Chapter 693: Splendid
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 693: Splendid
It was the following day.
Encrid, who had intentionally slept in, began to slowly and meticulously warm up his body. Hardly any fatigue remained in his muscles.
The bruises from Ragna’s beating had likely faded as well. He knew this without even needing a mirror. A knight’s trained physique far surpassed the recovery speed of an ordinary person.
‘Legend.’
It was the title that always preceded the name Zaun. It was a name unheard of even in the songs of bards, whispered only among those who had crossed a certain threshold. The Zauns were those for whom the word ‘legend’ was a perfect fit.
‘And among them, the Patriarch.’
A thrilling sensation shot through his entire body, from his toes to his head, making his fine hairs stand on end.
‘How thrilling will this be?’
His anticipation soared.
"The weather is nice," Encrid said, looking up at the sky.
Anne, who had emerged beside him while rubbing sleep from her eyes, looked up and blinked. "A fine day?"
The sky was choked with ink-black clouds. What on earth was his standard for a "fine day"?
"Yes, very much so," Encrid replied.
From right behind Anne, Ragna spoke up. "He won't hear a thing. He gets like that sometimes."
It was the first time Anne had seen him in such a state. She wasn't exactly surprised; she simply thought, So that's why they call him a madman.
‘I suppose I’ll have a busy day as well.’
Anne had come to find the source of the plague, not to enjoy a leisurely visit to Ragna’s family home.
Before long, a sword-bearing page arrived to announce the Patriarch’s summons.
Though it was incredibly early, with the sun just beginning to crest the horizon, Encrid had finished his preparations long ago. He followed the summons immediately.
In the center of the vast training ground, the Patriarch and his spouse stood ready to welcome him.
There was no need for pleasantries or asking how he had slept. The moment Encrid took a step forward from ten paces away, he knew who his first opponent would be.
‘The Patriarch.’
The head of the Zaun family—Ragna’s father.
Encrid had never felt such pressure before. It didn't merely weigh down on his body; the intimidation took physical form. A massive sword seemed to tower before him.
It was an illusion, yet it wasn't. It felt real because the living, breathing entity standing before him made it so.
‘It feels as if it truly exists.’
This was what one would call a true presence.
The shape drawn by the intangible pressure was a sharp greatsword—a massive blade that made a human body look laughably small. Its edge was three times larger than the Patriarch’s own body.
Yet, it wasn't particularly laced with bloodlust.
Why? The question arose, and the answer followed immediately. His discernment and experience aided his intuition.
‘This pressure isn’t directed at me.’
It was merely a sign that the man was ready to fight.
Perhaps the bare minimum requirement to face the Patriarch was simply standing firm against the pressure he exuded. It was an intuition close to certainty. And indeed, it was correct.
Ragna beheld his father’s manifested pressure for the first time in a long while.
‘It’s grown even larger.’
Crushing the opponent before even swinging a sword—that was his father’s specialty.
Standing before him, Encrid looked like a reed swaying in a gale, or a twig on the verge of snapping. Such was the disparity in their momentum.
In the face of such manifested force, most people would feel infinitely small. The enemy would grow massive inside their minds before the fight even began, and that bloated image of the foe would soon crush their spirit. This was what it meant to lose a battle of the mind before the first blow was struck.
The suffocating pressure—the certainty that they would be crushed the moment that massive sword moved—tormented the mind to a dizzying degree. That was the power of his intimidation.
As they watched, Encrid’s momentum shifted drastically.
Ragna stood behind Encrid, so he couldn't see his face, but he didn't need to.
‘He must be smiling.’
He was that kind of man. And indeed, he was.
Shivering with pleasure and ecstasy, Encrid felt the corners of his mouth twitching upward of their own accord.
The sheer scale of this momentum was on another level. He had never experienced anything like this. That was why it was so enjoyable.
Suddenly, the King of the East, Anu, came to mind. Anu was likely at a similar level.
‘When he came to the Border Guard, he was just playing with me.’
Back then, Encrid hadn't been able to draw out the Mercenary King’s true strength.
What about now?
His lips curled back, exposing his teeth. At his vivid grin, Alexandra’s right eyebrow twitched.
‘He’s smiling?’ her expression seemed to ask.
Of course, Encrid didn't notice her. He had eyes only for the Patriarch.
*
In the middle of her training, Teresa suddenly spoke as a thought occurred to her.
"Brother Audin, Sister Sinar."
The two helping her train turned their heads simultaneously. Sinar was recalling the daggers she had suspended in the air with Vital Energy, while Audin was removing a steel gauntlet that had cracked during the session.
"When fighting Commander Encrid, what is the most troublesome thing about him?"
It wasn't a deeply contemplated question. She had simply thrown it out as it came to mind—a good topic for a brief break.
Audin and Sinar answered at the same time.
"His stubbornness."
"His rejection."
