Chapter 500: What About My Gift?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 500: What About My Gift?
"I'll go get the recruits in line," Ropode said, turning away.
He had his own duties to attend to today. It was the day they selected recruits who wished to challenge the seniors to a spar—a reward granted at the end of their grueling training.
"I made a promise, didn't I? Anyone who defeats me earns an immediate spot in the General’s direct command."
Ropode stepped to the front of the platform. Rainwater that had pooled on the edge of the roof dripped down, the falling droplets soaking his hair.
Behind him, Rem grumbled. "Did those bastards get wind of this and bolt?"
Whether it was Ragna or Sachsen, if they had possessed the foresight to know Rem would discover sorcery and reach knight-level, they would be holding crystal balls instead of swords. Naturally, they hadn't run away.
Encrid shifted his gaze toward the recruits, having overheard Ropode. Although he hadn't authorized this event himself, the way things were being handled smelled of Krais’s influence.
While Audin was the best at driving recruits to their limits, motivating them was a different matter entirely. That required a certain finesse in handling people. No matter how one looked at it, that wasn't Audin's strong suit. Encrid knew this firsthand, having learned the Isolation Technique under him.
"Lift it."
"I can't put any strength into it."
"No, you can."
"My arm won't move."
"No, it will."
That was Audin's way.
Would Ropode be any different? He, too, had spent almost his entire life in an order of knights. It wasn't as if he hadn't dealt with rough swordsmen, and he had certainly handled his fair share of criminals. But managing people and leading them were two different stories.
Training was a dual-purpose tool. It built stamina and strength, but fundamentally, it was a process of uncovering a person's true character. To do that, you had to push them—and you had to offer appropriate rewards.
Encrid accepted the situation, assuming Krais had intervened. Though Big-Eyes wasn't hardened by the mercenary life, Krais knew the principles of handling people better than anyone, especially when it came to the common folk.
*
The men gathered here had been drawn by Encrid’s name, but some among them had only heard rumors and remained skeptical of his skills. Rumors could be exaggerated, after all. Who knew what the man was actually capable of?
Marco was a spearman whose skills had been recognized by a famous spear master in a western trade city. Frankly, he believed you couldn't trust half of what rumors claimed. If you did, the hotshots in the West—those calling themselves "Harpy Slayers" or "Colony Destroyers"—wouldn't have turned out to be so mediocre.
That was why he had traveled all this way, and naturally, he was itching to prove his worth. Yet, the so-called hero who ended the civil war was supposedly away. And they said there would be no chance to spar unless they participated in the training? He had endured the drills and followed orders until now, but he was reaching his limit.
Dissatisfaction was festering.
In the meantime, this man Ropode certainly seemed like a formidable fighter, but Marco's true target was the Demon Slayer.
Is it wise to show my techniques in advance?
That would put him at a disadvantage. Most martial artists on the continent believed that revealing one's style first was a mistake. Marco was no exception; he wanted to seize all the glory in a single, decisive match.
So he endured.
Today was the day.
If Audin hadn't been occupied with a fasting prayer, if Ragna hadn't gotten lost, and if Pel had shown enough sociability to be present, Marco wouldn't have even entertained these thoughts.
He didn't look at Ropode. His gaze was fixed solely on Encrid.
His curly hair, soaked by the rain, hung down like limp seaweed and obscured his vision, so he wiped his face with a rough hand.
"Grrr."
Behind him, a gray-haired beast of a man was grinding his teeth, but Marco didn't spare him a glance. While other recruits looked at Ropode, Marco’s eyes never wavered from his target.
Encrid.
General, hero, the one who ended the civil war, Demon Slayer, savior of the nation, guardian of the Border Guard, friend of the king, destroyer of the Gray Demon Realm.
The man had an endless list of titles. Seeing him in person, he certainly didn't look like an amateur, but...
Would I definitely lose if we fought?
Not necessarily. Marco was confident. He had learned spear techniques from books, yet he had no rivals in his youth. Even when he met those of similar skill as an adult, it took him a month at most to surpass them. He had sought out masters of the sword and spear, but none had ever truly satisfied him.
He didn't win every single time. But he had never ended a rivalry on a loss.
Marco let out a long breath. Although autumn was arriving with the rain, the temperature remained high. There was an unpleasant stickiness in the air, but it didn't matter. Proving his skill was all that counted. Now was the moment.
Encrid had felt the gaze directed at him for some time. Since he had no reason to avoid it, he stared right back.
"Can I choose my own opponent?" Marco spoke up.
