Chapter 648: Because It Is Imperfect, It Can Be Completed
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 648: Because It Is Imperfect, It Can Be Completed
It was for this very reason that Associate Knights gave names to their Will and honed it.
Once they surpassed that stage, they could be considered Intermediate—a level where they developed refined techniques and true individuality.
'What Liebart lacked, but Jamal, the Knight of Azpen, possessed.'
Both had been impressive opponents. They were the kind of warriors who would not be forgotten even if today were to repeat itself for eternity.
Drawing from his Library of Experience, the difference between the two was clear: it was a distinct individuality.
Their fighting styles were similar. Both relied primarily on battles of attrition, but Jamal possessed a unique individuality called Plunder.
'That is the requirement for the Intermediate rank.'
Individuality—the defining trait that set one's technique apart.
Through experience, one builds a foundation of knowledge. That knowledge soon becomes theory. In other words, a system.
Encrid was currently in the process of establishing his own system.
'The Senior rank, however, is about not being bound by technique.'
Rem, Ragna, Sachsen, and Audin were all like that. They gave names to their techniques, yet they were never enslaved by them.
'They even standardized their styles just to teach me.'
The Giant Cleaving that Rem taught him was like that, as were the lessons from Audin, Ragna, and Sachsen.
Through that process, they too had taken a step forward. He knew this because he had watched them from the front row.
'This is why an established theory or system is necessary.'
A path walked solely on intuition cannot offer certainty. Sometimes, one must look back at the road traveled to find the way forward.
'No, even if one walks with unwavering conviction, simply looking back at where they have been is helpful in itself.'
Even Ragna, hailed as a genius, had only progressed further after reflecting on his past path.
Swordsmanship requires meaning, a method of execution, and a method of training.
In a similar fashion, Encrid devised a training method to become a knight.
Once again, he had been lucky in many ways. If even a few experiences had been missing from his past lives, he would never have reached this point.
But then, life was a flower that bloomed amidst the miracles of coincidence.
Just as there was no meaning in regretting paths untaken, there was no reason to feel a sense of relief over the path already traveled.
What mattered was that his attitude toward life remained unchanged.
Encrid had not changed, whether before becoming a knight or now. In a way, that was precisely why he had reached his current state.
At any rate, he could count himself lucky once more, given that there was absolutely nothing here to disturb him.
He sank even deeper into himself.
The standards Encrid envisioned could well be called the standards of a knight.
Of course, this alone could not categorize a knight's combat power. More precisely, it could not dictate victory or defeat. A life-or-death battle was influenced by too many variables.
He himself had defeated Jamal using Urke.
'At that time, I was closer to a Novice.'
According to the standards he had just established, that was the case. Even if his system was completed, it would not be everything. Back then, Jamal had been a fully matured Intermediate.
Victory and defeat had come down to the difference in their Will.
'The size of one's Will.'
Not only individuality, but also the characteristics of one's Will, Divine Power, and Sorcery would influence combat.
But he could not cram all of that into a single system.
Distinguishing between the possible and the impossible was something he had done immediately upon becoming a knight, refusing to let himself get drunk on a sense of omnipotence.
It was the same now.
Encrid categorized, divided, and formulated, building his system.
'Whatever it is, it cannot be perfect.'
But it could be completed. Completing it and moving forward was what mattered. Because he looked toward an imperfect tomorrow rather than a perfect today, he could bring it to completion.
And so, he did.
The difference between Novice, Intermediate, and Senior.
'For now, I will base it on the mastery of Will.'
Differences in combat power would have to take into account physical conditioning, compatibility, and various other factors. Therefore, the outcome of a battle was kept separate.
However, to establish a fixed method of training and discipline, a structure like this was necessary.
Formulation became theory, and theory became a system.
Encrid opened his eyes. Aside from minimal training, he had spent the past week doing nothing but going back and forth to the Elven Spring. In the end, he had not emerged from the water for two whole days.
“I thought you’d drowned.”
A voice greeted him as he opened his eyes. It was Luagarne, speaking with her cheeks half-puffed. Her expression didn't particularly seem to stem from annoyance, though.
