Chapter 182 - Some Lunatic Is Chasing Me with a Sword (2)

Originally, swords of this kind were not demon swords. People called their inhabitants evil spirits, but they were not truly inhabited by evil spirits. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call them fragments of a mind.

Long ago, however, a genius mage had used his spells to bring an ingenious idea to life.

“Is there no way to pass abilities down through generations of descendants?”

He pondered and deliberated. His brilliant idea soon made it possible. Yet, for all his extraordinary magical talent, his understanding of human beings was abysmal.

The spirit trapped within the sword existed for one purpose alone: to teach. It made every student's ears bleed. This could hardly be called a proper way to impart knowledge.

After that failure, the mage devised a means of passing on the skills of swordsmen and warriors—in other words, skills involving the use of the body.

“I will ensure that swordsmanship is passed down through generations.”

The demon sword he created was The Tutor.

“Dolph, was it? He must have truly hated his descendants.”

Luagarne slapped the inside of her cheek with her tongue as she spoke, expressing her dismay.

The demon sword, The Tutor, did in fact border on necromancy, but it did not drink blood or turn its wielder into a berserker. What happened when a human was imprisoned in a sword in spirit form?

The mage had not understood humans. He truly had not understood them at all. He had ground down a human mind, a soul, to fuel his creation. Thus, all that remained in The Tutor was a soul with a single purpose.

It did its job, indifferent to whether its student died or bled from the ears. Learning a single skill required crossing the mountain of death dozens of times. Only by surpassing the opponent using the very same swordsmanship would the soul trapped in The Tutor disappear.

The treasure mentioned here was probably...

“Swordsmanship.”

Luagarne blinked one eye.

“All you need to do is acquire the swordsmanship. But while your body will not die, you will not be able to endure dying in your mind. Rather than trying anything with that sword, we should look for another way to open the barrier.”

After she finished, Encrid calmly glanced at the sword, then turned back to her and asked, “So I have to overcome death and learn its swordsmanship?”

“Yes. It is absurd. What human could possibly do that?”

Her tongue slapped her cheek again. Was that something like a human clicking their tongue?

“Ah, damn it. This is my fault. I'm sorry.” Krais bowed his head.

“Hah, this is maddening. We've got enough food left to last over a fortnight. Could we dig our way out, either up or down?”

Pin was dismayed as well, but a ranger was a ranger. She immediately began considering other options.

And Esther lay down and slept. Was she sleepy even at a time like this?

Encrid looked around at them all and thought, 'So all I need to do is brave death and learn swordsmanship?'

“Hey, uh, doesn't that sound like cheating?”

Somehow, he could imagine the ferryman appearing in a dream and muttering that.

Honestly, compared to being surrounded by a horde of Knolls and eventually dying of poison... 'Isn't this easy?'

He furrowed his brow, wondering whether this could really be right. It felt utterly effortless. Since when had anything in life been this easy?

Surely it wasn't. All he had to do was learn a sword style? That couldn't be right.

“What are the chances there's another trap?”

“Tsk. If it had a loop, I could try something myself.” Luagarne showed him her slick palm.

Encrid considered once more whether that was truly all there was to it, then said, “I'll do it.”

“Experiencing death over and over is no simple matter. Shall I show you what it does to someone?”

Luagarne was angry. The human mind wore down easily. Yes, she knew Encrid was an exceptional man who pressed forward without backing down. His skills had suddenly improved, and at times she had glimpsed something inexplicable in him.

But for a mortal, death was the worst experience imaginable, whatever form it took. Enduring it was not something anyone could even attempt without extraordinary mental discipline.

“Even among priests who serve the god of endurance and suffering, nine out of ten failed.”

That was the sort of thing The Tutor was. Only a handful remained on the entire continent, and here was one of them.

An antique. Collectors would gladly pour out gold coins to acquire it, but... 'To tie it to a trap.'

It seemed that only a mage capable of wielding proper spells could open the barrier. Luagarne was no expert in magic, but she knew something of it. She had struck it with her whip on the off chance it might work, but as expected, she hadn't left so much as a scratch. They were undeniably in a predicament.

“Let me try again.”

Meanwhile, Krais gripped the sword once more, then released it in a flash. “He keeps chasing me. Seems like a berserker.” Grabbing it and letting go was easy enough.

That was also the crux of the demon sword, The Tutor. 'Let go of the sword, and you can return.'

You could give up whenever you chose. Giving up was easy. Which meant that whatever curse was bound to The Tutor would probably never be broken.

Getting over the hurdle of death would be impossible unless you were some peculiar sort who felt ecstasy every time you died. Of course, Encrid was no such pervert.

'It doesn't seem that hard.'

He couldn't help thinking it, given everything he had done so far. He had wondered whether this might become another wall and bring out the ferryman, but that did not seem to be the case either.

“Damn it. I really thought this would be like picking up a copper coin off the road.”

Krais, who sometimes turned into a fool when Krona were involved, kept lamenting his misery.

“Should we ration the food and hold out as long as possible? Maybe the barrier will weaken over time?”

Pin worried about what lay ahead, raising practical suggestions.

“I never anticipated this.”

Even Luagarne voiced her dismay. Encrid, however, merely scratched himself, unperturbed. Just as calmly, he gripped the sword again.

“Enkie!”

Luagarne raised her voice, uncharacteristically, but that was all he heard. A moment later, he was back in the mud. This was his second time.

