Chapter 650: Even if Talent Speaks of Limits, the Heart Does Not
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 650: Even if Talent Speaks of Limits, the Heart Does Not
The return journey was smooth.
Naturally, no bandits were in sight, and monsters or demonic beasts appeared only on rare occasions.
A migrating group of elves followed far behind the path taken by Encrid and his companions. The two groups moved with a half-day’s distance between them, and after crossing a few ridges, they could no longer see each other.
Even if it was only an advance party and a fraction of the population, it was still the migration of an entire city. Though only a part, the scale was massive; even with Encrid’s group walking slowly, the distance between them was bound to widen. A crowd of that size naturally slows down.
It was on the second day. When it came time to camp, Luagarne witnessed Encrid’s prowess once again during a sparring match with Pel.
“Bride snatcher!”
Pel attempted a clumsy provocation. Naturally, it didn't work on Encrid.
Instead, Encrid lunged the moment Pel opened his mouth to taunt him, tangling the hands of an opponent he could have beaten easily anyway.
His movements have grown more refined.
It looked as if someone had held him down and polished his skills through years of rigorous training. Sometimes, seeing these moments was truly fascinating. Regardless of talent, his skills would suddenly leap forward.
But this time, there was something even more surprising, quite apart from that.
Hmm.
It was a high-speed sparring match. Pel couldn't find a single moment to speak. He could only move his hands and feet in silence. Encrid wasn't even using Intimidation.
Though neither spoke, from a certain point, the duel became a contest of pure strength and technique. All of this was Encrid’s intention.
No, from a certain point, there isn't even technique.
It was pure strength and speed. He drove his opponent back with those alone. When one possessed such monstrous strength, there was no room for clumsy techniques to slip in.
They say softness deflects strength, do they not? Because a simple, heavy sword is easily deflected along the flow, a heavy sword is caught by a flowing sword.
But what if, conversely, that strength is so overwhelming that it completely ignores the flow?
Encrid was demonstrating that very result right now.
Pel had no time to say anything, even though the blade had just grazed his neck. A single misstep in his breathing, and he would die. A sense of crisis, entirely different from the threat felt from a feint, ran down his spine. It felt as if a lizard were licking his skin with a cold tongue.
Pel poured everything into every single strike. He had to. The sword Encrid swung so casually flew at him with lethal trajectories and immense power. It was a continuous crisis, like a wild beast with its jaws wide open, moments away from tearing out his throat.
He consciously held his Will and channeled it into his sword. A single misstep, and he would plunge off a cliff. He had to cling to the edge with his fingertips. If his fingers lost their strength, he would die.
Fierce gusts of wind blew intermittently. He had to tense his core. If his balance faltered, he would die. The sunlight stung his eyes. Yet, it felt as though even a single wrong blink that broke his concentration would mean death.
I’ll die.
Pel felt it instinctively, while Encrid swung his sword indifferently.
Clang!
Pel did not lose his grip on his sword. His arm was merely pushed aside in the direction Encrid deflected it. Seizing the opening, Encrid stepped in and lightly tapped Pel’s chest with his free hand.
“I win,” Encrid said.
It was only natural, but still.
“……Whew.”
Only then did Pel exhale. Encrid had suppressed him by pushing through with sheer strength, without any technique. He could accept that his clumsy provocation hadn't worked, but...
This monster bastard.
Whatever he had done, both his use of Will and his sword swings had changed since they first arrived here. He was a monster—a monster packed to the brim with talent. Even without anyone telling him, Pel could tell that Encrid had crossed yet another wall in such a short time.
Pel let out a breath and looked back at his bruised pride. If he were the type to crumble over this much, he wouldn't have survived this far.
I’ll catch up, no matter what.
He now possessed a venomous determination he hadn't had before. Pel’s eyes burned fiercely.
Luagarne fell into thought, reflecting on what Encrid had just shown.
He adjusted his level to match Pel.
In other words, Encrid had room to spare. What was different from before?
Frok’s Talent-Reading Eye literally intuited talent through the opponent’s movements and posture. That intuition sparked repeatedly inside Luagarne’s mind. The bursting sparks allowed her to see what Encrid currently possessed, based on a few facts.
He swung a heavy, fast sword with ease.
It wasn't just once or twice; he had matched Pel’s pace and adjusted his intensity as they fought. To put it simply, it was like a woodcutter continuously swinging his axe without pause, mobilizing every single technique he had ever realized. All of this happened in an instant, without any process of catching his breath or steeling his mind.
It was only possible because he was in a state of hyper-focus.
He raised his concentration to pour full power into his strikes. He must have referenced what he realized when he defeated Walking Fire.
Then, if the current Encrid poured out everything he had, what could he achieve?
Long-duration, high-speed combat.
