Chapter 159
Ten Whistle Daggers, a loose-fitting leather armor lined with a soft inner fabric to prevent chafing.
The armor was good. Encrid was quite satisfied. Unlike his previous one, it didn’t block magical attacks, but in terms of physical defense, this one was more than enough.
It would be stifling in the heat, but if necessary, he’d wear it. No other choice.
The leather had been reinforced with a lattice of finely hammered chain links. It was heavy, but its defense would be exceptional.
“It’s my masterpiece.”
The blacksmith had every right to say that.
Even at half price, the armor was expensive.
The cost of leather repairs, the painstaking work of crafting those thin chains—
It had taken nearly a year to make.
“Use it well.”
A gift from a red-faced blacksmith.
Encrid couldn’t accept it for free, so he badgered Krys into paying for it.
The blacksmith silently accepted the pouch of Krong.
Along with the armor, he received two short daggers for his ankles.
One Guard Sword strapped to his lower back, eight Throwing Knives secured around his thighs and waist.
The Whistle Daggers were strapped in an X across his chest.
He already knew the right angle to draw them from—years of experience had taught him that.
A familiar setup.
A spare knife for anything unexpected.
Should he also carry a Shortsword?
If his primary blade broke, he’d need a backup.
By the time he finished packing, he was carrying quite a load.
He also needed a thick blanket for sleeping outdoors, maybe even a small pot for cooking.
Krys could carry the pot, but there were still plenty of supplies to gather.
Charcoal to keep warm at night, thick cloth, wooden spoons and forks, and a thin copper-infused iron plate—perfect for grilling food.
A travel pack was a must, but the weight would be considerable.
Encrid’s survival skills had always been his greatest asset.
It was one of the reasons he was still alive, despite his inexperience with swords.
Once a habit was ingrained, it never left.
There were only four of them traveling, but those four were hardly weaklings.
Frok traveled alone all the time.
And Encrid, having experienced the dangers of the road firsthand, couldn’t afford to neglect preparations.
This was how he found peace of mind.
“Are you really taking all that?”
Rua scoffed beside him.
It could’ve been criticism, or maybe just amazement. Encrid didn’t care.
His comfort took priority.
“Yes, it’s a shame I can’t carry more.”
Gauntlets, shin guards—his armor was thorough.
He sharpened each knife and oiled the blades with animal fat, polishing them until they gleamed.
“Trying to blind people with sunlight?”
“Sharp observation.”
Frok, watching from the side, threw out a comment. Encrid answered indifferently.
It almost felt like banter.
“Why do I feel like I’ve been replaced?”
Rem muttered nonsense.
Encrid ignored him.
“Why won’t you answer me?”
Rem sounded annoyed.
He couldn’t be left alone like this. If ignored for too long, he’d start causing trouble.
Encrid sighed and replied.
“I did.”
“When?”
“With silence.”
What kind of insane response was that?
Rem’s face twisted in a strange expression.
Encrid simply absorbed his reaction. Meaning, he ignored him.
“Tch.”
Rem let it go.
In verbal battles, he always lost. This was something he had learned through repeated experience.
Mission or no mission, this was their daily routine.
Encrid stuck to his habits.
Training like a madman in the morning, preparing for deployment in the evening.
Maintaining his gear, gathering supplies.
Frok was half-exhausted just watching him.
‘Is he just relentless?’
Or maybe just dull?
He did everything—training, preparations—without hesitation, as if none of it were a hassle.
No complaints, no visible signs of struggle.
Well, when he practiced Isolation Technique, there were moments of visible pain.
But the odd smirk that followed—
‘Maybe he’s just a freak.’
That seemed likely.
Being told he couldn’t be a knight hadn’t discouraged him in the slightest.
Frok had observed him for three months. There was no falsehood in his actions.
Which meant one thing—
He was genuinely strange.
Gurgle.
Curiosity stirred.
And his face wasn’t bad either—watching him was entertaining.
Where had a guy like this even come from?
“He’s mine.”
Rua was squatting in the shade of the training ground, watching.
At some point, an Elf Company Commander had approached her.
His shadow stretched into the shade, distorting slightly.
“Who said otherwise?”
Rua responded indifferently.
“Kyahh.”
From the opposite side, Esther bared her fangs, sitting alone in the shade.
That one always did that.
Rua let it be.
It wasn’t her problem.
For Frok, what mattered was desire and intrigue.
And right now, the source of that intrigue was right in front of her.
Even if someone tapped her heart, she wouldn’t kill them outright.
Well, maybe halfway.
—
Between training, Encrid didn’t neglect his duties.
“You’re leaving on deployment? Only four of you? Even Frok?”
When he reported to the battalion commander, the man questioned it but approved immediately.
“Strange.”
That was his only comment.
“And? How do you feel about being unable to become a knight?”
The commander asked as Encrid turned to leave.
Before saluting, Encrid replied casually.
“Yes, thank you for the gift.”
Was there malice behind that gesture?
No, there wasn’t.
Even if there had been, in the end, it had been a good opportunity for him.
A dream left unfulfilled?
That didn’t apply to Encrid.
He had chased that broken dream all the way here.
Piecing together the tattered fragments was all this was.
“Gratitude?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
A dull conversation, punctuated only by a salute. Encrid stepped outside again.
The Elf Company Commander was following him. He had been seeing the guy around quite often lately.
Did he have nothing else to do?
Encrid gave him a look.
“What? Have you fallen for me?”
That was the kind of nonsense he was saying.
