Chapter 253

If you realize something, move. Act immediately.

“If even the slightest clue comes to mind, do it right away. If you hesitate, you’ll lose it. And once it’s gone, it’s not yours anymore. Lost opportunities vanish. Etch even the tiniest realization into your body by moving.”

He remembered it as a short teaching.

It was at a swordsmanship school in a border territory right before entering the southern continent. The instructor had brown skin.

Encrid followed those words. He got up immediately.

He’d returned to the territory today, and whatever he had done before, whether it was time to rest or not, none of it mattered to Encrid.

He stepped outside. The sun had already set.

The sleet had stopped, and the ground was soggy. A torch flickered nearby, casting light around.

Fwoooosh.

The wild horse he had saved looked at Encrid.

Encrid walked past it without a word and began moving his body in front of the barracks.

‘Which muscles are crucial when swinging a sword?’

All of them were important. The forearm muscles affected grip strength, and a solid core was the foundation for utilizing centrifugal force in powerful strikes.

‘When cutting through fire—’

His thoughts reached that moment—the one when he cut through flame.

A spell cast via scroll.

It was astonishing, magical. But in front of him, all he saw was a fireball.

He recalled his movement from then.

He had swung the sword vertically.

‘The back.’

In his mind, he broke down and dissected his body’s muscles.

He compressed all his senses into a single intuitive sensory domain.

And by observing his body, he turned it into a process of refinement.

Encrid mimicked chopping firewood.

It was a necessary movement now. At the same time, he observed the motion of his muscles.

The beginning of change. The foundation of progress. Something that would become a cornerstone.

There were watchers inside the barracks. The Madman Squad.

Dunbakel, who had been drooling, slurped it back in and stood up.

‘If I copy that too, maybe something will happen?’

“Don’t. You’ll ruin your body.”

This time, it was Audin who stopped her. He stepped forward, wondering at the man doing something like a wild dance beneath the moonlight.

‘Why do You grant joy to one so sinful as me?’

Audin muttered to his master, his father, his god, and stepped forward.

What Encrid was doing now wasn’t just following instructions.

It was the journey of someone seeking joy.

Observing and identifying his body’s weaknesses, and embarking on a new path to strengthen them.

How could that not bring joy?

He had taught the [Isolation Technique] to many, or even lesser versions of it.

None had ever reached this realm.

It was incredibly rare to find those who felt joy in learning or teaching the [Isolation Technique].

“Weight, center, inhale deeply and puff your belly out. If your core is off, it’s all useless, brother.”

Audin stood beside him and spoke. Encrid absorbed his words like a sponge.

Yesterday’s technique and today’s were bound to be completely different.

Until now, it had been habit—momentum. But from today onward, he would row his little boat like a ferryman who had found his heading.

That alone made Audin laugh while teaching.

Loudly enough to turn heads inside the barracks.

Their pupils shook in confusion.

“What’s with him?”

“Didn’t he just return today?”

“Why’s he dancing with a rock in his hand?”

“So they’re not just ‘mad’ as in insanely good fighters—but really just mad?”

Those were the murmurs. Because to them, it was far from normal.

Inside the room Audin had left, Rem quietly slid the door shut.

“Cold air’s getting in.”

Dunbakel was disappointed. She wanted to watch what Encrid was doing just a little longer.

“Hey. Just pretend you don’t know him. You should be ashamed. Why’s he doing that in the middle of the night? Seriously, it’s embarrassing to be seen with him.”

No one responded to Rem. That was just how they were.

Dunbakel couldn’t resist and stepped outside. Rem didn’t bother stopping her.

Honestly, he had a lot on his mind too.

‘Damn.’

What kind of person does that?

He had been on the battlefield, in combat.

And after showing such overwhelming power, he wasn’t the least bit excited.

He ignored the cheers of those he saved.

Even after seeing the spell-bound axe, he showed no greed.

He didn’t react to gold or jewels either.

