Chapter 430
How long had it been since the sword in his hand had felt heavy?
For the first year after he first gripped a sword, the blade had often felt heavy. After swinging that hefty lump of metal just a few times, the muscles in his arms would tremble, and the sharp pain between his thumb and index finger would linger the entire day.
That was back when even a wooden practice sword felt heavy.
And now, this was several times worse than that.
‘Heavy.’
It felt as if dozens of iron weights had been hung from the blade.
If he relaxed his grip even a little, the blade would fall straight down and bury itself in the ground. The muscles in both his arms were trembling violently.
It was absurd. Alongside Audin’s training, there had rarely been a time when he felt lacking in physical strength alone.
But he had no room to think about that.
Simply enduring the weight of the sword left no space for any other thought.
‘Heavy.’
It felt as though he could drop the sword at any moment. Even raising the tip slightly felt as difficult as crossing a winter mountain bare-handed.
The brief rain that had cooled his body had evaporated from the heat of the fight, but soon sweat began to pour down him once more, soaking his whole body again.
Sweat streamed down. The drops running off his chin kept splashing onto the ground without pause.
‘Too heavy.’
If this continued, he would naturally end up dropping the sword. The fact that he had fought while holding something this heavy at all was already a miracle.
Since earlier, he had not had even one proper chance to catch his breath. His breathing was rough, like someone who had run all day without rest.
The sweat kept increasing, drenching his whole body. It was like stepping into a bath fully clothed.
And yet the hardest thing to bear was still the lump of iron in his hand. The famed sword Aker, which had once felt perfectly fitted to his grip, now felt like a snake desperately trying to slip from his grasp.
‘Why is it heavy?’
He did not know the reason. He had only deflected the opponent’s spearhead.
It was around then that Anu approached Encrid, who had spent both stamina and focus deflecting that blow, and whispered to him.
To Encrid, the time he had spent holding the sword and enduring it felt very long, but in truth it had only been a moment.
No more than the time needed to exchange a few words.
“Can you overcome that weight? Bull is one who enjoys shifting burdens onto others.”
Encrid could not fully grasp the meaning of the opponent’s words, but there was one thing he understood.
“If you drop it, that will be your limit. Then even if you die, you will never achieve what you desire.”
The words about having to die meant only one thing.
That it was possible only by running with death at his side.
Even without hearing the King’s words, Encrid had already sensed it.
That he absolutely must not let go of what he now held in his hand.
There was only one clear fact.
Encrid thought that he might drop the sword in his hand, but at the same time, he knew that he would not.
‘If I were the kind to drop it just because it was heavy…’
Then he would never have taken even a single step toward that dream that had seemed impossible from the start.
“Did you say you wanted to become a Knight? Then see much, experience much, and pile it all up. All of it will help your path.”
The King finished speaking. The words were ambiguous. At least, that was how they sounded to the current Encrid. But Anu’s tone held nothing but goodwill.
“If you do not forget what is carried on your sword, the path will open.”
Those short words remained in Encrid’s mind. Even as sweat streamed down him and the sword tip trembled.
“Thank you.”
The King left after giving his shoulder one final pat.
Encrid saw the tip of his sword dip slightly in his own field of vision.
The [Will of Rejection], the [Heart of Monstrous Strength], the [Heart of the Beast], his one-point concentration, the [Sensory Art], the body tempered through the [Isolation Technique].
Even bringing out everything he had learned did not help him immediately endure the sword in his hand.
The King’s Bull had made the weapon in his opponent’s hand feel unbearably heavy.
It was a mystery wrought by [Will].
Only after realizing that did Encrid finally lift the sword again.
Because even if everything he had learned proved useless, the will he had built within himself would not break.
If he had intended to give up, he would never have started in the first place.
The tip of the sword slowly rose.
And the moment he properly raised the sword again, Encrid forgot its weight.
The burden Bull had pressed onto it had vanished.
