Chapter 748: Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 748: Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship
A superhuman’s senses perceive realms beyond the reach of ordinary men. Encrid was now one of them.
Frok’s Talent-Reading Eye.
While the underlying principle wasn't exactly the same, Encrid could now achieve a similar result just by looking. The structure of a person's muscles, their habitual posture, the look in their eyes—everything became a basis for judgment.
Of course, he hadn't reached Frok’s level of determining whether someone possessed the innate talent to become a knight, but it was close enough.
I can see it.
Through the lens of experience, heightened senses, and intuition, Clement’s shortcomings became vividly clear.
Because she trained so evenly, her distinct traits are faint.
Against an opponent weaker than herself, she would display overwhelming skill. But against someone stronger, victory would be a struggle. Seeing the result allowed Encrid to deduce the process; he was reading Clement’s entire combat philosophy through the conditioning of her body.
Of course, to borrow Krais’s words, such analysis was only possible for those whose brains actually functioned; not everyone possessed the same capacity for thought.
Whatever the case, he now knew what was vital. While preserving her solid basics, he needed to layer technique on top of them. The strength of her foundation was evident just by looking at her lower body.
The key to physical training is a firm lower body.
Clement’s lower body looked exceptionally sturdy. Encrid liked that. It was the unmistakable mark of diligent, grueling training.
"Shall we spar?"
At Encrid’s words, Clement’s eyes sparkled. Receiving direct instruction from a knight was a stroke of immense fortune.
Moreover, the man before her was a hero—the Demon Slayer, the Knight of the Iron Wall, the commander of the Order of Madness, and the man who had guided his subordinates to knighthood. He was even dubbed the Heartbreaker and the Knight of Demonic Charm.
Though those last two nicknames came to mind unbidden, they only served as further proof of his incredible reputation.
"It is an honor," Clement replied with the discipline of a true soldier as she drew her weapon.
Sring.
It was a long, thin rapier. It was longer than a standard longsword but significantly more slender. One glance was enough to tell it was no ordinary blade.
"Who made this?" Encrid asked out of pure curiosity. Artisans capable of crafting such a piece were rare.
"A dwarf artisan belonging to the Standing Army."
"We had someone like that?"
"Yes. He fled here to escape his debts and ended up imprisoned, but he took charge of the Standing Army’s smithy on the condition of working there for ten years."
The story sounded familiar. His memory was faint, but after retracing his thoughts, he realized who it was.
The dwarf who was there when I first met Eitri.
Hearing Clement’s explanation, it seemed Krais had intervened to settle the man's affairs. It bore his signature touch. Perhaps their dwarf friend had finally come to his senses, as the sword’s quality was superb.
"Aside from standard-issue weapons, officers are allowed one custom piece. That is how I obtained this. Since everyone in the Order of Madness procures their own gear, you probably wouldn't have known."
Clement stopped mid-sentence, flinched, and leaped two steps back. Her speed in kicking off the ground and retreating was impressive. He liked how she kept her sword leveled as she backed away, her toes tensed and ready for the next move.
"Intimidation," Encrid muttered. This was, after all, an instructional spar.
Following his lead, Clement thrust, extended, swung, wound, and deflected with all her might. Encrid picked up a training sword to face her.
She is upright.
Her nickname was "Fallen Clement," but her actions showed a woman determined never to fall.
Minimize mistakes, and steer the fight toward a favorable, high-probability outcome.
Yet, what was the expression on Clement’s face as she fought? She didn't seem to be enjoying it. Does she do this even when training alone? he wondered.
Her mind was firm and her body was robust, but her swordsmanship looked like someone flailing in deep water. Her body floated, but she was exerting too much strength, preventing her from moving forward properly. It was more accurate to say she was swimming with slow, heavy strokes when she was capable of much more speed.
She shows less than what she possesses.
He formulated a cause based on the results, taking her mental state into account.
There are too many people around Clement who are better than her.
They were figures she hardly dared to look up to. Closest to her was Ropode, a step further was Pel, and beyond them was the Order of Madness, including Encrid himself. While this stimulated her desire to improve, it also fractured a part of her spirit. Being called "Fallen Clement" and struggling desperately not to live up to the name had clearly taken a toll.
To put it another way: She has never been pushed to her absolute limit.
She had likely avoided such fights, engaging only in battles where she either lost overwhelmingly or won decisively.
Why did the words of the Imperial Knight Balmung come to mind now? The term "Flower Knight." If Clement became a knight like this, she would be one raised in a greenhouse.
Clang, ting.
In the midst of the light spar, Encrid’s aura shifted instantly. Clement’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. Her survival instinct jolted her five senses.
I’m going to die.
If she stayed still, she was dead. In that split second, memories and flashes of thought raced through her mind.
Fallen Clement.
Ever since that nickname had been pinned on her, she had fought all the harder not to fall. As time passed and her skills grew, her philosophy had converged into a single conclusion: I do not fight battles I will lose.
Ropode’s help and Luagarne’s teachings had played a part in this. Perhaps Frok’s tactical sword had influenced her in the wrong direction. Clement wouldn't even start a fight she might lose. Unless a perfect opportunity presented itself, she would not truly unleash her sword.
It was the same now. Clement’s blade only waited for the perfect opening. But her opponent was a knight. Naturally, no such opening existed, so her attacks amounted to nothing more than testing the waters.
Did that provoke him?
Clement experienced death. Her head was severed. The world spun. Then, darkness.
*
Her physical abilities are outstanding.
Her muscles were flexible and tough. She hadn't stopped at building raw strength; she had consistently conditioned her body. The foundation was, of course, the Audin-style Physical Training Method. The regimen Audin had used for his subordinates had now become the standard for the Border Guard Standing Army.
