Chapter 512: Inexhaustible
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 512: Inexhaustible
Rem, Ragna, and Sachsen exchanged glances before nodding. An agreement had been reached.
Squatting in front of the three, Luagarne nodded and said, "No backing out."
"As long as there are no cheap tricks," Rem said, scraping a whetstone smoothly along the blade of his axe. "Just roll it."
Sachsen, holding a block of wood in his left hand and a dagger in his right, spoke next. Every time the dagger moved, the raw wood was shaved away like butter with a crisp shuck-shuck.
"Sometimes, when we lost our way, we'd roll dice to decide," Ragna added. The blonde genius was warming up, not even bothering to sheathe his sword. He looked as though he were waiting for something with absolute resolve.
"That's why you lose your way," Rem retorted to Ragna's absurd remark.
"Who does?" Ragna asked back nonchalantly. Who loses their way? I have no idea.
His tone and attitude, as if he genuinely had no clue what Rem was talking about, grated on Rem's nerves.
"You."
Ssshhhk.
The butt of the axe handle pointed toward Ragna. As Rem spoke, he channeled his Will into a sorcery. It was a technique that exerted an invisible, intangible pressure.
Ragna slightly tilted his sword hand, angling the blade toward Rem. The pressure-exerting sorcery was instantly severed by the Will imbued in the blade.
It was a minor skirmish, a sort of hand-play where neither could be said to have won or lost. Of course, because it was between these two, it was practically a high-level duel rather than mere play—though such a distinction only mattered to someone capable of recognizing it.
Anyone with the skill to recognize it would have shaken their head at their childishness, however.
"If you're jealous of my talent as a guide, devotion to your training is the only answer," Ragna said.
"...Right. I was just wondering why I'm going to all this trouble when I could just kill you first," Rem replied without missing a beat.
"If killing were allowed, this would have ended long ago," Sachsen said, looking at the two of them as he set his carving on the ground. The wooden sculpture depicted two figures with their necks half-severed and dangling; one bore an uncanny resemblance to Rem, while the other looked strangely like Ragna.
It was a talent that would have made him immensely successful had he chosen to be a sculptor. Of course, it wasn't just raw talent; it was the result of years of training his senses by identifying and targeting the weaknesses of various races, combined with carving as a long-time hobby.
As the aura of the three escalated past bloodlust, weighing down the air to a dizzying degree, Luagarne slapped the ground with her palm. The bumpy palm of the Frok struck the earth, producing a dull thud.
"Focus."
At her word, the oppressive aura of the three subsided. Unless they truly intended to kill each other, it was only right to leave the decision to the Frok's hand for now.
Seeing them withdraw their pressure, Luagarne gave a small nod and placed her hand over the cup resting on the ground.
When deciding a dispute, what was the best method to test the element of luck, completely separate from skill? A traditional game of rock-paper-scissors made it impossible to determine a winner among the three. They all split their movements to constantly change their hand signs, trying to alter their fingers in real-time as they watched the others. It was a chaotic mess of stubbornness and cheap tricks.
The final blow was Rem's hand sign, which was neither rock, paper, nor scissors. He had extended his thumb and index finger while curling the other three fingers inward, exposing his palm.
"This is a unique technique of my clan. It's 'Steel-Clad Scissors,' a perfect blend of rock, paper, and scissors."
It was pure nonsense.
"My rock crushes whatever tries to wrap around it," Ragna had said.
"Isn't it obvious that scissors can cut rock?" Sachsen had added. There was no end to it.
Ultimately, they sought a notary to settle the matter. That was Luagarne. Thus, they agreed to decide by a roll of the dice, and now the Frok picked up the cup containing them.
Sliiiip!
But as is always the case, things rarely go according to plan. The Frok's slippery skin lost its grip on the cup. Her hand simply slid right off. The sheer pressure radiating from the three had caused oil to secrete from her hands.
"Ah, how slippery."
They had chosen the wrong notary. Or perhaps the wrong game.
"You people are seriously idle."
Krais, who had approached in the meantime, took the cup instead. He put to use the skills he had acquired from working in gambling dens in his youth. No one had time to stop him, nor did anyone have the desire to.
Whoever it is, just shake that cup and show us the dice.
Three pairs of murderous eyes said as much. Krais gripped the cup and gave it a sharp, rhythmic shake.
Clack-clack-clack!
