Chapter 513: When Someone Like This Wields Will
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 513: When Someone Like This Wields Will
"This is a bit strange."
Rem tilted his axe, his expression puzzled. Since the purpose of the sparring was clear, there was no need to continue. They had essentially finished after clashing weapons endlessly without ever bothering to decide a winner.
Those who had been vying for their turn to spar, including Rem, shared the same sentiment.
He isn't exhausting himself? Sachsen thought silently.
"He should be tired by now," Ragna added, voicing the exact same concern.
When one first awakens to Will and feels it swirling within their body, the first thing they experience is a sense of omnipotence. It is a sensation that, quite literally, makes them feel as though they can do absolutely anything. In extreme cases, they might even believe they could reach out, grab a cloud, pull it down, and forge it into a sword.
Naturally, such a feat was absurd and impossible, but the feeling remained. Being drunk on this sense of omnipotence was several times more intoxicating than any drug. That intoxication usually drove a person to action, leading them to squander their Will without knowing any better. They would move in a frenzy of excitement, completely oblivious to their own fatigue.
Through this process, they would eventually learn to distinguish between what was possible and what was not. For his part, Encrid had at least made that distinction.
Oh? This works, but that doesn't.
I have to actually close the distance to take a head.
I can't fell a tree just by gesturing from afar.
It was like learning to walk all over again after being reborn—a process of learning how to manage this newfound sense of power.
Distinctions aside, what happens if one squanders their Will?
Exhaustion sets in. Their energy drains completely, and they collapse. If they try to keep moving in that state, their body breaks down. Of course, they would recover with time, but if they were repeatedly pushed to the brink of exhaustion to unleash their full power, they could learn to regulate themselves so that no permanent damage was left on their body or mind.
Though I didn't think that would be necessary for him, Rem thought, scratching his cheek.
Still, wasn't this a bit too strange?
Both Ragna and Sachsen had coveted this first sparring match specifically to help him regulate his exhaustion. It was the reason why even Sachsen, of all people, had stepped forward. It was the moment to help him control his sense of omnipotence. Who wouldn't want to guide him through that? The three of them hadn't gone to the trouble of rolling dice for nothing.
But what was this?
"I'm still fine," Encrid said. Despite being drenched in sweat, his momentum hadn't waned in the slightest. He was exactly the same as he had been at the start.
"It really is strange," Rem repeated, while Audin only chuckled softly.
Audin had already experienced this yesterday, so he had anticipated it. The other three had deliberately avoided watching Encrid beforehand, thinking it would ruin the fun of the spar. That was why they were so surprised.
Encrid stood there as if nothing had happened. By all rights, he should have collapsed from exhaustion long ago.
"Well, whatever. Let's move on." Rem waved his hand. It wasn't something he could figure out just by overthinking it. There were all sorts of wonders in the world, and anything could happen—Rem knew that all too well.
Ragna and Sachsen felt the same. So, Rem decided to move on to the next step.
Assuming there was no need to induce exhaustion, what was next? Mastery.
Once one reached the level of wielding Will comfortably, finer specializations would naturally begin to form. Some would use their Will with razor-sharp precision, while others would use it with heavy, crushing force. Sorcery was no different, so Rem was well-acquainted with these concepts. In his case, sorcery power and the power of spirits took the place of Will. Though the application differed, the principles were similar.
But even this was a bit ambiguous. It was hard to put into words.
For someone who had become a knight, Encrid was rather clumsy. His swordsmanship, senses, and boldness had undeniably improved by leaps and bounds, but his handling of Will was blunt. If anything, it felt even heavier and more sluggish than before.
Not that this meant his skills had regressed. As a result, there was no distinct characteristic to point out. He had grown stronger and his reactions faster, but his execution was somewhat crude and cluttered. If there was one major defining trait, it was simply that he didn't tire.
Of course, "crude and cluttered" was just how it looked to Rem. If Ropode or Pel saw it, they would wonder what on earth he was talking about. The gap between Encrid and those two was just that vast.
So what if it was blunt? What if it was a bit crude? What if it was cluttered?
Does it even matter?
It didn't. In truth, no one knew what the future held. No one. Yet, none of them thought this was a bad thing.
However, everyone, including Luagarne, had once harbored a similar question: What would happen when a man like this became a knight?
If the size of one's Will grew in proportion to how faithfully they kept their vow... if the strength of that vow was a tower tall enough to reach the heavens, then what would be the scale of the willpower—the intangible force known as Will—born in return?
The answer lay right here. It was something no one could measure.
There was no set path before Encrid.
