Chapter 156

A bird chirps.

The wind blows.

The summer sky, accompanied by a radiant sun, quickly fills with heat.

Encrid felt heat surging both inside and outside his body.

For the past three months, rumors had been rampant—outwardly, there was peace, but behind the scenes, whispers of war loomed once again.

In the end, however, Azpen stepped back.

No war. No battles.

So, what were the soldiers left in the barracks to do?

Training and rest—that was all.

Many took on mercenary commissions through the soldier-for-hire system.

But Encrid never lacked for Krong.

His two swords remained in perfect condition.

Krys diligently handed over the Krong he earned through the guild.

And so, Encrid spent most of his time training.

Even so, his progress seemed slow—at least, to others. They often murmured that he had hit a wall.

A wall—stagnation.

Many believed Encrid had stopped improving.

But he thought differently.

Why wouldn’t he?

‘Will.’

What had Encrid’s dream always been?

A ghost he could never grasp.

A darkness he could never see.

Something beyond reach, like a sky too far away.

But now, he saw steps leading to that sky. He heard them, and they formed before him.

These were what one could call guideposts.

For Encrid, Will was such a guidepost—a stairway, a marker.

Breaking through limits?

Stagnation? No.

He was not the same as before—he had changed completely.

Even if others saw stagnation, Encrid could see his own growth.

And the reason he had come this far?

It was all thanks to what he had ingrained into his body and mind.

From the Heart of the Beast to the Perception of Evasion, the Hidden Knife Technique, and the Isolation Technique…

‘If swordsmanship has fundamentals…’

Could talent also be built on a foundation?

He didn’t know. But wasn’t that exactly what was happening to him now?

Through his Perception of Evasion, sometimes by using the Heart of the Beast, other times by honing the edge of his senses…

He reflected on and refined his experiences, over and over again.

For three months, that was all Encrid had done.

And in that time, soldiers had begun seeking him out.

He realized firsthand the truth behind the saying that skill grows through teaching.

“Let’s spar.”

The 1st Company. The Border Guards.

Both were elite units within the standing forces.

At first, even ordinary soldiers had challenged him.

But now, only those from these units sought him out.

Sparring was always welcome.

“Fine.”

Encrid greeted them with his usual calm.

Soon, two men faced off, sweat pouring as they exchanged blows.

Encrid won every time.

The difference now? He no longer relied on grappling.

He set aside Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship and focused on the fundamentals. That alone was enough.

Against Rem and the other squad members, he fought with everything he had.

But against these soldiers, he didn’t need to.

And through this process, he realized something.

‘They overcomplicate things.’

Occasionally, he encountered soldiers who lost their foundation, trying to learn too many things at once.

“Isn’t this more efficient?”

They would often respond when he pointed out their mistakes.

It was a thought he himself had once entertained.

Efficient, logical combat.

Even now, he used it often.

But that was combat—not training.

His approach to training had been to cram as much as possible into his body each day.

Did that make things easier?

Even now, he couldn’t fully utilize Perception of Evasion.

The Heart of Monstrous Strength required preparation time.

And Proper Heavy Recovery only activated in life-threatening situations.

Through endless contemplation, he had reached a conclusion.

‘Focus on what can be done now.’

And so, he moved forward. Again and again.

With that resolve, he trained without pause. Occasionally, a boatman appeared in his dreams, muttering, What kind of man are you?

But for three whole months, training was all he did.

That was Encrid’s way of life—repetition and more repetition.

Living each week as if it were today. Living each month as if it were today.

And in doing so, he gained a new realization.

‘Rhythm.’

An essential element in wielding a sword.

For geniuses—people like Ragna—it was something they grasped effortlessly.

For Encrid, however, it was a staircase to climb, step by step.

When he had a realization in the morning, his whole day felt lighter.

When he grasped something new in the evening, even falling asleep felt joyful.

Kyaaah.

Esther followed Encrid around as if cheering him on.

At night, she stuck to him while sleeping.

Now, she never left his side even during the day.

“You’re even popular with beasts.”

Frok had remarked once.

Esther had bared her claws at him in response, but they never actually fought.

Every other day, the Elf Commander came to visit.

“Would autumn be a good time? For the engagement?”

Sometimes, she joked.

Other times, she simply said,

“Let’s spar.”

And crossed swords with him before leaving.

The elves’ swords were sharp and light, and through them, he learned.

