Chapter 183 - Some Lunatic Is Chasing Me with a Sword (3)

Luagarne did not show her disbelief. Suddenly practicing swordsmanship in a situation like this? However insane he was, it hardly seemed reasonable. Yet it was also the right answer. 'Because it's that bastard.'

Because it was Encrid, it somehow seemed to make sense. Soon, Encrid, who had been trembling with the sword in his grip, let go and stepped back. 'Has he given up?'

Giving up once was easy. The second time would be easier still. Retreat even once, and The Tutor would become an insurmountable wall. That would be a fatal weakness for Encrid. Luagarne watched him with concern. "Showing me a different technique doesn't help."

Muttering, Encrid gripped the sword again without even pausing for breath. "...?" "Well, um, the Platoon our Captain commands is called the Lunatic Platoon."

Krais put it indirectly. No, perhaps that was rather direct. Didn't it amount to calling Encrid a lunatic? Could this be called a commotion? With Esther alone lying back down to sleep, Encrid gripped and released the sword four more times before offering a faint smile. "That's it."

Then he swung his sword through the air. By now, Luagarne realized there was no point trying to stop him. What should she do, then? "You crazy bastard."

Express her admiration. "Not like that."

And teach him. That was all it took. Encrid welcomed Luagarne's guidance. Winning a fight and mastery of swordsmanship were different matters. She possessed a wealth of experience and superb swordsmanship: deflecting, striking, reading an opponent's intentions. It was a conversation conducted with swords, an orchestra made of blades. Encrid memorized exactly what he saw and suffered, and Luagarne helped him. The evil spirit living within The Tutor also possessed excellent swordsmanship, but it fell short of Luagarne. If only the sword had a loop attached, or could be activated with the light touch of a finger, couldn't she have resolved this? Krais had tested it: touching the sword with a finger did nothing. It had to be gripped tightly, with more than a certain amount of force. That made it impossible for Luagarne. Her hand slipped straight off! She tried a few more times, with the same result. "I can see it, but..."

There was too little time to do anything. Naturally, Encrid remained the only one gripping the sword after that. "Things seem to be going somewhere, at least."

Muttering, Pin laid out the bedding. She took a blanket from her pack, then brought out some hard cheese, pared off the rind with a knife, and shaved it into thin slices. She placed those on hard bread whose crust she had also trimmed away, and the meal was ready. "I'm partly responsible, after all."

For whatever reason, Krais needlessly stepped forward and gripped the sword. And died. His body remained intact, but his mind suffered devastation. It happened during a brief moment when Encrid wasn't holding the sword. "Ghurk."

Krais collapsed, foaming at the mouth. A pointless thing to do. Esther did nothing but sleep, and their roles fell naturally into place. Encrid gripped the sword, then released it and returned. The Frog taught him swordsmanship based on what he brought back. Pin and Krais prepared meals and bedding. Esther ate, slept, and woke. With nowhere suitable to relieve themselves, they all used a corner. The barrier extended underground, but they could still dig down a certain distance. Their prison was roughly hemispherical, with a slight outward bulge at the bottom. They relieved themselves in the holes they dug. "We can go over a week without relieving ourselves if necessary."

At the Frog's words, Pin nodded and said she envied that. After a full day had passed, Luagarne was privately impressed. There had been so much she wanted to say, so much advice she wanted to give, that it had practically boiled inside her. The guidance she had offered here and there during their travels had been nowhere near enough. She would normally have had to condense it all for the journey back. Yet right now, those words were becoming unnecessary for Encrid. What did he need to take the next step? She had intended to give him the answer to that question. 'But he's already finding the answer.'

Still, he would need a few words of advice. Believing this was his fault, Krais remained quiet and well-behaved. It should have been easy, like picking up silver coins off the ground. Instead, they were suddenly trapped, unable to see what lay ahead. His mind raced to find a way out. Naturally, no answer came easily. 'I let Krona blind me.'

This had happened because he hadn't considered the worst-case scenario. Through his regret, Krais reflected on his mistake. As events took this peculiar turn, Pin stopped thinking about it altogether. She simply watched Encrid. 'Even here, he's swinging a sword.'

He was certainly consistent, if nothing else. Though he did have to swing a sword to overcome this thing called The Tutor. Still... 'You definitely couldn't call him normal.'