Encrid turned away without answering.
Back at camp, he resumed personal maintenance.
“You look way too excited about heading out.”
Rem decided to start something.
“If you’re that restless, wanna spar?”
Encrid smoothly turned the provocation back on him.
“Gladly!”
A sharp duel, satisfying strikes.
Clang! Clang!
One thing stood out this time—there was something new in Rem’s expression.
It looked like… satisfaction.
When Encrid activated Heart of Monstrous Strength, he swung his sword down onto Rem’s axes, but Rem moved his feet just right, letting the impact flow past him.
It was the first time Encrid had seen Rem use a technique resembling Flowing Defense.
“Flowing?”
“What? Am I not allowed to use something like this?”
“No.”
That wasn’t the case at all.
In the end, Encrid lost. The monstrous strength ran out before he could finish the fight, and Rem’s axe found its mark.
Afterward, he sparred with Audin, then Ragna. When Jaxson showed up—apparently with some free time—he fought him too.
“You need more training.”
That meant Jaxson had joined in to help.
Training his reflexes, his peripheral vision, and his ability to dodge.
“You’re not there yet.”
The results were still lacking.
But he repeated the process again and again.
With his preparations mostly complete, Encrid trained relentlessly until the day before departure.
“You’ve gained more tools. That means you need to organize them properly.”
Even Ragna, who wasn’t usually one for lectures, gave him some advice.
Encrid thought it was worth listening to.
“Of course.”
Between training, he increased his meditation time.
Rua occasionally swung a whip at him and corrected his posture when she felt like it, but mostly, she just watched.
Encrid didn’t mind.
He was too busy stacking up everything he had learned.
Fundamentals.
The fundamentals of swordsmanship. The fundamentals of conditioning.
The foundation was Northern Heavy Blade Techniques and Isolation Technique.
Supporting all of it was Blade Awareness.
Opening the Gate of the Sixth Sense, glimpsing a fraction of the future.
But it didn’t activate on its own.
It required absolute concentration.
‘I’m no genius.’
A frog trapped in the well of today.
A mayfly sprinting toward tomorrow.
That’s why he struggled.
That’s why he crawled forward, no matter what.
Encrid hadn’t changed.
He was too consistent.
A wanderer chasing a faded dream, forever walking forward.
Sharpening his skills, focusing his mind, refining himself over and over.
Learning the rhythm of battle, reinforcing his heavy blade techniques.
Getting used to Heart of Monstrous Strength.
And then, the day before departure—
“They say monster hordes have been a real problem lately. Used to be, merchants would travel in groups of ten. Now, they won’t go out with less than twenty. Are we seriously going out like this? Well… guess we are.”
Something about that was unsettling.
Krys glanced at Encrid’s face and twisted his words mid-sentence.
It was during training, as usual, when they were talking.
Encrid stood across from Rem, blade drawn.
Rem spun his axes with flicks of his wrists.
How many times had they fought lately?
They had sparred often these days.
“Make this a good one for me today.”
Rem had been sulking for some reason.
This was half an attempt to cheer him up.
If he was going to mope, he should’ve just joined them instead of staying behind.
Why linger and sulk?
The season was shifting fully into summer.
Encrid felt the change in temperature.
He noticed the shift in the wind’s direction.
The air changed in an instant. Their distance was measured in an instant.
And in that instant—
Everything he had learned over time came together, aligning within him.
All the accumulated experience.
The lines connecting each point.
The invisible circle that defined his sword’s range.
The rhythm, the tempo—attack, defense, counter.
Reading his opponent’s movements, his breath—seeing just a step ahead.
Encrid lowered his sword slightly.
It was instinct.
Because he could see the future, he had to react.
The tip of his sword tilted forward just a little.
Between shafts of sunlight, Rem’s twin axes stopped.
He saw Rem’s nose, his eyes, the sweat running down his forehead.
By forgetting himself and focusing on his opponent, Encrid naturally found the fastest, most efficient path.
Where their ranges met, the tempo and timing that worked in his favor—
His foot lifted off the ground.
His sword fell, slicing through the sunlight.
Rem’s axes moved.
The man holding them moved.
A hazy shape flickered.
Something ghostly—no, something demonic.
A demon’s axe flew toward him.
Slash!
A vision—his head getting severed.
Just before the illusion became reality, Encrid’s blade struck downward.
A thunderous slash, fueled by the weight of Northern Heavy Blade Techniques.
Whoosh!
But… nothing was cut.
His head was intact.
The axe had struck only a mirage.
“…So, you’ve picked up the ability to get serious now?”
“You dodged?”
As Encrid turned, he saw a thin cut on Rem’s cheek.
There was no sensation in his hands.
Yet he had cut him.
A mere scratch, but still.
Tingling.
A strange sensation ran through his body.
Like a beast roaring inside him, shaking his very core.
Thinking back, this was a first.
Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxson—
None of them had ever been wounded by his blade before.
“Well done.”
Rua shot up from her seat, clapping her hands together.
A crisp sound, muffled by calloused palms.
The tone was different, but her expression showed genuine delight.
“Uh… that was…”
Encrid found himself at a loss for words.
A new experience? No, he had experienced this before.
He had.
‘Mustache.’
The first time he had faced him. The time he had been wholly focused on Mitch Hurrier, pushing himself into absolute concentration.
That experience—of breaking past the limits of focus.
Of course, now it was even deeper.
He had learned more.
He had refined more.
They say you see as much as you know.
And that was exactly what was happening.
The more he knew, the more he could see.
