Chapter 328
For three days straight, Encrid spent his time thinking and reflecting.
He couldn’t help it—he had pushed his body so hard that it was a miracle he hadn’t developed chronic pain.
Because of that, all he could do were the simplest physical exercises—
a few stretches to maintain flexibility, and a couple of sword swings through the air to keep his sense of motion sharp.
The rest of his time went entirely into thought and reflection.
Not that he minded it.
“Using your body now is like pouring water into a cracked bowl, brother,” said Audin.
Meaning, no matter what he did right now, everything would just leak away.
In the past—before he began reliving his ‘todays’—Encrid would have ignored that and kept training anyway.
But now, he knew better.
You had to rest when it was time to rest.
“To move forward properly, one must know how to rest, brother.
Long ago, there was a goat named Nu.
Nu had very strong legs and never stopped walking.
He believed that his sturdy legs were given to him for that very reason—to walk and walk forever.
And so Nu kept walking without pause.
But the Lord said unto him,
‘If you walk without direction, you will never know where you stand.’”
Audin began another one of his sermons.
It wasn’t unpleasant to listen to.
Beside him, Teresa knelt on one knee, listening as well.
The two of them somehow suited each other—similar in build, and often called the “Giant Siblings.”
Now that he thought about it, even their temperaments had started to align.
After Audin’s sermon and nagging, Teresa quietly began talking about what had happened.
Considering how awkward their first meeting had been, it was surprisingly smooth now.
Encrid knew how to keep conversations flowing naturally between people.
If conversation was a skill, he was quite the expert.
“Resting because you’re injured—we’re in the same boat then.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“You killed a bishop. Won’t the cult come after you with a vengeance?”
“I don’t know.”
“And your plan if they do?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Teresa, surprisingly, didn’t know much about the cult’s movements.
So there wasn’t much to be gained from questioning her.
Still, Krys seemed to have picked up a few hints from what she said—already piecing something together in his head.
“I’ve been learning songs lately,” Teresa suddenly said.
Her voice had that characteristic roughness—
like unpolished wood.
But Encrid, with his heightened hearing from the [Sensory Art], caught something more.
‘It’s rough,’ he thought, ‘but there’s something charming in it.’
Like wood that, once carved and polished, could become a beautiful table.
He wasn’t much of a singer himself, though he’d heard plenty of songs during his travels.
Garret’s clear, unexpectedly gentle voice came to mind.
Maybe it would pair well with Teresa’s husky tone.
“What were you doing while the Captain was out there fighting?”
“Fighting.”
“I mean, ‘where’ were you fighting? Are you doing this on purpose?
Ah, right—you like getting hit, don’t you?”
“I don’t.”
“Sure, sure. Come on, let’s spar.”
From one side, Rem—who had clearly been waiting for this—started pestering Dunbakel to fight like a maniac.
In the corner, Ragna dozed off again, still recovering.
Talks of holding a celebration went around, but Encrid focused on rest above all else, except for basic training.
Rest included reflection, analysis, and conversations with his unit members.
He made sure to eat properly, too.
“If eel gets delivered, make sure to try it,” he recommended.
When Ragna nodded in agreement, Rem’s ears perked up.
“That picky tongue of his approves? I’ve eaten eel too.”
“The seasoning’s different.”
Encrid felt the faint tension that always existed between Ragna and Rem.
The way they ignored each other like indifferent livestock wasn’t new.
He chose to ignore it, as always.
“Here, ointment.”
Sinar appeared again, handing him a small pot.
“Did you raid the elves’ treasure vault for this?”
“How did you know?”
Encrid, used to her elven humor by now, replied smoothly.
“Instinct.”
“So that’s how you survived. Impressive.”
Sinar tossed the words over her shoulder and vanished.
The ointment was clearly handmade—stored in a small, worn clay jar that smelled faintly of herbs.
The jar was old, but what was inside smelled fresh.
Definitely her own work.
After Sinar left, daily life went on as usual.
Whenever he had spare time, Encrid delved deep into himself.
He revisited everything he’d learned and experienced.
Since he couldn’t move his body much, all he could do was run his mind relentlessly.
He’d gained quite a few insights this time.
‘Could I apply this “instinct” in combat as well?’
