Chapter 803: The Fever of Training
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 803: The Fever of Training
“It is because you are larger than the Balrog.”
The statement was so sudden that Encrid couldn't immediately process it. Over the rippling river, the light of a lone lamp quietly illuminated the ferryboat.
“I assume you aren't referring to my physical organs.”
To his question, asked half in jest and half for confirmation, the Ferryman replied. His tone was profoundly serious. Since he conveyed his words through his Will, the gravity of his voice was an intentional reflection of his current state of mind.
“What filled the lingering thoughts dwelling within that hide was a desire for struggle, born of regret.”
As the Balrog died, it had left behind its regrets. Those regrets had condensed, leaving the hide behind. Encrid briefly recalled an old proverb passed down in the West.
A tiger leaves its skin, but a demon—not even a beast—leaves its hide.
Beyond these trivial thoughts, the Ferryman before him came into focus. How was today’s Ferryman? No, what kind of existence was the Ferryman in the first place?
He is complex.
It was often said that there are simple people and complex people. Of course, if one looked closely into anyone’s inner mind, everyone was bound to be complex—as is usually the case with beings in whom intellect and instinct coexist.
But even among them, there were those whose complexity was visible on the surface.
He is far too fickle.
The Ferryman was like that.
He says something different every time.
The Ferryman was like that.
Even without actively dwelling on it, Encrid's thoughts naturally clicked together. The various facets of the Ferryman he had met and observed until now flashed through his mind. A fact he had noticed before floated to the surface.
It was as if the fragments of a sunken ship, resting at the bottom of a deep lake, were coming back together one by one to reveal its true shape.
The Ferryman is not singular.
There was a famous line from a novel that once swept the continent: "Humans are not singular." It meant that humans do not exist merely as biological individuals, but within the web of social relationships.
However, the conclusion forming within Encrid now carried a far more literal, intuitive meaning.
The Ferryman is not just one person.
He was a collective mass, formed by the binding of multiple lingering thoughts. That was why he was fickle, why he said different things every time, and why he was so complex that reading his mind was impossible.
Just as his thoughts finally connected and he was about to grasp what lay beyond—
Tap.
The Ferryman raised his hand—the one not holding the lamp—and sliced it downward. Though the edge of his hand wasn't particularly threatening, Encrid perceived the line it drew and twisted his body aside to dodge.
“That is far enough.”
The train of thought was severed. His reflections ground to a halt. The Ferryman was clever. No, he had to rephrase that.
Today’s Ferryman was clever.
His gesture had looked like swordsmanship. It was closer to a trick, but it was enough to pique Encrid's interest.
“There is no need for you to know any more.”
Encrid agreed. He hadn't pursued this out of a desire to know in the first place. It was merely the natural result of his thoughts flowing according to his past experiences and the Ferryman’s behavior.
“Possibility, is it...”
The Ferryman’s words seemed to leave a deep, lingering echo. Even without dwelling on it, Encrid could feel that the regret and emotion contained within those four syllables—pos-si-bi-li-ty—were incredibly profound. Soon, the Ferryman grew more and more distant. To be precise, Encrid felt his own body floating upward.
“Remember. And struggle. I shall watch with pleasure.”
The dream shattered. The river vanished, and an unfamiliar white-painted ceiling came into view. The ceiling was likely made by attaching thin boards with glue, securing them firmly with nails, and then mixing crushed chalk stone into lime plaster.
A memory of working at a construction site in the past to earn a few Krona told him exactly where he was. He could set aside the dream and the Ferryman’s identity for now.
As long as he knew why the armor had no effect on him, there was no need to know the rest.
* * *
After waking up, Encrid filled his stomach with well-boiled duck meat and roasted duck eggs, then began warming up at the Royal Training Ground.
Those who usually dedicated themselves to training approached him, offering nods of greeting or military salutes.
Encrid was a Knight Commander recognized by the royal family. His status alone was noble, but his reputation was even more astonishing. And seeing him up close, people couldn't help but wonder—why was his face so incredibly handsome?
On top of that, hadn't he just entered the royal palace bearing the moniker of the "Monster Slaughterer"?
Everyone watched him from a respectful distance. Yet, Encrid paid no attention to the stares.
It had always been this way. The only difference was that in the past, people would say a guy with no skill or talent was also completely oblivious.
What about now?
Only awe and respect remained. No one dared to challenge him. There were no glaring eyes or jealous glances. It meant he had achieved that level of renown.