The dice rattled inside the wooden cup. The die had six faces. Rem had claimed the two highest numbers, Ragna took the middle two, and Sachsen took the remaining lowest two.
Rattle, thud.
As Krais's hand stopped, the die hidden beneath the cup came to a halt on the ground.
"By the way, why are we doing this?" Remembering his old habits—specifically, the moment of building suspense before revealing the cup—Krais feigned lifting it, only to pause and ask.
"Just open it, Brother. You're going to get yourself killed," Audin offered some friendly advice.
Indeed, the three pairs of eyes staring intensely at his hand were painfully sharp. Even if a bandit were holding a blade to his throat, those three pairs of eyes would probably feel more terrifying right now.
Krais lifted the cup. The number on the die was five.
"I knew Mother Bear would guide me," Rem laughed. Sachsen shook his head, while Ragna stared at the die with a thoughtful hum.
Should I just slice it in half right now and pretend this never happened? He was genuinely contemplating it.
"I think that's enough," Encrid said from one side of the training ground, prompting Ragna to abandon his thoughts. If he split the die, they would have to decide the order all over again. Besides, they had already kept Encrid waiting for too long.
It was only yesterday that they had woken up and confirmed Encrid had become a knight.
"Just let me refine myself for a day."
Instead of agreeing to spar immediately, Encrid had shaken his head, and Audin had joined him in that refining process.
"Hit me."
They had begun the training known as the striking method. It started with light punches—thud—and escalated to punches delivered with a fraction of real force—crack!
"You must tell me if it gets too tough, Brother," Audin had said, but Encrid did not stop taking the blows from noon until just before dusk. Audin was drenched in sweat, and Teresa's eyes trembled as she watched.
Is it really okay to take those punches like that?
Knight or not, it was a miracle he was still standing. Audin would take his stance and throw punches that channeled rotational force starting from his ankles, through his knees, and up to his waist. Furthermore, the surface of Audin's fists was akin to steel. Through relentless training, his hands had grown beyond thick—they were rock-hard. They could easily be called iron maces in their own right.
Thus, what Encrid was enduring was no different from being struck by an iron mace swung with full force by a powerful warrior. Yet, even while taking such blows, he didn't let out a single groan. Not just once, but even after being hit dozens of times.
"An iron shell," Luagarne marveled as she watched. A continuous croaking sound vibrated from her throat. It was a rumble of her cheeks that sounded even more excited than when she encountered rain after being away from the water for days.
"How is that possible?" she muttered. She wasn't asking Encrid; she was talking to herself.
Luagarne decided that observing and understanding Encrid's current state with her own eyes was the priority. She had even explicitly stated that she would only ask questions once she actually had something to ask him. Until then, she wanted them to leave her be so she could watch on her own.
The current Encrid was full of elements that stimulated her curiosity. If before it was mostly anticipation, now it was something far beyond that. Even now, wasn't he continuously shattering her expectations?
Luagarne did not want to satisfy all of this with just a few simple answers. Since the Frok's way of satisfying their desires was bound to be a bit peculiar, Encrid simply accepted it for what it was. He had plenty of his own work to do anyway. He was currently trying out all sorts of things as part of his verification process.
And so, he spent an entire day like that.
"Aren't you tired?"
Even though Teresa, who was watching, was concerned enough to ask, Encrid remained perfectly calm. A moderate amount of sweat, a body bruised here and there. But they were merely bruises. After all, the tool that had made those bruises was the fist of Audin—a body that felt like a mistake made by God.
"It's not too bad," Encrid replied. He seemed deeply absorbed in thought, but Teresa didn't notice. What was happening right before her eyes was simply too fascinating.
"If you withdraw your Will and endure with just your body, you will become even tougher, Brother," Audin said, sweat pouring off him. It seemed to Teresa that he was sweating more than she had ever seen him sweat before. That was how much heart and soul he had poured into swinging his fists.
What was even more surprising was that Encrid was sweating less. Even after taking those hits. Even after being struck by those fists. It was no wonder she was amazed.
After Encrid spent his day like that, the next morning at dawn, Rem, Sachsen, and Ragna had argued over who would be the first to spar with him. They had played rock-paper-scissors, only for it to be overturned by stubborn tricks—which brought them to the present moment.
Since the seasonal rain, there had been no precipitation lately, and the dry ground kicked up dust at even the slightest breeze.
Rustle.
A few fallen leaves nearby drifted sideways on the wind. As Krais, who had been squatting in the corner of the training ground to roll the die, stepped back, a space naturally cleared.