Encrid blinked a few times. Condensation that had gathered around his eyes dripped like sweat, a few drops tracing the contours of his face. His skin felt several times smoother than before.
“At least there isn't a crowd of elves waiting for me like last time,” Encrid spoke, sensing that a significant amount of time had passed.
He hadn't fainted; he had merely sunk deep into himself, entering a state of intense concentration. He had been vaguely aware of the passage of time.
“That is a hasty judgment.”
Pel was also nearby, standing with his usual crooked posture.
Encrid was still intoxicated by the thrill of having opened a new world. Riding that high, he tossed out a joke.
“Squire, report what has happened in the meantime.”
“Who are you calling a squire?!”
Pel flared up, but he didn't vehemently deny it. In truth, he might have been acknowledging it deep down. Unlike Ropode, if Pel were the only one allowed to be the squire, he might have gladly accepted the role.
When Encrid stood up and wiped himself down, his entire body was wrinkled. His fingers were swollen from the water, looking as large as Frok's. It was only natural, considering he had soaked in the spring for two days straight.
“You must have coveted the shape of my fingers,” Luagarne teased.
Encrid chuckled softly, dried himself off, and got dressed. The clothes, placed there at some point, were not his usual attire but elven garments—a shirt and trousers woven from green thread. There was even underwear, and his weapons and armor were neatly laid out to one side.
Encrid slipped into the clothes. Though they looked like they might be scratchy, they wrapped around his body softly, giving him a cozy feeling. It felt almost as if he were draped in leaves that had soaked up the warm sunlight.
He wasn't particularly thirsty, nor was he very hungry.
“The elves started gathering little by little, and today, their numbers have swelled,” Luagarne said.
As she spoke, Encrid stepped out of the pool and walked along the path—the pride of the elves, which would undoubtedly look like a labyrinth passage to Ragna.
In front of him, just as Luagarne had said, hundreds of elves were gathered as if waiting for something.
Why? Gauging the atmosphere, it seemed they had gathered out of worry for Encrid, who hadn't emerged from the spring for two days. It didn't seem like something that warranted such a massive gathering, though.
Somehow, they seemed even more proactive and enthusiastic than when they were heading out to resolve the Demon Realm of the Labyrinth. Then again, elven enthusiasm was hardly something that showed on the surface.
“He's out.”
A Dryas with captivating green eyes spoke, covering her mouth with a leaf. Some of the more extremely shy Dryas tended to cover their faces when they spoke. Since they were individuals who normally avoided interacting even with other elves, they wouldn't step forward like this unless absolutely necessary. Yet, they had come out just to check if Encrid was alright.
An elf who left their home barely five times a year had waited in this spot for two days just to see Encrid.
“Shouldn't a healer check his body?”
“Shall I do it?”
“Wouldn't it be enough if I did it?”
“He has emerged from the spring. There is nothing wrong with his body.”
Elves do not make a fuss. Because they restrain their emotions, they maintain a rational and logical attitude. Even now, it wasn't particularly noisy. However, it did somewhat resemble a bustling marketplace. Everyone was simply gathered in loose groups.
Among them, a short-haired elf stepped forward and approached. With neither Ermen nor Sinar in sight, the fact that no one stopped this elf suggested they either had a prior agreement or he held some authority.
“If there is nothing wrong with your body, could you come with me?”
In truth, only this single elf had actual business with him. The rest had merely gathered out of worry. Encrid was beginning to feel it tangibly.
“If you so much as break a fingernail, there are hundreds of elves who would rush to manicure it for you.”
It was something Luagarne had said, and though the expression was a bit exaggerated, it wasn't exactly wrong. Encrid was the savior of the elves. The meaning behind those words was clear.
He had become an idol watched by the entire elven race.
“This is a bit much,” Encrid muttered.
It wasn't that receiving warm gazes, having his deeds acknowledged, and hearing cheers felt bad. But too much was too much. Even now, the moment he opened his mouth, hundreds of elves fell silent in unison, staring at him with eyes like glass beads.
