Chapter 522: No Regrets
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 522: No Regrets
As Encrid emerged from the world of consciousness created by Aker, a sudden breeze swept past, fluttering his hair.
In the physical world, the sun had not yet dipped behind the western mountains. Hardly any time had passed at all.
His heightened senses allowed him to track the passage of time with precision; his internal clock beat with a steady, unerring rhythm. Through it, Encrid knew that his absence had lasted only a brief moment.
‘It felt like a lifetime inside.’
Though his mind perceived a vast stretch of time, reality told a different story. It was a realm where only consciousness drifted. Did that mean the lessons he had learned there were meaningless?
Certainly not. He simply needed time to adapt—to manifest those mental insights through his physical body once more.
Opening his eyes, Encrid assessed his condition. He was in the same posture as before, standing awkwardly while gripping his sword.
‘I’m not hungry.’
He felt no need for food, nor did he feel the weight of exhaustion. Despite the prolonged period of intense concentration, there was no dizziness. He was perfectly fine. Though he had been standing still, gripping his blade the entire time, his limbs did not ache with fatigue.
"You do something fascinating every time I look at you," Rem said, approaching him.
His axe was slung at his waist, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
Thanks to his sorcery, Rem had reached a level equivalent to a knight, allowing him to catch glimpses of the "tricks" the sword played. More importantly, he had watched Encrid suddenly seize the hilt, close his eyes, and twitch. Recognizing that something profound was happening, Rem had used his sorcery to gauge Encrid's condition.
Because of this, Rem knew that Encrid’s consciousness had drifted away. To be precise, he seemed to have synchronized with the sword, becoming submerged within it.
It wasn't just Rem; everyone present had gauged Encrid’s state in their own way, and all eyes were now fixed on him.
Glancing at the gathered crowd, Encrid spoke. "I’m sparring with Aker."
"It looked that way to me, too," Rem replied.
"Yeah. I’m going back in."
With that, Encrid released his grip on the sword and shook out his legs to relax his muscles. He sat down on a convenient stump near the corner of the training ground.
Normally, entering the world created by Aker required the trick of sinking one's consciousness downward, like submerging oneself in deep water. However, Encrid had met the Ferryman so many times that he was incredibly adept at the process.
Although he had never visited those realms by choice, he had wandered the boundary between dreams and consciousness more times than he could count.
Even without an official invitation, he slipped right back into Aker’s world.
*
"This seems like the moment I should be surprised, but I won't bother. Like you said, it’s a waste of time," Aker muttered abruptly in the middle of their clash.
Normally, a barrage of questions would have followed.
Did I ever teach you how to enter the conscious world?
Do you realize your Will wells up like an inexhaustible spring, making it even harder to control?
How did you return so quickly?
Your mind must be wearing down; even if it’s as hard as steel, how is this possible?
You look like you’ve survived hundreds of near-death crises—did you make a deal with the Goddess of Fortune?
The unexplainable, the unexplained. Encrid was simply that kind of man.
But Aker decided not to ask. He cast aside all useless curiosity. Why? Because facing this bastard had made something boil up inside him as well.
"I won't go easy on you, no matter how hard it gets," Aker said, gritting his teeth. The thoughtform realized a fierce resolve had taken root within him.
"Yeah, thanks," Encrid replied calmly.
His tone and the simplicity of the answer strangely grated on Aker’s nerves.
"You bastard," Aker chuckled. At the very least, he didn't need to teach the boy psychological warfare.
Even though he was a thoughtform—an entity without physical substance—Encrid had lit a fire in the chest of this wraith.
Over the next month of real-world time, countless hours passed within the conscious world of the sword. The thoughtform had much to teach. Since this was his lingering regret, he gave it his absolute all.
"What’s the point of mastering it here? Just grasp the knack of it. Once you go back out, you’ll have to engrave it into your physical body anyway."
"Understood."
Encrid requested sparring match after sparring match without rest. Aker accepted them all, offering sharp advice as their blades clashed.
By this point, Encrid realized that because this was a world of consciousness, he didn't need to gasp for breath. Fighting here wasn't a physical struggle. As Aker said, it was enough to learn the "knack"—the essence of the movement.
And so, he did.
He focused on extracting and absorbing only the core techniques. It was no easy task. He had to repeat the same movement dozens of times, listen to the explanation, and repeat it again just to barely grasp the basics.
"You’re a bit... how should I put it, slow."
Or:
"How did you even become a knight? Why is your comprehension so poor?"
