Chapter 136 - No Two Days Can Be the Same

Encrid felt considerably more at ease after leaving the Battalion Commander's tent. The commander's expression had not looked particularly pleasant, but even that was a new experience for him. 'I talked about my dream of becoming a knight.'

And the man had neither looked bewildered nor laughed at him. That alone was something new. That was not what mattered, anyway. He had spoken his mind and refused the offer. Now it was time to finish what he had been doing. Back at the barracks, Encrid went to stand before Rem. "What?"

"We should keep going." He meant for Rem to impart that sensation to him. He was simply continuing what he had already begun. There was nothing remarkable about it. Watching his Platoon Commander, Rem privately thought that the man really was insane. Was this remotely normal? Even Rem, the one teaching him, could tell that Encrid felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Yet he still wanted to continue. He never grew bored. Rem could not even imagine him looking miserable. Frustration, despair, anguish—none of them seemed to have any place in this man's life. Still, curiosity prompted him to ask.

"Not getting bored?"

"Hm?" Those eyes, plainly asking what he was talking about, left Rem speechless. All right, then. They would do it. Of course they would. He intended to keep at it diligently.

"Let's do it. Had nothing else to do, anyway." Andrew's face brightened at Rem's words. Over the past few days, with Rem glued to their Platoon Commander, Andrew had discovered peace and love, life and hope, and all such things. "Life is full of beauty."

"Pull yourself together, sir."

Mac tried to settle him down. Henri was absent. No, he had left. The day before yesterday, he had joined the unit evacuating the wounded and gone back with them. As a member of the Lunatic Platoon, he would never ordinarily have been allowed to return like that. It was a privilege, a special favor granted for their part in winning the battle. ["I think I'll try living a different way."]

When Henri said he wanted to leave, Encrid had nodded his approval and pulled the necessary strings to secure that favor. He respected Henri's choice. Not everyone could earn their bread by the blade. Still, Henri's absence was felt. Exempt though they were from cooking duty and other assignments, they could not get out of patrolling the surrounding area. On one such patrol, at Krais's strong insistence, they had also searched the enemy's abandoned position. Without Henri, even finding their way there was a chore. Of course, Encrid had an ordinary knack for finding his way, though he was no pathfinder. But it was not the same as having an excellent guide like Henri. Have another platoon member do it instead? Compared with the rest of them, Encrid's navigation skills were not ordinary. They were exceptional. "Can't find my way, but I'm good at finding demonic beasts and monsters. Since we're out here, how about clearing out a monster nest?" That was Rem, considering fresh opportunities for practical combat as progress in teaching the Heart of the Superhuman slowed. Finding the way? Whether he could or not was anyone's guess, but he certainly had no interest. "We'll get there if we keep going."

That was Ragna. This bastard went without saying: he had no sense of direction. "I merely go where the Lord calls me."

Audin. In a way, he was almost as dangerous as Ragna. The Lord's call? It sounded like nothing more than a declaration that he would do whatever he pleased if things did not suit him. Jaxon said nothing, but showed not the slightest inclination to lead this lot anywhere. Rather than coax them along, he would probably choose to vanish altogether. That left Mac, but Encrid was a little better at it than he was. In any case, the Lunatic Platoon did search the enemy position. And despite the fact that allied scouts had already picked through it, Krais displayed an astonishing talent for filling his pockets. "Just as I thought."

"There we go."

"Oh, jewels."

Muttering to himself all the while, Krais found purses of Krona, jewel-studded daggers, and more. Nothing was especially precious, but quite a few things would readily fetch Krona. "People hide their things before heading into battle, don't they?"

As Krais said, some soldiers did. They would bury a valuable jewel in front of their tent, for instance, then ask a comrade to dig it up and take it to their family if they died. Of course, it meant nothing if the comrade they entrusted with the task died too. But who marched into battle expecting annihilation or a crushing rout? It had been no different this time, and when it came to finding hidden possessions, Krais was unmatched. Allied scouts had already turned this place over once. Yet whenever he dug beneath where a bed had stood, or found a tree near the traces of a tent and dug there, something invariably turned up. "How do you find all of that?"

Encrid was genuinely curious. He was standing to one side keeping watch, but there was no sign of anyone around, leaving him little to do. "How else? He sniffs out the Krona. Look at his nose. Doesn't it look like a gold coin?"

