Chapter 664: The Crazy Elf is Back
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 664: The Crazy Elf is Back
"I thought you said it was a gift?" Rem muttered.
He said this because Sinar had drawn Naidel and was acting as if she were about to attack. As if in response to Rem's words, Sinar spoke.
"If it's a gift for a madman, of course it has to be a spar, right?"
Ah, then that made sense.
If Sinar’s words were set to a melody, they could easily pass for a song. Her voice was just that clear and beautiful—like water droplets falling into a tranquil lake.
Since the quarters had been destroyed previously, they had been rebuilt a short distance away from the training ground. Even if they could easily repair any damage, Krais was not the type to sit by and watch krona go to waste.
Thus, the light filtered down like a gentle mist onto the training ground, which sat in a corner of the barracks when viewed from a bird's-eye perspective, slightly removed from the living quarters.
"If you underestimate him, you will be caught off guard, Sister," Audin said.
It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was warm. Pollen from wild flowers growing across the training ground drifted in the air, carried by a warm breeze that smelled of grass and blossoms. It was the kind of season where lying still would lull one to sleep, and merely walking would lift one's spirits.
And indeed, the two standing on the training ground right now were also in high spirits. Encrid was excited by the mention of a gift, while Sinar was thrilled to have finally returned.
Standing in the center of the training ground, Sinar showed everyone that she had clearly changed. It started with a smile. Her lips curved, and a faint, elegant smile played upon them. That single smile was enough to make men form a royal guard ready to lay down their lives for her on the spot.
Fortunately, at least in this place, there was no one who would volunteer for such a guard based on a smile alone.
"She's smiling?"
"Smiling?"
Rem and Ragna muttered, staring blankly.
"You've learned how to smile, Sister," Audin replied with a smile of his own.
"It looks good on you," Teresa said in surprise.
"Huh?" Ropode felt his mind go hazy for a moment, but he quickly pulled himself together.
"Is she possessed by an evil spirit?" Pel muttered, actively resisting the charm that threatened to cloud his mind. Even without using mana, a smile like that could easily be considered magic.
How many such examples had there been across the continent?
The most famous anecdote was the story of the painter Pello and the alchemist Zello. The two brothers fell in love with the same country girl at the same time. Her beauty was said to be so extraordinary that if a king had laid eyes on her, he would have made her his queen on the spot.
The painter and alchemist brothers knew this too. Eventually, a prince saw her, then the king saw her, and then the nobles—the core power of the kingdom—saw her as well.
The king, wishing to possess the woman, killed his own young and handsome son, while the nobles did not hesitate to wage war against the king to claim her. Just before the city burned and the country collapsed into ruin from the civil war, Zello, driven by desperation, did what should never have been done. He brewed what was called a love potion and fed it to her, which killed her.
Overcome with grief, Pello neither ate, drank, nor slept, spending a fortnight painting her portrait before he, too, died. That was the famous portrait of Dorothea. It was a legendary painting that, once seen, prevented any man from tearing his eyes away, igniting a burning possessiveness that drove them to madness.
"I, the Gold Witch, have not yet been defeated."
Spoke the elf, whom Pello or Zello would have surely risked their lives to pursue had they seen her now.
And hearing Sinar's words, it seemed she had somehow caught wind of the rumors despite having just arrived. But then again, that was only natural. The migrated elf clan had kept their ears open and their mouths shut all this time. Thanks to that, they knew a great deal.
Especially when it came to the idol who had saved their clan, what more was there to say? Whenever Encrid went out into the city, some elves would sneak out just to catch a glimpse of him. They had been caught by Sachsen multiple times.
Some had even attempted an "occupation operation" before their queen arrived, but they met with nothing but repeated failures. Penetrating all the way to the quarters where Encrid stayed was no easy feat, and there was no elf capable of deceiving Sachsen's senses and bypassing the magic barrier erected by Esther.
Since they couldn't do anything directly, all the elves of the clan kept their ears pricked, listening to every piece of news that spread.
"Rumors are rampant that the Black Flower won."
Having heard such talk the moment she arrived, Sinar's dash here had been inevitable.
In any case, seeing Naidel, Encrid reined in his excitement and focused on the blade. He remembered the Sinar of the past. The Sinar who had handed him the Sword of the Four Seasons, and the Sinar who had been possessed by the demon.
Sinar raised Naidel and shook it lightly above her head. As she flicked it, the direction of the wind shifted around the blade, and the scent of flowers vanished.
Sinar kicked off the ground and moved. An elf's footsteps were always swift. To Encrid's eyes, the elf's body suddenly seemed to expand, so he immediately accelerated his thoughts to dilate time and swung his sword.
Next, the tip of Sinar's blade descended toward Encrid's head. The moment he perceived it, he twisted his waist and jerked his head aside. A reflexive evasive maneuver followed. Keeping the soles of his feet planted, he pushed off the ground with physical strength that transcended human limits.
With a smooth, fluid motion, his body stretched and glided sideways. It was a feat that would make anyone marvel. Yet, he failed to completely evade the blade. It wasn't a fatal wound, but even considering this was a spar, Encrid felt a heavy sensation brush past his shoulder.
How?
Between the blades lay an imperceptible edge that eluded his senses. It was a strike that seemed to blend Ragna's heavy blow with Sachsen's Mu-sal Thrust.
"It is the Winter Breeze," Sinar spoke and came to a halt.
Encrid looked at Sinar, and she looked back at him. He felt a faint heat radiating from Sinar's entire body. She must have gritted her teeth to prepare this gift. She wouldn't have stepped forward with half-hearted skills. Having seen him face One-Killer, she had undergone bone-shaving training to prepare for this.