It would have been perfectly natural for Aker to say such things. In fact, they were words Encrid was well-accustomed to hearing. But Aker did not say them.
A month was a short time. He was too busy pouring out everything he knew, determined to leave behind not a single shred of regret. He ignored unnecessary questions. His opponent’s talent was irrelevant. Would pointing it out change anything? No.
He focused solely on what was necessary. The thoughtform remained faithful to his purpose.
Aker pushed forward. "Show me the swordsmanship you’ve learned. You must have learned the styles left behind by Knight Aker as well."
Because the thoughtform was separate from the actual Knight Aker, he referred to the man as a distinct entity.
Encrid nodded.
Battle of Wits, Orthodox Sword Style, Nameless Sword Style.
Those were the names of his techniques. Encrid demonstrated the swordsmanship he had developed and modified in his own way. Along with it, he showed his method of sealing Foresight—confusing the opponent by projecting dozens, even hundreds of phantom intents to mask his true objective.
"Do I look like some greenhorn who just became a knight? Such tricks only work on clumsy fools."
In the era of Knight Aker, knights were far more numerous, and battles were constant. For a nation to be founded, chaos was more common than peace. The continent back then was much more turbulent than it was now.
In those days, anyone who fell for such tricks was dismissed as a mere novice. It was not like the present day, where knights hesitated to fight, constantly sizing each other up from a distance.
It was an era that modern historians referred to as the Age of Struggle. While the Demon Realm was relatively quiet, humans, beastmen, giants, elves, and dwarves clashed in endless, chaotic warfare.
Aker spoke as he parried Encrid’s thrust. Clang! Clang! The ring of clashing metal echoed continuously between them.
Stepping through the grass, Encrid drove his blade forward, trying to corner his opponent.
"Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play?" Aker muttered as he dodged, blocked, and launched his own counterattack. "You’ve developed it well in your own way. Still, you should learn the latter half of the Nameless Sword Style, shouldn't you? That would be for the best."
Encrid had no time to nod. Just because breathing wasn't strictly necessary here, did that mean he shouldn't breathe? It might be fine for the thoughtform, but not for him. He needed to move exactly as he would with his physical body.
A sudden flash of inspiration struck, awakening Encrid’s mind. Even so, he kept his ears open, listening to Aker’s words.
"Originally, the name of this swordsmanship was Aker’s Spiderweb. Aker liked spiders, you see. He even raised them himself."
While learning the latter half of the Orthodox Sword Style and mastering the manipulation of Will, Encrid constantly strove to control his power with a blunt, heavy sensation.
Time was like an arrow shot from a bow; once released, it could never be caught. The past does not return.
Excluding the brief moments he returned to reality to eat, sleep, and rest, Encrid spent the entire month holding onto Aker.
As the saying goes, every meeting must end in a parting.
Aker knew his time was drawing to a close. Every time Encrid returned to reality, he felt the blade in his hand gradually losing its luster, its once-solid hilt softening. Now, he could have crushed the blade with his bare fingers.
The once-sharp and legendary sword, Aker, was gone; only a crumbling, ancient relic remained.
Then came an ordinary day. Inside the conscious world, amidst the grass, Aker’s body began to fade.
"Well, I’m off," Aker said.
Encrid nodded, gazing at Aker’s face. Starting from his cheeks, the thoughtform was turning into particles of light and scattering. From his face to his hair, his entire body dissolved into tiny particles. In a way, it was a beautiful sight; in another, it was cruel. He was witnessing the extinction of an existence, thoughtform or not.
Yet, Aker smiled gently.
Regret? Sadness? No such emotions could be found on his face. His smile was peaceful, completely devoid of pain.
"Thank you," Aker said.
Because they had spent all their time training, Aker hadn't had the chance to talk much about himself. Although he had shared small anecdotes here and there, there had been no time to discuss his regrets or goals. Instead, they had simply swung their swords. Through that alone, Encrid felt everything Aker wished to convey.
There was no need for words.
The human form composed by the thoughtform vanished. The particles of light scattered and soared into the sky like a small vortex. At the same time, the grassy field and the sunlit sky split wide open.
Light burst from the fractured sky. A flickering brilliance, like thousands of shooting stars streaking past his eyes—the transition of waking back into reality.
Awakening, Encrid opened his eyes and lowered his head.
Crumble.
Aker, held in his hand, dissolved into dust. Looking up, the sun poured its light through the thin clouds, as if mocking their attempt to block it. It was a clear, bright day.
