Chapter 621: Gift
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 621: Gift
Audin went as far as halting his unit's training—which he had been cramming after neglecting it for so long—just to watch from the sidelines.
Thanks to that, rumors circulated that the holy unit under Audin's command sang in unison, praising the Lord for finally looking after them. The name of that god probably wasn't Sinar, but when they were constantly being beaten to a pulp by Audin, who could blame them if the name of their deity changed for a brief moment of relief?
For Encrid, it was merely a story to let in through one ear and out the other.
He had no room to care about such trivialities; he was too busy absorbing, dissecting, and savoring every single thing Sinar showed him. The unique swordsmanship of the elves constantly sparked his inspiration.
To a typical genius, this might have been nothing more than a demonstration of a different path in swordsmanship, but to Encrid, it was entirely different. As his inspiration caught fire, a rush of exhilaration surged, filling his entire body with pure ecstasy. The profound emotion that can only be felt in moments of true growth heated his soul like a piece of iron forged in a furnace all day. There was no way he could not enjoy this.
"Be careful."
Sinar, returning to the center of the field, brandished her sword with a warning. The Leaf Sword had changed yet again. Suddenly, the leaf-like blade split into five branches, and the flat of the blade widened. It looked like a crudely fashioned fan.
As he stared at the expanding Leaf Sword, he could feel the vital energy fluctuating wildly within it.
Is it magical?
In the first place, Naidel was a magic sword, known as the "companion weapon" of the elves.
Knights used imprinted weapons, while those who reached a high realm through sorcery used descent weapons. According to what he had heard from Luagarne, Frok used a combined weapon. Beastmen and giants also used imprinted weapons in a similar way, though he recalled hearing that their method of crafting them was slightly different.
The elves had their own equivalent. The companion weapon shifted its shape according to the wielder's will, with vital energy driving the transformation.
Though the altered blade looked entirely unsuitable for combat, the swordsmanship she displayed with it was extraordinary. The slashes delivered with the sword tilted flat were incredibly fast and struck at angles that were difficult to block, while the strikes using the flat of the blade felt as if Teresa were slamming her shield with all her might.
Even if Teresa was only at the level of an associate knight, she was still a half-giant; a full-power shield bash from her possessed a force that could not be ignored. Yet, even though Sinar was striking with the flat of her blade, her speed was such that she seemed to slip right through the wind's resistance.
The speed is the same whether she cuts or strikes.
That seemed to be the core of it. It was a style of swordsmanship that played upon the wind. If the Spring Breeze stirred the wind and the Summer Downpour poured down endlessly, this one flew upon the breeze.
Was that why it was named Autumn Leaves? Because it was like a maple leaf swaying on the wind?
Slashes and strikes flew and fell incessantly. If spring was green and summer was blue, today she exuded a red vital energy. It was redder than the sunset, yet it wasn't a deep, bloody crimson.
In any case, as he focused on enduring and losing himself in the sheer joy of the duel, the sparring session came to an end before he knew it.
Beads of sweat formed on Sinar's forehead. For an elf to sweat in the dead of winter showed just how much mental energy she was pouring into this demonstration.
Encrid, still deeply enthralled by the thrill Sinar provided, asked, "Is tomorrow winter?"
At his words, Sinar replied with a faint smile. "It will be fun."
*
What Sinar showed on the fourth day was literally the swordsmanship of winter. Its name was Spark.
Sinar's Naidel became thin and slender, just like the Spark Encrid held. The swordsmanship she displayed next was truly worthy of the name. The sword, emitting a brilliant white light, flew in like a flash, resembling a spark that vanishes in an instant.
It was a rapid-fire assault of pure speed—thrusting and thrusting again, completely disregarding defense.
If the Summer Downpour was a style that wore down stamina and forced defense like countless falling raindrops, this one felt as though a hole would be pierced through his body the instant he failed to block. Every single strike was lethal, a style heavily weighted toward offense over defense.
Conversely, because every strike was so lethal, it was also a style that left glaring gaps in its own guard. A spark that would consume itself if it failed to strike anything—it was a swordsmanship perfectly suited to its name.
In the elven tongue, Naidel meant the sword of spring, and Needle meant the winter sword. Delving deeper into their language, a long pronunciation like deu-eul meant sword, but because the elves used a language rich in accents and varying tones, simply pronouncing it deul did not always mean sword.
For a human like Encrid, knowing this much was more than enough.
The flying embers were fast and fierce, so small that they would vanish from sight if lost for even a fraction of a second. Even within his heightened state of concentration, only the very tip of the sword was visible.
Encrid blocked, parried, and dodged in a state of absolute focus, until Sinar's voice suddenly reached his ears.
"If you surpass the spark, it becomes a meteor."
Sinar's thrusts were incredibly fierce, but since she wasn't fighting in earnest, Encrid managed to hold his ground. Still, Sinar's sword was exceptionally sharp. A blade she twisted past his guard cut his cheek deeply, sending blood trickling down his face.
"That was dangerous," Audin remarked.
Seiki, who had somehow ended up as a spectator, stepped forward and cast a warm light over Encrid's cheek. "It'll heal in no time."
"No need to make a fuss," Encrid replied.
"I just feel like there are a lot of people who would be furious if that face of yours got ruined," Seiki teased.
Seiki was talking nonsense. Despite the bright light she conjured, the wound on his cheek didn't heal instantly. She had mentioned she was still clumsy at channeling divine power, and she wasn't lying; a great deal of the light was simply wasted.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Sinar asked, her gaze indifferent as she looked at Encrid.
Encrid nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. Regardless of the cut on his cheek, experiencing the elven Sword of the Four Seasons sent a whirlwind of inspiration rushing through him. A new sword, a new style—it was a profound stimulus. And it wasn't some half-baked technique, but an art perfected by the elven race over generations.
