Chapter 434

It went on for a full month.

Ruagarne closely observed the changes in Encrid. She watched him every single day without fail.

She was one of the Frok with the sharpest eyes and keenest senses on the entire continent.

When it came to discerning human talent and teaching it, she could be considered superior even to a Knight.

That was why simply watching was enough.

Encrid had already reached his limit. This was the end. This was the last of it.

It was a state like suddenly choking while eating a steamed potato.

The conclusion was obvious.

‘He’s stuck.’

A standstill.

‘What a pity.’

Those feelings arose at the same time.

For a full month, he lived as if scraping together and spending time that would never return.

He was like a man who had been given a terminal diagnosis.

“You’re going to die like that.”

That was what the Frok he was dealing with said.

“Overexertion is forbidden.”

The human who demonstrated Knight-level swordsmanship added that.

The bear-like man even tried to persuade him with both hands and feet to take a day off in the middle.

Though one might wonder whether beating him unconscious during a spar just to make him rest was really the right way to do it.

“This is one of the traditions of the Warrior Priests.”

Knocking someone out to make them sleep?

Audin’s words were true. The Warrior Priests of the War God often ruined their bodies through excessive training, and when that happened, it was the duty of a senior priest to deal with them through fists and feet.

Ruagarne, being an open-minded Frok, nodded.

The reactions of the others, however, were slightly different.

Dunbakel watched from the side with widened eyes, as if to say, ‘He endures getting beaten like that and still doesn’t run away?’

Pell stiffened his face and said, ‘A shepherd could endure at least this much easily,’ but no one paid him any attention.

“I will rest properly.”

Roford declared that with resolve. Though he constantly challenged Ragna to spars, getting punched by Audin in the name of a good night’s sleep was another matter entirely.

In a way, it could be considered a wise response. He hadn’t been selected for the royal guard for nothing.

In any case, Ruagarne watched Encrid’s desperate struggle.

‘Even after struggling like that.’

It was not progress, but stagnation.

And even that stagnation was precarious.

He was only just barely avoiding regression.

The reason he was not regressing in the end?

‘It’s because he’s learning all sorts of things.’

The training method he used every dawn, one that abused his body, had already made Encrid’s body different from an ordinary person’s.

And now that he had awakened to [Will], his body must have changed in accordance with it.

[Will] is willpower, and techniques wielded through willpower place a burden on the body, and by enduring that burden, the body becomes stronger.

It was not for nothing that a Junior Knight displayed combat power on a completely different level.

Ruagarne took a wriggling, high-quality larva out of a leather pouch, set it on her palm, then flicked out her tongue and swallowed it whole in one gulp.

One had to eat for the mind to work.

For the entire month, she observed Encrid and considered one method after another.

‘What would help?’

She could not be certain of anything.

She immersed herself in thought with desperate intensity.

She sat in the chair Rem had made, drawing one knee up to her chest.

Other than occasionally puffing out her cheeks with a gulping noise, or smelling Epiphrimum, a plant that had a pleasant effect specifically on Frok, after eating a larva, she did nothing else.

Frok generally preferred summer to winter.

It was not that they pathologically hated the cold, but in dry climates, their skin often dried out, which was an extremely unpleasant state.

When skin cracked like drought-stricken earth, sometimes even bleeding, how could that possibly be enjoyable?

For a human, it would be like having a knife drawn across their skin every day. Both the condition itself and the pain.

Cold and wind tended to dry out a Frok’s skin, so they naturally preferred summer more.

Ruagarne thought it was fortunate that it was summer now. She could even skip the time spent sprinkling water on her skin and devote herself entirely to observation and thought.

Why does that man struggle so desperately?

‘I understand.’

Ruagarne could hear what Encrid was saying through his attitude and actions.

Even if the heavens do not permit it, I will still advance.

It was a cry hurled at the world with his whole body.

At least, that was how Ruagarne saw it.

Then what should be done for him now?

For him, who had come to a halt.

Nothing is accomplished through thought alone. What matters is action.

Ruagarne rose to her feet.

“That won’t do.”

Encrid was training, swinging a sword that was at least ten times heavier than a normal one.

Whoosh!

Unable to control its weight perfectly, the blade shook and stopped.

At the same time, the sweat flowing down Encrid’s forehead scattered into the air.

Through his damp black hair, his blue eyes gleamed.