Rem chimed in beside him. He was just as bored. How could a person's nose—especially that of a fairly handsome man—look like a coin? Krais paid no heed to Rem's nonsense. He knew perfectly well that talking back would only put him at a disadvantage, so he let it go in one ear and out the other. It was a skill Andrew needed to learn. "A little thought gives you the answer."

Krais tapped his right index finger against his temple. When he had prepared it was anyone's guess, but the leather pack on his back was already bulging. "Thought?"

Encrid echoed the word, genuinely curious. It was also a chance to clear his head. "If I were hiding something, where would I put it? What if the camp was completely destroyed and I was the only survivor? That's how people are, isn't it? We don't give up hope easily. So, suppose the camp is destroyed, but I still need to find my things. Where would I hide them?"

"... Somewhere I'd recognize at a glance."

"Exactly. This tree has a distinctive branch, doesn't it? It's not far from the tents, either. A perfect place to stop by on your way out to battle, wouldn't you say?" He was right.

"More importantly..."

Krais's eyes shone as he spoke, filled with the same passion as before.

"The more valuable something is, the better you want to hide it." This fellow really did have a remarkable mind. Of course, with a little thought—or rather, once you knew the answer—it did not seem so impressive. What was astonishing was that he had anticipated and thought through all of this before they even set out. "Still want to open that salon?"

"Why do you think I work so hard? In my later years, I'll open a salon, make silly jokes all night, and rake in Krona while eating well and enjoying myself." As dreams went, it was, well... rather crude. But Krais was utterly serious. More than serious: if it required a sacrifice, he looked prepared to all but risk his life for it. Above all, how could Encrid mock someone else's dream when his own was so much more far-fetched? Surely opening a ladies' salon to earn Krona was more realistic than becoming a knight. So he would neither condemn nor criticize nor laugh. None of those things. The same held true for Henri's dream of marrying the flower-shop widow, having children, and living in peace. He wanted to become a knight. Encrid felt a fresh thrill of excitement. It seemed he was drawing closer, little by little, to the dream he had wished for so fervently. And it was more than excitement. A tingling wave of emotion swept through his whole body. Yes, he was walking. He was drawing closer. Even if he had to crawl, even if it was only half a step. So wait for him, tattered, faded dream. He would come stand beside it himself, and they would walk together. "There, all done!"

After searching a few more spots, Krais gave Encrid two thin-bladed throwing daggers.

"Use these. They're nothing special." Encrid wondered why he was giving them to him.

"What, did we come all this way just to clean up after Big-eyes?"

Barely enough time to count to ten had passed before Rem lost his temper. So that was it: Krais wanted Encrid to deal with this. "How about a spar when we get back?"

Placating them was part of his daily routine now. And once they returned to the unit, he simply went on training. It was the same after his meeting with the Battalion Commander. An unbroken succession of training sessions without progress. When the next day came, Encrid abruptly began swinging his sword after practicing the Isolation Technique.

'Focus.'

With Concentrate on a Single Point, he focused every sense entirely on his sword. It was just like always, yet different. How could every day be the same? Encrid did not know it, but he was already different from the talentless man he had once been. He had so much to make up for his lack of talent: experience, the new things he had learned, the heart of the beast, Concentrate on a Single Point, the sense for the blade, the Isolation Technique. And all the hours of training he had accumulated since. Those hours were twice as rich as before. Encrid lost himself in them. At some point, his eyes grew hazy and unfocused, yet his sword began to cut more sharply, his feet moving more swiftly. 'The Frog, Mitch Hurrier, the battlefield.'

As he practiced alone, swinging his sword in Review and contemplation, everything began to blur. Heart, beast, superhuman strength, combat, battlefield, contemplation, Review—all were forgotten, pushed aside, until only he and his sword remained in the world. Just a few dim afterimages and stray thoughts lingered. He swung hard, again and again. His healed right wrist flexed more firmly than before. Was that the effect of divine power, or the medicine the Fairy Company Commander had given him? It probably did not matter. The stray thought surfaced, blurred, and vanished too. Soon, everything was gone. Encrid felt as though he were watching his body from outside it. An impossible succession of sensations, detached, separating him from his own body. In that state, he watched his sword. Swinging, thrusting, slashing, drawing back. SCRRRAPE.