Only then did he realize that his palm had been torn open long ago. Red liquid was seeping from the hand gripping the sword.
The leather wrapped around Aker’s hilt had been soaked in blood and turned dull in color.
It was the wound he had suffered when Bull’s horn caught Aker’s blade, twisted it, and tried to wrench it from his hand, and he had endured it.
It could be said to be the price of withstanding a Knight’s weapon-seizing technique.
The moment he recognized that, Encrid staggered and collapsed.
“How foolish.”
Someone caught his body as they spoke. It was Esther’s voice.
And with that, Encrid lost consciousness.
===
Encrid dreamed.
Should he say it had been a while?
It was a real dream, not one with the Ferryman in it.
– “You’re going to live by the sword? Give it up. You’ll die young.”
– “Even those said to have exceptional talent rarely survive past fifty as mercenaries.”
Those were the words of the people who had told him to abandon the boat before he had even properly spoken of his dream.
That boat had a hole in the bottom.
You cannot go forward.
Your oars are broken and rotten.
Again, you cannot go forward.
The boat you ride is made of fallen leaves. You intend to cross the sea on that? It would sink even in a lake or a river.
Therefore, you cannot go forward.
Everyone had said the same thing.
Aside from his own squadmates, Encrid had met only two people who had seriously listened to and reacted to his dream.
It was not Frok Ruagarne.
She had only felt a sense of mystery watching Encrid, whom she had judged would never make it, somehow achieve it.
‘Krang.’
One was the friend now seated upon Naurilia’s throne.
He had said that hearing Encrid speak of his dream had helped him find his own path.
And the other was the King of the East.
Though brief, sparring with him had allowed Encrid to sharpen what he possessed.
The strange part was that he had expected to hear all sorts of remarks about his lack of talent during those spars, but the King of the East had left behind nothing of the sort.
Back when he had not yet reached the overwhelming level he had now, most people who heard his dream and came looking for him always ended up talking about his talent.
The reason they could not do that anymore was because Encrid’s swordsmanship had risen above theirs.
But the King was someone whose status and skill were more than enough to comment on his lack of talent.
He could have sighed at it or been astonished by it, but he remained calm.
Rather, before leaving, he had said this:
“Do not forget what is carried on your sword, and keep advancing. The path will open.”
It was encouragement and belief.
Encrid ignored all the words of the faceless people beyond the curtain.
The ferryboat made of fallen leaves, the rotten wooden oars, had before he knew it become a caravel built from carefully treated oak that would not take on water, and the rotten oars had turned into planks planed smooth and sturdy.
Now that he had both the ship and the oars, Encrid could see signs and a path.
‘What must I do to become a Knight?’
As everything around him blurred, the Knight from Azpen appeared.
“I’ll spare you if you block even once.”
Had he really said it like that?
Probably not, but this was a dream. His exact words did not matter. The meaning did.
That blocking even once would be enough.
The Knight from Azpen swung his sword.
A sword that was purely fast and strong.
Since deflecting it was impossible, Encrid struck first instead.
The Knight stepped back for the sake of his own honor.
Encrid took that one strike as his standard and practiced downward strikes, thrusts, swings, and countless other techniques.
After that, he also saw the many techniques Bull had shown him.
The King of the East had demonstrated the skill of wielding [Will].
If he had wished, he could have killed someone like Encrid instantly.
Though even then, Encrid had had no intention of dying so easily simply because he resisted, that was still the reality.
The today that repeated when he died had long since been forgotten.
Then—
“You bastard.”
The Ferryman tore open one corner of the dream and barged in.
He too was part of the dream.
Ignoring the Ferryman, Encrid sank into thought and grasped a small realization. It was a signpost vaguely showing the way.
‘Different.’
The King of the East and the Knight from Azpen had walked different paths, and the trajectories of the techniques they used were different as well.
The two were clearly different.
Too different.
Having finished his thoughts, Encrid opened his eyes.