The instant Encrid set foot on the muddy ground and registered his surroundings, he swung.

CLANG!

His horizontal blow knocked the opposing blade aside. The other sword seemed to retreat, only to curve back toward his flank. He reacted at once, slashing downward.

CLINK!

A clear note rang out as the blades collided.

WHOOOOOSH.

Wind blew from somewhere, dispersing the mist. There stood the thing with the metal head and blue flames for eyes, its body encased in partial plate armor.

'Heart of the Superhuman.'

It wouldn't activate.

'Not letting me use this does seem a little unfair.'

It didn't matter. He simply had to regard this as a mental world, the evil spirit's front yard, or something of the sort.

He had already experienced it once. Only once, but how many times had he paid with his life to repeat today and struggle through it? That experience meant that, for some things, once was enough. Taking stock of a situation, for instance, only required once. And so, though this situation was unfamiliar, he could remain calm.

“Ah, ah.”

His voice worked. He had opened his mouth to test it, and the sound came out just fine.

“Can you talk, by any chance?”

A sword answered in place of words.

THUD!

The sword-bearing suit of armor lunged, kicking wet mud into the air.

WHOOSH.

A heavy blow, a downward cut from above. Not only did it combine speed and strength, but its trajectory was troublesome as well. Encrid blocked it the same way as before.

Block and push aside. His opponent stabbed at his flank just as before, and Encrid responded in kind. Just as they were about to repeat the same exchange like actors in a play, the blade abruptly shot upward. No, that strike had been part of the intended sequence all along.

The rising blade threatened to pierce his chin. He bent his left knee and twisted at the waist. The blade nicked him, grazing from the right side of his chin past his cheek to his forehead.

Through the opening created by his twisting dodge, his sword swept toward the creature's waist.

CLAAANG!

'It blocked that too?'

As they traded strike after strike, Encrid became absorbed in the fight. He kept swinging, kept exchanging blows. He activated his Sixth Sense to try to read his opponent's intentions, but failed.

His body paid the price. The metal thing's blade pierced his chest. He awoke after being stabbed in a spot that would have horrified Luagarne had she been struck there.

“Whew.”

A sharp ache spread from his heart throughout his body. He had died again. His second death. Yet his body was perfectly intact. His heart was racing and he felt pain, but he hadn't truly died.

So this was what was supposed to be so hard to endure? But wasn't this rather manageable? Wasn't it far better than actually dying?

“Were you stabbed there?”

Luagarne was right beside him. Encrid nodded and got up. After a few steadying breaths, he felt fine. He could move. It wasn't as though he'd suffered any serious injury.

'Grip it, and experience the agony of death. That only lasts a moment. What I need to do is steal its swordsmanship by watching and learning.'

Something about it felt terribly familiar.

“Foolish. Even trying is foolish. Unless you want to go mad...”

Had Luagarne always nagged this much? For no particular reason, Encrid recalled the first today he had repeated. The stab from back then—hadn't it become ingrained in his body, a technique of his own?

There was the Frog before him, engrossed in her nagging. And there was the sword he had been holding until moments ago, the demon sword, The Tutor. Inside it lived something like an evil spirit with magnificent swordsmanship.

“Is this how you do it?”

Encrid calmly ignored the nagging and swung his sword instead. He demonstrated the form, performing what he had seen and learned from his opponent. His intent was clear: he meant to practice, to train.

Luagarne stopped nagging and stared at him without blinking. Her lips moved, giving voice to her thoughts.

“Did you injure your head? Has it already done damage?”

He hadn't. Encrid neither shook his head nor offered any explanation. He simply swung his sword as he pleased and muttered. The trajectory hovered just beyond his memory.

“No, was it like this?”

To Luagarne, Encrid was slow, so very slow. Sluggish, so very sluggish. His talent for moving his body or wielding a sword was woefully lacking.

'With me teaching him in person—me—this is all the progress he makes?'

Luagarne called herself a scholar, but she was not the sort of Frog who merely sat studying books. She also researched swordsmanship. Her understanding ran deep enough to profoundly influence the swordsmanship of prominent families in the central continent.

She was not a Frog who had lived so long for nothing. It was in areas other than martial might that she was recognized, and her gift for teaching was particularly outstanding. Yet Encrid improved slowly, so very slowly.

Of course, there had been moments she could not explain. Faced with an unthinkable crisis, he had transformed in a single instant. Without preparation, signs, or warning—without any of it—his skills had suddenly improved.

Even Luagarne had never encountered a human like him. A human she could not understand, who defied understanding, who made no sense in light of anything she knew.

“Could you take a look at this? We're trapped here anyway.”

At his casually tossed-out words, she once again spoke her mind.

“I think you've injured your head.”

“Mrow.”

The panther lying beside them nodded too.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Krais asked as well.

“What is this? You're not possessed by an evil spirit, are you?” Pin asked anxiously.

Encrid calmly swung his sword again. It could hardly be called perfect. In truth, it was clumsy. But Luagarne could see the intent behind the blade.

With an opponent before him, he would drive them to the left, then follow with a stab. Encrid's movements approximated that sequence, though his footwork and several other things were problematic. In short, he was trying to reproduce the form.

Just as Luagarne was about to speak, Encrid said, “I think another look will do it.” Then, without warning, he grabbed the sword again.

“Crazy bastard. Completely fucking crazy.”

Luagarne marveled at him all over again.