Chapter 620: Four Seasons of the Elf
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 620: Four Seasons of the Elf
"Am I a boulder? You think I’m just going to stand here and let you hit me?"
That was the essence of what Rem often babbled during their spars.
The Walking Fire lacked technique and agility, making it easy to cut down, but humans were a different story. Even if one poured their Will into a single strike to maximize power, it only mattered if the blow actually landed.
Anyone could strike with power. But what if the opponent dodged or deflected it?
"Too slow!"
In this regard, Rem pushed Encrid the hardest.
Instantaneous judgment through thought acceleration. Infusing Will in a split-second window. Rem insisted all of this was necessary, and he demonstrated it not with words, but with actions.
Actually, he did use his mouth first, but his explanations were so bizarre that his actions were far more convincing.
"Look, listen closely. If you throw a stone and the opponent dodges, what happens? You don't get back the strength you threw it with, and you lose the stone, too. That's what I'm talking about. It's great that you cut down that Walking Fire or Crawling Fire or whatever, but that alone isn't enough."
Encrid listened intently. He understood the gist of it, but he decided this wasn't something that could be mastered through words.
"Fine. Let's spar. You can stop explaining."
"How could I possibly explain it any simpler than that?"
Of course, there were about a hundred and one ways to explain it simpler than that, but there was no need to argue. And so, the sparring continued. Encrid repeated this for several days, and every single time, the thrill was so intense it made him shiver with excitement.
Rem's axe constantly deflected his sword and disrupted his stance. His ceaselessly moving feet prevented Encrid from using the same single strike he had used to cut down the Walking Fire.
"You have to at least be able to mimic that 'single strike' from any stance before you can say, 'Ah, now I'm somewhat useful.' Sure, if it's some clueless bastard, they might take a hit, but anyone around a knight's level will see right through you if you charge in that recklessly."
According to Rem, if one were to translate the act of gathering Will and swinging a sword into sound, it would be like suddenly letting out a bizarre shriek. If someone screamed like that, you would hear it even if you didn't want to, and your eyes would turn toward them instinctively. Rem's words were entirely correct.
"So, whether you split your Will or pour it all in, make that judgment in an instant."
This was an advanced application of what he had done when facing the Gray Rascals squad. Cutting down momentum was possible by accelerating his thoughts. Therefore, Rem's argument was that it should also be possible when fighting a knight, just like now.
To an onlooker, the barbarian mentor seemed somewhat excited, and so did Encrid, his student. In other words, both of them kept sparring like a pair of half-mad bastards.
Eventually, the Ferryman appeared in his dream and asked, "Is it fun?"
Rather than answering the obvious question, Encrid tried to grasp the Ferryman's intention and asked, "Am I hitting a wall?"
Even though the Ferryman hadn't received an answer to his own question, he responded calmly. "Do I have any reason to tell you that?"
Hadn't he been excited to tell me beforehand until now?
Encrid didn't argue. Whether a wall was coming or not, nothing would change. His heart was always unyielding and firm.
"You didn't answer my question," the Ferryman said.
"It is exactly as it looks."
I'm doing it because it's fun, aren't I? His answer carried that implication.
Encrid answered and parted ways with the Ferryman. Though it was purely a feeling, the Ferryman seemed like a completely different entity from the one he had seen before. It felt as if the shell was the same, but the contents inside had changed.
Well, it was just a passing thought. He couldn't press the issue, and even if he did, nothing would change. Encrid simply went about his business as he always did.
He was incredibly busy, with barely a moment to breathe. He engaged in split-second judgment spars with Rem, practiced sword strikes that distributed Will instead of loading it all into a single blow with Ragna, underwent physical training that felt like torture with Audin, and trained to visualize his senses with Sachsen.
"Would you like to feel the Spring Breeze?"
It was early afternoon on a day when the winter chill still lingered. At a time when sunlight pierced through the cloudy sky in distinct beams to illuminate the earth, Sinar came to find him.
"It is the dead of winter."
"I know."
Encrid knew that the "Spring Breeze" Sinar spoke of wasn't literally the season. Remembering that she had used that term before, he asked, "I believe you've mentioned that before. What is it?"
"It is difficult to explain with words," Sinar said, drawing her sword, Naidel.
Sssshing.
The sound of the blade leaving its scabbard was clearer than ever before. It was as if the sound itself carried a Will that commanded, Look at me.
