Chapter 92: There is a Fine Line Between Extraordinary and Crazy
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 92: There is a Fine Line Between Extraordinary and Crazy
After maintaining his boots and gloves, Encrid began wiping his sword with an oiled cloth.
The recent extermination of a pack of demonic beasts had yielded a significant reward. For Encrid, that meant one thing: a new sword.
The Valerian steel from his shattered blade had been reforged and blended with Noir wrought iron—a fusion of two of the finest metals known to the continent.
"No one else but me could have pulled this off," the blacksmith had boasted.
He had every right to. Even if he couldn't forge a true magic sword, his skill in working metal was second to no mage. He was a renowned artisan within the Border Guard. One could argue he was only famous within the territory, but in a place like this, that was still a prestigious title.
In the end, that very artisan had crafted Encrid's new weapon. Even Ragna, who was notoriously picky about swords, gave a begrudging half-nod of approval.
"It’s decent enough. Though far too poor for me to use," he had added, which was the only reason it was a "half-nod."
Encrid carefully wiped the blade and flicked his finger against the flat of the steel.
Ting—
A remarkably clear resonance rang out. For Encrid, this was the first sword he had ever owned that could truly be called a masterpiece. He couldn't help but feel satisfied.
Ironically, Ragna, who was so difficult to please, would often just pick up any random piece of scrap metal and use it. Not long ago, Ragna had found it too tedious to sharpen his own chipped arming sword, so Encrid had ground the blade for him. Had he not, Ragna would have simply carried the jagged thing around without a second thought.
"Esther, that’s not a toy."
Encrid finished his maintenance and gently coaxed Esther away. He had kept a few items retrieved from the corpse-lover he’d killed in the sewers. He had spoken to Krais about selling them off, but one item was too troublesome to dispose of even in the back alleys, so he had kept it for himself.
"The cover of that book was bound in human skin. Was there really a mage hiding in the sewers?" Krais had asked when Encrid handed over the loot.
The way he asked made it clear he didn't quite believe Encrid had actually killed a mage down there.
"You didn't believe me?"
"I believed you, but now I believe you a little more."
Which was just a polite way of saying he hadn't believed him at all.
"Anyway, that book is a bit hard to get rid of, but I managed to sell the staff and the other items for a good price."
According to Krais, the world was full of people who craved rare and exotic curiosities. Since it was a field Encrid had no interest in, he simply took the man's word for it.
The black wooden staff and several stones were sold. The staff was a crude piece crafted by a low-level mage, and the stones were related to alchemy, though nothing spectacular.
With the tribute from the Gilpin Guild promised by Krais, the krona obtained from the mage, the proceeds from the loot, and the rewards from his recent commissions... he had poured every single bit of it into this sword. Since Noir wrought iron was outrageously expensive, he didn't regret a single coin.
It would have been nice if I’d had a bit more Valerian steel, though.
"To spend a fortune like that on a single sword..." Krais had muttered in disbelief, but Encrid was content.
For a man who lived by the blade, what could possibly be more important than his weapon? Even if it was ultimately a consumable, why spare any expense if a superior weapon gave him an edge in a life-or-death struggle?
"This is more than enough."
That left the grimoire. Because the human-skin cover was unsettling, Encrid had wrapped it in a thin cloth and tucked it away in a corner, only for Esther to sniff it out and drag it to her bed.
What would happen if she decided to use it as a litter box?
What was a grimoire, after all? It was a treasure in which a mage recorded the culmination of a lifetime of study. It was a legacy so significant it bore a title meaning "The Book of the Magic Path."
And now, a panther cub was using it as a cushion.
Is it really okay to leave it like that?
At the very least, she didn't seem likely to urinate on it. Esther never relieved herself in front of the squad members; whether by feline instinct or simple pride, she always slipped away to a hidden spot to do her business. She also groomed herself constantly.
