Chapter 56
Chapter 56
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Elven Alliance
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Enoch blinked at the sudden silence. Had he said something weird? He hadn't said much at all.
As he puzzled over it, Zatum let out a hearty laugh.
“Haha! What a tremendous favor! I never dreamed Lord Estor would grace me with such guidance.”
Lord Estor? He got that it was referring to himself, but it still felt awkward. Lione was here too—didn't that make two Lord Estors?
“With your epithet of Sword Marquess, there's no confusion. Lord Estor will likely earn your own epithet soon enough, and then you'll be known by that.”
“Oh.”
An epithet, huh. Lione's was Thousand-Year Sword Marquess, so something similar would be nice. But he hadn't lived a thousand years, didn't use a sword, and “Marquess” was a feminine title anyway—no overlap at all. What a shame.
The knights, however, seemed more focused on the guidance than the epithet, steering the conversation that way.
“Insights like that are rarely shared so straightforwardly. For a warrior, enlightenment is the most desperate pursuit—far more valuable than any paltry sum of money.”
“It wasn't anything special.”
“What seems trivial when looking back on your own path is different for someone just starting out. Every word is precious, which is why nobles often use enlightenment as bait to recruit promising talent.”
Was that so? Probably. Either way, it hadn't been a big deal to him, so he didn't dwell on it. No one had a right to complain.
“Man, must be nice.”
Zeke Fryne patted Zatum's shoulder.
“Can't stand still, huh? Your shoulders are twitching already.”
“Even so, I'm not so rude as to bolt from the table mid-meal, young master.”
“So what? I would've run.”
Yonia let out a snort at that.
“Rude.”
“Hey, no way! Isn't it obvious!?”
For the first time, Enoch agreed with Zeke Fryne. When enlightenment tickles your mind, it takes priority. No telling when it'll come again if you ignore it.
With that in mind, he gave Zatum a look—go if you've got something brewing.
“Uh, then if you'll excuse me.”
And Zatum bolted without hesitation. Zeke Fryne stared blankly at his retreating figure.
“Wait, didn't you just say something about manners?”
*
Zatum raced to the training ground tucked in a corner behind their lavish inn and immediately drew his sword.
*When circulating mana, relax a bit more and flow it smoothly backward. If you gain insight into your own sword from there, engraving the star should come quickly.*
It was incredibly intuitive advice. Explanations grew ever more abstract as one's realm advanced and imagery took over.
Hadn't everyone heard vague notions like keeping the sky's clouds at your crown and the earth's flames at your feet? That alone warranted kowtowing in gratitude, but advice you could test right away? Indescribable.
*Relax, circle back roundly.*
He recalled the meaning as he circulated his mana. Relax for a softer trajectory. Circling back roundly meant a fuller, larger arc.
His sword moved with the mana. Moonlight shattered on the silver blade, his dragging steps whispering through the night air.
The heart method Zatum had learned was a second-rate low-tier one passed down from his father. Nothing terrible, but nothing exceptional.
Yet right now, that simplicity helped. Combined with Lord Estor's advice, he took a step toward the path dimly emerging.
“Ah.”
On the cusp of no-mind, goosebumps prickled Zatum's forearms.
Only by putting the guidance into practice did he realize. Those few short words perfectly pierced his situation—a guidance impossible without knowing his heart method.
*How in the world...*
Had he peered right into him? Traced those minute mana flows? If so, Lord Estor could probably emulate his heart method.
The absurdity nearly shattered his focus. An unbelievable talent. No wonder he reached such heights so young.
Yes, guidance from such a person. Miss this moment, and he'd regret it forever. No letting it slip.
“Suuu──────.”
He steadied his breath and swung. His feet carved lines in the earth, shattered moonlight settling on his lapel.
Until he turned that guidance into true insight, Zatum didn't rest.
*
The next day, Yonia stepped out of the inn and scanned the area. Sure enough, there was Enoch on the wall, basking in the sun with a low growl.