That was what she thought when she looked at Encrid. No, this sort of madness must have played a part in his extraordinary skill. Watching him, Pin felt something new fill her chest. A small realization, or perhaps something larger. At some point, she had set her own limits and stopped. Since meeting Encrid, those limits had been breaking one by one. Today, at last, she had grasped the first thread of an insight. 'My limits aren't mine to decide.'

Ail Karaz-style martial arts. Her skills as a ranger. Why had she stopped, unwilling to advance any further in either? 'Because everyone said that was right.'

But not Encrid. Without speaking, his actions, his attitude, his approach to life all said something different. Pin quietly welcomed the wave of emotion. It was wholly unexpected, and it left her lips pressed tightly shut. Esther was reproaching herself. 'A paltry hex. So paltry it hardly even deserves to be called a curse.'

Something that could barely be said to qualify as a spell. Yet she hadn't noticed it, and had been trapped? For her former self, before she became a panther, lamenting such a disgrace wouldn't have been enough. She should have bitten through her tongue and died on the spot. Not that she lacked reasons. Enchanting Encrid's sword, repeatedly expending spell power to strengthen her body... All of it had been too much. Her body was bound by a curse and the doors to her spell world were shut, so she had resorted to workarounds. All of it had rebounded on her and left its mark. 'Even so!'

How could she have failed to notice something this trivial? Because she had neglected what needed doing right away. Assuming the journey back would be leisurely, she hadn't devoted herself to recovery. Esther needed time to recover her expended power and depleted stamina. She didn't know what might happen next, but she wouldn't simply stand by. She lay down, tucked her head in, and settled into a light doze. In a week at most, she would recover enough mana to break through this pathetic ward. Thinking this in her half-dozing state, Esther fell asleep. All these circumstances intertwined, and a strange stretch of time unfolded. "It's important to know what you lack."

Even amid all this, Luagarne spared no effort in teaching him. This was separate from The Tutor's swordsmanship. It was simply instruction. Winning a fight and mastery of swordsmanship were different matters. Encrid, too, was feeling that keenly. Luagarne was a wonderful teacher. That she far surpassed any instructor at the training halls he had showered with Krona went without saying. "What happens if you sit down to a card game without any cards?"

That was Luagarne's question. It was a perspective Encrid had never encountered before. What she said next astonished him inwardly and showed him anew just how wonderful a teacher she was. She could do more than teach. She could lay out signposts for him.

* * *

["The basics. Start with the basics."] ["Whatever you do, you must build your body first."] ["If you don't know how to grip a sword, you can't lift it. If you don't know how to lift it, you can't swing it!"] ["You need an eye for it before you can progress. Must you really keep wielding a sword?"] ["That's why all you have left is to think. Think and Review. You can only burn the candle of your life. Until it goes out, you'll have to keep burning, using your own body as fuel. If you don't die, you'll gain something."] ["Can't you just take up farming? Must you wield a sword?"] There had been countless instructors. They had always said the same thing: the basics mattered. So that was what he had done. Stayed true to the basics. He had strained to keep his eyes wide and his feet quick, never swinging his sword carelessly. Yet even then, he had constantly been told to go farm instead. Asked whether he really had to wield a sword. "If someone brings a pile of silver to the gambling table and sits down, what ought to be in his hand?" Luagarne, too, had initially been bewildered and tried to stop him, but she now seemed to be enjoying the situation somewhat. Well, perhaps Encrid was imagining it. Reading a Frog's expressions wasn't easy for a human. It was simply an instinctive impression. "You can't sit at the gambling table without cards." "Exactly. Cards. Right now, you're a sucker sitting there with a sack of silver on his back." The silver was his foundation. No one sat at a gambling table without a single copper coin. But no one sat down with just a handful of coppers, either. Why did hearing those words make him feel so proud? 'They told me to build my foundation.'

Now she was telling him that foundation was built. Frustrated by his slow progress, he had desperately sought out and learned the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. Could that mercenary swordsmanship serve as his cards, then? "It can. But a sword art refined over many years would be better. That Valen Mercenary Sword Technique is ultimately far too one-sided an approach to attacking. If every card in your hand is a joker, you can't play them." What a brilliant analogy. Jokers only shone when combined with other cards. That was what the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique was like. The Oniak Sword Technique. Leonesis Oniak had defined the branches of swordsmanship, and later generations had built sword arts upon them. Even Northern Heavy Sword was not a single art. The same went for the central continent's Righteous Sword Technique. Sword arts were created by mixing compatible elements of The Oniak Sword Technique, weaving them together through trial and error and the talent one possessed. Luagarne was referring to one such art. Specifically, the swordsmanship he was learning through The Tutor. "It may be a demon sword, but what's inside is genuine." In truth, Encrid had rarely learned swordsmanship beyond the fundamentals. He had only skimmed the surface of everything else. Luagarne once again stressed the need for a sword art. "Once you properly study a sword art derived from the Righteous Sword Technique, you'll feel as though your opponent can read your every thought." He was experiencing that over and over. The evil spirit living in the sword was doing something much like it. "I see."