Their answers were different, yet the same. Sinar spoke of stubbornness; Audin spoke of rejection. Audin elaborated:
"When it comes to learning, he accepts everything. But once a fight begins, no amount of pressure can affect him. I heard it is called the Will of Rejection. I believe that is his core. It is the power to brush aside whatever anyone throws at him and keep moving forward."
Sinar followed up.
"He should stop at some point, but he never does. That stubbornness of his is completely unpredictable."
Without Encrid around, Sinar joked less frequently. If he had been here, she probably would have added: "A stubbornness, obstinacy, and sheer foolishness that refuses to yield even to an elf of my caliber."
Something like that.
Though they used different words, the core of their meaning was identical.
"I think so too. Then it is my turn to show the temperament I learned from the Commander."
Teresa nodded and stood up, limping. One of her legs was broken, but that was hardly a sign that she should give up.
Encrid had stimulated them all, and because of that, everyone except Ragna had remained at the Border Guard. They wanted to digest that stimulation.
"Now, let us begin," Teresa called out. She wished to surpass her limits, and she was currently in the process of doing so.
*
Smiling?
Alexandra knew the momentum her husband exuded.
Just watching how someone countered that intimidation served as a benchmark to glimpse their temperament.
The worst kind were those who started by already concluding that they could never win. Such people could never become Pioneers.
‘No, putting aside being a Pioneer, it would be difficult for them to even rise to the rank of a Knight.’
In the Zaun family, knights were classified into three categories: Pioneers, Researchers, and Observers.
Among them, Pioneers were also called Seekers, Researchers were called Technicians, and Observers were called Guardians. This reflected the established system and the way the Zaun family trained their swordsmanship.
‘In any case...’
If one fought while assuming defeat, they would be a Researcher at best.
The second worst were those who turned a blind eye to their own weakness.
‘Obstinacy.’
They knew they would lose but refused to admit it. They lacked the ability to view themselves objectively. While some might become Pioneers by virtue of sheer talent, among all the people Alexandra had seen, none of this type had ever become an outstanding Pioneer.
‘Nor could they become Researchers.’
Those who analyzed, dismantled, and researched techniques had to know how to reflect upon themselves.
Third, there were those who acknowledged their own weakness.
This was the common trait of those who moved on to the next stage. They accepted their weakness and sought out what they could do right then and there. Though her husband disliked it, Alexandra considered even this to be an outstanding temperament.
Even if they anticipated defeat, they didn't just roll over. They would try anything. They were those who struggled desperately to raise their chances of victory.
‘They have plenty of potential to become Researchers and good Observers.’
The last was the temperament her husband loved most.
‘They enjoy the pressure itself.’
Beyond enjoying swordsmanship, they joyfully embraced the pressure. To enjoy it meant to become intoxicated by the fight. It was the quality of a Pioneer—one who forged ahead.
And even among those who enjoyed it, she had never seen a fellow like this.
A grin was plastered across his entire face. Just looking at him, one could tell how ecstatic he was. This man named Encrid charged forward with a face that looked like he might die of sheer happiness.
He stepped forward, piercing through the momentum. Even if a meteor fell or a mountain collapsed before him, he would surely charge, holding nothing but his single sword.
‘A temperament displayed with his entire body.’
Her husband, Tempest, drew his sword. Alexandra did not take her eyes off them.
Though it wasn't a life-or-death struggle, the momentum of both men was towering. It was at a level just a single step back from actual combat.
Crash!
Her husband’s greatsword fell vertically. It was a strike nicknamed "the sword that crushes like a mountain."
It was just that heavy. Though it appeared slow, right before the sword was swung, the intangible force of Will would have already moved to bind the opponent’s entire body.
Just as she expected, Encrid felt a pressure constricting his feet and his entire body, and he immediately rejected it.
‘This is fun.’
Odinkar was outstanding and fun to fight, but he was nothing compared to the Patriarch.
A massive mountain when still, a raging tempest when in motion. That momentum heated the Will circulating through his entire body.
Encrid gripped Samcheol and thrust it forward. Was he going to take that heavy sword head-on?
It certainly seemed so. However, Samcheol, with its Ink Gold blade leading the way, twisted subtly, parrying the force of the Patriarch’s sword to the side.
Crash!
Even so, their clash generated a powerful shockwave. Ragna blocked the path in front of Anne, while Alexandra merely watched with her arms crossed.
"What's happening?" In Anne's eyes, everything was a blur.
"We should step back," Ragna said, shielding her. If they stayed where they were, a flying piece of debris might split her forehead open.
Whoosh.
The instant their swords clashed, Encrid let go of Samcheol and slipped inside. It was a mad move—a play the opponent couldn't predict.
It was a technique of the Valen-style Mercenary Sword, and a result of calculations made through Flash.
His very first counterattack was incredibly violent. Encrid clenched his fist and swung hard at the Patriarch’s face.
If hit in the jaw, knight or not, one would temporarily lose their balance and black out. The Patriarch tucked his chin and took the fist with his forehead.
Crack!
