Chapter 662: Daily Life as Usual
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 662: Daily Life as Usual
Encrid knew that swinging his sword a few times wouldn't suddenly trigger a flash of enlightenment.
He would have to take it one slow step at a time. For now, he would start with a name.
'Let's call it Flow.'
He would use Oara's Linking Sword as the foundation, and from there...
'Natural, in every moment.'
Its essence would be like a river, flowing ceaselessly, never halting. The execution: swinging his sword as naturally as breathing.
But what about the training method?
Here, Encrid hit a wall. As always, he had reached the limits of his talent—but that only brought him joy.
Encrid was a madman who felt sheer ecstasy at the prospect of overcoming a wall, even when he couldn't see the top. Now, that wall was visible and within arm's reach. This was only the beginning. He had already glimpsed what lay beyond; it was the path his squad members had already forged ahead of him.
It was a transformation of quality, not quantity.
The realization struck him anew. Goosebumps erupted across his skin, and a thrilling sensation jolted his heart, surging up to his brain and unleashing a torrent of pure ecstasy.
'Ah.'
This was so incredibly fun he could die.
Of course, that didn't mean a clear path had suddenly materialized. The only thing he could do right now was swing his sword.
So, that was exactly what Encrid did. He swung his sword with stubborn, simple-minded devotion. Since it was the only thing he knew how to do, he simply did it—yet a smile never left his face. He swung his sword like a boy experiencing his very first love.
"Is he out of his mind?"
From the side, the Ragged Saint asked the question, his voice laced with genuine concern. Why was that guy suddenly talking to himself, only to march out, swing his sword, and start grinning?
Good lord, what is wrong with him? It’s unsettling.
It was a perfectly reasonable reaction. Though the Ragged Saint’s muttering didn't reach Encrid's ears, everyone else nodded in agreement.
"You're stating the obvious, old man. He's always been crazy."
"He usually snaps out of it eventually, so there's no need to be too surprised."
"It's fine. It's just a phase."
Hearing Rem, Ragna, and Audin chime in, the Ragged Saint snorted. Unable to hold back, he shot a look at them.
"None of you have any right to talk."
He had only met Encrid recently, but he had seen Rem and Ragna countless times over the years. He had even witnessed the transformation of his own adoptive son, Audin. It was absurd to see men who had once tried to kill each other now getting along so seamlessly.
He knew the reason they could do this. It was all because of the madman grinning and swinging his sword just a short distance away.
'Right. He's the focal point.'
Everything revolved around that single man. The order of knights, the city, and its people.
Was it impressive? Yes. Seeing how a madman like him stood at the center, it made sense why such a bizarre crowd could gather and coexist. As he watched the crazy swordsman, a whirlwind of thoughts began to churn in the Ragged Saint’s mind. Among them were regret and remorse.
What would it have been like if there had been a focal point like him during his own youth? What if there had been someone who could command both him and Overdear? What if there had been someone whom everyone universally acknowledged?
There had been one friend with exceptional abilities. Blessed by God, he possessed words of immense power, and his innate divinity and talent were easily on par with the Audin of today. At times, he was like a younger brother; at others, an older brother. He knew how to command authority, yet he also knew how to care for others. He possessed dignity, leadership, and charisma in equal measure.
But as great as his abilities were, so too was his ambition.
If I had protected him when he became Pope, would things have turned out differently?
The Ragged Saint already knew the answer.
'Nothing would have changed.'
Thus, only a bitter, lingering regret remained. In the end, it was the Legion that drove him away, and it was the Legion that turned him into a traitor. The greatest genius the Legion had ever produced lost his family and his lover, then departed for the Demon Realm, consumed by thoughts of revenge.
He shed no tears of blood, nor did he wail in despair. He simply renounced everything he owned and walked away in silence.
"If this is God's will, then I shall reject it."
Those had been his final words.
'He was a fool.'
He was far too extraordinary, his talents far too immense, to sit quietly on the papal throne and embrace all believers. Jealousy was inevitable. Countless people wanted nothing more than to drag him down. It was this very incident that drove Paladin Overdear to suppress his own opinions entirely, swearing to blindly follow whatever the next Pope desired.
As the remorse tore through his heart, a sudden realization dawned on him.
'It didn't matter if he couldn't use Divine Power. What mattered was that he was someone who knew how to bring people together. Someone who knew how to sacrifice.'
That was the kind of person who could earn everyone's respect. The paladins could handle the fighting, and those gifted with Divine Power could wield it. He didn't need to get along with everyone, but he had to be respected for his character, not just his strength.
'Ha.'
The Ragged Saint knew himself well. He was never suited for the papal throne. He lacked the confidence to shoulder such immense responsibility; he was far better suited to saving a sick, suffering child right in front of him.
The Holy City needed someone with a different kind of caliber. And here in the Border Guard, they needed someone exactly like the man before him. He didn't look down on others, nor did he try to dominate or rule over them.
'He is no king.'
Rather, his caliber served a completely different purpose.
"Did he say his dream was to be a knight?"
He murmured the question to Audin beside him, though he already knew the answer. He had heard it before. To be precise, Encrid had said he wanted to be the kind of knight that only existed in bards' songs.
It was a dream he couldn't bring himself to mock. Not because of who Encrid was now, but because he himself had lived a similar life. Besides, watching the man walk through the city made it clear: Encrid was someone who swung his sword solely to protect those behind him.
That was all. And that single conviction had brought him to where he was today. That was why he was a madman.
"What an absurd fellow."