Encrid nodded, his eyes still burning like flames. In the reflected torchlight, red mingled with their usual blue. When it came to learning, he showed his feelings without restraint. Luagarne found it endlessly fascinating. 'Truly a sword-crazed bastard.'

A sword lunatic, for short? Everything he had learned and practiced until now had been preparation for wielding a sword rather than the art of wielding one. That was the crux of Luagarne's words. As he learned swordsmanship through The Tutor, Encrid came to realize it anew. "I'll just pop in and fetch some swordsmanship."

With that joke, he gripped the sword again. It was repetition. All he had to do was learn through deaths far gentler and more peaceful than actually dying. To be honest...

'Easy and enjoyable.'

That was what it was to Encrid. He gripped the sword, his body swayed from side to side for a short while, and then he returned. Blinking, he shook his head. "Got you again?" "Both legs cut off this time."

He was far too calm for what he was describing. "The last blow looked like a cut to the crown, but before I knew it, it turned into a diagonal strike to the side of my neck."

He had seen the sequence, so he understood what had happened. What did he need now? Encrid picked up the sheathed, broken sword he was using in place of a wooden one. Luagarne's heart began to pound before she realized it. Her cheeks puffed up of their own accord as excitement surged. "You really are..."

An incredibly entertaining fellow. Even The Tutor couldn't constrain him. No, look at this. His mind had already surpassed The Tutor! She left all that unsaid. She couldn't teach him a new sword art; she was bound by a covenant concerning that. But she was free to guide him in another sword art he had learned. That was what they did. He went inside, stole a technique, then reproduced it exactly. Such a feat was possible because he had perfect control over his body. Luagarne then refined it for him. Once he mastered it, he gripped the sword again. This time, Encrid reported that his fingers had been cut off. "Then it stabbed my neck. The blade curved like a snake." "It used a snap of the wrist," Luagarne answered. Training resumed. Even as the skin beneath his eyes seemed to darken, Encrid remained unperturbed. He did take breaks now and then. Neglecting food and drink would damage his body. During one short rest, Pin stared at the sword and murmured, "It reminds me of an old legend. There was a story about becoming king if you pulled out some sword." Resting nearby, Encrid heard her. They made you king just for pulling out a sword? That seemed rather crude even for a legend. Wasn't a king someone whose position depended on politics and all manner of circumstances? Well, legends and stories were exaggerated by nature. Afterward, Encrid continued devoting most of his time to swordsmanship. He had already gripped and released the sword more than a hundred times. It ought to have looked like he was abusing himself. Yet he remained calm. The pain lingered vividly in his body, but to someone who truly repeated today, this felt like a watered-down version. 'I can do this.'

Learning swordsmanship filled Encrid with exhilaration once more. It took exactly a day and a half. Instead of having to die to repeat a day, he could engage in a high-quality exchange of swordsmanship simply by gripping a sword. He had thrown himself into it, sparing no time. A brief but rich stretch of time had passed. That was enough. "You're ready now."

Those words came from Luagarne's mouth. Was this thanks to The Tutor? No, it wasn't. Above all, Encrid was different now. He was utterly different from the man who had struggled desperately with his meager talent. He reflected on all the todays he had lived. Through all that Review and reflection, how had he made his way through them? What had he gained? Those days couldn't be summed up easily. Yet asked to do so now, Encrid could condense everything into one word. "Talent." What he had felt amid the Knoll horde had become ingrained in his systematically trained body. From the heart of the beast to his dodging sense, he had trained his body, increasing his strength, explosiveness, and reaction speed. He had even learned to control it perfectly. Bolstered boldness, concentration, and senses supported it all. "You, um... what are you?"

Luagarne was astonished. To her eyes, talent had appeared where none had existed. And so he gripped the sword once more. The sensation of mud beneath his feet returned, and the hunk of metal charged him. CLANG! Sword met sword. If anything had changed, it was simply that Encrid now understood his opponent's swordsmanship.