Chapter 674: Samcheol
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 674: Samcheol
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Grida asked, tilting her head to the side. Ragna's mouth opened reflexively.
"What's wrong with my eyes?"
Come to think of it, her younger brother had always been like this since they were children. Though, it was her first time seeing him glare quite like that.
"I asked why you're glaring."
A faint fighting spirit flickered in Grida's eyes. Although there was a significant age gap between them, they had taken up the sword at the same time.
Was the reason Ragna first picked up a blade because he didn't want to get beaten up by her anymore?
There had been days like that. It was a childhood memory from when they had just learned to walk and make sense of the world. Of course, there was no reason for Grida's fond memory to be a pleasant one for Ragna.
"Because I want to," Ragna replied without blinking.
Within less than a month of picking up the sword, he had become a brother who no longer needed to be beaten. Still, annoying was annoying. His eyes, his tone—everything about him was irritating.
Grida's right hand dropped and snapped back up. She loosely opened her hand and clenched it tight; before he knew it, her palm was gripping the hilt of her sword.
Ting.
The blade hissed from its sheath, lunging toward its target. The exceptionally white steel reflected the sunlight, momentarily blinding Ragna.
It was a daring trajectory; if he failed to dodge, he would certainly bleed. The blade seemed to soar upward, only to drop vertically and swoop like a swallow toward his forearm.
Clang!
Pivoting on his left foot, Ragna drew his greatsword halfway to block Grida's strike. Then, drawing the rest of the blade, he slashed upward.
They were siblings who had grown up clashing swords since childhood. This was their version of a greeting. Yet, Grida was secretly surprised by this exchange of offense and defense, which should have been nothing more than a casual hello.
In fact, two things surprised her.
First.
'An evasion?'
When they were young, Ragna didn't know how to dodge.
"Dodge? Why? I just have to strike back."
That was Ragna's nature. At the time, the family had praised his talent, saying he might become their greatest Pioneer, but his flaws were also clear.
'He's too stubborn.'
He was stubborn. Far too stubborn. Sometimes one had to know how to take a detour, but Ragna only looked straight ahead. Only when one knew how to move, extend, and slash like flowing water could one truly master the sword. This was the ancestral teaching passed down through the family.
But Ragna, finding it bothersome, had only repeated what he always did. This was exactly how Ragna had been when Encrid first met him. That was the younger brother Grida knew, but now, he was deflecting her attack.
It was the Soft Sword—almost the polar opposite of the heavy sword. A flowing style. It was a movement she never expected Ragna to show.
And there was one more thing that surprised her. Grida hastily gripped her hilt with both hands to withstand the blade Ragna was pushing forward.
Screeech, grind.
She couldn't even dream of blocking it with one hand.
'Just how much stronger has he gotten?'
What a brute of a younger brother. On the surface, Ragna's upward slash with his greatsword looked effortless, but Grida, who was actually receiving the blow, felt cold sweat run down her spine.
Clang!
Ultimately, Grida disengaged her blade and leaped backward.
Whoosh.
Ragna's greatsword swept through the space she had just occupied, rising upward before coming to a halt. With the tip of his blade pointing toward the sky, her younger brother held the massive weapon with a single hand and looked at her.
Earlier, his gaze had resembled that of the barbarian Rem, but now it was different again.
'He keeps surprising me.'
This was the third surprise. There was actual motivation in Ragna's eyes.
This was the brother who had left the family because he was sick of walking a predetermined path. Back then, his eyes had looked like those of a rotting ghoul. He was a guy who found everything tedious, boring, and utterly joyless—a brother who had considered swinging a sword to be mere labor.
Yet, deep within those eyes, a spark resembling the one seen in that madman Encrid flickered. To Grida, with her keen observation skills, it was clear as day.
'Just what on earth happened to you?'
Grida asked internally as she adjusted her grip. Instead of asking with words, she intended to seek the answer with her sword.
*
Encrid was lost in thought as he swung his sword alone in the training ground.
Did a path open up simply by immersing oneself in swordsmanship training all day? Was it enough to fill one's head with thoughts of the sword? Would that really do it?
No, it wouldn't.
One had to let their thoughts roam free. Thinking only of swordsmanship would instead trap you. Sometimes, letting the thoughts that naturally surfaced drift away one by one would reveal a new path, and that was exactly what Encrid did.
Doing so naturally brought the lost member of his unit to mind first. Ragna hadn't been seen for a month now, but no one worried about him. He would return on his own.