“You know that, don’t you?”

Ruagarne opened her mouth again.

“Is there another way?”

Encrid answered calmly. He already knew.

If Ruagarne had noticed that his growth had stopped and he had become stuck, then for Encrid, that situation was entirely predictable.

He had known that sooner or later, it would come to this.

He had squeezed out talent he didn’t really have and advanced, feeling a thrill in growth unlike anything before, but a limit was bound to come at any moment.

It was something familiar to him as well.

He recalled the words the Ferryman had chattered on about last night.

“Tsk tsk, that’s why you should’ve stopped in a joyful today. You wanted the thrill of advancing? Wasn’t there a today like that? There might’ve been. It would’ve been like that if you hadn’t longed for tomorrow. Returning every day to yesterday’s today through repetition, feeling the same thrill every single time.”

The Ferryman scolded Encrid.

Of course, before that, he had finally revealed the identity of that ominous feeling. That was after their parting in silence, when Encrid dreamed again.

“Nothing in this world is perfect.”

He had said it while pretending to be dignified. Encrid paid it no mind.

Did he hate stagnation so much that he wanted a wall to appear?

It wasn’t that he hated it. He had simply found a method. Since it was something he had expected, he tried not to stop by moving his body instead of wasting thought elsewhere.

He understood fragments of the path toward becoming a Knight.

‘See another Knight’s sword and learn even one more thing.’

At the same time, hone and polish what is already yours, and advance.

That could be said to be the path Encrid had realized.

Is this really right? He had no such concerns.

In the time he might have used for concern, he received Ragna’s black lightning one more time, dodged Sinar’s invisible blade, and tried to grasp Jaxson’s [Silence Knife].

Quite literally, he did everything.

That was what he thought, but—

“Long ago, there was a very outstanding minstrel. He did not leave his room in order to compose special and magnificent poems. He simply repeated what he had always done. He thought that was the best way.”

It was an old story about a foolish minstrel who never used his feet.

A story containing the lesson that unless one saw and experienced a new world, inspiration would never arise.

Encrid also knew the rest of the story that would follow.

“What made him realize that was a friend who had baked bread all his life. And with just one remark from that friend, he left behind a song about a frog trapped in a well, a song still sung across the continent even now. Yes, I know the story.”

That minstrel was a Frok.

He had clearly realized his mistake and composed a song.

It was now a song known to everyone, from children to adults.

Did you think the sky was round?

Did you think the world was round?

Was my world really that narrow?

Frog, frog, you gain nothing without leaving the well.

It was a song built on repeated lines like those.

Its meaning was equally clear.

“Will you try doing as I say?”

Ruagarne was the continent’s greatest teacher, but this was her first student like this.

Then what should she do?

She decided she would try everything.

Everything she could.

“Let’s do that.”

Encrid nodded.

He had no other choice.

He had experienced this kind of stagnation many times before. He was not frantic, but it was not something to be welcomed either.

It was like thick dark clouds gathering while one walked by moonlight.

Suddenly, the dark clouds gathered and blocked his sight.

It was like a perfectly fine bridge snapping apart in the middle.

He saw a path lined with signposts and walked it, but then the world told him not to go any farther.

That was all it was.

When that happened, Encrid walked even with his eyes closed, and if he had to, he wove ropes across the broken bridge and clung to them as he crossed.

It was the same now.

===

This summer was unusually long.

The blazing heat pouring down seemed hot enough to roast a person whole.

“This seems a little insane, Instructor.”

Before the torture known as the march began, one soldier raised his hand and spoke.

He was the son of a noble house who had studied in the capital.

Though from a collateral line, he belonged to one of the noble vassal families of Marquis of Okto, who had only recently become a duke.

Confident in his own talents, he had come to the Border Guards thinking that with a little training and a little luck, he would soon stand out even among those called the Madman Company.

But what was this?

Those madmen were told to march carrying one longsword, two shortswords, a heavy, simple forearm-mounted crossbow, armor layered with linen and leather, arm guards and shin guards, at least three throwing knives, one hand axe, one small modified round shield, a helmet, and even a short club.

And that wasn’t the end of it. They also had to carry a backpack.

They called this being in full gear.

‘This isn’t gear. It’s torture.’

For him, most of it was exactly that.

Commander Finn, who was leading the Scout Corps training from the front and acting as instructor, merely nodded once and said a single thing.