"A sunlit field at midday—that was the place Aker loved. It was his hometown."
That was what the thoughtform had said. For someone who claimed not to talk about himself, he had actually shared quite a bit. He had insisted he knew nothing because he was just a thoughtform, but he had turned out to be quite the chatterbox.
"Did you learn Valen’s swordsmanship too?"
"Valen-style Mercenary Sword?"
"Why on earth would that man be a mercenary?"
"Was he not?"
"He was a knight. And one of the top ten on the continent, at that. Do you think those sword techniques are just cheap tricks? They might seem like it, but delve deeper. You’ll find a completely different flavor. It’s a swordsmanship created on the very premise of manipulating Will."
It was shocking enough to make Encrid’s ears perk up, but at the time, he had no room to focus on anything else. He had far too much on his plate.
Aker’s teachings were one thing, but Encrid also had to struggle to fully integrate what he himself had realized. That was why he had swung his sword and attacked without a single moment of rest.
In any case, what Aker left behind had been fully passed down to Encrid. Now, there were no regrets. And departing without regrets meant that the lingering attachment left by Knight Aker had finally been resolved.
With that, the royal treasure, Aker, had fulfilled its purpose. No, it had done far more than its duty.
Encrid had realized that his method of manipulating Will was still clumsy. To overcome that, he had to push himself to his absolute limits over and over again. He fought and fought with Aker, repeatedly bursting his Will.
Since he was fighting in a world of consciousness, Encrid had essentially replaced the bricks of his foundation with much sturdier stone.
‘I feel like I should have been the one to say thank you,’ Encrid thought, looking up at the falling sunlight.
Before he knew it, autumn had fully arrived.
Autumn—a perfect season for war. With the heat gone, food did not spoil easily, making it ideal for preserving provisions. The cool breeze brought refreshment rather than chill, and as the driest season of the year, the sky was high and the field of vision perfectly clear.
The stage of the war was Greenpearl.
An open plain with a clear view was a terrible environment for playing tricks. This meant an all-out war was on the horizon.
While Encrid spent a month training with Aker and adapting those lessons to his physical body, Azpen had issued a declaration of war.
"If you hand over half of Greenpearl and two of your newly expanded cities, we can settle this without bloodshed."
Such were the words of the envoy who had arrived at the royal palace.
"You surely did not speak those words expecting me to accept them," King Krang replied. Sitting upon his throne, he displayed his dignity by speaking calmly, without showing anger. "So let us see. I shall see what it is that you of Azpen place your faith in."
The envoy of Azpen, a member of the Ekins Family—a house that symbolized administration and state affairs—withdrew, thinking that the King of Naurilia possessed a remarkably grand caliber.
Azpen moved with loud, boisterous fanfare. Consequently, the entire continent was abuzz. They made full use of rumors, spreading the word that Azpen would surely emerge victorious.
At first, it was loose-lipped peddlers. Later, even the masters of large merchant guilds began talking about the war. Many predicted Azpen’s victory. These were people who had witnessed the massive army—a force squeezed out to the very marrow of the principality.
In contrast, Naurilia’s response was passive. At least, it appeared so on the surface. Their apparent intention was to let the Border Guard hold the line before mobilizing the main army.
While Naurilia kept its strength closely guarded, Azpen made no effort to hide its forces. Their attitude was a blatant challenge: Stop us if you can.
Amidst this tension, Krais set his strategic plan into motion.
"Preparations for departure are complete," said the big-eyed man, looking at the crowd gathered in the training ground.
Everyone was fully armed.
Encrid had obtained a solid Valerian steel sword to replace Aker, meaning he still carried three swords. In addition, he slung a throwing javelin diagonally across his back, bringing his total to four large weapons.
Beneath his blue gambeson embroidered with gold, he wore drake-scale leather armor. On his left wrist, instead of a gauntlet, he had wrapped leather tightly, secured by clasps at both ends—a wrist guard Eitri had crafted for him using the hide obtained from the giant merchant.
Around the fully armed Encrid, his Mad Unit gathered.
Rem held his axe, Ragna slung his greatsword over his shoulder, Sachsen stood with his eyes cast down and arms crossed, and Sinar stood expressionlessly right behind Encrid.
"It’s unsettling, yet reassuring," Krais remarked, looking at them.
According to his plan, Audin, Teresa, and the others were to remain behind. The rest of their forces, however, had to move.
"So we just march out together and then move immediately?" Encrid asked to confirm.
Krais nodded.
It was finally beginning.