Chapter 560: The Old Man and the Question
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 560: The Old Man and the Question
The dining hall reserved for the knightly order also doubled as a reception room; naturally, it was located right next to the training ground. From its very inception, the layout of the buildings had been designed for Encrid, by Encrid. Thus, every path of movement centered around the training ground.
Stepping outside, the old man gripped the handle of his cane and pulled, making no effort to hide his actions. With a sharp shring, the blade caught the light as it was drawn.
Encrid stood opposite him and drew his Valerian Steel sword.
Shhhring.
The ring of steel against the scabbard was crisp and clear.
Encrid unbuckled the rest of his armaments, holding only his single sword. They faced each other in silence, both wielding live blades. Though it was called a spar, it could easily turn into a fight to the death if things went awry. After all, they had made no promises and reached no agreements.
Then, the old man clicked his tongue.
Click!
The sound rippled outward like a sonar wave. The heightened senses Encrid had acquired through Sachsen—collectively known as the Sensory Technique—allowed him to perceive sound as physical waves. Some of those waves spread without resistance, while others struck his body and bounced back.
Those acoustic waves carried information back to the old man. It was a technique called echolocation—a method of determining the distance and shape of surrounding objects through sound.
The old man brought the hilt of his sword to the side of his face, pointing the tip forward, his eyes closed. His cataract-clouded eyes were no longer visible.
“Watch out,” the old man said.
With those words, he moved. This time, there were no waves, no sound. There was only a blade plunging straight down from above.
A knight's speed was so great that it was invisible to ordinary eyes—mysterious and wondrous to behold. Of course, no one present was slow enough to miss the old man's movements, so they all watched the strike unfold.
Luagarne unconsciously puffed out her cheeks, her eyes darting. She had been training and conditioning herself as if she were picking up a sword for the first time, aiming to improve her dynamic visual acuity. She was seeing the fruits of that labor now. The old man's swift slash, which looked as if he had folded space to fly forward, was captured even by Luagarne's eyes.
Of course, that wasn't the full extent of the old man's power, but the mere fact that she could track a knight's movements meant her training had paid off handsomely.
A slash—a blade falling from above.
While Luagarne barely managed to track the strike, Sinar and Sachsen, watching from a step back, perceived the old man's movements with perfect clarity. He crossed his feet to build speed, kicking up dust beneath his soles, yet his steps were silent—stealthy and quiet. And at a glance, the strike seemed to carry no Will at all.
Under everyone's watchful gaze, Encrid moved as well. He reacted instantly to counter the old man's sword. He had already subtly lowered the tip of his sword from his middle stance. As his trained muscles tensed, transferring power into the blade, a blue light surged from bottom to top like an eagle snatching its prey.
The moment the upward-slashing Valerian Steel sword clashed with the blade of the sword stick, the old man's weapon bent like a snake.
Tring!
Because of the weapon's flexibility, the sound was rather dull for a clash of metal. The thin blade sliding along Encrid's steel sword behaved exactly like the Snake Sword Encrid himself used.
In a fraction of a second, Encrid made his decision. To avoid the snake-like bending tip of the blade, it seemed he should step back, but Encrid stepped forward instead. At that, the sword that had threatened to curve and slice his arm vanished. The old man had leaped backward to open up distance.
And then.
Click!
He clicked his tongue again.
One might have expected a blind man to fight defensively, but that was not the case at all. The old man's swordsmanship was highly aggressive. Even as he retreated, he shifted his stance once more. Crossing his feet, he raised his sword as if pressing his hand to his cheek. This was the old man's offensive stance.
The instant he pinpointed Encrid's position using echolocation, the old man stepped out and began to circle.
Scritch, scratch. His soles scraped the ground, then he lifted his feet to walk with rapid, sweeping strides. Then, as if memorizing the contours of the ground with his soles, he stepped deliberately, pressing down on each spot.
He walked in a circle with Encrid at the center. As he moved, his figure seemed to multiply. It was a technique that created an optical illusion, deceiving the human eye by manipulating tempo and pace.
“Shuffle Drive,” Sachsen muttered.
The old man was demonstrating a high-level technique even among assassin skills. Sinar recognized the technique as well; she had dealt with her fair share of assassins. The moment the old man initiated the technique, both of them focused, not blinking once. While the Shuffle Drive was a technique many could attempt, honing it to such a level was by no means common.
As the afterimages multiplied, the old man's figures proliferated around Encrid.
An old man raising his sword to strike.
An old man retreating into a defensive stance.
An old man lowering his sword to his side.
An old man poised to thrust.
The blind old man targeted various parts of Encrid's body from dozens of different postures. Normally, one would be flustered, but Encrid was well-accustomed to such tricks. Had he not already learned and mastered this through Aker, the wraith trapped in his sword?