Encrid put the grimoire out of his mind. He had no idea how much it was worth, but the moment he reached out to take it, Esther let out a sharp "Hiss!"
It was a rare display of hostility.
"Just leave her be. Looks like she finds it comfortable," Rem chimed in from the side. Encrid simply nodded.
Thus, the legacy of a dead mage had been liquidated and transformed into a sword.
*
Encrid continued to devote himself to training. He began waking up even earlier, pushing the start of his routine well before the first light of dawn.
As a platoon leader, he only had to stand guard duty once every ten days. Usually, it was a shift of four to six hours spent conducting surprise inspections on patrols or night watchmen. Freed from the grind of regular guard rotations, he had more time than ever.
Encrid’s day now began two hours before the rank-and-file even stirred.
"Chirp."
One such morning, after setting down Esther—who had been curled up in his arms—he stepped outside. The cold had not yet fully receded, and the dawn air carried a biting wind.
Facing the freezing gust, Encrid first regulated his breathing. He began with the Isolation Technique.
He moved his body to generate heat, putting immense strain on his muscles using heavy stone implements. As he warmed up, Audin stepped out of the barracks, stood beside him, and began his own practice.
"Good morning, Brother Platoon Leader."
It seemed this was Audin's new way of showing respect, tacking the title onto their usual address. It reminded Encrid of the Company Commander’s promise to fill the vacant spots in his platoon soon.
"Focus."
The moment his mind wandered, Audin scolded him.
"I know."
One could not perform the technique properly with a distracted mind. Focus on the breath; focus on the muscles. That was what Audin emphasized, and Encrid followed it to the letter. It was a constant process of training and retraining his body.
But he didn't stop at the Isolation Technique. His belief that he needed to consolidate everything he possessed remained unchanged.
Beast's Heart, Blade's Sense, Single-Point Focus, Isolation Technique.
He practiced his swordsmanship, including the Heavy Sword Style, and the practical application of his techniques. He honed the discernment needed to judge an opponent's level and specialty just by observing their physique. He worked on predicting attacks based on his Sixth Sense and intuition.
He also considered his original style, the Valen-style Mercenary Sword.
Can I utilize it, or should I discard it?
There was no need to discard it. That was the conclusion he reached. How one utilized their tools depended entirely on their own capability.
If my capability is lacking, I just need to grow.
Boldness was a necessity. Its value was proven every time he kept his eyes open at a critical, life-threatening moment. Encrid viewed the Beast's Heart as the foundation of everything.
Stay calm.
On some days, he trained his Sixth Sense. On others, he tried blending his senses with his focus.
Blend them. Engrave them into my marrow.
A single strike of the sword was the culmination of a thousand experiences. Acquiring it through instinct, recognizing it with the mind, and hammering it back into the body. It wasn't easy, but through this grueling process, Encrid gradually established his own unique patterns.
Training alone isn't enough.
What he needed was real combat—combat paired with discipline. And preferably...
Combat where my life is on the line.
"I told you before," Rem had once said half-jokingly. "If you fight with your life on the line and survive, you gain a lot. But since you only have one life, building your skills that way doesn't make much sense."
Encrid now knew those words were the absolute truth. He understood the weight of life-or-death combat. The point wasn't to die, but to overcome the shadow of death time and time again.
Recognizing this need, Encrid began taking on every commission available. From the trivial to the extreme, he did not discriminate.
"What did she ask us to find?"
"Her cat."
It was a request from a noblewoman. Was it beneath a military unit to accept such things? No. It was necessary work. Encrid didn't filter the commissions. No matter the situation, no matter the moment, he believed everything contributed to his growth.
He tracked the cat to the top of a tree.
"Let's go quietly."
The cat looked ready to bolt. He could feel its tension through his Sixth Sense. Absurdly enough, even this became a source of enlightenment. He manipulated the cat's instincts, projecting a sliver of killing intent and aura to force it to leap exactly where he wanted. He caught it gently and subdued it with a sharp glare.