Using that as a baseline, she only adopted what suited her body.
Her cognitive ability and agility were also excellent. She knew how to observe and react. Her endurance was no different. The signs of her consistent training were clear.
Her mental state is good, too.
Aside from her lack of bold initiative, she never panicked and possessed sound judgment. Encrid even caught a glimpse of the Will hidden inside her. He hadn't actually seen it, but he felt a mental resonance. Whether that would awaken, however, remained to be seen.
The choice is not mine to make.
He could pave the road, but walking it was up to the traveler. You could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't force it to drink. Even so, Encrid had a feeling Clement would take that next step. His intuition in these matters was rarely wrong.
What she lacks is creativity and a competitive mindset.
Learning how to win, rather than fighting merely not to lose—that was what Clement needed.
When Clement had first retreated from his Intimidation, Encrid’s thoughts had reached this conclusion. His multifaceted thinking, combined with a sixth sense that had reached the superhuman realm and his vast experience, allowed him to organize his own skills while deciding what Clement needed.
It was a process he would likely repeat until the day he died.
For there is no end to the refinement of swordsmanship.
Knowing that made it incredibly enjoyable. It meant that whatever he was doing now wasn't the end. This time, it was a matter of organizing what he had previously established, but in that process, he had created a new style.
The Wave-Blocking Sword was a way to train the Orthodox Sword Forms, and the physical application of Valaf-style Martial Arts fit perfectly with the Heavy Sword Style. Next, through the optimization of thought, there was the fast sword named Flash. The flowing sword could be trained as the Sword of Chance, based on Sachsen’s Sensory Technique with layers of experience on top.
What remained was the deceptive sword.
One step further from the Valen-style Mercenary Sword.
The deceptive sword existed solely to win. To survive and conquer, one had to do whatever it took—that was the Illusion Sword.
Mixing in the Luagarne-style Tactical Sword.
Tactical swordsmanship was about securing a favorable advantage. Encrid took the strengths of both, combined them, and recreated them.
"Is this heaven?"
Clement, who had fainted from the Intimidation and a light impact, opened her eyes and spoke.
"Not yet."
"Ah."
Blinking, Clement quickly took in her surroundings. I’m not dead. I’m alive, and I fainted in a pathetic manner.
Seeing her spring to her feet, Encrid decided that rather than trying to stimulate her creativity with clumsy words, it would be easier to speak through the blade.
The name of the newly established style flowed from his mouth.
"The name of this swordsmanship is Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship."
Clement caught her breath and blinked. "Pardon?"
"Learn it."
The sole purpose of this swordsmanship was deception. The training method involved creatively devising techniques to trick the opponent. Its manifestation was every action taken to secure an advantage—the desperate struggle of the weak to defeat the strong.
That was why even the name was designed to deceive. While the actual techniques relied heavily on tricks, the name, conversely, was "Orthodox."
"The principle is simple; you can figure out the rest yourself. I’ll teach you a few basic techniques."
Looking only at her lower body conditioning and posture, anyone would expect Clement to fight in a textbook manner. Her basics were just that solid.
"This technique is called Deceptive Breath."
Encrid taught her several techniques derived from the Valen-style Mercenary Sword. Clement listened intently before asking, "Do you really fight like this?"
She was no fool. She understood why Encrid spoke through swordsmanship instead of explaining it directly.
"Yes."
Encrid told her to survive miserably and win miserably, and Clement accepted it.
Next, Encrid oversaw the training of his direct unit, the Royal Guard.
Isn't their basic physical strength a bit lacking?
Since his standards were exceptionally high, such a thought was only natural. He had come here to check on their progress.
"Let's run a bit."
With that single sentence, the Royal Guard began a non-stop round-trip run to Martai. Running on foot a distance that took a long time even on horseback was no easy task. In the aftermath, the gatekeeper of Martai was startled out of his wits, and Odd-Eye, perhaps out of boredom, ran alongside them to keep pace.
After returning from their run, they learned "pretending to lose," "kicking while feinting a sword strike," "Double Draw," and "Deceptive Breath."
Yet, what Encrid emphasized above all else was the basics.
"You must know how to fight properly for the opponent to be easily deceived."
That was why the foundation was so important. Whichever path one took, it had to lead upward. Rather than hesitating and stagnating, one had to do whatever it took to survive. Only by surviving would there be a tomorrow.
Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship soon became the official style of the Royal Guard. Clement grasped the core of the art, and Ropode helped her along the way.
"This swordsmanship only holds meaning if you are faithful to the basics. No matter how sharp a sword is, it is meaningless if the one wielding it is a seven-year-old child," Ropode noted. He also learned the style in reverse, teaching back what he realized in the process.
Encrid also conveyed his new realizations to Eitri.
"Do all five become paths leading to knighthood?"
There were five swordsmanship styles that Encrid used as his main arsenal. Eitri grasped the core and asked back. Even though he hammered iron all day, his mouth never rested when Encrid visited. He realized many things in the midst of their conversations.
"I hope so," Encrid answered simply.
As he spoke, his eyes turned toward the iron Eitri was hammering. The shape of the metal was changing. It was a long rod. Eitri was repeating the process of folding the rod, hammering it flat, folding it again, and hammering it flat over and over. It had been three days now.
Eitri’s eyes were brighter than ever, but his skin was rough and his body was growing gaunt. It was as if he were pouring his very life force into the hammer.
"Come back tomorrow," Eitri said.
Aside from overseeing the Royal Guard’s training, this was the entirety of Encrid’s daily routine. Half a month had passed since Eitri first spoke to him. Even Rem didn't complain that it was time to leave.
The entire Order knew that Encrid’s Imprinted Weapon was being crafted. And as all waiting must come to an end, the moment was finally at hand.