Chapter 176 - That Was How They Felt

Bring out everything he had learned and practiced. That was what he would do. The instant Encrid resolved to act, his body moved of its own accord. He could see everything and react to it, supported by the countless days he had spent training with the Isolation Technique. 'I can do it.'

His body moved as he intended. He stuck to a single sword style: Northern Heavy Sword. Sword styles developed throughout the continent combined the five fundamental forms of the Oniak Sword Technique: precision, weight, variation, speed, and fluidity. Mitch Hurrier, for instance, had used a style that added weight to precision and fluidity. Ragna had taught him a style that emphasized weight with a slight touch of speed. That was Northern Heavy Sword. Of course, he had learned only the basics. They were simple techniques, but they were enough. With the swordsmanship he had honed as his foundation... 'I can see it.'

He heard the patterns of enemy attacks with his eyes and saw them with his ears. His senses intertwined, flinging open his Sixth Sense, and he kept seeing. He sorted and distinguished the order in which the barrage of blades would reach him. He could grasp every single one. The speed at which he then sensed and reacted was nothing short of a flash of light. 'Left here.'

Naturally, he had room to think. Encrid was faster than the monsters and demonic beasts surrounding him. He saw ahead, and his body kept up. Thus he moved more than they did, advancing a step ahead of his opponents and swinging his hand once more. 'The strength...'

Keeping the Heart of the Superhuman active too long damaged his body. So he used it in brief, momentary bursts. A feel for coordination was not all he had acquired during those repeated todays. This, too, had come naturally through the conditioning and training of dodging again and again. His heart thumped, filling his muscles with strength.

'Three swings? No, I can manage four.'

Four sword strokes imbued with superhuman strength in a single heartbeat. SHK-SHK-SHK-SHK! Not one of those strokes sent any resistance through his hands. They split the heads of four Knolls—more precisely, each cleaved the crown in exactly the same way. His body moved as he wished. His sword went where he wanted. His coordination doubled the speed of all his reflexes, allowing everything he had learned to unfold, strand by strand. In that moment, Encrid thought of Rem. How could he race alone through the heart of a battlefield without getting hurt? How was such a thing possible? With this level of skill—with the man Encrid was now—it was possible. And so he cut and cut, cleaved and cleaved, moving through moments that intoxicated him more and more.

'Ah.' He also remembered the proto knight he had seen then. That display of might as the man kicked off the ground and charged alone—how had he done it? They said it required 'Will.' They said that was a distant prospect for Encrid. Was that any reason to give up? Not a chance. His days were already full with moving forward, doing his utmost at what he could do now. He had no time for despair. So that was what Encrid did. He did everything he could. With the Heart of the Superhuman and a body conditioned by the Isolation Technique, he even imitated a proto knight's charge technique. He rampaged on and on until his limbs trembled and a dull pain rose in his innards. Then he leaped back. "Aah!"

Luagarne was making strange noises behind him. All strength drained from his body. When he asked for help, she wrapped her whip around his wrist and pulled. He fell into her arms and fainted. It was only natural, after displaying something close to a proto knight's might without even possessing Will. But those watching him—the people atop the wall, Luagarne, Pin, Krais, even Esther—felt an inexplicable fire kindle in their chests, gooseflesh rise on their skin, and trembling take hold of their bodies. 'What human could do such a thing?'

It was a moment that made even those who were no Bards wish to compose a song. "Fuck. That settles the wall's name."

The wall-building craftsman spoke, a scab on his head where he had struck it while carrying stones. He would leave out 'the Lunatic' and simply call it Encrid's Wall. "Goddammit. Why am I crying?"

Some of the militia were shedding tears, too. More than joy at surviving, what sent shivers through them all was an inexplicable emotion stirred by the sight of the man rampaging out front. People often spoke of something 'leaving an impression.' It meant seeing something that became etched into one's heart—a feeling, a stirring of emotion. Here, in this moment, Encrid had become etched into theirs. "Aaaaaah!"

Amid shouts and cheers, before the Knolls had even retreated, they cried:

"Encrid!"

They chanted his name as they shot arrows and hurled stones. At last, the monster horde pulled back.

"How is he?"

They had seen him collapse and be brought back, and all of them asked the same question. They hoped he wasn't hurt. Hoped his body hadn't been damaged. Hoped he would walk out, hale and whole. They wanted to see him smile. They all felt the same. They wanted to cheer him on. They wanted to give anything for him. That was how they felt. Their hopes were fulfilled.

