Chapter 551: Why the Ferryman
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 551: Why the Ferryman
Slosh.
The black river, the ferryboat, the purple lamp, and the Ferryman sitting atop it.
It had been a long time. Opening his eyes inside this dream—inside his mindscape—brought a sensation that was both familiar and distant.
Naturally, Encrid’s gaze drifted toward the Ferryman.
Unlike before, when the figure had been a mere blur, the Ferryman’s form was now relatively distinct. Beneath the pulled-up hood, skin like parched, drought-cracked earth was visible. Eyes clouded thick with white cataracts stared back at Encrid.
"Did you hope I had vanished because you haven't seen me in a while? No such luck, mortal who dreams of immortality."
Encrid leaned back against the boat's railing, facing the Ferryman he hadn't seen in so long. Today, there was no chair.
"You could have claimed the throne by killing just one person. Were you truly not tempted?"
Was it because they hadn't met in a while? Or had the Ferryman also resolved to change? Instead of his usual warnings to halt in the present, he was appealing to primal human greed.
"If you had killed him, you could have become king. Damage to your Will? Such things can always be recovered. Besides, it wouldn't have mattered if your Will was damaged a little."
Encrid knew instinctively that the Ferryman was wrong. Will did not work that way. If Encrid had actually acted on such greed, the inexhaustible Will he called Urke might have vanished.
Of course, it might not have. In truth, no one could ever know what the future held. If Will was something that vanished from a single mistake, Corwin, the Knight of Azpen, should have lost his when he fled—yet he hadn't.
Though the Ferryman's words stirred various thoughts, Encrid neither argued nor questioned him.
"A moment will come when you will need a perfect today."
This was likely the Ferryman's main point. His emotionless voice continued, piercing Encrid's ears. Or rather, since this was a mindscape, it was transmitted directly to his mind.
It felt different from when the Ferryman had previously warned of an impending curse. He spoke not because of some immediate threat, but as if stating an absolute certainty, like the sun rising tomorrow morning.
At those words, Encrid raised his half-bowed head. It felt as though something similar had happened once before, but he paid it no mind and spoke.
"Not the Wave Sword, but the Wave-Blocking Sword. I think that's the correct name."
The Ferryman was not caught off guard this time. He already knew the bastard was thinking about something else.
"So, a sword that blocks the crashing waves, rather than a sword that crashes like a wave?"
He smoothly countered Encrid's words and even went a step further, offering his own input on the swordsmanship.
"Exactly."
"If you only block, you might as well carry a shield."
Indeed, the Ferryman was right. That was the very dilemma that had lingered in Encrid's mind right up until he fell asleep last night. As he tried to define the form and flow of his swordsmanship, it had somehow become a sword that blocked waves rather than crashed like one. If that was the case, wouldn't it be better to just use a shield?
No, that wasn't it. Didn't Encrid already possess a technique of his own? The technique he called the Snake Sword. One that didn't just deflect, but struck back.
So, what if, instead of a shield, it took the form of delivering a sort of counter-force with the sword?
"If you polish it like a mirror reflecting sunlight, it might become useful."
A mirror does not block light; it reflects it. You don't just endure when you see the waves crashing down; you block them, advance, and strike.
Something abstract began to take solid shape in his mind. He felt that if he actually moved and tried it, it would turn into something real.
"Don't you ever get tired of this?" the Ferryman asked.
Encrid merely stared back, wondering what he meant. Tired? Of what?
"Never mind. Forget it. Go."
The Ferryman's tone seemed to shift subtly, but that was all. He added one last remark afterward, but it amounted to the same thing.
*
Waking from his dream—or the mindscape—Encrid climbed down from his bed. As he moved, he heard the attendant outside the door acknowledge that he had risen, despite the early dawn.
I feel light.
His body felt great. In fact, he hadn't felt bad lately, but today he felt exceptionally good. Was it the influence of the dream, the result of last night's contemplation, or perhaps the Ferryman's consideration?
Just before waking, the Ferryman had said that ultimately, whatever today brought, he would have to remain in that single day and could not escape his fate. Encrid cleanly ignored and forgot it. If he worried about every single word like that, he wouldn't be able to do what actually needed to be done.
"I will bring water for you to wash, sir," the attendant said from outside.
Encrid lightly rolled his neck and wrists, shaking his head.
"Later."
With that, he immediately headed outside. There was a training ground within the royal palace. Hadn't they said it was once a place reserved only for the royal bloodline and the knights residing in the palace?
Krang had called that "a load of pretentious bullshit" and completely remodeled it. Now, it was a place where anyone who wanted to sweat could gather.