I was careless.
He hadn't been drunk on a sense of omnipotence. Nor was he arrogant. He had simply underestimated Sinar.
If I can change, others can change too.
Why had he forgotten what he had already learned through Rem? Thus, it was carelessness. Encrid realized anew that the elf before him was also the genius of geniuses born of her clan.
True to those words, Sinar was indeed a genius who had inherited the talents of both her mother and father. It was only that the characteristically sluggish perception of time unique to elves had held her life back.
Living for so long, elves lost their passion as a price. They merely sparked at a single moment in their lives. An Igniculus. Therefore, Sinar's transformation was only natural. For her spark was still burning even now.
"How did you do it?" asked the one who had provided the spark.
"Where would the fun be if I told you everything?" Sinar replied playfully. Of course, the power of her beauty was so immense that she didn't actually look sly; even this playful attitude appeared elegant.
Encrid reflected on the situation from a moment ago and reached a conclusion. An extreme, lethal-technique style—that was the form of Sinar's swordsmanship. This was what she had honed, and it was also her innate talent. Furthermore, it was a customized counter-technique she had brought after spending days agonizing over his Wave-Blocking Sword.
This must have been one of the reasons why her migration had been delayed.
"If I had been just a little later, I would have ended up as a flower fallen with its bud."
Was she talking about swordsmanship? Encrid asked back out of curiosity. "What do you mean by that?"
"It is like almost becoming an unripened fruit."
Encrid tilted his head. Was there some profound meaning behind it? Sinar looked at Encrid and rephrased her words in more direct terms.
"I mean I almost became a widow without even spending my wedding night."
It was a high-purity elven joke, the likes of which he hadn't heard in quite some time.
"You've returned, you crazy elf," Rem said in admiration. He found it truly impressive that she could spout such nonsense the moment she arrived.
"Let's go again," Encrid said, ignoring the joke with his usual crisp and firm demeanor.
"If I win, are we having a Holy Matrimony?" Sinar was an elf who did not know the meaning of giving up. Especially when it came to jokes, she didn't care in the least about the other person's reaction.
"Are you serious?"
"No, I won't force you. The night wouldn't be fun otherwise."
Somehow, she seemed to have become bolder and more suggestive than before the demon subjugation. But regardless of that, her skill and technique were the real deal. At a time when they were discussing new swordsmanship and the next step, what Sinar had brought was like a scolding, telling him to refine what he already possessed first.
His complacency shattered. The direction of his thoughts shifted. Was it painful? No, it was all the more enjoyable. The moments of sweating and moving forward, all this time spent taking step after step, and the present spent with those with whom he could hold deep, rich discussions.
Everything was incredibly delightful.
That day, Sinar used the same technique three more times before shaking her head.
"Any more than this and I'll collapse from exhaustion, cute kid."
"What's with that nickname now?" Encrid blurted out in sheer absurdity.
"It's an acknowledgment that I am the older one. And it's not you who will collapse, but me. Oh, if I do collapse, will you hold me again? Your embrace was indeed very warm."
Sinar ran wild as if she were having the time of her life, but her tongue was sharper than her sword. Encrid did not bother trying to match her silver tongue. A great tactician naturally knew when to fight and when to retreat.
While he might fight recklessly in a sword duel, when it came to a battle of tongues, Encrid was practically a veteran of a hundred battles. He shut his mouth for a tactical retreat.
*
That evening, everyone gathered, and taking advantage of the occasion, they roasted a whole pig to eat together. The meal preparation was Krais's handiwork.
"It feels like we're having a feast. Roasting a whole pig seems just right."
The appetite of those who had become knights was incomparable to that of ordinary people. Even a whole pig would likely be insufficient to feed them all. Even Sachsen, who looked like he would eat sparingly in silence, ate a massive amount. In the first place, the calories they expended were on a different level.
Encrid could sense Krais's thoughtfulness in the long table placed in front of the newly built quarters.
He's telling us to eat here if we get too lazy while training.
Although a separate dining hall had been built, a stone table had also been placed outside. That table was right before his eyes. It looked like a massive block of stone with absolutely no consideration for aesthetics, meant to be used roughly even if it got chipped or cracked. As this showed, Krais's thoughtfulness surely took broken property into account.
“If I ask you to stop drawing swords in the middle of a meal, will you actually listen? No, you won't. So, please eat separately from the soldiers from now on.”
Krais hadn't actually said this, but experiencing his consideration made it feel as though Encrid had heard it with his own ears.
He heard Krais was extremely busy lately. Had he asked the elves to dig another spring or something? On top of that, he was busy with trade operations and trying to sign a new contract with the Trade City. As if that weren't enough, talks were reportedly underway with Theocracy as well. Encrid had heard about the plan and could guess Krais's intentions, but it was tedious.
He had stamped his seal on documents a few times, but one thing was certain: he had no interest in such matters. So lately, he wanted to dump all his authority onto the Castellan—though Castellan Graham himself would have absolutely no desire to accept it.
Was there no one else who could handle this kind of work properly? There had to be. If not, Krais would suffer, so he would find someone somehow.
As everyone ate and drank, the topic of conversation was, naturally, about techniques and swordsmanship. Among those, it was only natural that the knight system Encrid had recently established became the hottest topic. Since there had rarely been an occasion for everyone to gather like this, this was the first time they were all talking together, even if they had spoken with Encrid individually.
Then, the conversation naturally shifted to how to swing a sword without obsessing over the techniques or specialties required of a senior knight.
"What do you mean, how do you strike naturally? Well, what is there to do? Like I said before, you just strike. Just do it."
Rem started first, and as Encrid listened to them all, he could clearly discern the unique characteristics of each person.