When stopping that bastard Demon One-Killer, Encrid was said to have understood and reconstructed his swordsmanship.
That wasn't the end.
Creating a swordsmanship style meant perfectly understanding the meaning and implementation method contained within it. Naturally, it would also affect the person using it.
Did he call them beginner, intermediate, and senior?
According to the system Encrid had structured, that man could now be said to have risen above the intermediate level. His individuality had become distinct.
Urke.
Swordsmanship built upon an unyielding, un-drying Will.
Luagarne’s insight was accurate. Ever since the elven city, Encrid had clearly known what he was capable of. It was long-duration, high-speed combat that prioritized sustainability.
The reason for this? His experiences up to now had shaped his present self. Both Liebart and Knight Jamal specialized in battles of endurance.
I was influenced.
Encrid readily admitted it. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with that. On top of that, he felt as though something inside him had reached completion. It was a sense of omnipotence, making him feel as if he could defeat anyone right now.
Naturally, it also felt as though he had run into a wall, with nowhere further to go. He had reached his limit. He could see neither above nor ahead. It was an end where he could neither climb nor move forward.
Yet, there was also a part of his heart that insisted this was not the end. Talent always spoke of limits, but the will held in one’s heart knew no bounds. That was why.
Reflecting on it now...
Encrid organized his thoughts as he defeated Pel. Reflecting on and establishing what he possessed increased his understanding. It was something he came to know naturally, without anyone teaching him.
For example, it was like this:
A knight’s technique and mindset are the life they have lived. Therefore, will is Will.
This was also why the Will of the bastard he met in the Paladin Order was so pathetic.
One can become a knight through 'talent' alone, but a sword forged from a will grasped by rising that way would be no different from cheese full of holes.
There is no knight without a vow.
This was why vows and convictions were so important to a knight. They were the foundation that sustained one’s Will. This must also be why Oara’s will shone so brightly. It meant that even if it wasn't a grand dream, moving forward for what one believed in was far more important.
Just as there are no humble dreams, all vows must be respected.
It was a theory that aligned perfectly with Encrid’s usual thoughts. In truth, since he had understood and accepted the principles of becoming a knight in a form he knew best, it was only natural that it felt like a perfect fit.
As he walked while organizing his thoughts, his surroundings grew bright. It was a night where two moons cast a brilliant, dazzling light. Two more such nights passed. Gradually, the moonlight began to dim. This happened even though there wasn't a single cloud in the sky.
The moonlight showed signs of taking on a different color. It was time for the Twin Red Moons, the Red Moon, to rise. No one in the group particularly cared about it, though. Everyone was busy.
Pel and Zero were busy digesting and reflecting on what they had learned after being beaten by Encrid, and Luagarne was much the same, though she also had to teach Encrid the system she had created using Frok’s Talent-Reading Eye.
“Frok believed that because the limits of talent are visible, dividing them into stages was meaningless. Especially since it doesn't actually affect a life-or-death duel.”
What is important in a fight to the death? Does handling Will slightly better make one fight better? It could, but it didn't translate directly into real combat. That was what Luagarne meant.
Even someone who has trained their Will will die if they take a bad stab in their sleep. Unless they are a Frok, there is no way for a decapitated human to survive. Even a Frok dies if their heart is pierced. Skill affects the outcome, but it is not absolute. Then, are there no other factors that influence it? There were.
“Are the colors of people’s talents the same? They are all different. We can see the limits of talent, but we cannot see its color. That is why we had to experience it firsthand, and that was a great pleasure.”
Of course, it wasn't as entertaining as watching someone like Encrid break through those limits. Exploring and desiring the unknown—among the Frok, Luagarne was particularly faithful to this desire. Naturally, she had no choice but to accumulate vast amounts of knowledge. After all, the desire to know the unknown is what makes studying enjoyable.
“Depending on the color of their talent, some might pour power into a single strike like that guy over there, or, like the elves, be influenced by racial traits to perform such peculiar swordplay.”
Conveniently, off to one side, Pel and Zero were engrossed in training, swinging their swords into the empty air. The trajectories drawn by their swords were visible. The result was the same: slashing and thrusting. However, the process was distinctly different.
Pel slashed an imaginary enemy in a single blow, but Zero slashed six times.
Encrid chewed on Luagarne’s words several times. Thinking about it this way brought back the conversation he had with Pel a few days ago, while they were joking about him being a bride snatcher.
Pel’s moves are easy to read.
It was because Pel believed there was no need to hide what was his. Why was that? That was simply the bastard’s temperament.
The events in the elven city also crossed his mind.
Ermen perfects a lie by remaining silent.
Encrid felt a sense of sophistication in that. Why was that? A similar temperament could be felt in all elves, but Ermen seemed exceptionally outstanding. Perhaps it could be said he gave off a similar feeling to Krais.