Then he drooled in a trance and burst outside to do that weird routine.

‘Is that normal?’

No. But even that abnormality sparked something in Rem.

After all, he now held an axe imbued with flame.

It was clearly a spell-bound weapon.

That’s why it was easy to wield.

It had held some grudge, too—but Encrid had erased it.

Rem recalled what he had left behind when he left his tribe.

Someday, he would have to go back and reclaim them.

The thoughts snowballed, and he began digesting the inspiration Encrid had given him.

Rem gripped the axe and descended into his own world.

Sometimes it was more important to refine what one already had than to train the body.

That was the case for Rem.

For Ragna, it was the opposite.

He too couldn’t take his eyes off Encrid. Even after Encrid left, he kept staring at the door.

Even when Audin left. Even when Dunbakel left.

‘Is this what it feels like?’

That sensation of blood boiling?

If literal, it would kill a man.

But that’s what it felt like.

In the wide yet small barracks, seated on the edge of his bed, Ragna felt his heart pounding.

Like it was yelling at him to go outside and swing his sword.

But he didn’t.

The training sword he had custom-made at the border guard post was useless.

‘Strength.’

Ragna was a genius, but he had long since accepted his own shortcomings.

He already understood the method of training. What he needed now was a proper tool.

Something he wouldn’t normally care about.

‘Look at that man.’

He wanted to show Encrid to the world.

How could anyone not be stirred after seeing that?

Even a laid-back genius could feel anxious.

Such was the impression Encrid left—it forced him onto a path he hadn’t planned to walk.

So Ragna decided to forge his own tool.

Wouldn’t a dwarven blacksmith be able to make what he needed?

Ragna longed and desired.

He wanted to go further.

It wasn’t just the desire to wield a sword—this was a stimulant of the highest order.

Like biting into a forbidden mushroom or drug.

His heart and head were blazing, beyond his own control.

And he wasn’t the only one who felt this.

Teresa’s eyes trembled behind her mask.

What was driving that man?

The answer was inside her.

‘The joy of combat.’

The instinct to fight. The blood of giants stirred. Teresa burst through the door.

She couldn’t sleep without sparring with that man.

It would be an odd duel under the moon—but so what?

Teresa burst out the door.

‘What now?’

Krys looked up from the jewels he’d been sorting.

Honestly, none of them were normal.

Through the open door, he saw Encrid, Audin, and Dunbakel.

Dunbakel seemed to be receiving some guidance from Audin, squatting halfway.

If she wobbled even a little, Audin would grab her shoulder with a smile.

“Ow!”

Dunbakel yelped. Pain has a way of loosening the lips.

“It’s supposed to hurt. Sister, fix your posture.”

Audin’s voice was audible.

Next to him, Teresa muttered something, but it couldn’t be heard. A few soldiers peeked over, and the wild horse watched blankly.

Krys felt a twinge of concern, but ignored it.

He was holding a ruby nicknamed Crimson Flame.

‘If I sell this properly, I’ll get hundreds of gold.’

It was from some adventurer’s grave, right? And apparently there were more like it across the continent?

Maybe he should become a treasure hunter?

‘No.’

Even if you had multiple lives, that was a terrible idea.

One misstep with a trap and even a top-tier swordsman could end up knocking on heaven’s gate—or swimming the rivers of hell.

‘I’ll just stick around here.’

Encrid was a bringer of chaos.

Stay near that guy and maybe he’d stumble across another grave.

And there would be more incidents like this.

Besides, even the border guard’s guild paid reliably now.

He wanted to live buried in gold.

Krys stared outside with coin-filled eyes and spoke to Jaxson beside him.

“Everyone here’s nuts, aren’t they?”

Said the man least self-aware.

Normally Jaxson would’ve ignored such a comment.

But this time, he responded.

“Maybe.”

‘What’s with him now?’

Krys turned to Jaxson.

There was a similar fire in Jaxson’s eyes.