"Have they gone?"

Encrid stood and walked perfectly well as he asked. Deutsch Fullman stepped down onto the palisade. He glanced several times at the glaive in his hand, then tossed it aside as though displeased with it. His men would have been quite surprised. Like any mercenary, he treasured his weapon as much as his life. He stepped forward and sank to one knee. Bowing his head, he spoke.

"My thanks."

Those few words from the burly man held everything. "... It isn't over yet."

Encrid merely answered him matter-of-factly. He did not even smile. Deutsch wanted neither his smile nor his thanks nor his praise. He was simply paying respect to the man who had set his blood boiling. Everyone who saw him went down on one knee, whether standing atop the palisade or on the ground below. Encrid only shrugged, but those who had watched him for a long time knew. He was rather pleased with this situation. Once the fighting, the kneeling, and his exploits were all behind him, Encrid washed and returned to the hut to check his body. He had pushed himself. His muscles ached, and there was a tightness around his heart. 'At this level...'

He had kept it under control. He would recover in a day. That was enough. Should he thank Audin all over again? ["The Isolation Technique also creates a regenerative body. The term comes from the East, or the far reaches of the North. It means a body that will ultimately recover even after being broken. This technique does not stop at merely restructuring your skeleton."] Audin had stressed it time and again: the Isolation Technique ultimately laid the foundation for the body to recover. Encrid was reaping the full benefits. 'I'm fine.'

He opened and closed his hand to check his condition. The stiffness was gradually easing from his trembling muscles. "Well, um, that surprised me."

Krais spoke from beside him. Everyone was watching Encrid, in fact. After doing something like that, he hadn't even been unconscious for half a day. He had briefly closed his eyes, opened them again, and begun walking around perfectly well. "I've fallen for you all over again," Pin said.

Esther simply gazed steadily at him. What did that look mean? Her eyes were unreadable. Luagarne calmly said only what she had to.

"Once this is over, I'm going back."

She merely said it was time to return. She was a Frog bound by a covenant. She was not free in all things. Encrid told her to go ahead. "And stop being so formal with me. No honorifics."

She added that with considerable insistence. Encrid nodded. What did that matter? He was busy preparing for tomorrow. He had used up all his whistle daggers. And unless the enemy—that Cultist bastard—was an idiot, he would not simply give up. Judging by today's retreat, he would return. Rather than holding out longer, he had pulled back swiftly to preserve his forces. 'He can always make more ladders.'

Having seen Encrid overexert himself, he might well attempt another attack.

'Shall we bait him?'

Now that Encrid had shown what he could do, he felt he might be able to work something out. "Don't you need to catch the Cultist before you go?"

He asked Luagarne. In other words, it would be a problem if she left right now.

"That goes without saying."

Good. This seemed workable. Krais came up beside him and whispered.

"I think they'll be back tomorrow."

That bastard Krais had one hell of a brain. He was quick on the uptake, too. "I'm thinking of baiting him."

"Oh, I like that."

From that brief remark, Krais immediately put together something resembling a plan. It could work. No, this looked likely to work. In an instant, his mind found an approach that burrowed into the enemy's thoughts, and he set things in motion. Encrid spent the rest of the day resting well. Nobody disturbed him. With some of the retreating monsters still in sight, the villagers did not let their guard down. But there was one difference from the day before. "Are we going to let those monsters take our village?"

They were overflowing with fighting spirit. Something Encrid had shown them had lit a fire in every heart. Before that fire could die, the morning sun rose, and the monsters brought more things resembling ladders. This time, they also had ropes with hooks attached to the ends. They looked woven from plant stems. There were not many, but they looked likely to prove formidable weapons. "Sons of bitches."

Deutsch ground his molars. Encrid opened the gate once more and repeated what he had done yesterday. A body that recovered—a regenerative body, had Audin called it? With the Isolation Technique supporting his body, he could do it. There was no undue strain. And so he wreaked havoc all over again. The monster slaughterer with two swords. As that name began to spread, Encrid finished a short but intense fight—so short that 'premature ejaculator' or 'quick shooter' would have been equally fitting names—and vomited blood. "Urgh!"