“Embrace the vast emptiness. What blocks your path is not a wall, but a barren, endless plain.”
It felt as though someone were whispering those words.
Was that so? Encrid had stepped onto uncharted territory. He had just taken his first step. Was it the right direction? He didn't know. Was it a suffocating sense of helplessness, not knowing where to go? No.
Encrid smiled. What lay before him was not a trackless wasteland, but a road so vast that signposts were utterly useless. All he had to do was walk.
And so, he smiled.
"Well, it's good to see you smiling," Rem said, laughing along. Sachsen offered a faint smile, and Ragna grinned as well.
I need more practice.
After just one spar, Encrid felt like he knew exactly what he needed to do next. In the past, such a thing would have been unimaginable. Not knowing what to do, he had blindly swung his sword, sprinted, and run. He had even climbed steep mountains barehanded just to build his grip strength. It wasn't that those efforts had been useless, but he hadn't done them with any real understanding. Wasn't that why he used to pack up Krona and seek out swordsmanship instructors?
Encrid wasn't denying the path he had walked or the time he had spent. He simply recognized that he was no longer at a level where he needed an instructor.
The knack for handling Will.
To put it into words, it was like gaining a new sensory organ and learning how to use it. But what would normally be a relatively simple task had become difficult for Encrid. It was because his Will was simply too massive. His vessel was of a different scale. It wouldn't happen all at once; he already knew that. But it didn't matter.
"Phew."
As he stood under the sunlight, feeling the sweat drip, a passing breeze swept away the heat.
"May I ask for your thoughts, fiancé?" Sinar asked, having approached him at some point.
Encrid's gaze fell upon the elf. As he looked at her, the memory of her arm dissolving into dust flashed through his mind. It wasn't just her. Encrid remembered Rem, his face lined with more wrinkles. He remembered Sachsen, looking at him with a distorted face. He remembered Ragna, staring blankly at him. And Audin, emitting light while bleeding from his eyes, nose, and mouth—every orifice on his face.
Those memories, those faces, those expressions, and those actions—known only to him.
"It took a while thanks to these fools, but it's good."
He spoke as he turned his gaze toward Rem, Sachsen, Ragna, and Audin. Ropode and Pel were absent. Esther stood slightly behind them, and Odd-Eye was there too. Encrid's gaze swept over them as well.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on him. It was an absurd joke. He was only here because of them. He spoke because he knew that all too well.
Sinar offered a rare, faint smile. Encrid's smile, which made no effort to hide his joy, was incredibly pleasant to look at.
"Bullshit," Rem replied with a chuckle. Audin offered a prayer, Sachsen let out a dry laugh, and Ragna raised his sword. It was his turn to spar next.
Encrid took his stance once more. No exhaustion. He didn't tire. He wasn't drunk on omnipotence either. The roughness of his fighting style was something time would fix.
Ragna simply wanted to fight him. Just watching with his eyes wasn't enough to satisfy him.
Sachsen took a step back, lost in thought. He's a tricky opponent.
If he exploited an opening, he could wound him. If he used poison, he could gain the upper hand. However, both methods were awkward to use in a friendly spar. If his opponent were a barbarian, he could just unleash those techniques without a second thought. Indeed, many of Sachsen's techniques were too lethal to be used in sparring.
That was why he had stepped back. Since he had seen that Encrid didn't suffer from exhaustion, there was no need to wear him down. He had only stepped in—uncharacteristically—because he thought it was better to do it himself rather than leave it to the barbarian or the one with no sense of direction.
Despite those thoughts, Sachsen held a dagger in each hand and lined up. His actions contradicted his logic.
"I'm next," he said.
His words did too. Whenever he looked at his leader, even his cold assassin's heart would burn with heat.
Encrid still wore a smile. To be precise, it was a smile full of anticipation. No one else would understand. Whenever he had watched Rem and Ragna fight in the past, Encrid had dreamed of standing in that very spot. And now, that dream was perfectly realized.
He raised Aker and took his stance.
- Hey, this guy's pretty good.
It was the influence of the Will swirling through his entire body. The sword, imbued with Will, conveyed its thoughts. The low hum of the vibrating blade transformed into words in his mind. Encrid ignored it and focused.
Soon, a black lightning bolt fell silently from above. Though his sixth sense and foresight allowed him to see a split second into the future, seeing it and the blade's arrival happened simultaneously. Encrid's Aker also surged upward, radiating a white light.
Clang!
The two swords met, tangled, and parted. The exchanges, the footwork—everything was at the level of a knight.
Ragna won the spar.