Then again, Pel liked spontaneous moves. So did Rem. Contrary to his appearance, Ragna also enjoyed a battle of wits. However, he also knew how to transcend the battle of wits and finish things with pure strength.
Such were their respective temperaments.
Reconstructing and establishing everything he had seen, felt, and experienced so far, Encrid organized things beyond just the levels of a knight.
They are categorized into forms according to their respective temperaments.
The way Frok saw the color of talent was just like this.
“In the past, a certain Frok used to arbitrarily name and divide the types of talent. Mole crickets, mayflies, pupae, caterpillars, and so on.”
He understood what Luagarne was saying. Encrid had just added a few concepts in his mind. Depending on the way they used weapons and their temperaments, the way they accepted the system would differ. If so, both the teaching and the learning methods would have to change as well.
To master and train in a way tailored to each individual, it would be better if they each knew their own temperament.
One-Hit Kill, Sustainability, All-Rounder.
The types only needed to fall into three broad categories. As he had learned before, completion was more important than perfection. Pel was the One-Hit Kill type. Ropode was the Sustainability type. The two were completely distinct.
There were also those who possessed both forms from the very beginning: the All-Rounder type.
While taking both might seem more advantageous than digging into just one, in reality, it is more inefficient.
Being an all-rounder wasn't entirely a good thing. To chase two rabbits, one had to invest that much more time and effort. To borrow Frok’s words, it would be like drawing water from a well of clearly limited talent and pouring it into two separate buckets. The total amount doesn't change, yet it is divided? That would become a factor in losing to those who excelled in a single area.
Even within this, there would be the Training type, who was absorbed in tempering their own body, and the Artistry type, who delved deep into techniques.
The Training type would suit a heavy sword or a swift sword.
The Artistry type suited a soft sword and an illusion sword.
He added his own on top of the compiled and categorized swordsmanship. That was what Encrid did. Furthermore, because he knew that knowing oneself well was important, he confirmed that as well.
I am the Sustainability type.
At present, he was. Since he had Urke, he could make battles of attrition his specialty. Coincidentally, Liebart and the Knight of Azpen also specialized in battles of attrition, allowing him to watch and learn from them.
Ultimately, shouldn't One-Hit Kill and Sustainability be blended together?
It was an 'ahead' and an 'above' that could not be seen right now, but could be faintly sensed. And based on this, there was someone who stood out by far, even within the order of knights.
Sachsen. He was both the One-Hit Kill type and the Artistry type. A One-Hit Kill Artistry type, so to speak. It was rare. One-Hit Kill would normally suit the Training type.
No, there is no single answer.
Deciding on an answer beforehand only produces 'fakes'. This must be how the fakes produced by the Theocracy were made. One must not decide on an answer and force someone to run along that path.
“Ah.”
Beyond just learning and mastering, Encrid felt a rush of ecstasy, intoxicated by the act of creation. A thrill of pleasure surged from his toes to the top of his head.
Then, looking up at the sky, he saw the two moons dyed red. It was the Twin Red Moons. Before he knew it, night had fallen.
Lost in thought as he walked, he had even forgotten for a moment that he was walking. Though he had certainly perceived his surroundings and avoided stumbling over rocks, it was only now that he truly became aware of them. And as he raised his head, he saw uninvited guests.
“We have been waiting for you, Encrid of the Border Guard.”
On a night illuminated by the red moonlight, a voice echoed without a single trace of presence. Encrid saw a black veil appear and then vanish before his eyes.
Perception Disruption Spell.
It was a spell that prevented one from perceiving the veil in front of them until it disappeared. However, having seen it more than once or twice, he seemed to have felt a clumsy sense of incongruity. That was why his thoughts had stopped, allowing him to perceive his surroundings.
At any rate, a group that had shed the Perception Disruption veil revealed themselves. One was clad in pitch-black armor. Two wore cloth garments instead of armor. Additionally, the one standing in the center held a long staff-like object. At the end of the staff was a circular iron ring with jagged, thorn-like protrusions pointing upward. It seemed to symbolize something.
“We are from the Demon Realm Holy Land, the Advent Cult.”
Under the red moonlight, every single one of those who stepped forward looked formidable.
“We have brought all the remaining Apostles.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Encrid’s Sixth Sense flared. It was beneath their feet. Dirt sprayed as sharp iron skewers shot up, aiming for Encrid’s stomach, Luagarne’s heart, Zero’s head, and Pel’s neck.
Encrid’s thoughts accelerated. For a moment, everything around him seemed to grind to a halt. Within the slowed time, accompanied by a pressure that felt like being submerged in a solid block of clay, Encrid did what he had to do.