'Just as Grida memorizes the faces of people she sees often, Ragna roughly knows the paths around the barracks.'
To be precise, it wasn't that he knew the paths, but rather that he had memorized the entire surrounding terrain. In any case, if he was in a hurry, he would climb trees or leap across rooftops to make his way back. Even if he couldn't find his way on the ground, he could navigate perfectly fine when looking down from above.
He might have gone outside the city, but that was unlikely. Just as Sachsen periodically went into the city to run errands, Ragna also occasionally headed down to the market to spend time as he pleased. Everyone's guess was that he had gone to the market, filled his stomach, and laid his back against some warm spot, falling asleep and naturally idling away his time there.
Well, that probably wasn't far from the truth. Encrid had anticipated something similar, so he put his worries about Ragna aside.
Next, the events of the past month flashed through his mind. The same daily training and drills, and interspersed within them, the three from House Zaun.
'Zaun.'
He had heard, seen, and learned what they possessed. In the process, Encrid felt stimulated. Well, even before that, the very existence of the order of knights he dreamed of and yearned for was a stimulus in itself, and his passion was always boiling anyway, so it wasn't anything new.
Especially Krais—if he knew what Encrid was thinking, he would have snorted.
"Even Juri, who sells marmalade in the market, knows the Captain has always been that kind of person," he would probably say.
In any case, whether it was Sachsen or Rem, no one around Encrid was content to just sit idle. He was highly satisfied with that. And the three from House Zaun were like a pat of butter on well-baked white bread. Thanks to them, his daily satisfaction had reached even greater heights.
"Perception, calculation, and preparation."
Amidst his thoughts, Encrid chewed over the words Sachsen had spoken. It was a sudden memory. The words drifted around, stirring his mind, before settling down in an orderly fashion.
"Identify the opponent and grasp the environment."
That was perception.
"Then, draw the possible lines of attack."
This was the realm of calculation.
"Next, predict the aftermath of your actions."
This was the process called preparation.
Sachsen had spoken of the basics of assassination, which remained its core to this day.
"What I first learned lies within this, and what I use now does not stray from the scope of what I just told you."
What had he learned from Sachsen's words?
The basics. Doing what he already did well, but doing it even better—he judged that this was what he needed right now. Perception, calculation, preparation. It was also what he had been rigorously practicing lately. But the drawback was clear.
'If I overwork my brain with calculations, the duration shortens.'
This was not the direction the Wave-Blocking Sword desired. But was the Wave-Blocking Sword the only correct answer? Not necessarily.
'Finish the calculation in an instant.'
In Encrid's mind, there were his spars with Rem, his clashes with Audin, and the training with Sachsen where they disrupted each other's senses in a continuous loop. He swung his sword and trained all day. He was always pondering, worrying, and reviewing his spars.
Things he could only have realized through death in the past had now, with the stones of experience piled high as a mountain, suddenly become a lamp illuminating his path.
Now was that moment.
The things that surfaced through inspiration—Encrid condensed them all.
'Rem focuses on the moment.'
Sachsen moves with everything around him in mind. Audin secures his own distance, even if it means deceiving his opponent. Everything overlapped, guiding Encrid's mindscape.
When he blocked a flying arrow, when he perceived the bullet Rem threw with a sling—everything was a world of moments. Within dilated time, he had to capture the moment and react.
'An attack only has meaning if it connects.'
Flash.
If it wasn't just fast, but contained speed born of calculation, it would truly fit the meaning of a flash.
Its meaning: light bursting in a single instant.
Its implementation: lethal speed achieved through calculation.
Its training method:
'Thrusting the sword with tactical thinking in an impromptu moment.'
And never forgetting speed at any moment. It was a path that sounded difficult to anyone, but Encrid, having found his way, trembled all over with unparalleled ecstasy.
"Why is he suddenly acting like that?"
Magrun, who was studying swordsmanship in a corner of the training ground, asked as he watched Encrid.
The man was trembling all over, even drooling. To anyone looking, he seemed drunk on ecstasy. To a stranger, he would just look like a madman. He swung his sword once, thought for a moment, trained by himself, and then suddenly did that. He did not look normal in the slightest.
There were many peculiar people in House Zaun, but none were quite as extraordinary as him. To Magrun, he was a human in an incomprehensible realm.
"Just leave him be. He's doing that because he's excited," Rem said. Having seen this occasionally, he was nonchalant.
"Does this happen often in the West?"
"What do you mean 'often'? People live in the West too, you bastard," Rem snapped, leaving his spot.