His feet pressed against the earth, scattering little pebbles. As he changed his steps and moved, his sword shifted position and direction. Only the paths it traced remained in his eyes. Points, and lines connecting those points. A wavering blade, a heavy blow, a sword tip thrusting like a flash of light. He swung through the prescribed motions to hem his opponent in, then turned halfway around, his arm bending like a whip. WHOOSH!

The sound of his sword cleaving the air rang out. Anyone who had known Encrid before—especially anyone who knew where he had begun—could only have been astonished by the sight. Through all those countless hours, all those swings of the sword, he had always stayed in much the same place. A broken scarecrow with nothing but the determination to move forward. A scarecrow that could not stand, yet stubbornly writhed on. Now that scarecrow stood squarely on his own two feet. 'You've gotten a hell of a lot better.'

Rem, who had come out in front of the barracks, marveled anew. When had Encrid become able to forget himself like that, to lose himself in the sword? When had he become able to stand so firmly on his own? The broken scarecrow was gone. Squatting with his chin propped on his hand, Rem watched, feeling emotion well up inside him. Really, when had the man improved so much? Ragna came out of the barracks and stood beside him. From the sound of the sword cutting through the air, he knew his Platoon Commander's swordsmanship had matured. He had already experienced it in their spars, but watching Encrid swing with such complete absorption stirred something strange in him. It felt as though someone were lighting a fire in his chest. His eagerness surged. Moved by that feeling, Ragna quietly drew his sword.

SHING.

Then he went off to one side and began swinging it. Audin felt much the same.

'He's built his body well.'

What did it take to move one's body exactly as one wished? Training that meant examining every part of it, becoming aware of it, trying to move it, experiencing pain, and pushing beyond one's limits. Making a person knock against those limits—that was the Isolation Technique. The greatest possible beneficiary of the Isolation Technique, the one Audin had only imagined in his mind, was now right before his eyes. Encrid's joints were supple, too. The same impact would not injure his wrist again. He had devoted particular effort to conditioning his joints lately. 'Lord, your servant rejoices.'

To feel such pure joy at the sight of another person was rare. Its rarity made the joy all the greater. Jaxon felt something peculiar.

'I made the right choice.'

Both in teaching Encrid to use his senses and in remaining here. He had not acted after weighing gains and losses, yet he had no regrets. Once, he had even thought staying here was a waste of time. Looking at his Platoon Commander now, that thought did not occur to him at all. Not in the slightest. Off to one side, Esther watched Encrid with her chin resting on her forepaws. Magic, spells—they were a path to becoming an explorer of new worlds. The joy and exhilaration they offered were beyond compare. That was why she had taken the path of spells. The joy of inquiry, the thrill of discovering something new, and beyond that, the fulfillment of building her own world. All of these were parts of what made her who she was. They were the power that drove her to pursue magic and construct her spell world. Then why was that human swinging his sword through empty air like that? Encrid reminded her now of herself, immersed in her spell world. Although she knew only the basics of swordsmanship, she could keenly feel that his skill was formidable. And so a thought came to her. 'What is it that drives you so?'

Pure curiosity—the curiosity of a student of spells, an inquirer and explorer. It was an astonishing change for Esther. She had spent her entire life ignoring everything else to delve into spells, until she ended up in this cursed body. Finding herself taking an interest in a person surprised her, but she enjoyed it too. New things invigorated her. These feelings, too, were new. Soon, Encrid's sword stopped. He came to an abrupt halt, sweat streaming down his whole body. Esther moved. Taking a cloth in her mouth, she bounded over. When she brought it to him, Encrid, who had been staring blankly into space, accepted it and spoke. "Thank you, Esther."

MEOW.

You're welcome. Encrid wiped away his sweat with the cotton cloth and found himself thinking how very warm the weather was. This sense of peace—was it the weather? Or was it because he had focused entirely on the sword, without a single thought? It felt as though something that had been constricting his chest had disappeared. And with that relief came something else.

"Rem."

He could glimpse the edge of Rem's technique, the Heart of the Superhuman. If he could see it, he had to seize it and draw it in. Then he need only make it part of himself. Whether it would work as he intended was something he could find out by trying now. "Let's try again."

It had seemed a day no different from any other. But no two days could be the same. That was only natural.