Chapter 777: Not Quite a Training Dummy
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 777: Not Quite a Training Dummy
A pair of twin swords struck in an off-beat rhythm. Encrid parried every blow with Dawn Forge.
It wasn't a matter of being faster; by subtly shifting his footwork, he forced his opponent’s blades to travel a longer path.
Clang, cl-cl-cl-clang.
In response, the opponent adjusted his own footwork, closing the distance while keeping his swords in constant motion. As their trajectories overlapped and crossed, countless sparks erupted between them.
When their blades finally locked in a bind, the man spoke.
"You're pretty good."
They stared each other down, swords grinding against one another. Had they been any closer, Encrid would have smelled the man’s breath. With an indifferent expression, Encrid drove his knee upward.
The opponent retreated instantly, narrowly avoiding the groin kick. His movements as he tapped the ground and shifted were as nimble as an elf’s.
Or perhaps, they reminded him of Sachsen.
Encrid anticipated that the man wouldn't retreat quietly.
His prediction was spot on.
Needles shot from the soles of the feet that had just kicked off the ground, and the swords in the man’s hands were suddenly hurled forward.
Moreover, whatever trick he had played on the blades caused a sudden wave of heat to wash over Encrid’s face first.
Encrid’s accelerated thoughts broke down the scene, perceiving the opponent’s trick in an instant.
He envisioned Dawn Forge becoming a breakwater to block the incoming waves. It was the manifestation of the Wave-Blocking Sword through the optimization of his thoughts.
'I am the one who wields the art.'
A sword was ultimately a tool, and swordsmanship was merely the method of using that tool well; there was no point in keeping them separate. Therefore, blending them—whether it was Flash or Wave-Blocking Sword—was the correct path.
With that brief thought, Encrid blocked every attack.
He swept Dawn Forge as if brushing the ground, creating a wall of wind pressure to blow the needles away, then deflected the two flying swords by tapping them with his pommel.
The heat radiating from the blades brushed past his cheek. It felt as though a hot pot had been briefly pressed against his skin and then pulled away.
At the same time, a sharp clack-clack echoed as he deflected the weapons.
"Impressive skills."
Having thrown his swords, the man dashed forward to close the distance immediately. He curled his fingers, reaching out to grab anything he could. His intention was clear: to tear or snap whatever he caught.
Encrid saw through the intent once again.
'A feinted grab, followed by a thrust.'
With what? A hidden blade.
It appeared to be a technique superior to the Hidden Knife. Indeed, several more short-bladed daggers were concealed inside the man’s sleeves.
Encrid swung Dawn Forge as if to crush his opponent. It was a heavy downward slash—a strike that constricted the opponent with pressure laced with pure intimidation.
The man ignored it and moved his hands. There was no way his body would freeze under this level of pressure; those who lived for close-quarters combat encountered such situations constantly.
'Therefore, this is my victory once again.'
There was no need to display any greater skill than this.
Confident, the man kept stretching out his hands. The blades hidden in his sleeves slid out, brushing against his skin in response to the movement of his muscles. All he had to do was grab them and thrust. Yet, that moment felt incredibly long. Naturally, when one is intensely focused, a split second feels stretched thin.
It was a wonder brought about by Thought Acceleration.
'Even so, this is a bit too long.'
Was it because his body was in such peak condition after his recent rest?
Within the dilated time, the man looked into Encrid’s eyes.
Two unwavering blue eyes stared straight back at him. There was no shock, let alone surprise.
Within those calm eyes, only a faint trace of amusement could be seen.
'What is he relying on?'
In that moment, the man realized what his opponent was relying on. The hand that had been holding the sword to apply pressure had already gripped another sword and thrust it upward.
The speed of that blade was twice as fast as before. Since he was already lunging forward, he wouldn't be able to dodge.
'No, I’ve already been hit.'
The reason he felt time had dilated more than usual wasn't due to excessive concentration, but because his ability to perceive his surroundings was shattering.
It was merely an anomaly felt as his skull was being split open.
"Kuh."
Even in that state, he managed to twist his head aside at the last second, so the blade of Penna that Encrid thrust out sliced through the side of the man’s head. Nearly half of his face, starting from the mouth, was sliced open.
This was the aftermath of offense and defense, deception and calculation. The man, his head half-severed, stumbled backward and collapsed onto the ground with a thud. Encrid merely stared at him.
Will things start growing out of this guy’s body too?
They didn't. Instead, the man opened his mouth. His severed lips dangled as he spoke.
"Indeed... worthy of recognition."
It wasn't the kind of thing one would expect from a dying man. It wasn't that he couldn't accept his death, nor was it a denial of his defeat.
That made it rather peculiar.
With those words, the man collapsed and began to dissolve, leaking black smoke.
"It doesn't seem to be a dream."
Encrid muttered to himself, feeling the resonance of his voice through his body as he looked around. It wasn't a voice spoken in his mind, but one vibrating through his vocal cords and physical form.
