Chapter 647: Inspiration Descended
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 647: Inspiration Descended
The elven city was vast. The area Encrid had seen and stayed in so far was merely its outskirts.
'It’s truly immense.'
In terms of sheer scale, it might even be larger than Border Guard. The city was divided into several major districts, all interconnected by narrow forest paths or magical conduits. If Ragna were here, he would likely call it a labyrinth.
'Ragna would probably spend the rest of his life wandering lost in here.'
Even if one climbed the trees to find a path, the dense canopy acted as a ceiling, blocking any view of the horizon. It was a structure designed to make anyone lose their way. It was fine for the elves who were used to it, but for an outsider, it was a maze.
'Is this why those old folktales exist? The ones about woodcutters getting trapped in an elven city and only emerging decades later?'
There was a famous story like that—a fairy tale about a man who found a hidden spring, saw an elf bathing, stole her clothes, and ended up wandering the forest for twenty years before finally escaping. Dozens of spin-offs had branched out from that one tale—some where the man and the elf had a child, others where dropping an axe into the spring transformed it into Truesilver.
'But fairy tales are just fairy tales.'
Still, he could guess why such rumors spread. This city held that much mystery. Enclosing the exterior with massive trees and building a civilization within—the structure was slowly being mapped out in his head. These were things he had learned naturally, as any passing elf he asked would kindly answer his questions.
'In a way, it’s a natural fortress.'
This was why the elven city had no need for stone walls. Since the outer barriers were made of trees, one might wonder if fire was a weakness. What if someone poured oil and set it ablaze? Burning the outer walls to cause a massive fire would surely force the elves out.
But would it really be that easy?
'It only fell because the demon attacked from within. If they had tried to strike from the outside, it would have been impossible.'
These were people who could manifest vital energy and command spirits. The strength of the elven race, including the Dryas and the Woodgard, was formidable. Furthermore, the city’s outer barrier was formed from the remains of deceased Woodgard. It wouldn't burn easily. He had seen Bran press lit tobacco against his own body without leaving a single scorch mark—though a Woodgard who kept fire that close was admittedly an anomaly.
With these thoughts, Encrid immersed himself in the pool. Though called a pool, it was closer to a lake in size.
'Did they say this was included in the migration list too?'
It was the Elven Spring, also known as the Spring of Healing. It was a warm pool that languidly melted the fatigue from his bones. Sinking his body into the water after a grueling training session felt like entering heaven. And when he took a sip of the chilled leaf tea prepared by the elves...
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
Encrid felt a momentary sense of ecstasy. The heat washed away the impurities from his pores, a cool breeze brushed over his head, and the chilled tea delivered an exquisite pleasure, as if he were tasting water for the first time in his life.
'This is the life.'
Spending the day training and reflecting, then soaking here for a few hours, had become his daily routine. He had been surprised when they mentioned taking a lake-sized pool with them during the migration, but now, he realized he would be deeply saddened if they left it behind.
As he rested, someone came splashing toward him through the thick steam rising from the water. The pool was so wide that the mist obscured long distances, but as the figure drew closer, his sharpened senses identified the newcomer immediately.
"What is it?" Encrid asked.
"Today is bathing day."
"Is that some kind of elven anniversary?"
"No. I decided it was. This morning."
Crazy elf.
"Your expression is insolent. I am the queen of this city."
Naturally, it was Sinar.
"And I am the savior of that city."
"How shameless, calling yourself a savior with your own mouth."
It was a joke, made because she understood Encrid’s personality.
"Am I not?"
"No, you aren't wrong."
As Encrid chuckled, Sinar parted the steam and drew closer. She was now within sight, submerged up to her neck.
'Is that disappointing?'
No, of course not.
"I heard you suggested a place for the migration?" Sinar asked, splashing the water.
Droplets carrying the scent of flowers and grass hit Encrid’s forehead. As Sinar waved her hand, a portion of her pale forearm momentarily emerged from the water.
Encrid nodded honestly. "It just so happened that I knew of a good place."
"Thank you."
For some reason, Sinar seemed to say "thank you" much more often lately.
"I recall you pressuring me before, saying you couldn't leave the city?"
"I was merely stating a fact."
"A distorted fact. I’ve heard that such things are an elven specialty."
"What? There is no such thing as a lie in our society."
Looking at Sinar blinking innocently, even the word "abominable" felt too harsh. With her looks, such behavior was practically cheating. Any ordinary man would have surrendered his soul to her by now.
"Right. You must have erased the memory of the lies you told me in the labyrinth."
There was no way she had forgotten claiming she had decided to become the queen of monsters.
"Your tone is becoming increasingly insolent."
"Ah, yes, yes."
Amidst the trivial banter, words of gratitude were exchanged once more.
"Well then."
Sinar stepped out of the pool. Because Encrid did not avert his eyes, he saw her. It wasn't out of impure intent, but rather a sudden realization.
"When did you get that scar?"
The scar he caught a glimpse of on her forearm extended all the way to her back. It was a brutally distorted burn.
Sinar knew her body was disfigured. That was why, even when she had opportunities to bathe with Encrid, she had avoided it. Had she insisted, they could have shared the water, but she had skillfully evaded such situations until now.
Water droplets trickled down the burn scars etched on her back, running down her thighs. The marks were vivid from her shoulders to her calves, looking as if she had been meticulously branded with a hot iron. It was a wound that brought phantom pain just by looking at it.