A faint pain was spread all through his body, and his palm throbbed.
When he lifted his hand, he saw it tightly wrapped in bandages.
He could see the dim outside and the lamplight, and beside the bed, he could also see someone sitting on a chair.
“Sinar?”
“Since you’ve called my name, all that’s left now is for me to serve the meal.”
An elven joke rang in his ears.
Instead of laughing, Encrid asked. It was not easy to laugh at an elf’s joke.
“What are you doing?”
“Admiring.”
There was no need to ask what she was admiring.
With one leg crossed, one elbow resting on her knee, and her chin propped up, she was looking at him.
“You always fight until you collapse.”
Sinar continued.
Encrid shrugged as if it were nothing.
“When you get up, I’ll show you something interesting.”
“What are you talking about?”
From where she sat, Sinar showed a faint smile, one she would not show anyone else.
And together with that smile, at some point she had already uncrossed her leg and lowered her arm, then drew and thrust her sword.
It was a speed and angle that made no sense at all.
A needle pierced Encrid’s heart from outside his awareness.
He felt as though he was about to cough up blood. Every muscle in his body tightened sharply, making him momentarily forget even the pain in his muscles.
Death had come close.
Was he supposed to close his eyes and die like this?
No.
“How is it?”
At Sinar’s words, the sword that had pierced his heart vanished like grains of sand.
She was merely sitting there with her legs uncrossed and her arms hanging loosely.
It had all been an illusion.
No, it was something real that could have happened, shown through the opponent’s overwhelming presence.
“This is?”
“Do you think I left the place by your side empty for so long for no reason?”
Even amid the Elf Commander’s joke, Encrid instantly realized several things.
Having now experienced martial prowess on the level of a Knight twice, it was actually easier this time.
What Sinar had just shown him was the martial prowess of a Knight.
The panther watching from one side approached and slipped into Encrid’s arms.
It seemed to be protesting to Sinar that it was enough already and she should back off.
“I’ll wait until you’ve recovered.”
Sinar said.
Encrid’s heart pounded. Ignoring the pain echoing through his muscles, he wanted to rise and grab his sword.
A desire surged within him to face and receive Sinar’s real sword strike.
Thump.
Esther struck Encrid’s chest with her forepaw.
As if telling him to endure it.
“I know.”
Encrid answered.
He knew as well. In this condition, he could not fight properly. Sparring was impossible.
So enduring it was the right answer.
Instead, he would focus on recovering, and the moment he could spring back up and lift his sword, he would grab Sinar and swing.
“How is it? Your fiancée.”
At some point, Sinar had erased her smile and asked, and Encrid had no choice but to answer.
“The best.”
“Good. At least you know that.”
The Elf Commander quietly rose.
Still faint as ever, she left the barracks.
Creak.
The hinge announced her departure.
“You’re not sleeping? You wake up from fainting and immediately start causing a commotion.”
“Ugh, what’s all this? Sleeping in the barracks after so long?”
“Say a prayer. Then your recovery will be quicker too.”
“Snore.”
Rem, Krys, and Audin spoke, and the last sound was Ragna snoring.
Ragna was not someone who snored unless he was truly exhausted, and yet for some reason, instead of a lullaby, he offered snoring.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Exactly half a day.”
“Sleep more. You mustn’t ignore the danger signals your body gives you, brother. So sleep and let it settle.”
Rem said it, and Audin added his own words.
Esther thumped his chest once more.
It meant to rest.
She was right. Thinking that, Encrid closed his eyes.
It felt like he would fall asleep soon.
In the midst of the drowsiness washing over him, he sensed Jaxson quietly setting down a small jar of ointment beside the bed.
“Medicine.”
Jaxson said only that before returning to his place.
‘I wonder why he came back to the barracks today,’ he thought.
Dunbakel and Teresa, Pell and Roford had separate lodgings, but the four of them were standing in front of the barracks as if on guard duty.
Without knowing anything beyond that, Encrid fell asleep once more.