Teaching others, he learned. Through sparring, he learned.

“Alright, block this.”

Rem’s axe swings were still brutal and wild.

But something had changed.

Now, there was sometimes a hint of a smile on his face.

“Yikes!”

And he could even surprise Encrid.

A sword rising from below while a second blade thrust in an offbeat rhythm.

The timing between slashes and thrusts was subtly different, as if introducing discord into a melody.

Two hands moving at different tempos.

This was Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship, the Crossed Blades technique.

A deceptive maneuver—one of the rare few in Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship considered a true technique rather than just a dirty trick.

By making it appear as if the right and left swords moved independently, it confused opponents.

“That was pretty good.”

Rem admitted.

Acknowledgment—it, too, was a joy.

“If you neglect your martial arts, the gods will be angered.”

Of course, what god would be angered over learning Valaf Pressure Point Technique?

It was nonsense.

But Encrid didn’t bother arguing as he trained with Audin.

Valaf Pressure Point Technique—a blend of striking and grappling techniques.

Indeed, Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship had once been mixed with joint locks in a chaotic brawl, leading to the death of Mitch Hurrier.

He learned and mastered.

It was the joy of learning.

To be recognized and to learn, to teach in return.

That was how he grew.

The thrill of progress drove him forward.

How could wielding a sword not be enjoyable?

‘One step at a time, even if I have to crawl.’

A return to his beginnings—the mindset he had started with.

For Encrid, it was a simple thing.

For others, it was something astonishing.

Especially for those watching—like Frok.

Of course, Encrid was too busy focusing on himself rather than the eyes around him.

In between, he never neglected training his vision and sharpening his senses. He was living busier than anyone.

Of the soldiers who had initially followed Encrid in rigorous training, only a handful remained dedicated.

Perhaps it was due to the slackening discipline after the battles ended.

Or maybe it was simply human nature.

As more soldiers spent their time idly, fewer committed to training.

Yet some still remained.

Some stood out.

Excluding them, the best sparring partners were still the Border Guards.

Sometimes, he even went to them directly to request a match.

“You’re always welcome.”

The captain of the Border Guards always greeted him warmly.

Encrid sparred with him and mingled with others.

Yet, one familiar face, Torres, shook his head.

“I’m not fighting you anymore.”

“Why?”

“Hey, there’s no point in fighting when you know you’re going to lose.”

The ranking system among soldiers.

Those who spoke of Elite Soldiers often used that reasoning.

Some rekindled their fighting spirit, but Encrid had already moved one step beyond them.

Three months—time always flew like an arrow.

But to Encrid, it was just another day. Another today. A continuous process moving toward tomorrow.

“Rhythm isn’t singular. You already knew that, didn’t you?”

Had they thought mere observation would be enough to understand?

Or had they simply grown bored of remaining idle?

Ruagarne the Frok had started teaching Encrid.

“I was just about to say that.”

Ragna mumbled as he watched.

But it was exactly what needed to be said at that moment.

Rhythm. Timing.

That’s right. There was no need for everything to merge into one.

Hadn’t he already learned that through Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship?

Crossed Blades was a technique built upon offbeat strikes.

There were elongated, stretched rhythms.

Short, firm beats.

Rhythms maintained by tightening the core and withstanding force.

That was how he learned.

“Break the timing from the standard rhythm. Now, shift that to a single step—no, in that moment, your left foot should move half a step forward. That’ll allow for a mid-stance rotational slash.”

Ruagarne was highly proactive.

Why was Frok staying by his side?

Why was she eating and sleeping in this place?

Why was she teaching him?

Encrid pushed those questions aside. No—he decided to forget them.

If he was being taught, he would learn. Because he always thirsted for knowledge, he accepted it.

“Then, what if I pull my right foot back here?”

“That would make retrieving your sword difficult. Instead, you should do this—”

Even Ragna chimed in.

Somehow, things had turned out this way.

Everyone was more proactive than before.

“No, this works too.”

Even Rem joined in.

A movement balancing on the tips of the toes while twisting the body—a step technique.

Mastering the fundamentals while tailoring his footwork, sword strikes, and reactions to different situations.

“Expand your senses. Haven’t you already learned this?”

Jaxson’s advice came in.

That’s right. He had already learned it.

Hadn’t he broadened his sensory perception when facing the lycanthropes?

Rather than only looking ahead, he had to see the whole picture.