Cold, but burning.

A strange sensation.

Jaxson had been moved too.

– “What are you expecting from tec hniques meant to kill?”

His master had once asked.

Why did he ask that?

– “You enjoy this too much. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Not that I care.”

Jaxson recalled those words. His master had been broken in many ways, but he had never lied.

Jaxson had always enjoyed learning techniques.

Even training to kill had been fun.

After carving in his master’s words, his past, goals, and purpose—he’d forgotten that joy.

Because he didn’t need it.

But now, something hidden deep in his heart had been pulled up violently.

‘Ah.’

Jaxson felt the same excitement as when he first picked up a sword.

Desire mixed with passion. He wanted to swing his blade again.

What if he honed his [Sensory Art] further?

What if he went over every technique again and refined them?

A thirst for growth surged.

All because Encrid ran out into the moonlight.

It all happened within—so the barracks remained quiet.

But it was a moment of undeniable change.

“Anyway.”

Krys shook his head and went back to his task.

And so passed a night of stimulation.

The next morning, Encrid woke up early again.

Using [Rejection] had been fun before. Now, training the [Isolation Technique] was so enjoyable it was addictive.

Just moving his body felt like a new thrill.

After finishing his morning training, the lord invited them to a meal.

“Let’s go eat.”

Encrid gathered everyone.

“I have to thank you again—but what was last night about? Why’d you do that under the moon?”

Even the lord, who knew Encrid, had to ask. Last night was just that bizarre.

“It was a good night for training.”

Encrid replied vaguely. No point going into detail.

People like him couldn’t afford to miss even a small clue.

That was the path his life followed.

And now, his dream was just within reach.

How could he explain that?

“Alright then.”

The lord gave up trying to understand.

Breakfast was a feast.

Roast lamb, marinated pork ribs, catfish stew, butter and cheese, diluted wine and water—and clear water beside it.

But the standout was the bread.

White and soft—enough to make people call Martai the land of bread.

“This is amazing.”

Even Rem was impressed.

“What about the blondie?”

The lord asked.

“He’s not a morning person.”

Krys answered for him.

Referring to Ragna. Encrid didn’t care, and the lord didn’t press.

After all, they were all madmen.

Not reacting to a lord’s summons wasn’t surprising.

Rest and good food mattered too. Encrid ate and drank without pause.

The rest of the squad followed suit.

“They sure eat well.”

Gratitude for those who fought for his land.

The lord offered his thanks.

He seemed more seasoned now as lord than when he was just the head guard.

“Heading back this afternoon?”

“No, we’ll stay a bit longer.”

He planned to visit the dwarf.

The lord nodded.

“The local folk might be a bit rough. Just bear with them.”

What did that mean?

Encrid shrugged, catfish in his mouth.

After the meal, they trained some more.

The stimulation from the night before still lingered.

They washed off their sweat before heading to the territory’s market.

Krys led the way.

“I already memorized the streets.”

It was his habit—mapping out escape routes and surroundings.

Their first stop was a small tavern.

Martai’s market was bustling, but narrow and crowded.

New houses were being built, and domed buildings were visible—a temple.

Rem glanced at it and said, “You should go, Boss.”

Encrid ignored him.

Inside the tavern, Krys said,

“The bread here’s really good. They call it rusk? Covered in sugar and butter—it’s amazing.”

He gave a thumbs up. It wasn’t in the breakfast feast.

As Krys said, it was excellent.

Not soft, but hard. They said it was baked, then baked again.

So basically half-burnt?

Didn’t matter. It was tasty.

They had lunch—rusk and steamed duck.

They were starting to feel like all they did was eat and move.

After lunch, they planned to visit the dwarf.

While they were eating, someone kicked open the tavern door.

“What are you looking at? Bring me a plate of bread.”

The person sat down and stared straight at Encrid.

From the way they opened their eyes to their attitude—everything screamed: picking a fight.