His senses, honed as a knight, reminded him that this was reality.
A path appeared before his eyes, stretching forward. The left and right were blocked by walls, and a gloomy ceiling had formed overhead before he knew it.
It felt as though he had entered a cave.
Torches were placed at regular intervals on the walls, illuminating the surroundings.
What did that "recognition" the opponent muttered as he fell mean?
And what kind of situation was this?
The only thing he knew was that he had to move forward. Standing still wouldn't accomplish anything.
'Somehow, it feels like I’ve entered a maze.'
It felt as though something had completely messed up his sense of direction. It made him wonder anew if Ragna always lived like this.
Regardless, Encrid pressed onward. Before long, he saw another figure.
"Did you struggle so desperately because you wished to die?"
He wondered if this could even be considered a person.
A knight riding a ghost horse, holding his own head, greeted Encrid. It was a Dullahan, a headless rider—a high-grade monster rarely seen even within the Demon Realm.
The face of the creature atop the ghost horse was not disfigured like a typical monster’s. Though it wasn't resting on his shoulders, it was the face of an elderly man with a white beard about a finger’s length.
That head was tucked under his arm.
Blue veins bulged on his short neck, and his face was flushed red, making him look incredibly hot-tempered. His body, fused with the ghost horse, appeared massive and sturdy.
"I, Donapa, shall end your struggles— Kiah! "
Instead of opening his mouth, Encrid swung his sword. Putting strength into his left foot, he kicked off the ground to close the distance. Dashing forward in a low stance, his body broke through the wall of air. At the same time, as his thoughts dilated, Dawn Forge in his hand felt perfectly snug, as if locking into place.
Then, awakening his senses, he delivered a vertical downward slash. The opponent could not dodge. No, he wouldn't dodge. This was an insight perceived from the realm of the Sixth Sense, which transcended the five senses.
It was a clean, flawless strike. Its trajectory was so honest that anyone would have taken it as a textbook example.
Moreover, it was incredibly fast, packed with the full force generated by twisting his entire body.
It was a single blow woven from Flash and Vortex.
The Dullahan tried to counter by swinging his large axe, but failed. As he moved his arms, the head tucked under his arm fell to the ground and rolled.
Thud, roll, roll.
"You bastard! You absolute bastard!"
The rolling head babbled, its mouth the only thing still active.
The clash ended in an instant. Holding his sword in the post-slash stance, Encrid reflected on the brief battle.
The opponent had revealed his combat style through his tone, attitude, weapon, and stance.
'An enemy who enjoys heavy, powerful strikes.'
How would such an enemy react when seeing a strike with an honest trajectory?
Encrid had predicted his opponent’s action, and with a heavy strike that surpassed that prediction, he split the opponent’s body vertically.
Next, he reflected on what he needed to correct about his own swordsmanship.
'I used too much force, making the transition to the next movement a bit awkward.'
It was because it was his first time trying it. Encrid knew he didn't possess a natural talent like Ragna’s.
Still, since he had made it this far, he just needed to practice a few more times. If he kept at it, he would figure it out. It was fine if the path ahead wasn't perfectly clear anymore.
The path he had walked and the experience he had accumulated gave him confidence.
"How dare you do this to Donapa!"
The name Donapa sounded quite archaic. With that thought, Encrid raised his sword and impaled the head.
Although it was his first time seeing a Dullahan, once he split the head, both the head and the body dissolved into black mist simultaneously.
That made two. He lightly pulled his sword out from where it had pierced the ground.
"Impressive."
He met his third opponent after advancing a bit further down the passage. This time, the distance was shorter. In truth, the opponent had come out to meet him, but Encrid had no way of knowing, nor did he care to know.
And while she was only able to come out because Donapa was dead, that too was something he couldn't possibly know.
"You defeated Donapa? It must have been a bad matchup."
Regardless of what Encrid thought, the woman only spoke her mind. Her waist was abnormally long, giving her torso a snake-like appearance.
Her height was as tall as Audin’s, but she didn't give off a bulky impression. Rather, she brought to mind a supple spear shaft. Her arms were as long as her waist, making for a highly unusual physique, and her entire body was packed with lean muscle.
And even more unusual than her physique was her attire.
Instead of armor, she wore tight-fitting cloth clothes, but the way she wore them made her look like an older sister who had squeezed into her younger sibling’s clothes. The clothes didn't fit her body and were extremely tight.
He couldn't help but say something about it.
"Where did you steal those clothes from?"
He hadn't intended to provoke her, but the woman’s face instantly filled with murderous intent.
"I will chew that tongue of yours to pieces. We shall see if you can still mock me then."
She charged with an archaic tone. She was no ordinary swordsman.
She lunged in an extremely low stance, her chest almost brushing the ground. Her speed was as fast as an arrow.
A sharp thud echoed, followed by a roaring whoosh in her wake.
Upon reaching him, the woman twisted her waist while keeping her chest pressed close to the ground. Her waist, resembling a snake or a bending spear shaft, displayed an unbelievable level of flexibility.
