Chapter 82: You Seem to Have Changed a Bit
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 82: You Seem to Have Changed a Bit
He had seen much in his time.
Especially when it came to speed.
The swordsman standing behind that fool Polid had been the catalyst, but even before that, the signs had always been there. They were in the moments he faced in every spar: an axe swing that bent like a whip, the strikes of the swordsman following Polid, and Rem’s own relentless attacks.
Everything he had experienced and absorbed on the battlefield, everything he had trained for and agonized over in solitude, and even his body—transformed by the Isolation Technique—all of it condensed and settled in his mind.
An indescribable sensation took root in his soul. Encrid entered a state of single-point focus.
It was a world where only he and his sword remained. Even the sensation of the hilt in his hand faded. All he could see was a line connecting point to point. What he needed now was the physical strength to bridge those lines.
The moment he looked into Rem’s eyes, he unleashed it.
The lowered tip of his sword drew the shortest possible line between two points. It pierced toward the neck.
An illusion appeared—one so vivid he mistook it for reality. In the vision, Encrid’s sword transfixed Rem’s throat. Rem collapsed, a hole torn through his neck, blood spilling out to soak the frozen earth. The fallen man foamed at the mouth, eyes wide with pure, unadulterated shock. There was no resentment, only disbelief.
"Shit, that one was actually fast."
As if to prove the depth of that shock, that single, cursed sentence shattered Encrid’s illusion. The vision cascaded down like shards of broken glass.
Beyond the fragments, he saw Rem. His eyes were wide, but the shock was fleeting. Soon, they softened into a curve—the look of a child who had just found a fascinating new toy.
"What did you do?" Rem asked.
A thin trail of blood was visible on his neck. The blade had grazed him.
"I almost kicked the bucket there."
Encrid lowered his sword. "Sorry. I almost killed you."
"...I never thought I’d say this, but our squad leader has gotten damn strong. Seriously."
"Aren't I older than you to begin with?" Encrid pointed out. He was also taller.
"Geez. You really are an interesting fellow."
With those words, Rem suddenly thrust his axe. As Encrid reflexively tilted his head to dodge, the axe blade followed the line of his cheek.
The spar resumed.
For the rest of the session, Encrid hovered between life and death under the weight of Rem’s relentless swings.
"Did you realize what it means to swing fast? Good. Let's keep going."
Encrid wondered if Rem was nursing a grudge over the scratch on his neck. The intensity felt personal. Even so, Encrid did not back down.
"Are you hesitating because you think you'll kill me again? Don't worry. I'll kill you first."
Rem’s eyes gleamed fiercely. From that moment on, his arm became a flash of light rather than a whip. The axe blade, which Encrid had barely managed to dodge or deflect until now, suddenly touched his neck—without leaving so much as a scratch.
With a light tap, the cold metal struck his skin and withdrew. Since the edge wasn't leading, it left no wound, only the lingering chill of steel.
"If you can't perfectly control the weapon in your hand, you're only half a warrior."
Those were the words Rem left him with as he signaled the end of the spar. Lying on the freezing ground, Encrid organized what he had gained.
What is speed?
The conclusion he reached was trajectory—the path of movement. It was the act of drawing a line between points in an instant.
What was required for that? First, drawing the line in his mind. Second, the physical manifestation of that line. The body had to keep up. Therefore, physical training was the absolute prerequisite.
Why did the axe look like it was bending like a whip?
Physical strength, trained muscles, athletic ability.
Weren't these the very things Audin had told him to build within himself? It was the same foundation he had gained through the Isolation Technique. Physical strength was the bedrock—the foundation for thrusting or swinging a sword faster than ever before.
Onto that foundation, he layered the concept of the path. Because he could now visualize the line connecting two points in an instant, he could realize it the moment it formed in his mind.
This is speed.
Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu.
It was a core tenet of the swift sword style. Encrid laughed as he lay there.
"Puhu."
Even though he hadn't repeated this day, even though he hadn't died again or met the Ferryman of the Black River, he felt it.
A sword for tomorrow.
He could feel his own growth. Above all, he felt a surge of pride because he had realized it on his own, rather than being spoon-fed the answer. His was a life where he had only ever been told he had no talent. In such a life, when had he ever imagined experiencing a breakthrough like this?