"The Spring of Healing is highly effective," Sinar said, bypassing his question.
Until now, she had kept the scars as a way to remember her failures. As Encrid tilted his head in confusion, Sinar continued with a smile.
"Even these burn marks can be erased, save for a few deep parts. Soon, you will be able to see my fair skin again."
"Yes, and?"
"You will be able to touch it, too."
"..."
"It will be delightful. Very much so."
Why on earth did I try to have a serious conversation with this elf?
Encrid turned his head away, his eyes filled with self-reproach.
"Let us stay together forever, child of dreams and possibilities," the elf said.
"Is that a curse?"
"It is a blessing."
Sinar smiled like a flower in full bloom. It was the same smile she had worn in his dream. Seeing that, a small smile naturally formed on Encrid’s face as well. Whatever the case, it seemed the heavy burden she carried had finally vanished.
Sinar departed.
Encrid wanted to surrender his body to the water a little longer. As he closed his eyes and let himself float, warmth enveloped him. Within that warmth, he fell into deep thought. Sometimes, inspiration strikes unexpectedly, and this was one of those moments.
'Sinar did not erase her scars.'
She had kept them so she would not forget her mistakes. But now, she had decided to face those mistakes and push through them. It wasn't about dwelling on blame, but about taking steps toward tomorrow.
Just as Encrid’s disposition influenced those around him, sometimes the positive changes he brought about returned to him in kind. Sinar’s transformation stimulated something deep within his heart.
He wondered what one had to do with the other, but suddenly, inspiration flooded his mind. Scattered fragments, like loose threads, mingled and dispersed before weaving together under a certain rule, forming a single framework.
Beyond the steam-filled pool, an illusion appeared.
"It is thanks to me. So, you must not forget me."
Was it a remnant left behind by the demon? Or simply an impurity that had slipped in while his thoughts expanded? It didn't matter. Once Encrid entered a state of absolute concentration, he forgot everything else.
The illusion scattered, and Encrid didn't bother to commit it to memory. Delving deep into this single point, he forgot himself, forgot his sword, and forgot the world, focusing solely on establishing the inspiration that had just struck him.
He was lucky. There was nothing to disturb him. The Spring of Healing gently kept his body afloat, removing any risk of drowning. His body temperature wouldn't drop, and the spring even supplied a portion of nutrients to his body, staving off the worst of his hunger.
The hot water stimulated his circulation, quickening his mental processing. Perhaps this was why the Elven Council of the past held their meetings while submerged in these waters.
As the inspiration mingled and the theory formulated, the first thing that came to mind was self-reproach.
'I was arrogant.'
After completing the Wave-Blocking Sword, he had told himself his inspiration was sufficient. It wasn't.
'There is no end.'
At the time, he felt as though he had seen the peak, but he hadn't. His thoughts expanded on their own, carving a new path. A new world, entirely different from the swordsmanship he was currently unlocking, was about to open.
He drew upon every past experience to embrace this newness. He recalled the moment he faced the arrows upon entering the elven city. He had perceived them, smashed them, and shattered them. He had heard the sound of the wind using the sensory technique he learned from Sachsen.
Encrid had given it names like the 'domain of the sixth sense.' Sachsen hadn't corrected him then, but later, he had shown him how to group everything under the single category of sensory techniques. There was no need to divide the senses into different names. That was what Sachsen had wanted to convey.
Endure was the same. If concentrating Will to increase the strength of one's skin and muscles came naturally, there was no need to call it a separate technique.
'But can anyone really do that?'
Using Will and techniques naturally—was it really that easy? What if he had trained from the beginning without giving names to his techniques? He wouldn't have given up, but reaching his current level would have been exponentially more difficult. He doubted he would have even reached the rank of knight by now.
Just imagining it made him feel weightless and dizzy, like falling off a cliff with his limbs bound. He had been lucky. Perhaps the Goddess of Fortune had truly looked upon him with favor.
In any case.
'Step-by-step growth is necessary.'
This was especially true for him. He had built his foundation of theory while wandering the continent and meeting various instructors. Some said the same things, some differed, and others tried to organize theories into a rigid system.
"A method that is useful to someone might not be useful to you. Besides, this method wasn't made to teach someone with as little talent as you, so please just leave."
He recalled the words of one instructor—a man who had practically begged him to get lost because he couldn't teach him anymore. He wasn't a bad person; he could have used force to drive Encrid away, but he chose words instead. Not that Encrid would have listened to force, anyway. He had stubbornly hung around for three months after that just to learn a little more.
Then, the words of the old swordsman from the coastal territory came to mind.
"You must find your own way. How? By reviewing and reflecting. Walk the path others walk, but choose the path only you can take—use what is useful, and discard what is not."
Those words were partly right and partly wrong.
'There is nothing to discard.'
If he didn't use everything he had and struggle desperately, he couldn't move forward. So, that was what he did.
'Even if it's just a desperate struggle, I will move forward. Even if I have to crawl.'
His determination turned into Will and shone, and that Will radiated light, illuminating his dreams. The knowledge accumulated in the Library of Experience emerged, scrambling through his mind. Several days passed in that state. On the path he had wandered for days, Encrid finally saw a signpost.
'Yes, a signpost.'
Techniques are signposts. It was about giving them names and deciding how to train them.
'A novice knight must first master the techniques of wielding Will.'