If it was a technique that projected one's Will to show the opponent an illusion, Encrid knew how to use something similar. No, it didn't just stop at being similar; he could take it even further.
The moment the old man initiated the technique, an intuition washed over him—an intuition that he would gain something more and take another step forward. Encrid's blue eyes seemed to gleam like never before. Even though light couldn't actually emanate from his eyes, it certainly appeared that way. At the very least, in the old man's "mind's eye," he could perceive that Encrid was doing something.
And indeed, Encrid did.
Encrid was a madman who relished training to the point of self-abuse. What did that imply? What is usually required for a person to grow? Talent? Effort? Both were important, but what mattered more was whether one was prepared when the moment arrived.
In that regard, Encrid's body was prepared every single day.
Aker's Spiderweb.
Will is willpower. Exerting willpower alone to pressure an opponent was Intimidation. By slightly altering that Intimidation, it could be used in a different way. Having previously erected an Iron Wall behind himself, Encrid had already beaten the knack of it into his body.
That was why he achieved a similar realization this time as well. It was an opportunity presenting itself to one who was prepared, and he seized it in that very moment.
Encrid subtly shifted the positions of his shoulders, toes, and sword tip to face the old man's various illusions. Some movements were so minute they were invisible unless observed with extreme care, while others were bold sweeps of his sword tip. Every single action mirrored the old man's steps. It was a mastery of tempo.
“Mmh,” Sachsen let out a soft groan. He was that surprised.
What would one see if they faced Encrid's sword right now? Though it was impossible to know fully from a distance, Sinar's words hit the mark: “It must feel suffocating.”
A mass of Will, akin to the Iron Wall that had blocked an army, was shifting into hundreds of movements to pressure the opponent. It was exactly as the two had perceived. In that instant, the old man saw a wave of blades crashing down upon him.
He was indeed the man who had held back an army.
The old man halted his steps, retreated once more, and clicked his tongue.
Click!
Now, what do I have left to show him?
Pondering, the old man pulled his sword hand back to his cheek once more. Encrid pressed forward, seeing his opponent retreat. Having judged that victory was within his grasp, he had no reason to back down.
Clang!
Only then did their swords clash properly. Encrid struck with the Heart of Monstrous Strength, and the old man's body was flung to the side. No, he had thrown himself in that direction as he took the blow.
Encrid, whose Sensory Technique had fully matured, sensed this and pursued him immediately. Smoothly pivoting his ankle, he unleashed a fluid succession of strikes. He slashed again, aiming for the old man's neck.
Clang!
Another clash sent sparks flying into the air. Blue veins bulged on the back of the old man's hand; he was exerting his full strength.
As the fight continued, Encrid was surprised by three things about his opponent.
First: There is no presence, and no Will. He couldn't even begin to guess what trick was being used, but not a single trace of Will could be detected from the old man. Yet, displaying the speed of a knight meant he was undoubtedly utilizing Will.
Second: His skill in suppressing sound and presence was extraordinary. If Encrid lost sight of him for even a fraction of a second, he would be the one defeated. The old man constantly employed such tactics. Along with his bizarre footwork, he would accelerate in an instant, trying by any means to slip out of Encrid's field of vision. Naturally, Encrid did not let him have his way.
Finally, third: His opponent was far weaker than expected. Though he now knew well that not all knights were equal even after reaching that rank, this was almost anticlimactic.
Encrid seized the perfect timing, using a Heavy Sword Style Horizontal Slash to overpower and push aside the opponent's sword, stopping his blade right at the old man's neck.
“Is this the best you can do?”
Despite his defeat, the old man smiled. “I figured I wouldn't last a single exchange if we clashed with raw strength. I yield.”
“Again?”
“You intend to kill an old man, I see.”
Still, those weren't the words one would expect from an old man possessing the skills of a knight. However, the strength he sensed from the old man seemed different from his own. If he had to compare, the old man seemed to be of a similar breed to Sachsen.
“What is your name?” Encrid asked, only now seeking his identity.
“I've forgotten.”
It didn't sound like he was refusing to speak; he sounded entirely sincere.
“Strange, truly strange. You find this fun?” the old man asked. Though blind—or perhaps because he was blind and could perceive things more clearly—the old man saw right through Encrid's state of mind.
In truth, anyone would have known. Who wouldn't, when he was fighting with eyes sparkling, looking absolutely thrilled to death?
“Yes,” Encrid replied and raised his sword.
The second spar was also decided quickly. As they fought, Encrid reckoned that even if they fought ten times, he would win all ten.
Sachsen, watching from the side, thought the exact opposite. He recognized the danger the opponent posed.
Terrifying.