"Because you've opened the Gate of the Sixth Sense," Sachsen noted.
By now, Sachsen no longer tormented Encrid. The days of suffering under the man's crushing killing intent were over; it had lost its effectiveness.
The commissions ranged from finding pets to...
"Someone committed robbery and is hiding in the territory?"
There were tasks like this as well. A drifter had entered the territory and pulled a clumsy stunt.
"Find him."
When Encrid had taken over the Gilpin Guild, he hadn't expected to use them this way, but Krais handled the information gathering skillfully.
They found the target in a back-alley gambling den—a retired soldier with a scar on his forehead.
"You want to fight me? Fuck, I've seen all kinds of shit since coming to the sticks. I heard the Border Guard standing army is decent. Come on, then!"
The man had confidence, but did he have the skill? Encrid used the opportunity to test his discernment. Pretending to be slightly pushed back, he analyzed the man's moves.
At best, an Intermediate or Senior Soldier.
Based on the Naurilian Soldier Grading System, that was his assessment. There were no surprises.
"Pant... pant... What are you?"
"Border Guard standing army."
With those final words, Encrid broke the man's legs just enough to incapacitate him and dragged him away. The thief would be locked in the unit's prison, and unless someone paid his fine, he would likely never see the sun again.
After that, Encrid was dispatched to inns to break up brawls between merchant guards. Among them, he found a guard with impressive skills. While clashing, Encrid practiced blending his Single-Point Focus with his Blade's Sense.
Focusing while keeping the gate of his senses wide open. He had done it before, but he realized something new: the depth of concentration changed everything.
It's slowing down.
Though not as dramatic as his moments of extreme crisis, his opponent's sword appeared to move in slow motion. It was because he was predicting the movement perfectly, and because his cognitive speed had reached a new level.
Everything was a continuation of training—an endless cycle of discipline. As he took on commission after commission, whispers began to circulate among the soldiers.
"Seriously, is that guy some kind of commission-obsessed freak?"
It wasn't an insult.
"Does he have ten bodies? He never rests. Why doesn't he ever rest?"
"He’s not human. Seriously."
It was astonishment, which turned into admiration.
"He didn't become a platoon leader for nothing."
"Damn, maybe I should start waking up early to practice my thrusts, too."
Thanks to Encrid, an unexpected training craze swept through the ranks. He had proven himself through sheer results, and his reputation was stellar. Rumors that he was at least a Senior Soldier had already been accepted as fact, and many soldiers owed their lives to him.
Encrid didn't pay much attention to the stir he caused. He was too busy focusing on his own path. Throughout his training, he felt a faint fire smoldering deep within his chest.
What had he been like on the battlefields of his past lives? Even if he hadn't been afraid, he certainly hadn't enjoyed it. The battlefield was never a welcome place.
I know this isn't normal, but...
Now, he looked forward to it. He wanted to fight. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to risk his life and cross the line between life and death once more.
It was the mindset of a madman. And yet...
"Don't you know there's a fine line between the extraordinary and the insane?" Rem’s words echoed in his mind.
If the path to greatness was reserved for the mad, then he would gladly lose his mind.
One day, amidst the cycle of training and commissions, the Elf Company Commander called Encrid to his private training ground.
"It would be fun to clash again," the Commander said.
"A spar?" Encrid did not hesitate. "I would be honored."
The setting was the same as before. Would the result be the same? That remained to be seen. Even with his improved discernment, Encrid still couldn't gauge the Elf’s true strength. However, he didn't think he would be defeated as helplessly as last time.
The Company Commander raised his hand, flattening it into a hand-blade.
"We’ll go with this today."
It was a test. Their previous spar had revealed Encrid's greatest weakness: close-quarters grappling and hand-to-hand combat.
Encrid nodded, his expression hardening.
Their hand-blades clashed in midair.
Tap.
The brief contact was their only greeting before the storm began.