===
After joining the Border Guards, Esther had often left the barracks empty.
If Encrid had paid closer attention, he would have known, but he had been completely absorbed in swinging his sword.
One could say it was the usual.
And so Esther wandered around the Pen-Hanil River and the nearby lakes, mountains, and forests.
It was to mend the world of spells that had been damaged while dealing with the Count.
Incidentally, it was also to tend to that Bonehead fellow she had acquired before.
She also summoned several spirits with whom she had once held contracts.
“Ghoul, do I look like food to you?”
She had also run into groups of ghouls several times.
The outposts and security measures Krys had pushed to establish throughout the region also had the side effect of causing the fiends scattered around to gather together.
Small fiends moving in tiny groups could no longer survive now, so it was only natural that the ones among them with any instinct for survival left would band together.
This ghoul pack was one such group.
Fiends that previously would not even have dared meet her eyes were now baring their ugly fangs at her without fear.
Though Esther had never learned Necromancy, it would not have been difficult for her to turn a few ghouls like this into thralls, but there was no need. It was closer to something that should not be done.
‘That lowers the standard, not raises it.’
The moment that thought crossed her mind, Esther flicked her fingers and summoned fire, roasting six ghouls.
Kueeeeek.
The ghouls burned to death and soon became charred lumps of flesh.
‘I’m working hard too.’
Esther knew exactly why she was like this.
The man beside her kept struggling and moving forward without pause. To stand beside someone like that required more than half-hearted determination. That was why.
‘If I stop at merely recovering the power I once had, then the name Witch of Strife would be disgraced.’
So she too would move forward.
Fortunately, she had a good opportunity as well.
If she roamed the Pen-Hanil Mountains, searched for hidden ruins or fiends, and sharpened what she possessed, realizations would come.
If Ragna was a genius of the sword, then Esther was a genius of magic.
She knew the path she had to take, and at a glance, she could distinguish what was necessary from what was not.
She also knew that she could advance even further through it.
‘Ah, foolish man.’
As the image of Encrid collapsing before the man called the King of the East rose in her mind, Esther muttered inwardly.
Encrid would keep advancing.
It was obvious that in the future, he would continue becoming entangled with half-baked demons or mages like the Count.
Because that was the kind of path he walked.
And on that path ahead, she intended to clear away the ones who played tricks with magic.
Esther sought to fill her self-esteem by proving herself in that way.
For the great Witch of Strife to have entrusted herself to him, only to be of no help at all.
‘That is something I cannot allow.’
This was a matter of existential worth.
And as she did so, Esther also became curious whether Encrid could really achieve what he desired.
What would the path that man walked look like?
And where would its end be?
These were things she had not felt curious about at all while looking at the King of the East.
And so, after Esther traversed the mountains, trained her magic, and sorted through the usable disciplines among the six schools of magic she had learned in the tower as a child, on her way back to the squad, a certain soldier caught her eye.
She did not know his name.
But that soldier rolled dice while unconsciously moving mana.
It was magical talent.
Esther had been about to pass him by without caring, but changed her mind and approached him.
“You. Come with me.”
Interest? No.
It was for her own sake.
‘There is learning in teaching.’
Her teacher’s words had been like that, and her own experience had proven the same.
So that was that.
The soldier in question, the foremost gambler in the Border Guards, merely blinked.
“Huh?”
“If you don’t come, I will make you suffer worse than death.”
Esther acted as she always did, and the soldier, knowing that the opponent was the mage nicknamed Encrid’s lover, saw no reason to offer useless resistance.
As for reassigning a single soldier, Graham, who was in charge of the Border Guards’ actual forces, would handle that.
And Battalion Commander Graham did indeed handle it.
“A soldier? A squad leader? She took some low-ranking soldier? Leave it to me, I’ll take care of it.”
That was what the Battalion Commander said after hearing that Esther, or perhaps the panther, had taken a soldier.