'So you're saying that thing isn't human?' Magrun's confusion deepened.
Meanwhile, Encrid emerged from his state of ecstasy. Now that his direction was set, only training remained. Then, he recalled the final resort Sachsen had mentioned—a lesson, perhaps, to never let one's guard down or become arrogant.
"Preparation is not the end. The final step is retreat. Why charge when there is no opening? If no opening presents itself, step back for a moment. Of course, even then, you must know how far to retreat, where to retreat to, and how to bear the damage."
It meant one must not become so drunk on attacking that they forgot to look behind them. Sachsen had meant it as a warning not to throw one's life away in vain, but it was up to the listener to interpret it wisely.
'I must not become so absorbed in a technique that I fail to look back.'
That was what he had learned on the very first day of his regression. He had been so absorbed in thrusting that he hadn't thought about what came after. Hadn't he reviewed his actions back then, swearing never to do that again?
*
While he was training separately in the swordsmanship of Flash, Ragna entered the training ground alongside Grida. It was his return after a month, but...
"Why were you trembling and drooling earlier? Is there something wrong with your body?"
Magrun merely spoke to Encrid without even turning his head. Rem was off to one side, muttering to himself as he sharpened his axe blade on a whetstone. Audin, after a brief glance, did his best to help Pel and Ropode with their training.
Audin's voice filled the brief silence.
"You said the first one to scream loses, right? I shall assist you both with my meager strength. The Lord will watch over you, brothers."
Ropode and Pel, biting down on wooden sticks, turned pale. And with good reason. They knew from experience what was about to happen.
Whoosh.
Audin swung a specially made, smooth iron club that was about as thick as an average adult's forearm.
Thwack!
This was the sound that came from Ropode's thigh, which was clad in only a single pair of thin trousers.
"He endured it," Teresa said. She was acting as the referee, her attitude and gaze exceptionally serious.
"Excellent," Audin said cheerfully, raising the club toward his next target.
Pel watched him, briefly debating. Should he admit defeat? No, he couldn't do that. While he hesitated, Audin swung the club.
Thwack!
Both of them were getting hit once, perfectly fair and square. Luagarne, who was swinging her whip and sword from a distance while dripping oil, paused and said, "You're back."
That was it. Ragna also walked inside as if it were no big deal.
Odinkar, who had been engrossed in training alone on one side, raised his sword upon seeing Ragna.
"Yo."
"Odinkar."
Ragna also raised his hand slightly as he looked at him, and that was all he said. Odinkar seemed to have completely assimilated into this place in the meantime, judging by how casually he welcomed Ragna. It was at a level that could put the Elven technique of assimilation to shame.
Then, Sinar entered behind Ragna and shouted to Encrid, "Fiancé! I hope we can name our child today."
Yes, it was an afternoon no different from any other.
"Seriously, they're all so weird," Grida muttered, watching everything.
Ragna, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, went to the dining hall and the bathhouse before heading toward Encrid.
"Good timing. I needed you," Encrid welcomed him. He had just devised the swordsmanship of Flash. His desire to test it out was surging.
Shring.
Ragna raised his greatsword. Even though Eitri had personally worked on it, the blade was chipped. It had happened while dealing with Penna and Grida. Encrid drew his Samcheol sword.
Shriiiing.
The sound of the blade being drawn was exceptionally clear. And then they sparred. It was their daily routine.
"The child's name?"
"I've already named it."
Grida listened closely to the words Sinar had spoken to Encrid, wondering if there really was a child. But because Encrid merely spoke while raising his sword after that, Grida could only think that the bastard was indeed a madman.
"It's Samcheol."
Encrid, after much deliberation, had named his sword Samcheol.
"It's a relief Odd-Eye didn't go wild. Seriously."
When Rem spoke, looking at Encrid, Encrid nodded in response.
"Right? It's a good name, isn't it? Odd-Eye was so happy at first that he went wild."
"What a convenient pair of ears. I don't know why you even bother carrying them around."
Rem merely left Encrid with what was, to him, the ultimate compliment.
One day, two days, three days... time continued to pass. Even after Ragna's return, the days went by without any significant change. A long time had passed—the kind of identical, repetitive days that anyone else would have found utterly tedious.
It was a clear spring day, with neither rain nor clouds. It was also the morning of their second month there. Grida made a proposal to Encrid.
"Let's have a proper fight."
For two months, Grida had focused on basic training rather than sparring. Watching her, Encrid thought what she was doing was similar to Eitri.
'Like tempering iron in fire.'
Grida had tempered her body in just that way.