Based on everything he saw and felt—the movements, the judgment, the trajectory of the blade—if the old man were to engage in a different kind of combat rather than a head-on confrontation, very few people would survive.
How would he fare in comparison? He would have to try it to find out. For the first time in a very long while, tension surged, quickening his heartbeat.
When was the last time I felt this?
It seemed to be the first time since he had taken charge of the Dagger of Geor. That old man was of the same kind as him.
*
Click!
“Oh, so if you hear a sound, you can see the location and get a general idea of things?” Rem asked, sitting opposite the old man who was demonstrating echolocation.
“Indeed.”
“Really?”
“Which is how I know you just secretly rolled a die.”
“Aha, it was a test, just a test. You really can see it.”
Even after his spar with Encrid, the old man stayed in the city. He didn't eat or sleep at the barracks; usually, he stayed at a city inn and dropped by to visit from time to time. At first, the soldiers at the barracks tried to block him, but once they realized Encrid had permitted it, they let him come and go.
No one told him to leave, and no one scolded him. Some of the mad platoon members didn't even care who came and went. Others thought it was better to keep the old man within their range of detection.
“He's not a new member, is he?” Krais asked midway through.
The old man shook his head. “I've forgotten my name, but I have work to do, so I cannot stay here long.”
In other words, even if they invited him to join the order, he couldn't accept.
He possesses knight-level skills? Then what does he do for a living? Krais watched him with a look of suspicion. It was easy to say "knight-level," but were such people common on the continent? Absolutely not. Even if one combed through the entire continent, there wouldn't be a hundred of them. Let alone in the neighboring Principality of Azpen, where there probably wasn't a single one left by now.
Wasn't it strange for such a prominent figure to suddenly stay in the Border Guard? It was highly unusual. They only left him be because Encrid did.
Even with the Gilpin guild digging around, we have no idea who he is.
Since he was of knight-level caliber, if he had any renown, compiling information should have revealed his identity. Yet, there wasn't even a rumor about who this old man was. With distinct traits like being blind and wielding a sword stick, he should have been quite famous.
“Right, right,” Krais gave a half-hearted reply and dropped it. He figured it was something beyond his control anyway. Still, he couldn't just sit idly by, so he was currently employing people here and there to uncover the man's identity.
The old man looked toward Krais with his cataract-clouded eyes and smiled, as if to say that no matter what Krais did, he would never find out who he was.
“So, what is this work you do?” Krais asked. Prying out secrets with words was his specialty, after all. Had he not shown an exceptional talent for uncovering ladies' hidden secrets in his youth?
“I cannot tell you.”
“Then, which faction do you belong to?”
“That is a secret.” The old man gave a wink. For a blind man, he certainly knew how to do all sorts of things.
“Leave him be,” Encrid intervened, waving Krais away. He seemed to be saying he would take responsibility for the old man.
After that, the old man spent his time mingling casually with the platoon members. Ragna had no interest, while Rem bantered and played around with him, often rolling dice together—and the blind old man caught every single trick. Finding it amusing, Rem hung out with the old man for days on end.
Sachsen always maintained a consistent position relative to the old man. He kept him within his field of vision at all times and in all places. He did so even when eating, sleeping, or relieving himself, which Encrid found truly fascinating to watch. For Sachsen to do that meant he was aligning his entire schedule with the old man's patterns, yet he did it so naturally, without any apparent force.
“Still haven't left?” Sinar would occasionally chide the old man whenever they crossed paths, but he only offered a smile in return.
Shuttling between the city inn and the barracks became the old man's routine, and Encrid went about his days as usual, dedicating himself to training and conditioning. Knowing well that today existed only because he had never wasted a single day, Encrid always gave his utmost. To an onlooker, he might have seemed like a training-obsessed lunatic, but that was simply Encrid's daily life.
It was a bright, moonlit night, about ten days after the old man's arrival. The moonlight bathed the ground, and the temperature had dropped, bringing a chilly shiver to the night. As a cool breeze blew, the moonlight felt even colder than before.
Encrid was on his way back to his quarters. On one side of the training ground, Sachsen stood silently, maintaining his daggers, while on a log bench opposite him sat the old man. Despite the late hour, he had not yet returned to the inn. Well, day or night made no difference to the old man anyway. After all, darkness was all he could see.
As Encrid walked along the stone-paved path beside the training ground, the old man's voice drifted over.
“May I ask what you intend to do from now on?”
It was sudden, but the weight behind the words arrested Encrid's steps. The moonlight falling behind the old man cast a shadow before him. Though he sat in the dark, it looked as if an even darker hue had been painted onto the ground.
A darkness within darkness, a deeper and blacker shadow. The head of that shadow turned, facing toward him.