He thought so.
On a larger scale, it was about recognizing turning points on the battlefield.
‘If I focus on my opponent in direct combat, I might use it differently.’
He’d already proven this against that knight from the Royal Order.
With the boldness of a beast’s heart, the sharpness from the [Sensory Art], and unwavering focus—
What was still missing?
Reflection was a form of observation—
a way to sharpen one’s awareness of the present self.
He’d done it thousands of times, so he quickly found the answer.
He could identify what he lacked, what he needed ‘now.’
What he needed was quick thinking.
How to react to situations, moments, and sudden changes.
To think of many options at once—and choose the best one instantly.
Not just instinct, but the mental agility to ‘think’ swiftly.
‘Not intuition,’ he realized,
‘but the ability to shorten the thinking process itself.’
After all, the phrase “instinctively” carried within it a wealth of learned intuition.
In the end, what he needed was quick, flexible thinking.
Relying only on instinct would make him vulnerable to deceptive blades.
He’d benefited greatly from the [Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship] so far,
but he never thought himself untouchable.
He knew full well he could fall for the same tricks one day.
That awareness had kept him alive since childhood—
ever since he’d left the village with people calling him a prodigy, only to be beaten down again and again.
Repetition and training had become part of his being.
Once his thoughts ignited, they wouldn’t stop burning.
As Encrid immersed himself deeper in thought, something stirred outside—
though he didn’t hear it.
“Who are you here to see?”
Muffled voices outside, ignored completely.
He kept diving inward.
‘The knight.’
That man’s sword flashed again and again in his mind.
He could only ‘read’ the sword’s path, nothing more.
He couldn’t read the knight’s breath—he’d had to die countless times just to react in time.
‘What makes it different?’
He knew it ‘was’ different.
But what was the true reason?
Digging deeper, he began to sense something.
Having surpassed the repetition of days, Encrid now saw the world differently.
What was the “speed” required to save a child?
What did it take to break through the wall called “strategy”?
The knight’s sword—called despair—
was despair, yet not despair.
That broader vision, that firsthand experience against a knight,
awakened something within him.
To surpass a knight’s sword, he needed a change in perspective.
Don’t block—strike first.
Break the “one strike” condition the opponent had set.
‘Ah.’
A spark of realization flickered, vanished, and flared again.
The moment he perceived it, Encrid felt himself changing.
What had he gained from leaping to save that child?
‘The [Will of the Moment].’
He had needed the speed to pierce the fleeting instant when others turned their gaze away.
That’s how [Will] took form within him.
Even within strategy and battle, the principle remained.
To overlay intent upon intuition,
to bind instinct, evasion, and attack together—
They weren’t separate.
They merged into one.
From that came what people called “instinct.”
And within it—yes—[Will] was deeply woven.
It was what made it possible.
Just like how he’d overcome pressure by realizing rejection,
just like how he’d created the crushing blade to receive the knight’s sword—
He now stood at the brink of another step forward.
Could he take it?
He thought he could.
But was it the right path?
He didn’t know.
As he sat there, eyes closed, he must’ve dozed off—because suddenly, he saw the Ferryman.
“Do as you’ve been doing.”
The Ferryman’s face flickered faintly, then vanished.
Advice, or interference?
Even now, Encrid’s instinct stirred.
It felt like advice.
He decided to stay the course.
Step by step, as he always had.
That felt like the right answer.
When he opened his eyes—
“Can you stop falling asleep like that?”
Rem’s voice.
So he’d lost himself again, slipping into the world of swords.
“How long was I out?”
“Two days,” Krys answered.
But that wasn’t the problem.
“You should probably see the Lord right away.”
“Why?”
“Someone’s been waiting since yesterday.”
Encrid quickly assessed the situation.
He was in the barracks, and Audin was nowhere to be seen.
Through his sharpened hearing, he caught Audin’s voice speaking with someone outside.
“I stopped them yesterday,” Rem added gruffly.
He sounded irritated.
Encrid immediately understood what had happened.
He’d fallen so deeply into his mental world that his subordinates had refused to let anyone disturb him.
Still, even Lord Graham wouldn’t have left him alone if the visitor wasn’t someone important.