Encrid stood holding Aker.
"How deep are we going?" Rem spoke without any preamble, but Encrid understood him perfectly. If going all out was a ten, how deep would they go?
"Five," Encrid replied.
If they sparred in earnest, someone could actually die.
"I'm not very good at holding back yet. Be careful," Encrid warned, and Rem laughed.
"Who are you talking to? The directionally challenged one? The stray cat? Or the youngest bear cub who's depressed because he's been left behind?"
Despite serving Mother Bear, Rem had no qualms about teasing another bear. Ever since they returned, he had even taken to calling Audin "the youngest." Well, Mother Bear and a wild bear were two different things. Distinguishing and categorizing was Rem's specialty.
This was why he was perfectly suited to live with sorcery since childhood. As long as one learned how to distinguish properly, they wouldn't do something stupid like getting dragged away by wraiths. Conversely, if one failed to distinguish properly, they would end up doing something idiotic like letting a demon into their body and spewing out ten thousand wraiths.
"My weapon is a descent weapon. So a half-baked magic sword won't cut it. This guy has an ego."
An ego weapon—a general term for a weapon with its own consciousness. Though they were things spoken of in distant legends and history books, they did exist. Rem's descent weapon possessed emotions. Because of this, the power it unleashed varied slightly depending on the amplitude of those emotions.
They said every advantage came with a disadvantage. The disadvantage was the inconsistency when using it as a medium for sorcery. The advantage was that once it erupted, it went absolutely wild. When that happened, honestly, he was confident he could take on three knights at once.
Of course, that was based on the knights Rem knew. Not all knights were created equal, after all. There were people like Oara, and then there were people like the knights of Azpen. Both had attained the rank of knight, but realistically speaking, a vast gap existed between them.
Well, you never knew how a fight would go until you actually fought, so drawing absolute conclusions was forbidden. As Rem thrust his axe forward while harboring these thoughts, Encrid uttered something strange. To Rem's ears, it sounded like nonsense.
"You too?"
"What do you mean, 'me too'?"
"My sword talks to me, too."
"It talks?"
If it didn't just express emotions but actually spoke, shouldn't it be called a magic sword? Or perhaps a divine sword? Whether it was a blessing or not, it was neither a magic sword nor a divine sword. Through a conversation he had with his sword half a day ago, Encrid already knew that the Aker he held was an incredibly unique weapon.
"Uh, it's a bit of a chatterbox..."
Hey, what do you mean chatterbox? Do you think swords bound with the thoughts of a former knight are common?
Right on cue, Aker vibrated, transmitting words through his mind that only Encrid could hear.
"Let's talk later," Encrid muttered.
Ego sword or not, now was the time to face Rem.
"That's true," Rem agreed, assuming Encrid was speaking to his own sword. At the same time, he cast aside his idle thoughts. When fighting, one must focus solely on the fight. Worrying about how to escape or what to do next would only prevent you from showing even half of your true ability.
His opponent was the captain, who had awakened his Will. There was no room for carelessness.
Show me how much you've changed.
Without a word of start or any signal, Rem swung his axe. Encrid swung his sword in response. Rem's axe was slightly faster, but Encrid was not far behind. Even if one were watching closely, their speeds were so similar that it was difficult to tell the difference.
Clang!
Sparks flew from the point where Aker and the axe met, and Encrid's blue eyes drew a long streak in the air. Encrid closed the distance with his footwork, followed by an upward slash. It was a continuous strike that cut between breaths. Rem swung his axe down at the exact same moment.
Clang!
A second clash erupted, and from then on, Aker and the axe met and parted, met and parted, countless times. They were like a pair of fickle lovers. After repeating this meeting and parting dozens of times, Rem leaped backward.
What is this?
He was astonished once again. Encrid's shoulders heaved slightly. Rem had intentionally clashed weapons more frequently, forcing more collisions. He had an intention. Ragna or Sachsen would likely have done the same.
Controlling the feeling of omnipotence was well and good, but there was a more important concept to grasp afterward: testing the limits of one's Will. When does one tire? One must find the limit and learn to regulate its use. Rem saw that as the next step. Sorcery was much the same.
And yet.
"Aren't you tired?"
"Tired already?"
Even though Encrid's body was screaming, the Will contained within him remained exactly as it had been at the start. It was as if he had become an inexhaustible spring, water gushing forth without end.