Among the soldiers who sought out the Border Guard, some were enticed by the high pay, but many came to test their own mettle. Encrid knew such people well.
Their silent exchange of glances said everything. He's going to challenge me.
Encrid had no intention of avoiding it, nor did he want to. Above all, there were a few things he had realized on his journey back, and he needed a proper opponent to test them. There were techniques still too unrefined to use against Rem.
"Will you be alright?" Ropode asked.
Encrid never turned away a challenger. That remained true even now, fresh off a long journey. Encrid nodded as he set down his backpack.
He contemplated drawing Aker but decided to take only his Gladius as he stepped down. Perhaps because he had used it so roughly, the scabbard had loosened, and the blade rattled. When he had time, he would have to visit a blacksmith in the city to get it fixed.
Marco, the recruit, drew his weapon. It was a short spear, slightly longer than his height. The way he held it with a wide grip was unusual—at least by a common soldier's standards.
Those who didn't belong to an official order of knights often called themselves Associate Knights or Squires. In that regard, Marco could be considered an Associate Knight. But from what Encrid had experienced, the term "Associate Knight" was largely nonsense.
They die just the same if they get cut, but the difference in skill is clear.
No matter how he looked at it, Roman, whom he had seen in the City of Oara, or Aisia, who must have returned to the royal palace by now, didn't seem like they would lose to someone like this.
"I don't think I can hold back," Marco said.
He was polite and honest. He was giving a fair warning that he intended to fight with everything he had, even though his stance and momentum already laid his intentions bare.
It was the Eye that Sees an Inch Ahead. If he ever became a knight, it was the kind of intuition and sense that would likely be called Foresight.
Encrid tossed the Gladius lightly into the air, caught it, and shifted into a reverse grip.
"...Is that the only weapon you're using?" Marco asked.
Encrid merely uncurled the fingers of his sword hand and beckoned him forward.
Gritting his teeth, the seaweed-haired man pierced through the rain. The tip of his spear was fast—fast enough to look like a mere dot in the air.
Would Ropode be able to handle this level? Encrid wasn't sure. The Ropode of the past might have struggled, but he didn't know the Ropode of today.
With that thought, Encrid swung his reverse-gripped Gladius.
Clang!
Deflecting the spearhead, he slipped inside the man's guard and struck Marco’s abdomen with his bare hand. It was a thrust modeled after Rem's kick, which struck with the force of a thrown spear.
Following a heavy stomp on the ground, he extended his arm using pure physical strength without any rotational movement, making the preparatory motion incredibly short and lightning-fast.
Thud!
"Gah!"
Upon impact, Marco's feet briefly left the ground. Yet, even then, he did not let go of his spear. Having been knocked back diagonally, Marco crashed onto the wet ground with a splash. The focus had completely drained from his eyes. He wasn't unconscious, but he looked utterly dazed.
He didn't let go of his spear, even after that.
Encrid noted. If this had been an entrance exam, he would have declared it a pass.
In the end, the conclusion was merely a sequence of simple movements: block, dodge, and strike.
Whoosh.
The rain grew heavier.
"Ugh..."
Marco crawled on the ground. Encrid had controlled his strength, but he hadn't struck lightly. If he had hit with full force, Marco's internal organs would have ruptured, and he would be coughing up pieces of his viscera.
"...What was that?"
"I couldn't even see it."
A few recruits muttered. The difference in skill was staggering.
"Anyone else want to try?" Ropode asked.
The recruits looked up, the meaning in their eyes clear: How can we challenge that after seeing what just happened?
Ropode smiled brightly in the rain. Then he said, "How about a round with me, then?"
Since Ragna was away, his hands had been itching for a fight. Above all, there was something he wanted to show Encrid now that he had returned.
Ropode raised his blade high, taking an Upper Stance.
Encrid gripped the hilt of his Gladius properly and replied, "I'm more than happy to accept this kind of welcome."
He had been curious about how Ropode had changed, anyway.
Ropode focused. He split the moments, stretching time. His burning, lingering concentration made him forget his surroundings—the falling rain, the crowd, and time itself. The only things remaining in his consciousness were the sword in his hand and his opponent.
He had honed his skills after learning from Luagarne and had been rolled around relentlessly by Ragna. Through that hardship, Ropode had gained something new.
He called it the Eagle's Eye.
When he focused all five of his senses on his opponent, he felt a sensation as if he were looking down on them from high in the sky.
Encrid remained completely still. Ropode observed with his Eagle's Eye, waiting for the slightest movement.