To center himself and expand his awareness outward.

“Squad Leader, all movement has a centerline. It applies to both martial arts and swordsmanship. The key is to maintain that centerline and extend it toward your opponent.”

Audin’s teachings layered on top.

Everyone was more passionate than before.

And to Encrid, it all brought him joy.

“There is a strength to it.”

That was Rua’s conclusion after watching everything.

“What strength?”

Rem, standing beside him, asked. The training ground was the same. The scorching sunlight was the same. The sweat, the stench of effort—it was another day just like today.

“He never lets go of what he’s learned.”

Rem nodded. It was true. Encrid was a slow learner.

Some had even called him a ‘late-blooming genius.’

‘That, I don’t know about.’

But one thing was certain.

He never forgot what he had learned. He constantly pondered it. He sought ways to refine it.

How could he apply it?

How could he embody it?

What was the best way to utilize it?

He ceaselessly contemplated. It was clear.

And that, too, was a strength.

Rem thought so.

Rua, meanwhile, was only now reflecting on what he had been doing.

‘Was it his face that captivated me?’

Or was it his nature?

To be so dedicated to teaching someone who showed no signs of talent…

To pave a path forward for such a person…

Wasn’t it an incredibly inefficient thing to do?

Well, not that he minded. Rua had always been someone ruled by her desires and instincts.

Rua knew she was no different.

Of course, there was something beyond mere desire.

To be precise, she had made a pact—to live without being completely consumed by her instincts.

A pact was a promise. A vow had to be upheld.

For a Frok, that was just the way it was.

‘I will have to leave eventually.’

Even as that thought crossed her mind, Rua continued teaching Encrid.

For three months, he had learned and trained.

Yet, to Rua, his progress seemed slow.

Caught between Rua’s scrutiny and the squad members’ teachings, Encrid repeatedly reviewed his rhythm, attaching various techniques to his body.

Mastery—he felt as though he was one step closer to his limits.

Of course, in reality, he was nowhere near.

But he was at the stage where he couldn’t even grasp what ‘reaching the limit’ truly meant.

And then—

“You’re being summoned.”

The Elf Commander arrived with the message.

“Yes.”

Dripping with sweat, Encrid followed her.

The Elf Commander’s forehead was also damp. The heat of the day was intense, and the humidity was high.

It felt as though a storm was coming.

It would rain within a day or two. He knew it from experience.

“You’ve arrived?”

The place where she had led him—the battalion commander’s office.

“A request has come in. What do you think?”

The soldier-for-hire system allowed soldiers to voluntarily take on assignments, but occasionally, orders came from above.

Rarely, when a task was too much for a handful of regular soldiers, entire squads or even companies were deployed.

According to what Krys had heard, groups of monsters and beasts had been causing disturbances across the kingdom.

Such occurrences were common as summer approached, but this year, it was particularly severe.

“The heat of summer fuels the rise of monsters and beasts.”

A well-known saying throughout the continent. This situation was just another instance of that truth.

“I’d like to grant you temporary command of a nearby frontier village and have you take care of the situation.”

That was the battalion commander’s request.

Since the spring battlefield had ended early, this summer was an unusual one—spent in the city instead of on the battlefield.

During that time, Encrid had remained between the training grounds and his quarters.

Not once had he even stepped into the marketplace.

His path was that of the sword, and he was too intoxicated by its pursuit to care for anything else.

“If you’re not interested, you can refuse. If you need time to think, take your time and let me know.”

The battalion commander looked visibly exhausted. Was it from work overload? A lack of sleep?

Most likely the former, given the mountain of documents surrounding him.

“Yes.”

Encrid saluted and turned to leave.

As he stepped outside, he noticed the Elf Commander watching him with an unusual expression.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

If he asked, she’d probably give another nonsensical response.

“I was just thinking that I really chose my man well.”

Of course, it was an elvish joke.

“Is that so?”

Ignoring the meaningless joke, he returned to his quarters, only to find Krys, who had been unusually busy lately, already there.

He was shuffling through a stack of orders when Encrid relayed what had happened.

“That—yeah! Let’s go! We have to go! It’s an order, after all!”

Krys’ eyes sparkled.

This reaction meant only one thing—it was a job that involved Krong.

That much was clear from how he responded.

The orders contained rough details about the village’s location and the size of the colony affected.

A beast horde uprising.

But when Krys’ eyes landed on the location, his expression completely changed.