Following this brief revelation, the Ragged Saint knelt on the ground and began to pray. Repenting for his past mistakes and regrets, and praying with all his heart that a ray of light would guide the madman's future, he clasped his hands and sought his Lord.
"Hey, just because you're praying doesn't mean what you said is forgotten. I don't care if you're a noble or whatever."
Right beside him, Rem casually rested his hand on his axe. Hadn't the old man just crossed the line? Hadn't he basically lumped them all together as madmen? Technically, the saint had said none of you have any right to talk, but to the sharp-witted Rem, it sounded like he was calling them all the same brand of crazy.
To him, that was as good as a declaration of war. The West had a custom of respecting the elderly, but since this old man wasn't a Westerner, Rem didn't give a damn.
"He isn't wrong, barbarian brother," Audin interjected.
"A stray cat always sides with a wildcat, I see."
Rem didn't just gesture; he firmly gripped his axe. His Descent Weapon hummed, reacting to the warmth of his hand. He didn't actually intend to strike, but he was more than willing to make a threat.
"Though, it really isn't our place to talk," Ragna chimed in, completely excluding himself from the equation.
"You directionless, clueless bastard. That includes you too, you lazy piece of shit."
With those words, Rem drew his axe and swung. It was a straight, downward strike driven by the full force of his wrist. The weapon and his body moved as one, as if the axe had sprouted directly from his arm.
Ragna drew his sword to block as if it were second nature. He slipped his greatsword from its sheath as easily as a dagger, parrying the axe blade with a half-drawn sword.
Clang!
Sparks flew, igniting the fierce glares of the two beasts.
"What a bunch of lunatics," Audin muttered.
Fearing his adoptive father might get caught in the crossfire, Audin shoved them both back. As he thrust out a fist clad in Divine Power, golden sand seemed to coalesce around his hand. Rem leaped aside at the sight, while Ragna raised his sword vertically to block like a shield and backed away.
Soon, the three of them were circling and clashing on the heavily dented, battered training ground.
To one side, Encrid continued to mutter to himself as he swung his sword. Ropode and Pel watched him, shook their heads, and then, the moment their eyes locked, immediately started fighting each other.
"What are you looking at?"
"Certainly not your rotten eyes."
"You look like you could do with one less eye. Let me gouge it out for you today."
That was the extent of their conversation.
Luagarne, arriving late to the scene, seemed to catch the excitement and grabbed Teresa.
"Hey, Half-Giant! If your skills have improved, care to play with me?"
"Not a bad proposal, sister."
Teresa’s deep, husky voice resonated with a powerful ring, striking the ears more sharply than before. It was a voice that truly stirred the soul.
With the jewel-clad Ragged Saint kneeling in prayer on one side, it was just another ordinary day.
*
A few more days passed in this manner.
It was also the day after Ropode handed over his role as the basic training instructor to Clement, a fallen squire.
"Am I really doing this?"
"Yes. You're doing it."
Clement was officially a squire of the Mad Knights. Encrid had personally trained her a few times, so he knew just how fierce and venomous her determination was. He quite liked that grit of hers.
In any case, both Ropode and Pel had cleared their schedules. It was all at Encrid's request. It was, in a sense, the promised day.
Waking up early in the morning, Encrid warmed up with meticulous care.
'Good.'
Spring was in full bloom, but the early morning air was still crisp. He welcomed the pleasant chill. He liked how a light sweat began to bead on his skin as he moved, and he liked the sensation of his body heating up.
Audin had joined him before sunrise, practicing the Isolation Technique by his side, and shortly after the sun broke the horizon, Ropode and Pel made their appearance.
Encrid didn't believe that forcing things would make the impossible possible. Instead, he trained steadily and systematically checked off his other duties. He had established a system and categorized different temperaments in his mind.
And now, standing before him were two individuals with completely opposite temperaments: Ropode and Pel. They were perfect test subjects.
"Don't you want to become knights?"
Encrid asked. It was a redundant question. Both Ropode and Pel pushed themselves through brutal, near-mindless training day in and day out. What other reason could there be?
"Need you even ask?" Pel replied first.
Ropode gave a heavy nod in agreement. "Yes."
Encrid had pondered this countless times on his journey here. Could a structured system pave the way to knighthood? It was time to find the answer.
Though he didn't know it, this was a path that other military organizations had attempted before. Considering the sheer, catastrophic impact a single knight could have on a battlefield, it would have been stranger if no one had tried.
Naturally, Naurilia had wanted to attempt something similar, but with Count Molsen, cultists, and bandits constantly at their throats, things had become too chaotic to even try. Lately, however, they had done more than just catch their breath; it felt as though a brief peace had settled over them.
"It seems the cultists have truly been wiped out. Even the sporadic ones have vanished, and the number of monsters and demonic beasts has decreased significantly," Krais remarked as he assessed the continental situation. He then added, "If we could just keep living like this, I'd have nothing left to wish for."
Krais belonged to a generation that had known nothing but battlefields and the Demon Realm since birth. To people like him, such peace was entirely foreign. Even though it was a peace forged by the sword—and partly by his own hands—it still felt surreal.
Under these circumstances, it was the perfect time to focus on training. Having anticipated this several steps ahead, Krais had thrown his full support behind raising their forces. Of course, even he hadn't expected the cultists to be eradicated so thoroughly.
In an era where the quality of troops, rather than sheer numbers, decided the fate of battlefields, training knights was naturally the highest priority for any military force.
Ropode and Pel grew visibly tense as Encrid, Rem, Audin, and the others slowly gathered around them. From a distance, it looked as though they were surrounding and trapping the two in the center.