Of course, Encrid didn't care about that either. Even if there were jealous people, he wouldn't have spared them a single glance.
He focused on what he had to do. In other words, it was business as usual.
Luagarne had said countless times that Encrid’s greatest talent was his capacity for repetition. She called that diligence—the ability to steadfastly do what needed to be done under any circumstances—his ultimate weapon.
Whenever his skills suddenly leaped forward while repeating "today," Luagarne would find it fascinating, yet she recognized it as the fruit of daily repetition.
The insight of a Frok was indeed a remarkable thing.
I shouldn't overexert my arm yet.
Encrid repeatedly tensed and relaxed his muscles, focusing on his lower body. In the midst of this, the Frok approached, her eyes rolling with intensity, and spoke out of the blue.
“Let’s sort things out.”
There was no greeting, nor did she check on his physical condition. Audin and Teresa had already visited him in the morning to check on his recovery.
Encrid was now somewhat accustomed to the Frok species. To be more precise, he had grown accustomed to the Frok named Luagarne.
Even without puffing out her cheeks, the way her eyes rolled like that meant her anticipation was soaring so high she probably wanted to drive a knife into his foot just to keep him standing there so they could talk.
Her desires and passions were displayed more vividly than ever. Encrid didn't mind, though.
“Sure.”
He nodded readily.
At her suggestion to "sort things out," Encrid brought the stories he had shared on the way to Nauril into a single, coherent flow. They were stories he had rambled about disjointedly during their journey. Luagarne had recommended that he compress, organize, and align all of those experiences within himself.
Though he had attempted this while walking, he had now rested for a full day, bathed in warm water, slept, and eaten well.
Now was the perfect time to delve deep into his inner self and establish a foundation.
The Minotaur.
The Colony-class monsters and the hordes of demonic beasts.
The black lightning and the mage, the Thorn Castle and the Thorn Castle Lord.
The Balrog’s Labyrinth, the knight trapped within it, Oara, and the Balrog.
Even breaking it down into major categories, he had gone through an immense amount. And what he had gained in the process was by no means small.
In particular, the swordsmanship that culminated under the name of "Extinguishing the Embers" was the result of unprecedented development.
And what of Indules, the transformation of his Will prior to that?
The one who uses the sword is a person.
Added to this was the change in the way he swung his sword. The concepts of swordsmanship, which had been divided into Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu, met the physical body as their focal point and blended together once more.
Swing the necessary sword at the necessary moment.
All of this had to be backed by sensory perception.
Excluding the repetition of "today," he organized and reflected on what he had experienced. It was a review. Beside him, Luagarne helped him navigate it.
“Show me.”
At her request to show how he had subdued his opponent by shaping his Intimidation into a triple wall, Encrid immediately moved his Will.
The manifestation of Intimidation.
To put it more precisely, it was holding the opponent with momentum alone. Just as a mouse is rendered powerless before a cat, it was crushing the opponent’s mind with murderous intent.
Intelligent beings, including humans, delved even deeper. Beyond simply utilizing murderous intent, they exploited the opponent’s subconscious.
Through subtle movements, such as shifting the position of one’s feet or letting one’s hands droop, the opponent would see an illusion of their throat being slit.
The three crushing walls did not stray far from this principle. Through gestures of the hands and feet, they presented a wall that would not easily crumble.
“……Splendid.”
Luagarne marveled repeatedly. As the two of them continued, Teresa, having recovered to some extent, joined them.
“I, too, have learned a lot this time.”
Afterward, Ropode and Pel joined.
Behind them, Rem sat to one side and watched, while Sachsen—who had appeared at some point—leaned against a pillar of the corridor surrounding the training ground with his arms crossed in his signature pose.
His slightly hooded eyes were directed toward Encrid, but watching him stand there was like looking at a masterpiece painting. It seemed only natural that several handmaidens were whispering as they stole glances at him.
On one side, Ragna was attempting something, swinging Sunrise while it was still in its scabbard. It wasn't easy to tell what he was trying to do. Even though everyone had been told to rest, they had all somehow gathered here.
Marcus, passing by and seeing this, ordered a dining table to be set up right there. It was obvious that they wouldn't stop even when it was time for dinner.
In the middle of it all, Encrid caught a fleeting glimpse of the Captain of the Royal Guard. The Captain merely offered a nod, mentioning he had too much work, and quickly vanished.
Having finished dinner right there on the spot, they continued until the sun went down, with everyone demonstrating their own movements and sharing their techniques.