After Ragna, Sachsen challenged him, resulting in a draw. Sachsen was the first to wave his hand and step back, and Encrid ultimately admitted that it was difficult to catch Sachsen's footwork. Of course, if either Ragna or Sachsen had fought to the bitter end, the outcome would have been unpredictable.
Rem took up his axe and lunged again. Even though the sparring continued until the sun dipped below the horizon, Encrid's Will never once ran dry.
"He's become a monster," Rem said, hitting the nail on the head. Everyone nodded in agreement. Among them, the croaking Luagarne was practically dripping oil from her entire body, so deeply was she moved.
* * *
"I place my trust in you."
Said the master of the throne, which sat atop three steps before a red carpet lined with gold thread. The man standing before the throne raised his deeply bowed head and spoke.
"I shall reclaim the lands of Azpen that were unjustly lost."
The man who raised his head had a black nose, ears resembling those of a wolf, and pupils distinctly different from a human's. It was only natural, as he was a wolf beastman.
"Go, then."
The Wolf Beastman General turned around. As the old general—who had once held the honorable title of the guardian deity of Azpen but had since been relegated to a minor post—stepped out of the grand hall, two humans and a Frok were waiting for him.
"Where is Abnayor?" the wolf beastman asked as soon as he emerged. Snorting, he blew his nose as if something displeased him. Though he had just left the grand hall and the throne was only a single door away, his attitude was completely unrestrained.
Those who knew his true nature kept their mouths shut. Even the attendants pretended not to notice.
"It would be best to refrain from mentioning that name within the palace," replied a neatly dressed man. Though he held the rank of a knight, he knew better than to recklessly provoke the beastman before him, so his tone was exceedingly polite.
Were all knights equal? Of course not. The Knight of Azpen, who had once delivered a strike to Encrid, Ragna, and a few others, understood this truth all too well.
"If you were going to throw away your honor anyway, why didn't you just kill them?" the beastman growled. He was criticizing the knight for not being proud of his actions, instead letting them remain as soot upon his heart.
"Because of the vow..."
"You will die because of your excuses and pretexts. Didn't I teach you that a knight who fails to uphold his honor leaves a stain on his heart, and that stain will ruin him? Have I lived too long that my memory is failing me? Huh?"
The wolf beastman cut him off, launching into a lecture. The man felt a sudden surge of anger, but he didn't dare talk back. Arguing with a master who was throwing a fit over "excuses" would only invite more nagging. And excuses? It wasn't an excuse; it was the truth. He had no choice because of the vow. Regardless of honor, his sword would never weaken. His sword had a clear, distinct characteristic.
Even though the man remained silent, the wolf beastman easily read his mind.
"Tsk."
Clicking his tongue in disapproval, the beastman turned his gaze to the next person.
"Don't overdo it. If you fight while drunk on omnipotence, you'll die. The world is full of people who know how to fight."
"Yes, sir."
He answered, but he wouldn't actually take it to heart. That was just the kind of guy he was. Even now, he practically overflowed with confidence. Because he harbored such willpower, a faint trace of Will drifted around him. A fellow who can't even properly manage his own Will, tsk.
The last one was the Frok. It was the very Frok who had once delivered a kick to Encrid's ribs.
"Are the preparations ready?" the wolf beastman asked with a nod, and the Frok nodded back.
"Almost finished."
If tasked with facing a knight head-on, he might fall a bit short, but if it were a war rather than a duel, it wouldn't matter even if the opponent was a knight. A battle and a war were entirely different things.
The wolf beastman knew that difference all too well. Therefore, he would not discuss strategy and tactics himself, and that was precisely why Abnayor was necessary. He was a fellow who had once been dubbed a genius strategist.
Execute him as the one responsible for the defeat? That was what the so-called nobles—those who disliked Abnayor's status—had claimed. Their sheer stupidity was practically a disease. Why execute such a talent? The beastman general had only pretended to request his execution on the surface, while secretly taking him under his wing.
Abnayor had gone into self-imposed exile, claiming he couldn't even kill a single human despite all his preparations, but the general had beaten him a few times to drag him back out.
Snort.
The wolf beastman snorted once more. His snort was so powerful that it caused one side of the curtain covering the window to flutter.
"Let's go."
The beastman led the way, followed by the two humans and the Frok. The group kept pace with his long, striding steps. The palace corridor was originally wide enough for five people to walk abreast comfortably, but as they walked, the passage seemed narrow.
Stepping outside, two more adjutants were waiting for him. Beneath the bright sunlight, the waiting pair bowed their heads in respect. These two were also knights.
Which meant that, excluding the Frok, there were four knights in total, including the beastman.