A crisp blue, a vivid darkness—if such things existed, that was how he would describe this moment. It was early morning, and a bluish light enveloped the surroundings, dark yet hinting at the impending dawn. A cool breeze signaling the arrival of autumn drifted past his nose, filling his lungs deeply to announce a clear, refreshing morning before slipping away.
Whoosh!
Even before the training ground came into view, his ears detected that someone was already inside. The public training ground, formerly the royal training ground, was a circular area enclosed by a low stone wall. A bit of grass grew along the sides, and the ground was filled with soft soil cleared of any stones.
"I don't know if they had nothing better to do or if they just had too many Krona lying around, but does it make sense to build a training ground and then leave it idle, keeping the people who actually need to use it from doing so?"
One of the trivial remarks Krang had made while they traveled back and forth to Azpen came to mind.
Someone inside the training ground was warming up in the cool autumn dawn. Encrid leaped over the wall without even touching it. As he landed, the person swinging a heavy wooden training sword turned his head.
"Lieban."
Encrid greeted him first. He was an acquaintance from the past. Seeing Lieban sweating lightly as he looked at him, Encrid spoke out of habit.
"Sparring?"
A smile spread across Lieban's face. "I'd love to."
It was always a pleasure to see someone who kept moving forward without stopping. That was how Encrid felt. Looking at Lieban now, a sudden thought crossed his mind.
Could the Ferryman have done this?
Was what the Ferryman gave him last night actually advice and help? Why? Because he enjoyed watching him? That Ferryman? It didn't seem likely. In the end, he had still uttered something akin to a curse, just as he always did.
It wasn't something to worry about right now.
Encrid picked up one of the wooden swords lined up on one side. Lieban, who had been swinging a stone club for training, set it down and swapped it for a wooden sword, giving it a few test swings in the air.
"You're up early."
"I didn't sleep. I came straight here after my shift."
"I see."
Honestly, he hadn't really cared. Encrid gripped his sword and faced his opponent. He would match his strength and speed to Lieban's. Instead, he would focus on receiving and countering the opponent's strikes.
Lieban's sword fell in a straight line. He, too, likely had at least one technique he was confident in. This was it: a downward strike that eliminated any preparatory movements and minimized the trajectory.
Of course, it posed no threat to Encrid.
Clack!
The moment the wooden swords clashed, Lieban frowned.
Huh?
He had swung with all his might, and he was no novice who had only held a sword for a day or two. But what was this? An unexpected shock sent a dull ache through his wrist. It felt as if he had struck a solid boulder with his sword.
Or maybe a block of iron rather than a boulder.
It felt even harder than that. He had practiced the Steel Slash training a few times, so he had a rough idea of that level of hardness. He swung his sword again, and with a clack, the wooden swords crossed.
This time, it wasn't a direct clash; the swords grazed and slid past each other. Lieban used his footwork to leap to the side, executing a hit-and-run step to strike.
But then.
Tremble.
His wrist throbbed and shook. They had only grazed each other.
"It works," the blue-eyed knight spoke from right in front of him. They were within striking distance. If this had been a real battle, a single thrust would have ended Lieban's life.
Instead of piercing Lieban's throat, Encrid, the owner of those blue eyes, twirled his wooden sword in the air a few times and continued.
"But the weapon can't seem to handle it."
Encrid saw that the middle of his wooden sword was warped and cracked. At this rate, it would shatter even without using any major technique.
"What is this?"
This was the first time Lieban had experienced the knight's technique, so it was only natural for him to find it fascinating. In fact, even Rem would have found it fascinating.
"The Wave-Blocking Sword."
He called it a sword that blocked crashing waves, but in reality, it was more accurate to describe it as a swordsmanship style that absorbed the opponent's swinging force and redirected it, utilizing the counter-force. One might call it a technique a step above the Snake Sword.
While the Snake Sword was a technique without Will, this one utilized his inexhaustible Will as a weapon. However, even if Ragna saw it and tried to copy it, it was a technique he wouldn't bother using. It was simply too inefficient. It required expending Will as if squandering it, wrapping it around his entire body to deflect the blow.
The structure of the technique was incredibly simple. What happens when you strike a solid boulder with a sword? If the blade doesn't break, your own wrist will give out first.
He braced his entire body, applied force, and deflected. What if the opponent overwhelmed him with speed? Then it would be a useless technique. Yet, that didn't mean this was the wrong path. It was a technique that suited Encrid perfectly. Moreover, this wasn't the end; he could catch a glimpse of its potential to evolve even further.
After swinging the wooden sword in the air a few times, Encrid tossed it aside and began the Isolation Technique.
"Train."