"Then that is enough," Sinar replied.
Her indifferent eyes curved slightly, revealing a gentle smile. A hint of satisfaction could be seen on her face.
*
That night, just before he went to sleep, Sinar called Encrid out.
"What is the matter?"
"Let's walk for a bit."
Encrid did as she asked.
"Going on a late-night date?" Rem tossed a teasing remark from behind.
Encrid walked out without answering, and Rem didn't bother waiting for one. It was just a reflexive joke thrown out because they happened to cross his path. Besides, this was a fairly common occurrence. Sinar often sought Encrid out; lately, she had mostly been asking him to hold her because she was cold.
As they walked outside, heavy clouds obscured the stars. Even the moonlight was dim.
Would it snow tomorrow?
The air had grown so biting that it truly felt like the dead of winter. Long, pale plumes of breath trailed from the lips of the human and the elf. The two walked in silence, quietly enjoying their stroll. The night wind carried a touch of dampness. It wasn't a bad night for a walk.
The occasional cry of a winter bird echoed in the distance. It was just as they were passing a patch of grass boasting a stubborn vitality despite the freezing cold.
"How resilient," Sinar murmured, looking down at the grass. She stopped and turned to face him.
Though the surroundings were pitch-black, both of them knew exactly where the other's eyes were. Their razor-sharp senses made it effortless. Her eyes, which should have been a mix of blue and green, cast a faint, ethereal glow in the darkness.
With their eyes locked, Sinar spoke in a calm, even tone. "Do you really have no intention of entering holy matrimony with me?"
It was refreshing. She hadn't made a single joke lately, yet the moment she called him out, this was what she said.
"Are we in a relationship where we share a bed?" Encrid asked.
"I suppose that troubled you."
"I think it is rather troubling."
"Did you like it, then?"
Encrid recalled the very first time he had heard an elven joke. It was right before he met Leona. It was a day he could have easily forgotten, yet it remained exceptionally vivid in his memory. He had been so flustered back then that he had wanted to kick Sachsen, who was snickering beside him.
"Yes, I have no such intention," Encrid replied, scratching his cheek.
It wasn't a particularly difficult question. It was just her usual mischievous joking.
"I see."
Sinar turned around without a trace of amusement. This was the same Sinar who had spent the last four days demonstrating her swordsmanship like a woman possessed.
"It was fun," she murmured, walking away.
The temperature of those words was distinctly different from when he had first heard them.
“It was fun.”
She had uttered those exact words when she first teased him, but compared to then, he couldn't read even a shred of emotion in her voice as she turned away now. If he had sensed any lingering regret in those words, Encrid would have asked her what was wrong.
But since he didn't, he simply let her go. The elf walked back with the exact same stride, the exact same pace, and the exact same speed as always.
And three days later, Sinar disappeared.
*
Encrid initially thought it was no big deal, but Sinar did not return even after three days had passed.
"She left a letter behind," Krais said, handing it over while Encrid was resting after morning training.
"Where did you find it?"
"She's been gone for three days without a word, so I took a look inside her room."
"Ah, I see."
To be precise, Sinar belonged to the Order of Madness. No one had the right to question her departure, but Krais had likely just checked the room since it was sitting empty. He had probably asked his lover to do it rather than going himself.
Encrid, understanding the situation, looked down at the letter. Sinar seemed to have anticipated that someone would find and read it once she left. Elegant handwriting was visible on the envelope.
To Encrid. Anyone else who reads this will turn into a sprouted potato.
An insult. Amused by the elven curse, Encrid tore open the letter. He peeled off the wax seal with his fingers and pulled out the paper inside. It didn't seem to be very expensive paper. The content was brief.
I will wait for you to come propose.
Encrid let out a soft snort and chuckled. To crack a joke until the very moment of her departure—she was truly a difficult elf to get the better of.
"What does it say?" Krais asked.
Encrid turned the letter around to show him.
"I don't know whether to call this impressive or what... but why did she disappear without a word?"
"She must have things to do."
Although she was currently associated with the Order of Madness, Sinar was not someone who belonged to the kingdom in the first place. He also recalled what Krang had mentioned in the past.
Did he say she had some kind of duty?
Encrid didn't particularly worry about Sinar's departure. It was her own judgment and choice, so he chose to respect it. He would have felt the same way no matter who left. Just as he had when Dunchabel announced she was going to the East, he simply accepted it in his heart.
That was all.
And then came a period of what could be called ordinary days.
"It is time to train."
In the mornings, he tightened, pulled, and pushed his muscles to their limits alongside Audin.
"Keep your wits about you. I'm going to make things even more brutal today."
He sparred with Rem.
"Everyone, run!"
He devoted himself to training his unit. If there was one difference from before, it was that his meditation sessions had grown longer.
The precise sword, the heavy sword, the deceiving sword, the fast sword, the soft sword.
The genius named Lionesis Oniak had classified swordsmanship into these five categories.
Are these five the entirety of swordsmanship?
Probably not. Even if he could go back in time, face Lionesis, and ask him, the answer would be the same. The five were the basics. Derivatives were a separate matter.
Everything he had mastered, learned, and chewed over, combined with the elven Sword of the Four Seasons he had recently experienced, began to coalesce. Sinar had deliberately excluded environmental factors, focusing purely on the inherent art of the sword.
It was a sword meant to be shown.
The Four Seasons—the four styles representing each season—were all entirely different in form. They could not be defined solely by the five concepts of Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu.
Basics, derivatives, experience.
It was the moment those elements harmonized. Encrid felt something snap into place, like a sudden burst in his mind. It was the moment the inspiration Sinar had gifted him ripened and fell as fruit.