“Who came?” Encrid asked, standing up.
“Count Molsenn,” Krys replied.
“In person?”
“Yes.”
At that, Encrid began walking.
A borderland noble, a man of ambition—a monster in human form.
If he’d come all this way, there had to be a reason.
“He said he’s here specifically to see you. You should be careful.”
Krys warned him.
A noble waiting two whole days? That was patience.
He could delay longer if he wanted, but that would be foolish.
Encrid might be obsessed with the sword, but he wasn’t stupid.
He knew when to take the easier path.
His stomach growled a little, but his head was clear and his body felt fine.
“Hold on a moment.”
As Encrid walked briskly, Krys followed.
If he had something to say, he’d say it along the way.
They soon reached the front of the barracks—where Audin stood beside a tall woman with long black hair, wearing a thin fur coat.
It was Esther.
“Tired of being a panther already?”
That fur had been soft and warm.
At his remark, Esther turned her head.
“I didn’t become a beast by choice.”
Still prickly as ever.
Meaning, the same as usual.
Before Audin stood a fierce-looking man and a woman clad in scale armor.
The woman’s eyes were half-closed, glowing faintly.
The man looked solid as a boulder; the woman, straight-backed and alert.
Behind her stood several soldiers in formation.
“I told you to wait until he comes out,” Krys said.
At the sound of his voice, the glowing-eyed woman turned toward Encrid.
“So you’re the one they call Encrid?”
“Yes, that’s me. And you are?”
“Sister, see? He came out after all,” said Audin.
“It’s the second day—you kept the Count waiting,” the stone-faced man growled.
His jaw muscles bulged as he clenched his teeth—he looked like he could chew through rock.
Was his weapon his jaw?
They were right outside the barracks.
The guards on duty looked uneasy, but Audin remained calm, smiling faintly as always.
“Well, he’s here now, isn’t he, brother?”
“You take the Count’s name too lightly. Keep that up and you’ll have a problem, big guy.”
The man warned him, but Encrid stepped forward, standing in front of Audin.
Audin rarely got angry—but he never let provocations slide, either.
Knowing that, Encrid took the lead.
He didn’t need Audin losing his temper here.
“My apologies for the delay. Let’s go.”
“I think ‘we’ should go first,” said the woman with the glowing eyes.
She held a round helmet under her arm, wrapped in a thick fur mantle.
Her eyes—her pupils—shone white.
“She’s from a clan that seals spells in their eyes,” Esther said from behind.
So such a clan existed.
Encrid studied her calmly.
So what?
Spells in the eyes weren’t his concern.
Still, it made sense why Esther had shown up.
She was wary of magic.
Encrid’s guess was right.
Esther had come in case the woman tried anything—ready to make her pay for it.
What kind of fool would try to cast a spell here?
Encrid scratched his chin with his right index finger.
The fact that his subordinates had gone this far just to protect his focus—it was remarkable.
‘No, not even surprising anymore,’ he thought.
He had learned to expect this from them.
The glowing-eyed woman spoke again.
“We’ve come from the House of Vaisar. Someone important wishes to see you.”
How many nobles existed in the Kingdom of Naurilia?
Countless.
Among them, Encrid was, to put it bluntly, a countryman.
He’d been to the capital once—
but staying there was too expensive, and there was little he could do.
That was why he’d spent so long wandering the frontier.
There was a reason he’d gone as far as the coast to find a sword instructor.
Even so, he knew of the ‘Centerpole’—the “Thumb” family, one of the five noble houses that shaped the kingdom.
It was Marquis Markus’s main house: the ‘Vaisar Marquisate,’ also called the Thumb Family or Centerpole.
If Markus himself had returned, this wouldn’t have been the way.
So it must be someone else.
A few words were enough for Encrid to piece things together.
Quick thinking applied here too—compressing thought and acting instantly.
“Let’s go together, then.”
Their intentions were obvious enough, so it didn’t matter.
In fact, this way suited him better.
At his words, the man with the stone jaw and the woman with the shining eyes exchanged glances.
It was clear neither wanted to wait any longer.
They had already shown great patience.
Had he not been known as a war hero—or a potential knight—they would never have waited at all.
Soon, both of them nodded.