A faint green light clung to the drawn sword. It wasn't dazzling, but its presence was unmistakable. Whether it should be called vitality or liveliness, the sensation brushed against the realm of his senses.
Whether it was thanks to his sensory visualization training with Sachsen or simply due to the skill Sinar displayed, Encrid could feel the light clinging to her sword. The crystallization of vitality—such a thing clung to the blade.
"If you gather vital energy, even this is possible," Sinar said. The Naidel she held truly looked like a leaf sprouting in spring.
Is that why it was called the Leaf Sword?
Encrid thought as he raised his own sword to face her. It was the truesilver sword made by Eitri. A shortsword was strapped diagonally across his lower back, and Spark dangled from his right waist. He wore no armor, and even the cloth gauntlets wrapped around his hands had been left off.
Due to the constant sparring and harsh training, muscle aches throbbed throughout his body and he was covered in bruises, but he had absolutely no intention of refusing a spar with Sinar.
Encrid let out a faint smile of anticipation. The "Spring Breeze" must be a sword style. And Sinar was going to show it to him. Just the thought of it brought an involuntary rush of joy. After all, it was a new sword style shown by an elf.
Sinar's expression was the same as usual—one that was difficult to read. He couldn't help but find it incredibly fascinating that a smile would occasionally appear on that face.
"You're doing something fun."
It was Rem, who had slept outside for two days to train his squad members and had only just woken up. The gray-haired barbarian yawned widely in front of the quarters as he spoke.
Sparring with Encrid, training his squad, and in the meantime, his own personal training to avoid falling behind that bear Audin—Rem's days had been incredibly busy as well. He had even begun to think that training was somehow more grueling than going out to fight.
But was he dissatisfied? Not really.
This was the thought running through his mind as he stroked the lump protruding from his forehead, which he had gotten this morning when he tried to strike Encrid's thigh but got hit near his temple instead. No matter how much he played the role of the aggressor, Encrid's skills could no longer be considered easy to deal with.
Although Rem was slightly frustrated that Encrid's skills weren't shooting up by leaps and bounds despite the daily pressure, Encrid was still improving faster than ever. He had reached a level that could no longer be ignored. That elf was also a formidable powerhouse, but how would they fare against each other? Rem was both curious and excited to watch.
"Are you bored?"
It wasn't just Rem; Ragna was there, too. He had stayed behind to teach Encrid how to distribute Will into every single cutting and thrusting motion.
How could one execute a sword strike imbued with condensed Will at any given moment? For Ragna, he just did it. He could do it naturally, so what of it?
But Encrid was different. He needs repetitive mastery.
Ragna hadn't been teaching Encrid for just a day or two. He, too, had adapted. Through this, his days were spent teaching the subtle art of a sword style that required repetition upon repetition. In doing so, Ragna had also established his own techniques beyond the level of mere proficiency.
They say one learns by teaching, and Ragna's skills had actually improved while instructing. He wasn't called a genius for nothing. Originally, he had skipped the process and only looked at the results, but now he was dissecting the steps he had previously bypassed. Since teaching was virtually impossible unless one established and perfectly understood the fundamentals, all of this was only natural.
Ragna's gaze also turned toward Sinar and Encrid. He wondered if they were doing this out of boredom, but judged that the spar itself would be beneficial to Encrid.
Experience a variety of opponents.
Those were the words that the Mercenary King, Anu, had previously told Encrid. Had he known what Encrid needed even back then? Or was it just a coincidence? Regardless, what Encrid needed right now was indeed a variety of opponents. Although Encrid had experienced quite a few so far, Ragna concluded that he needed more high-quality experience.
"Is it the unique sword style of the elves?"
Luagarne was also present, making it three onlookers. She was also of great help in helping Encrid establish his swordsmanship. Even if she fell behind in raw combat ability, Frok's eye and the experience accumulated over long years didn't just disappear.
Sinar swung her sword, regardless of who was watching. Encrid took in Sinar's footsteps, breathing, and the angle of her arms all at once to prepare. He was looking directly and perceiving.
Float.
It felt like that. The blade was clearly cutting through the air toward him, yet it felt as if it were floating down on the wind. Encrid did not ignore that feeling. For one could not claim to wield formless power if they turned away from what they perceived and observed.
