's Heart.'
He could see things he hadn't noticed on previous days. Before he knew it, he reached the moment where Bell fell.
Since he fought in the exact same spot every day, he saw Bell every single time. He couldn't push the front line back or move elsewhere just because he wanted to. Recklessly crossing the front line was suicide. Arbitrarily changing one's position on a battlefield was no simple task.
'My skills aren't at that level yet.'
Encrid knew his own limits well. He had gained some breathing room, but not enough to charge blindly into the enemy ranks or pull off reckless gambles. Moreover, he was still far from being able to sense the arrow of a skilled archer in advance.
Splat!
Bell's head burst open once again.
"Damn it."
He had been determined to save him this time, but it was another failure.
Encrid immediately ducked his head. As if on cue, an arrow pierced the air. A sharp whoosh echoed past his ear. His movement was fluid, as if he had anticipated it perfectly.
"Your instincts seem sharp today," Rem said, having approached him at some point.
"Go slit the throat of the bastard who shot that arrow."
"I was just about to do that. Since your instincts are sharp, make sure you stay alive."
Rem departed.
Once again, he faced the enemy soldier whose specialty was thrusting. Encrid failed yet again. This time, he managed to dodge the club of the soldier rushing him from behind, but another bastard right next to him threw a hand axe.
Fucking hell.
*
The seventh morning dawned.
"I put the bug in there."
When he told Rem, Rem asked, "Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind?"
"I'm not crazy. Keeping one's mind unshaken even in a situation like this—that's the Beast's Heart, right?"
"Huh?"
"Teach me."
Today began once more. Rem blinked in surprise, then agreed.
He learned. He practiced. He swung his sword.
This time, he didn't even try to save Bell. To save him, he had to read the trajectory of the incoming arrow. If he couldn't do that, he would have to rely on pure luck.
How did Rem dodge those arrows?
Encrid moved his body, harboring the question.
He died to the thrust again.
"Mercy."
To hell with his mercy.
He died. And so, the eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth... after more than a hundred deaths, Encrid continued to repeat this "today" that always began with death.