I can do more.
Because he could see the path forward, Encrid’s heart pounded. He spent the following hour delving into Rem’s parting words. Review and contemplation—it was time to sink deep within himself.
"If you don't want to freeze to death, you'd better come inside."
The voice belonged to Sachsen. He was returning from the outside, his expressionless face framed by a Thermal Leather cloak fluttering in the wind.
Encrid nodded and stood up. He sheathed his sword and cracked his stiff neck from side to side. As he headed toward the lodging, goosebumps suddenly erupted across his skin. A chill ran down his spine, and every muscle in his body coiled tight. It was a purely instinctive reaction.
Reflexively, he spun around and drew his sword.
Shring!
The ring of steel echoed in the cold air. Encrid realized he had been holding his breath; he exhaled slowly and looked at his "opponent."
The source of the killing intent stood three steps behind him. Sachsen was just standing there, looking as he always did. The only difference was that his right arm hung loosely at his side.
"Not bad," Sachsen said.
Encrid didn't understand what was "not bad," but he knew Sachsen had done something. Could the mere release of killing intent constrict a person so chillingly?
"Carmen's Stiletto is a very good dagger," Sachsen continued. He was keeping his word to teach Encrid. "What is the purpose of continuously training the five senses? How can one dodge a dagger flying from behind without even looking?"
Those were the questions Sachsen had posed before. And what he had just demonstrated was the mastery of the stiletto.
"When you steel your will to kill an opponent, momentum is unconsciously loaded into that intent. We call that killing intent."
Momentum, killing intent, fighting spirit, will—they were all facets of the same power. Encrid thought of the merchant guard, Mathis. He had projected his momentum simply by stating his name, drawing everyone's focus. Through that alone, Sachsen had identified him as a territory-class powerhouse.
"This is how you detect killing intent. What I showed just now was at a level where even a child would feel it and be terrified, so it's only natural you reacted. Keep feeling it. Absorb it with everything, including your five senses. That is the next stage of Blade's Sense—the Gate of the Sixth Sense."
Thump.
Encrid’s heart hammered again. The excitement was equal to the moment he had grasped the concept of speed.
"I understand," he answered calmly, though his heart raced with joy.
If there was one major change in Encrid since he began repeating this day, it was this: every single day had become incredibly enjoyable. The joy of growth, a feeling he had never known before, became both the carrot and the stick. It pushed him forward, whispering that he didn't have to stop here.
For what?
His goal was clear.
Knight.
His dream remained a shining star, glowing brightly inside his chest.
"Let's go in," Sachsen said, entering the lodging first.
When Encrid followed him inside, Audin looked up. "Have you done today's training?"
"Not yet."
This, too, was a necessity. It was painful—like throwing his entire body into an ocean of agony—but the fruit that awaited him on the other side was too sweet to ignore. The suffering of squeezing his body dry had turned into a strange sort of pleasure.
"Let's begin."
He began the Isolation Technique with Audin.
After finishing, he washed his exhausted body and returned to his bed. Esther was already there, her front paws tucked under her chest, her head resting quietly on top of them. Encrid reached out to stroke her head.
Swipe!
Just as his fingertips brushed her fur, Esther scratched the back of his hand, forcing him to recoil. If she had used her claws with real intent, she could have severed his wrist. This was merely a sharp tantrum.
"Why are you doing that again?" he sighed. He truly didn't know the reason.
Krais chuckled from the corner. "I know, right? She’s been like that ever since she heard the 'Charming Squad Leader' song."
It seemed the idle bastards in the squad had been singing that song with great enthusiasm.
"Yoo-hoo, the one who will lay down all the women in the territory!"
"The hunter targeting every passing woman!"
"Charming, charming, Charming Squad Leader!"
Krais started the first verse, and Rem belted out the second. The lyrics were a mess and the melody was non-existent, but they sang with gusto.
"Hiss."
For some reason, Esther seemed to absolutely loathe that song. She let out a vicious growl the moment they started.
Is it because of Krais? Encrid wondered. Krais was a terrible singer. Rem, at least, had a decent, manly voice.
"So, Company Commander? Another woman? Charming Squad Leader?" Ragna asked. He looked genuinely curious, but he was clearly committed to the bit.