It was an attack that piled anomaly upon anomaly. In her hand was a falchion, a single-edged sword with a broad, curved blade.
Her blade traced an erratic trajectory from the ground upward.
The flexible, lean muscles packing her waist-long arms bent and whipped as fiercely as Luagarne’s whip.
Clang!
The woman’s strike was blocked by a sky-blue blade raised parallel to the ground.
Crimson sparks erupted between them.
While one could block the woman’s erratic attacks once, blocking them twice, thrice, or in a continuous sequence was incredibly difficult. Knowing this herself, she specialized in rapid successions of strikes rather than trying to settle the fight in a single blow.
As her weapon bounced off the opponent’s blade, she used the recoil to gain speed. Feeling the strain on her arm muscles, she drew upon her Will and concentrated it in both arms.
Her falchion grew even faster, its movements becoming increasingly erratic.
An attack sustained over an abnormally long breath would surely fluster an opponent focused solely on defense. Consequently, their hands would soon get tangled.
As her long arms bent, the tip of her blade, accelerated by the same principle as a whip, plunged down toward Encrid’s head.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
With each successive attack, the sound of her arms and sword tearing through the air echoed. Before long, the cave was filled with nothing but deafening roars.
Crack—Clang! Clang! Boom!
The sky-blue sword blocked all of her consecutive strikes. He deflected them, parried them, but never once did he falter.
Without even taking a breath, the woman attacked and attacked again. She unleashed a relentless onslaught until she could push herself no further.
Yet, all she managed to achieve was a slight graze on her opponent’s cheek.
From the cheek grazed by the blade, beads of red blood—something she did not possess—welled up. Due to their high-speed movements, the blood droplets quickly dispersed into the air.
She needed to catch her breath and compose her Will. The woman withdrew her ruthlessly swinging sword and leaped backward.
Flutter.
The opponent’s small cloak fluttered in the wind from the intense movement.
In the woman’s eyes, she saw Encrid raise his sky-blue sword parallel to the ground, bringing it up to his lips.
His blue eyes seemed to push back the yellowish torchlight filling the cave. Seeing this, a chill ran down the woman’s spine, triggered by an ominous feeling delivered by her instincts.
With the blade obscuring his mouth, only his eyes were visible, but his voice reached her clearly.
"My turn."
What?
The woman hastily twisted her waist and raised her sword to block the strike of the man who had closed the distance in an instant.
The moment his words ended, he lunged and swung his sword. It was blocked by her falchion, but now their positions were reversed.
She had to defend, and her opponent attacked.
"Ngh!"
Unlike Encrid, she couldn't hold out for long. It was because her tactics were entirely focused on offense. She was vulnerable on defense. Of course, this was something only someone of Encrid’s caliber could exploit.
"You..."
With her neck half-severed and black mist pouring from the wound, the woman collapsed onto the floor.
Her gaze turned toward the man who had cut her down. He had stopped swinging his sword and was now waving his hand through the air a few times.
She had realized it even before seeing that, but now she was absolutely certain.
"You!"
She cried out in anger.
Encrid looked down at her with an indifferent, calm gaze and said, "You were a good opponent."
The woman shrieked with rage. "Are you using me as a training dummy?!"
Because she yelled so furiously, the wound on her neck tore open further, spewing out more mist, leaving her unable to speak any longer. She dissolved into mist and vanished.
Encrid watched her disappear and took another step forward.
She was right.
Since his first opponent used personal tactics involving a Hidden Knife, he had countered using the basics of Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship.
Since his second opponent favored heavy strikes, he had settled the fight with a single blow.
And the woman who had just fallen before him specialized in overwhelming her opponents with a continuous barrage of purely erratic attacks.
Encrid had identified his opponents’ specialties and used them as opportunities to train.
"Not quite a dummy, though."
Mumbling to himself, Encrid found it somewhat amusing. Each opponent he faced possessed an extraordinary level of swordsmanship and entirely different specialties, making the training highly satisfying.
After constantly sparring with the likes of Rem, Ragna, and Audin, facing these opponents felt refreshing.
After walking a few more paces, he met his next opponent.
Crackle, crackle.
It was a woman who had built a campfire inside the cave. Leaning her sheathed longsword against her body, she warmed herself by the fire, humming a tune with a peaceful expression.
Hmm-hmm.
The moment Encrid saw her face, he stopped in his tracks. The distance wasn't far. If he intended to, he could have struck with his sword immediately. But he didn't.
"Ah, you're here?"
Sensing his presence, she welcomed Encrid. She treated him like an old friend she hadn't seen in a long time.
In fact, Encrid felt a similar sensation, and at the same time, he seemed to realize whose doing this situation was.
Encrid opened his mouth.
"Dame Oara."
Knight Oara lived up to the name of her blade. She smiled. To Encrid, her smile looked pure and unblemished.
It was the exact same smile she had worn back then, when they fought their final battle in the City of Oara.