It had worked easily because Lieban lacked wrist conditioning, but what about Rem or Ragna? For now, it wouldn't easily work on Audin either. But putting all that aside, it was incredibly fun.
It was also a first for Encrid to experience a technique manifesting immediately after pondering it for just a single night. It felt as though his body was moving exactly as he willed it. Because of this, he was absolutely thrilled with every passing moment. The training itself was more enjoyable than ever before.
Of course, Encrid had always swung his sword with joy every single day. But did that mean Encrid had never known suffering? Even if he was free of despair and frustration, there were always moments of doubt. But now, with no room for doubt to creep in, a smile never left his face.
Watching from right beside him, Lieban's pupils trembled violently.
Do you really have to be crazy?
The thought arose naturally. After swinging a sword a few times and leaving someone's wrist in this state, the man had gone to the corner of the training ground, hoisted a massive stone onto his shoulders, and was now doing squats.
What's more, he was smiling while doing it. A broad grin covered his face, as if he were having the time of his life. The Encrid that Lieban used to know had never been normal, but seeing him giggle like that now made him look like a complete madman.
Yet, watching him also made his own motivation boil over. Then again, if that weren't the case, he wouldn't be training like this right after his shift.
He was not an extraordinary person. He never slacked off, remained faithful to his training, and did his personal conditioning every day. He just wasn't crazy like the man before him. He was ordinary; occasionally, he would have a drink after work, and he rested when it was time to rest.
Lieban felt the difference here. Not in talent or opportunity. The difference he felt was the gap between those who did and those who did not. In other words, the man before him must have spent every single day, every single moment, just like this.
Slap!
If he lacked resolve... Lieban slapped both of his cheeks hard.
"Then I just have to beat some resolve into myself!"
He shouted quite loudly, drawing Encrid's gaze.
"I'm doing it. Training," Lieban replied.
If Rem had seen this, he would have complained that Encrid had ruined yet another person.
Thus, Encrid spent his time with Lieban from dawn until morning, and later, when Rem came out, he showed him the Wave-Blocking Sword as well.
"Not bad."
Rarely, Rem started with a compliment. Having experienced it himself, he realized it was quite troublesome. Just clashing swords sent a numbness through his wrist.
What's the principle behind it?
Rem pondered for a moment before concluding that it was a technique that wasted Will far more than necessary. It involved pouring out Will in an explosive burst to exert monstrous strength, intentionally forcing the opponent's wrist to bend to one side. It utilized three elements: technique, timing, and strength.
But if that was the case, wouldn't a vibrating sword be better? While helping Encrid review his battles, Rem had heard that Encrid had shattered the vibrating sword used by the Azpen bastard with his Crushing Sword.
No, that's not it.
That vibration was manageable once you got the hang of it, but the technique Encrid was showing now would evolve and adapt to the opponent. Therefore, Encrid's current technique would be far more threatening.
Then, did one have to fight without ever clashing weapons? Was that even possible? What if one used sorcery to summon a cloud wolf from afar to bite him? If someone only used spirit possession to summon something like a cloud wolf against him, he would just curse them out and charge straight at the sorcerer. It was a method of ignoring the wolf's attacks to strike the summoner directly.
And Encrid would do the exact same. Taking all of that into account, his verdict was that it wasn't bad.
"There seems to be no hesitation in your steps, Brother."
Audin also chimed in.
Now, there wasn't much else to do. Once they attended the banquet and returned, that would be it. Since it was a royal banquet, it would surely be grand, but he had never cared for such things. Krais would have loved it, though.
If Encrid had enjoyed this sort of thing, he would have long since become a bodyguard serving day and night by the sides of noblewomen who wanted him close just for his face. But because he wasn't that kind of man, he was standing here today.
Before evening, an attendant arrived and brought clothes tailored for each of them. Audin hesitated a few times before putting on the clothes. They were all tailcoats, but Encrid wore a purple velvet vest, Audin wore a light blue jacket that came down only to his waist, and Rem wore a gray vest.
Tailcoats were mostly similar, but once they were dressed up, they all looked quite dashing. Even though the attendants swarmed them for hours, fixing their hair and adjusting their outfits, neither of them lost their temper once—which Encrid actually found rather surprising.
It was just before the three of them entered the palace banquet hall in the evening.
"Do I really have to read it like this?"
The attendant responsible for announcing their arrival grit his teeth, asked his superior, and then, steeling his resolve, bellowed:
"The Mad Knights have arrived!"
The crowd filling the banquet hall, who had been chatting and whispering noisily, fell silent and turned their heads. Dozens, hundreds of eyes stared at the three who had just entered.