In an instant, all sound vanished, leaving only their gazes. At this rate, it felt like a gaze attack comparable to Argos, the Demon God who dwelt in the Demon Realm and was said to be the mother of the Evil Eyes. Argos was a monster hailed as one of the Demon Gods, described as a massive creature with a hundred eyes embedded all over its body.
“Where to?” Encrid asked, ignoring the staring eyes.
The elf standing before him was tall, with short hair tinged with red and eyes mixed with a subtle orange hue. His hands were covered in scars. And he smelled different from the other elves. Instead of the scent of grass and flowers, he smelled of ash and fire. It was the same scent that clung to Eitri.
With just a brief glance, Encrid could guess the elf's trade. Having created the Wave-Blocking Swordsmanship and just recently formulated the ranks of a knight, his insight had become far more exceptional than before.
“I heard there is an elven clan that handles fire.”
“Yes, we are the family that crafts the Naidel and the weapons of the elves. We crossed paths briefly once before. I am Lefratio.”
Those who represent their family use the family's name. It was the same as with Ermen. To put it simply, the elf standing before Encrid was the greatest blacksmith of the elven race.
“Elves craft Companion Weapons. And they can exert the same effects as an Imprinted Weapon.”
Elves speak only the truth. He had no reason to lie, nor any reason to beat around the bush.
“I wish to craft a weapon for you, Lord Demon Slayer.”
In other words, he was offering to make him an Imprinted Weapon. But instead of showing deep emotion or joy, Encrid scratched his chin awkwardly.
“I'm sorry, but...” Encrid spoke openly, as he had nothing to hide. “There is already someone who promised to make one for me.”
Unless it was an extremely exceptional case, one could not have two Imprinted Weapons. After all, it was called an 'Imprinted' Weapon because it was forged by imprinting one's own Will into it.
“Then, please allow me to at least give you a gift,” Lefratio continued without showing any sign of fluster.
Encrid nodded. There was no reason to refuse a gift, though he had already received a great deal. But surely, a gift from an elven blacksmith would be something special.
When it came to weapons and armor, Encrid tended to be rather greedy. He did not deny the saying that a good weapon was part of one's skill. Though some might say it was a line only fit for a band of mercenaries, the essence of it remained unchanged.
'A knight with a good sword.'
If he fought an unarmed knight, who would have the advantage? If he could gain an advantage, he would do whatever it took. Encrid was still the same. No matter what realizations he attained, his core remained unchanged. His attitude toward life had not wavered.
Thus, he passed through the gathering of elves and headed toward Lefratio's workshop.
Clang!
This was the area dedicated to handling fire and iron, a place Sinar had once been deeply fascinated by. It was located in a corner of the elven city, on the opposite side of Woodgard's territory, which shunned fire.
He saw elves hammering iron, each absorbed in their work around large furnaces. In the middle of a large clearing, black furnaces crafted by hollowing out tree stumps through some secret method, along with bellows and other tools, came into view.
Just because they were elves didn't mean they forged weapons out of moonlight or leaves. It is fire that shapes iron. This was an unchanging truth. All of them were sweating as they crafted what they desired.
Naturally, he thought of Eitri. The person who would craft his Imprinted Weapon would be waiting for him.
'Will he be disappointed that I broke the Truesilver sword?'
Probably not. It was a sword given to be broken in the first place. He could tell even without Eitri saying so. Furthermore, thanks to the sword he had provided, Encrid had escaped a hair-raising crisis. When they met, he wanted to tell him that 'Fortune' had truly brought him fortune.
Therefore, there was no reason for Encrid to have an Imprinted Weapon crafted here.
“This is Penna.”
However...
“Tsk.”
Encrid smacked his lips. His heightened insight also aided his eye for weapons. He could tell without even holding it.
It was the item Lefratio had brought as a gift. It was a masterpiece of a sword, outstanding enough to rival an Imprinted Weapon. It was such an excellent blade that it made him doubt whether Eitri could ever craft anything superior to it.