What was ordinary to one person became extraordinary to another.
Even within the royal family, people sometimes shared what they knew to help improve each other’s skills.
But that was only up to a certain point. They would never reveal the most intimate details—the very core of their techniques. Yet, these people did not hold back. They laid bare everything they possessed without hesitation.
To those watching, all of this seemed incredibly special. Though for the Mad Knights, it was just daily life. One of the watching soldiers gathered his courage.
“May I join you and train alongside you?”
Their levels did not match. But the Mad Knights did not scold or look down on others for such things.
“Do you think you’ll understand just by watching?”
Actually, there was one guy who did scold with his words. It was Rem. Even so, he didn't refuse. Since the soldier had already spoken up, Rem even stepped forward to correct his posture.
In other words, since they wouldn't understand just by watching, he explained it to them.
Of course, his explanations could hardly be called kind, but Rem had also learned a thing or two from teaching Encrid all this time, so he was capable of some decent instruction.
Above all, compared to the Mad Knights, the skill gap of those currently at the Royal Training Ground was simply too vast. Correcting their basic postures was no great task.
“Why are your feet spread so wide?” Rem asked bluntly.
The soldier belonging to the Royal Guard was terrified of this barbarian, but he still spoke his mind. One couldn't become a Royal Guard without at least this much grit.
“That is how I was taught.”
“Not what you were taught. Tell me what you actually understand with your own head.”
It was a basic, fundamental skill they had long taken for granted, but once they understood the reasons behind each detail, the basics began to look different.
The best form of teaching to improve one’s skills in a short period was to shift their perspective. It was like pointing out the east to someone who was wandering north and south when they actually needed to go east. It was a process of establishing direction and clearing a path.
Though, of course, they would have to walk it with their own legs.
Rem actually found this quite amusing. If it were his assault squad back in the Border Guard, he would have beaten them half to death if they couldn't even do this, but coaxing them gently with words had a different kind of charm.
“Hey, are you praying for the enemy to kill you? Why are you relaxing the fingers holding your sword? You think you can smoothly parry an attack with that? Sure, try it. But if you fail to block, I’m splitting your skull open.”
Following "Noble Hunter," Rem had now gained another nickname: "Skull Crusher."
Though he claimed to be coaxing them with words, his intensity was by no means low. Still, the soldiers showed grit and endured. This was quite remarkable.
To be precise, it was Rem’s teaching method that was remarkable.
If any members of Rem’s assault squad saw this, they would have brandished their axes, convinced that their captain’s kindness was surely the work of an evil spirit possessing him.
Just a single day after the Mad Knights arrived, a training craze swept through the Royal Training Ground. It continued even after the moon rose. No one stopped or rested. Yet, there was no coercion.
They went on duty, rested, and participated in the training entirely of their own accord.
The same went for the Mad Knights. Those who wanted to rest did so on their own.
“To think you’d cause such a ruckus the moment you arrived.”
A blonde man stepped into the corner of the training ground. He wore a thin but vividly red shirt and navy trousers. Although the fabric itself was luxurious, the outfit was still well within the realm of casual wear.
Who could possibly look at a man dressed like that and call him a king?
Though the official audience was scheduled for three days later, the King of Naurilia had personally visited the Royal Training Ground.
He found it fascinating that they were causing such a commotion, and since his close friend had arrived, he had come to see his face.
Separately, it was also a night where fatigue had caught up to him. It had been a succession of headaches for days on end.
Though he had brought most of those troubles upon himself, that didn't make the grueling work any easier.
“Hey,” Krang called out to Encrid.
It was already late at night. The moonlight illuminated the ground, and insects made crackling sounds as they burned around the torch stands.
It was a night with many moths rushing toward the flames.
“Yeah.”
Encrid wiped his sweat and raised a hand to acknowledge his king’s greeting. The King held up a bottle of liquor he had just brought from the royal treasury.
“Care for a drink?”
It was a liquor that was never brought out unless there was a grand occasion to celebrate, with only three bottles remaining in the royal treasury.
It was a liquor nicknamed the "Founding Liquor." It earned its name because it had been brewed when the nation was founded, leaving only a few bottles today, and legend had it that the Sun Beast, the guardian deity of the royal family, had bestowed the method of brewing it.
“Sounds good,” Encrid replied plainly.
He was not surprised by the King’s sudden appearance. There was no reason to be surprised by a visit from a close friend, after all.