"Shut up."
Encrid decided it was better to let the rumors die naturally rather than fanning the flames by arguing.
"So, did you do it or not?" Rem pressed.
Encrid had to answer this. It involved Leona’s honor. "I didn't."
"...Is that the truth?"
"There's no reason to lie about something like that."
Rem nodded. Knowing Encrid’s personality, he knew the man was telling the truth. "Are you impotent? Did it get cut off? Is that why you didn't?"
This bastard, seriously...
"It is fine, Charming Brother. God loves everyone. He loves you even if it is severed," Audin added solemnly.
Encrid winced. Why is 'Charming' attached to 'Brother' now?
Krais burst out laughing. Sachsen fought to keep his mouth from twitching and looked away. Ragna blurted out, "Then what did you do with the Company Commander?"—nearly provoking Encrid to genuine anger.
"Crazy bastards," Encrid muttered.
None of them were normal. He felt a surge of self-pity, convinced he was the only sane person in the room. But there was no point in getting angry; they wouldn't care anyway. Taking comfort in the fact that they were at least getting along, Encrid lay down.
After they had finished their fun, Rem looked at the reclining Encrid. "You seem to have changed a bit."
"I think so too," Ragna added. The others listened intently.
Changed? Encrid pondered the word. In what way?
"Lately, you keep smiling strangely. But that’s not all."
Did I not smile before? Encrid tried to remember his past self. He had been struggling then, just as he was now. However, back then, he had been navigating a darkness where he couldn't see an inch ahead. Now, he could see the path. That sight gave him a joy that those born with talent could never imagine.
"I knew you were crazy about the sword, but lately it’s gotten extreme. The smiling, the rapid improvement... anyway, you've changed."
It was a flimsy argument, but the squad agreed.
"You do seem a bit crazier than before," Krais delivered the final blow.
Encrid couldn't agree. Where else could they find someone as ordinary and easygoing as him? He just practiced a bit more than most, and his dream was a little larger.
"Not that it's a bad thing," Rem added.
Encrid ignored them. It was night. Time for sleep, not chatter. Sachsen and Krais left for their watch, and Encrid quickly drifted off. No matter how used to the physical abuse he became, the fatigue always hit like a tide.
Yet, when morning came, his body felt remarkably light.
Has my basic strength increased?
It felt more pronounced recently. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, but it had started shortly after his return to the battlefield.
*
Esther found him annoying.
Every time he goes out, he gets tangled up with a woman.
Even inside the unit, things happened. They were together because there was work to be done, but how could he turn his gaze to others while leaving her behind? Once, she had been the epitome of charm and fascination, even without the use of spells. Men would line up just to catch her scent, offering their souls for a glance.
Even that elf was a pathetic sight.
She startled herself. She was a panther now. What man would fall for her in this form? And more importantly... Why am I even thinking about this?
It was a trivial, useless thought. Her goal was clear: break the curse on her body. She should push these distractions aside.
Esther stepped off her pile of Thermal Leather and padded across the barracks.
"Are you going again?" the barbarian asked from beside the sleeping Encrid. "You look like a sulking kid."
Esther ignored the disrespectful words. She knew her duty. There was no room for personal feelings.
The panther leaped, silently burrowing into Encrid’s arms. Once there, she poked his chest with a claw for no reason.
"That hurts... Let's sleep, Esther," Encrid murmured, hugging her close.
Shameless man.
Esther glanced at his face. As she pressed against his skin, she began to absorb a portion of the fatigue lingering in his muscles, dispersing it into the air. It was a difficult trick to pull off, and while it wasn't a miracle cure, for a man who abused his body as much as Encrid did, it was a vital mercy.
Furthermore, she had worked her magic on his leather armor. It was a one-time ward, but it would block a magical strike if someone tried to harm him. It delayed her own recovery, but...
This man has to be fine.
It was an act of necessity. A long-term investment. Even as she told herself this, Esther found herself intoxicated by the warmth of his embrace.
As she drifted off, one final, futile thought crossed her mind.
I'll believe his words.
The words that he wouldn't dare do anything with another woman while leaving her behind. They felt like the truth.
And truthfully, she didn't feel too bad.