Two days. A clear sign that he was overdoing it. Beside him, Luagarne deliberately left an opening, and her left arm was severed. A Knoll bit down on the forearm, sliced clean off below the elbow, and lifted it in its mouth. GROOOARK! It sounded like a cry of victory. The monsters and demonic beasts retreated again, but Encrid had spewed blood, and Luagarne had lost her left arm. During the third day, the monsters charged again.

"Don't you ever get sick of this?"

As a mercenary atop the palisade shouted, Encrid went outside the walls once more. Coughing up blood as he fought, he held out for less time than the day before, then retreated. Dark, heavy shadows began deepening beneath his eyes with every passing moment. Before they knew it, the number of demonic beasts had been halved, plummeting to fewer than five hundred. That meant close to five hundred had been sliced, slashed, or stabbed by Encrid. It was a remarkable feat for just three days, but in the end the militia carried him away, his limbs hanging limp. By then, fewer arrows were flying, too. The log palisade held once more. It seemed they might manage if they could just hold out another two or three days. The following day, Encrid went out with darker shadows beneath his eyes and a pallid complexion. He looked utterly exhausted, yet like a candle consuming its own life to illuminate its surroundings, he blazed once more. His performance was uncanny. "Raaah! Monster Slaughterer!"

A deep-voiced militiaman shouted. Inspired by Encrid, twenty militia members rushed out to fight hand to hand. They fought just before the palisade, prepared to retreat. Thanks to that, no one died. Still, it was a close thing. The palisade had taken more damage, and now it looked vulnerable even without ladders. That day, Encrid truly seemed to have become a monster slaughterer. Just as on the first day, he reduced the demonic beasts' numbers by a full hundred. No more than three hundred remained. There were no Ghouls left, and the demonic beasts' numbers had dropped sharply: two hundred Knolls, and no more than a hundred hyena demonic beasts. Thus dawn broke on the fourth day.

* * *

The Cultist knew how to wear people down until they died. Of course, when he first saw Encrid in action, he had been ready to turn tail and flee immediately. 'A knight! A proto knight, at the very least!'

Knights possessed might he could not contend with. Naturally, fleeing was the right choice. But as he prepared to withdraw, something about the man fell short of a knight. Those creatures were scarcely human. Once, he had nearly died to an arrow a proto knight had thrown by hand from over fifty paces away. He knew their power well. But this was the frontier. What proto knight would come to a place like this? What was there to gain? There were at most thirty knight orders in the kingdom. Within each, no more than one or two could truly be called knights. They were strategic weapons, beings who changed the course of battle. Knight orders were normally composed of proto knights, and even they could change a battle's course. Small, elite bands of powerful fighters had always been important on the continent's battlefields. 'But this is the frontier. Why would a knight order come all the way out here?'

Knight orders had better things to do. In short, his opponent was neither a knight nor a proto knight. The man had displayed astonishing might, but quickly retreated. The next day, he repeated much the same thing, but he was like a mage whose soul had been mortgaged away. A desperate struggle with no regard for his own life. 'He's holding out against this?'

His opponent endured. But after several days of torment, the man was finally vomiting blood. All that remained were a Frog with a severed arm and villagers who had run out of arrows and stones. "Heh."

The Cultist smiled in satisfaction. Now he would put the monsters in front and snatch it all up, chew it down, devour it. Thus he would fulfill his dream of overrunning this land with monsters. Thus he would spread his god's will. Even if things eventually grew serious enough to draw a knight or something else that brought it all crashing down, there would be no shortage of gains to reap here in the meantime. "Let's go."

The Cultist led the monsters forward. The morning of the fourth day. The day that would decide it all. Until now, he had not stubbornly charged all the way up to the log palisade himself. But now it was over. With the monsters in front, he battered the palisade. He spotted the panther atop it. The man would be somewhere nearby. The panther had stayed beside that madman all this time, after all. It was a natural conclusion. Learning from repeated situations bred fixed assumptions. 'Come out, you bastard.'

While he was battering the palisade... "Krais was right."

A voice came from behind him.

"So he was." He flinched, the fine hairs on his body standing on end. Whipping his head around, he saw a pale man with dark circles beneath his eyes, and a Frog. "You were hard to get a look at."

As the pale man spoke, he wiped beneath his eyes with a finger. Something black came away on his hand. This bastard should have been lying in a heap, coughing up blood. Was it his imagination, or did the man's complexion and skin look remarkably—exceptionally—clear and healthy?