What was he, a cat? Whenever he vanished and she hunted him down, he was usually like this—sunbathing. Sometimes moonlight.
“Hey, ready to head out?”
A drowsy gaze turned her way. Oh, Eri was there too, apparently. Sunning herself beside her master.
“…Yeah.”
“You said there's nothing to do anyway, so let's go early.”
“Yeah, let's go.”
With a sigh, Yonia headed back inside. She'd given the heads-up; he'd dawdle for an hour or two before getting ready. Might as well rest till then.
Stretching as she aimed for the dining hall, a sudden commotion erupted outside. Her long ears twitched.
*Lord Estor...!*
Ah, that knight from yesterday? His voice brimmed with excitement—must've made progress. Peeking out, she saw him bowing deeply.
“Truly, thank you...!”
*
Zatum bowed to Lord Estor over and over. He hadn't pierced beyond the wall in one go, but that was natural. The important thing was the tiny crack he'd made in it.
With diligent cultivation, he'd break through someday. No number of bows could express his gratitude.
“Please visit Demisto someday! Or send word later, and I'll come to you!”
Was his furiously bowing and straightening amusing? Zeke Fryne and the knights watched with odd looks.
“Didn't know the captain was so flexible.”
“I'd be doing the same.”
Zatum ignored the murmurs. But when Lord Estor, who had his left eye closed, opened it, a shiver like a heartbeat rocked him.
*He's seeing right through me...!*
An empty socket. A single purple ring within. That eerie eye seemed to scour everything about him.
“Yeah, sure. See you later.”
Even that casual reply couldn't be dismissed. What profound meaning hid there? Geniuses like him saw the world differently. Every word was treasure beyond gold to ordinary folk like him.
“Thank you!”
“Huh? Uh... yeah, sure.”
What did someone like that even think about day-to-day? Back home, he'd preach Lord Estor's greatness. Zatum vowed it.
*
*What's for lunch today?*
Enoch blankly scanned Zatum's insides. His left magic eye pierced everything more clearly than usual.
The dantian had stabilized for sure. Mana flowed more smoothly now, sharpening keenly when needed. Clear progress from yesterday.
*Good enough.*
Achieving that much from minor advice was Zatum's talent.
They said insights weren't shared easily, but that was coward talk. Enoch knew he'd outpace anyone regardless, so he had no reason to stint on guidance.
With Zatum bowing vigorously in the background, Enoch gazed blankly at the sky.
*Wonder what the Elven Alliance is like.*
Where the elves lived. He'd visit with Lione, so they'd roll out the red carpet. Easy to sightsee.
After marriage, living in the Elven Alliance wouldn't be bad. With that thought, Enoch rose.
“I'm off.”
“Yes sir! Safe travels!”
“Stop by Demisto next time!”
Leaving Zatum's booming send-off and Zeke Fryne's enthusiastic waving, Enoch entered the inn. With his left eye closed, the world appeared only half its usual self.
If the world he perceived was halved, had the world itself shrunk for him? He started to swing his hand whimsically, then froze.
*...Close call.*
One swipe just now would've demolished the inn or himself for sure. Still, the odd sensation lingered.
Mind and action. A faint clue to something glimmered.
“Hm.”
If he could observe it, he could achieve it. Time remained plenty, so pushing toward reachable heights wasn't bad.
“Enoch, time to go.”
Lione was ready too, it seemed. Her lips curved in an especially bright smile. Excited about visiting the Elven Alliance together? He was, at least.
She'd probably leave around when they departed the Elven Alliance, but so what. His feelings for her were eternal, but their time on this journey finite—like flowing waters, best savored fully.
“Yeah, let's go.”
He grabbed his things from the room. Shoved the shattered mask in his pack, strapped the sword conspicuously to his waist.
Enoch Estor. His name. The origin of it all.
The Elven Alliance lay just ahead.