“Then get lost or something.”

She was merciless.

The soldier could not resist any further.

The people who challenged that female instructor and got beaten into a pulp were not few.

And even that was not the real problem.

‘Next that monster bastard will come out, right?’

If that guy Rem showed up, there was no answer.

These days he appeared less often, but once upon a time, the moment he decided the training intensity was too low, he would come out and call them one by one to beat them down.

It was simple one-sided violence.

And he specifically picked out noble-born men to beat.

‘That noble-killing bastard.’

The noble-born soldier also knew Rem’s nickname very well. Among the nobility, he was fairly famous.

“Run!”

Even in full gear, from sword belt to backpack, they were being told to run, not walk.

The soldier gritted his teeth and lifted his foot.

“This is Scout Corps training. If you can’t endure even this much, then go die.”

It was three-day training.

Cross the mountains, dig a smokeless pit at the target point, eat there, and return.

‘Not even the Demon Slayer would do this kind of training.’

It wasn’t training at all, just a task meant to torment them.

The soldier moved forward, panting as he trudged along.

After cursing this and that for no reason, he eventually came to resent the father who had sent him here because of the accomplishments of that bastard Demon Slayer, and after that, cursed Demon Slayer too.

By the time he was so exhausted he could no longer think and could only keep walking, he noticed another soldier.

‘An iron helmet?’

While everyone else was moving in leather helmets, one man alone wore an iron helmet and carried a larger, heavier backpack.

He also had three hand axes, two longswords, and a Gladius strapped horizontally behind his waist, shorter than the longsword but large enough to serve as a main weapon.

And even that was not the end of it.

For some reason, he also had two javelins resting on his shoulder.

‘Is he a spearman?’

Depending on the branch, the difference in equipment had already become common sense within the Border Guards Standing Army.

Training in full gear made one understand that, whether one wanted to or not.

If even a single piece of equipment was lost, the whole unit would be beaten as a collective responsibility.

So there was no doubt that this was Scout Corps training.

No matter how mind-numbingly hard it was, that much could not be forgotten.

But then why was he carrying spears?

Looking more closely, he even wore metal greaves.

He was a madman who had made his already heavy equipment at least three times heavier than everyone else’s.

Was it an illusion? Had exhaustion made him see a mirage?

Thinking that as he kept moving forward, he briefly saw the man’s face.

The noble-born soldier knew that face.

“Demon Slayer!”

He shouted in surprise, but his voice was not that loud.

He was too exhausted.

The ruler of the region, the man who had personally been granted the rank of General by the King, turned his head back.

“It’ll only get harder if you drag your feet.”

After giving that short advice, he moved forward again.

The soldier was speechless.

Demon Slayer was walking along carrying gear several times heavier than his own.

In that instant, the rebellious spirit that had been forming among the soldiers, centered around the noble-born youth, shattered completely.

Commander and instructor Finn moved up beside Encrid, who was walking ahead.

“Long time no see.”

Finn said it while giving a simple salute, placing her right hand at her waist.

She too was in full gear.

“Looks like you’ve grown.”

As Encrid said that, Finn thought that this man who could gauge swordsmanship and things of that nature at a glance had not changed at all, and brought up Torres.

“Torres said to strengthen Border Defense Force training in Martai, and that I should come see you. Please visit sometime.”

Torres—yes, he had seen him once before, when he had been appointed General.

Though there had been no ceremony or anything like that, he still had to see the faces of the lords of each city. He had seen him briefly then.

“If I have time.”

He had arranged this training course according to Ruagarne’s words. Right now, he had no time to spare.

Finn clicked her tongue.

Even after all this time, he was still a monstrous training maniac.

Well, that was how he had become the Demon Slayer.

Once his superior, then later under his command, and now merely a commander serving under the man who had become a General, Finn felt strangely proud through all of it.

Encrid was the kind of person who made the people around him feel rewarded.

===

“To open a tightly blocked field of vision, what you need is variety. Do anything.”

Following Ruagarne’s words, Encrid marched and ran among fully equipped soldiers while carrying gear heavier than theirs.

“Run.”

Splash!

He climbed mountain ridges and even leaped from a cliff into a lake.

“The method for breaking limits? I don’t know something like that. But I do know this much—holding only a sword isn’t enough.”

Broadening one’s vision made many things visible.

That was Ruagarne’s perspective.