And then, Encrid moved.
Suddenly, a blade blocked Ropode's vision. Encrid had thrown his Gladius without any preparatory motion. No, there had been a motion, but it was so fast that Ropode's reaction was delayed. Ropode instinctively swung his sword downward.
Clang!
The Gladius was deflected.
Boom!
Heaven and earth shook. At least, that was how it felt to Ropode. At the same time, a flash of lightning seemed to spark before his eyes.
Huh?
Why was the world spinning?
Ropode collapsed with a heavy thud.
"You should pick your opponents more carefully," Rem said from atop the platform, having finally calmed down. "You thought you were having some fun, but you've still got a long way to go," he added in a bored tone.
"Ah."
Sitting in the muddy water, Ropode let out a short, breathless exclamation. He had thought he had caught up, just a little bit. Seeing Encrid strike the recruit earlier, he had believed he might stand a chance.
He wasn't even close.
"Catching up to a genius is truly difficult," Ropode sighed.
Ah, indeed.
All the watching recruits silently agreed.
Ropode shook his head from side to side, his ears still ringing. Encrid had closed the distance the moment he threw his sword, following up by whipping his left foot into Ropode's chin with a high kick. Every movement had occurred at a speed that defied common sense. Ropode was still reeling from the impact of that single blow.
The recruits fell into a stunned silence.
Encrid, for his part, had nothing to say regarding the word "genius." He felt neither pleased nor displeased. It was just what it was. If his opponent saw him that way, so be it. Ropode himself would eventually know that the words "genius" and "talent" could not fully encompass everything a person had built through blood and sweat.
"I'm heading in first."
Leaving behind the Squire he had beaten the moment he arrived, Encrid picked up his backpack and walked across the training ground. Behind him, he heard Ropode shouting loudly to the recruits.
"Alright! If we work hard, we can become like that one day too!"
Ropode had somehow become a man of great spirit.
"Dream on," Rem muttered.
"Not everyone can achieve it. That is why the world is unfair," Luagarne added.
"Were you always the type to mock other people's dreams?" Encrid asked, glancing at Rem.
"Didn't you know? I've been laughing ever since you first said you wanted to become a knight, Boss."
He had indeed laughed.
"If there is someone to inspire dreams, there must also be someone to awaken them to reality," Luagarne said, sounding like a sage living in seclusion on some distant hill.
Of course, those who hid on a back hill rather than in a deep forest were usually swindlers rather than sages. Regardless, Luagarne's words weren't wrong. If a dream could be broken by mere words, it wasn't something that could have survived the journey anyway.
Encrid walked on until he reached his quarters. It would be good to drop off his luggage, wash up, and eat a proper meal for the first time in a long while, rather than choking down field rations.
He pushed open the door.
Blue eyes, long black hair, and black clothes that revealed glimpses of skin through her robe. A mage sitting in an elegant, antique chair—wherever she had managed to find it—came into view. She crossed her legs and met his gaze.
"You're back?" she spoke as if she had just seen him yesterday.
Next to her, he saw an elf who had set up an office desk that was even more absurd than the antique chair. Setting down a carving knife and whatever she had been sculpting, she raised her head.
"You've returned, fiancé."
Sinar’s elven joke was as consistent as ever. Esther had only said a few words, but Sinar did not turn her head away. Her eyes were remarkably clear and direct.
The sound of pouring rain echoed outside as the door clicked shut behind him. A hearth fire burned in the center of the room, and with the flames as her backdrop, Sinar asked, "What about my gift?"
He wondered why she was asking for a gift when he hadn't even gone on a proper trip. Encrid set down his backpack, about to say he had nothing, but then he stopped himself.
Come to think of it, he did have something for each of them. An invisible blade dagger for Sachsen. A magic item he had happened to find for Esther. And for Audin, a broken holy relic.
Can these even be called gifts?
Probably not. Nevertheless, Encrid handed something to the elf.
"It's a dagger that wards off calamity."
It was a sacrificial dagger that was useless to him but might be of use to her. Sinar caught the dagger with a light click, scanned it with her eyes, and tucked it into her robes.
"Something about you has changed. Let's have a match once the rain stops."
She had chosen the very words that would please Encrid the most. In this regard, she was a remarkably attentive elf.
"That is not a bad proposal."
Encrid washed up, ate, and organized his belongings. Even so, rather than feeling like he had truly returned home, he felt a sense of emptiness. It was likely because the people who should have been here were all away.
They would return soon, but for now, it felt a little lonely.