Rem, Ragna, and Luagarne knew that Encrid's skills had improved by leaps and bounds recently. Thus, they weren't particularly surprised by the scene that unfolded next.
Clang!
Sinar's sword tried to drift down like a leaf, but its movement was restricted before it could fall as she wished. Encrid had slashed upward with his own sword, controlling his strength to bind her blade to his.
No matter what, a sword had to move for there to be a next step; if he bound and blocked it, there would be no next step. He had essentially shut down the technique before it could even begin. It was like covering someone's mouth before they could even make a sound to stop them from singing.
Standing there with eyes wide open just to watch a technique would be something a fool would do. Therefore, this was not a cheap trick. Only by doing his absolute best to break the opponent's technique could he, in turn, witness the true power of the sword style the elf was showing him. If a sword style could be stopped by this much, then that was all it amounted to.
"Good," Sinar replied without a trace of a smile, pulling her sword back to her chest.
Clink, clink.
The blades clashed a few times and parted. Encrid had tried to keep them bound, but Sinar had slipped her blade out by adjusting her push and pull. The control of strength Sinar displayed possessed a delicacy that even Rem, Ragna, or Audin would find difficult to mimic.
The Leaf Sword quickly retreated. Then, just as she had said, the spring breeze blew. Or perhaps it should be called a warm wind. Sword strikes ill-suited for the winter sun drifted down along with blades of vital energy.
Amidst the softly descending blades, Encrid felt a presence brushing against his shoulder first.
Fascinating.
The elven sword style, Spring Breeze, mixed invisible strikes between blades that drew soft, elegant lines. The invisible strikes were, of course, blades of vital energy. The blades blocked his front like a giant leaf.
Should he break through with force? Or deflect it and aim for the flank? Both were viable methods. Encrid tried them in turn.
It was a battle of raising Will and swinging against each other. Sinar was a powerhouse worthy of being called an elven knight. Thus, subduing her in an instant was difficult. Nor was there any need to. Neither of them pushed excessively to show off their skills. Instead, they were showcasing their respective techniques to each other.
When he tried to break through, the leaf layered itself to block him. When he aimed for the flank, the leaf sought to envelop his entire body. By dodging with his feet and parrying with powerful strikes, Encrid evaded and blocked.
"That is all for today. See you tomorrow."
After clashing for a good while, Sinar spoke and turned away. There were no jokes like usual.
"Not bad."
"It's a defensive sword style that suppresses fast and fierce swords."
Rem and Ragna each added a comment. Encrid nodded in agreement.
The next day, Sinar came to find him again. It was late afternoon.
"I will show you the Summer Downpour."
"Sounds good."
There was no reason to refuse. They began to spar once more. Soon, Encrid's eyes widened.
"The sword is changing?"
The words escaped Encrid's mouth as he watched the Leaf Sword transform like a long whip.
Chiriririring.
The moment Sinar uttered the word "downpour," Naidel's blade wobbled and extended.
"A magic sword," Luagarne muttered.
The blade thinned and lengthened. In an instant, it became a long, flexible sword. Soon, the blade whipped around, scattering light, and began to pour down like actual rain. It was a downpour of blades raining down from above his head.
Encrid chose to strike back rather than dodge. It was an instinct; he believed that if he dodged, the downpour would pursue him, and trying to evade would instead drain the strength he needed for a counterattack, leading to his defeat.
His spars with Rem had not been a waste of time.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
If his truesilver sword hadn't been light, it would have been difficult to block all of those attacks. Amidst the pouring strikes, deep blue vital energy thrust inward. The vital energy, which had been green yesterday, was blue today. Swift and rapid strikes danced within his accelerated thoughts.
If you block the waves, you can block the downpour.
Encrid had yet to complete the sword style he had realized some time ago. It was a style he had named the Wave-Blocking Sword. As he dragged out the incomplete style and barely managed to block, the blade bent this way and that, aiming for his ankles and trying to wrap around his wrists.
If it wraps around, I'll get cut.
Raindrops moved with the wind, after all. So even this was possible?
In any case, it was time to wrap up the day's spar.
"Tomorrow is Autumn Leaves," Sinar said after attacking Encrid for a while, then turned around.
"I look forward to it," Encrid replied.
The next day, he was able to witness the sword style called Autumn Leaves, and by this time, the number of onlookers had grown.