Simultaneously with the second explosive sound, the Patriarch struck Encrid’s face with the fist holding his greatsword.
Encrid quickly bent his knees to dodge the fist, crossing his arms in front of his chest to block. The Wave-Blocking Sword blocks all attacks. It was a judgment born of high-speed thought.
Thud!
Before he knew it, the Patriarch’s raised knee slammed into the center of his crossed arms. Encrid intentionally made his body light, leaping backward as if flying.
As he did, he reached out with his left hand and grabbed Samcheol again. The tip of the blade, which had been embedded in the ground, slipped out naturally, and Samcheol raised its head in its master’s grip as if it had been waiting.
Seeing this, the Patriarch used the momentum of retracting his raised knee to thrust his greatsword forward.
‘He’s highly skilled.’
Both in real combat and in sparring.
Encrid felt his right hand go numb from the knee strike earlier. The strike had targeted the grain of his muscles. Blocking the punch with his forehead and temporarily robbing the right hand of its freedom with a knee strike—quite apart from his swordsmanship, the Patriarch was a born brawler.
Since Encrid could use both hands freely, swinging the sword with his left hand did not diminish its power. Instead, using his temporarily numbed right hand as support, he demonstrated the trick of swapping his hand positions.
A technique now naturally ingrained in his body manifested: the Valen-style Mercenary Sword hand-swap.
With his left hand on top and his right hand supporting the bottom of the grip, he attempted a blade-breaking strike against the incoming thrust.
‘Eitri.’
It was a sword forged by a master. It wouldn't break easily.
The Patriarch did not halt his thrusting sword.
Clang!
Drawing a curve in the air, the tip of Samcheol struck the middle of the incoming blade. Instantly, the target point of the Patriarch’s sword shifted. Encrid had forced it off course with sheer strength.
His Will boiled. The ecstasy and passion rising from deep within him overflowed like an active volcano.
"Ha!"
Encrid let out a battle cry, putting strength into his right foot, twisting his waist, and extending his left foot. He kicked the Patriarch’s sword.
Thud!
Shifting the target with his sword and kicking the flat of the blade with his left foot, he completely neutralized the attack.
In response, the Patriarch let go of his sword this time, clenching his fist and swinging. The light flowing from his indifferent amber eyes left an afterimage like a meteor’s tail as he closed the distance, sticking right in front of Encrid.
‘Did I unconsciously assume his sword swings would be slow because it’s a greatsword?’
He had.
In truth, the Patriarch’s sword wasn't exceptionally fast. But his feet were. His footwork was incredibly swift.
The calculations of the Wave-Blocking Sword and Flash overlapped to yield an answer. It was a conclusion derived from high-speed thought.
‘I can’t dodge this.’
Gritting his teeth, Encrid maintained his grin as he looked at the Patriarch, let go of Samcheol, and thrust his left fingers straight toward his opponent’s eyes.
Every movement flowed naturally. There was no hesitation. If it cannot be dodged, block the attack with an attack. This was the result of the Wave-Blocking Sword.
The Patriarch closed his eyes and punched Encrid in the stomach.
Boom!
With the sound of exploding air, Encrid felt a sensation of weightlessness for the first time in a very long while. He floated into the air and flew backward. At the end of that weightlessness, his back hit the ground with a heavy thud.
He immediately righted himself like a cat, but a hit was a hit.
Had the Patriarch pursued him with his greatsword, Encrid would have suffered a fatal wound, but the Patriarch stopped, blood trickling from the corner of his eye.
There was no damage to the eyeball. The fingers that had jabbed at his brow had only managed to tear the skin near his eye.
Even as he felt his breath catch from the tingling impact of the fall, Encrid had already drawn his Horn Trumpet Dagger. Though he was in a crouching position, it was a stance ready to throw the dagger and spring up to attack at any moment.
"Splendid," the Patriarch said. The spar was over.
Someone let out a long sigh, and the Patriarch spoke again.
"Desperation in the moment is always a step too late."
He added a few more words.
"Only past effort can answer present desperation. Therefore, you are splendid."
He was not a man of many words during or after a spar. Encrid didn't know it, but the onlookers who had gathered around knew exactly how thrilled the Patriarch was right now. Normally, he was a man who would barely utter a single word after a spar, yet here he was, starting with the word "splendid."
They couldn't help but be astonished.
"A precious guest indeed," a middle-aged man with dark blonde hair remarked.
"He doesn't seem exceptionally talented, though," another man, with light brown hair and carrying six swords across his back, waist, and thighs, chimed in.
Amidst everyone’s astonished stares, Encrid spoke.
"Another round?"
It was just like his temperament to say such a thing. However, his expression was different now. Though his grin remained, a distinct emotion could be felt within it.
It was as if he were speaking with everything he had on the line. The scent of his emotion spread like spilled perfume. It was so thick that even an ordinary person who couldn't manipulate Will could perceive it.
Thanks to the scent that had spread uncontrollably, everyone understood the emotion Encrid was displaying.
It was desperation.