Chapter 184 - Liberation

If he could endure a semblance of death, something like dying but far easier than the real thing. If he just did that, if he could manage that... There was a living, moving textbook waiting for him. One that demonstrated every movement in detail, right before his eyes. That made this a good thing. Demon sword or evil spirit, it was a good thing, at least for Encrid. "Think about why you move your left foot to the side there."

He even had a teacher to interpret that textbook meticulously for him. So what happened next was only natural. Encrid absorbed the swordsmanship like a sodden wad of cotton soaking up water. No, he engraved it into his body first. Understanding came afterward. He had learned that while developing his dodging sense. 'Do I need to understand?'

When he couldn't understand something, he could put his body through it instead. All he had to do was engrave it into himself through repetition and leave understanding for later. "You're insane any way you look at it."

Luagarne said that partway through, a note of admiration in her voice. Encrid barely heard her. He was utterly engrossed in the swordsmanship. In truth, he was enjoying himself immensely. Why had he learned the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique in the first place? Because of a thirst that had begun deep within him. He had wanted proper techniques, proper swordsmanship. A foundation that would give him the strength to move forward. ["Fundamentals first!"]

Every teacher, every instructor, every bastard who had gobbled up his silver had told him that. He wasn't saying it was bad, or that he disliked it. It was just... 'This is fun.'

Like anyone else, he simply wanted to see what came next. And so Encrid smiled as he gripped the sword again and again. A bright smile, utterly unclouded. "I'll be honest. You're starting to frighten me a little," Luagarne said.

"I agree. It's creepy."

Pin concurred, while Krais was surprisingly composed. "He's always been like that, though he's worse than usual right now."

Krais had witnessed Encrid's madness countless times. If anything, he was glad the man was smiling. Wasn't that better than silently swinging his sword without a trace of a smile, even as his palms split open? Gripping a demon sword and experiencing simulated death was something Krais himself couldn't even dream of doing.

'But I think the Platoon Commander could handle it just fine.'

That was all he thought. With a blend of intuition and perceptiveness, he had seen to the heart of the matter. As long as he had the exhilaration of growth, Encrid could transform the agony of death into effort. And so he lost himself in it. In himself and his sword. In swordsmanship. A sword was a tool for killing people. Swordsmanship was the method of killing an opponent. "Your feet, your waist, your stance. Everything is there to prepare for the next movement. Think."

With Luagarne's words to guide him, Encrid thought and thought, and swung his sword. He kept gripping the sword inhabited by an evil spirit without rest to consult that excellent textbook. Sometimes, the instant he died, he opened his hand only to grip it again. After hundreds of repetitions, the evil spirit seemed to hesitate. Had it really? Had he seen that right? Encrid wasn't sure. It was also strange that the thing, which had always charged straight at him, hadn't immediately swung its sword. That was the last thing he wanted. "Let's not do that. Let's both do our best in our respective roles."

Their respective roles. If it had decided to be an evil spirit that tore into the minds of those who gripped its sword, it ought to give it its best. Hesitating was truly not what he wanted to see. With his earnest wishes and urging, the evil spirit fulfilled its duty. Encrid attacked. Fought. Practiced his swordsmanship. Learned. Memorized. Mastered. Pondered and reviewed. Gripped the sword again. And repeated it all. If he knew how to use his body properly, if he could reproduce exactly what he envisioned, all he needed after that was to understand the movements. Once he had memorized an entire sword style and listened to Luagarne interpret it piece by piece, it had actually become easy. The fellow who had made the demon sword and placed an evil spirit inside would have clutched the back of his neck in outrage at the sight. But wasn't that how the world worked? Things didn't always go as intended or expected. "Well done."

The evil spirit's chest had been slashed and its head severed. Blue light flickered between the pieces of metal. It seemed to be saying something. Encrid watched in silence. Soon, the evil spirit inhabiting the sword spoke. "Thank you."

What was there to thank him for? The evil spirit began telling its story. It was a rather long one. "Keep it short."

Encrid didn't particularly want to hear it. The evil spirit was taken aback. Its blue light grew dimmer. Left with no choice, he got straight to the point. "I was imprisoned unjustly. And my swordsmanship is incomplete. Only half of it remains. Finding the other half was my lifelong wish." How had an ordinary swordsman become an evil spirit? That required powers such as magic and spells. And before those could work, there had to be a profound yearning in the one who would become a restless soul. The evil spirit's yearning was much like Encrid's. One dreamed of becoming a knight.

["It is my Family's lost swordsmanship."]

The other had wished to fully restore a sword style. In the depth of their longing, they were alike. Encrid nodded. He meant that he would do it if he had the opportunity. He was busy enough pursuing his own dream. He couldn't shoulder someone else's as well. At the last moment, the blue light flickered and vanished. A hazy human figure appeared and spoke.

"And let's never meet again." The evil spirit had had enough. It was sick of this. It truly never wanted to see a human like that again. It meant every word. Of course, the two would never meet again. One would depart for a distant place, cleansed of its evil, while the other would remain on this earth. The soul that had once been an evil spirit was quite delighted by that. Enough to repeat itself. "Seriously. Let's never meet again."

It said it once more. Encrid tilted his head. That one had done all the tormenting, so why was it saying that? "My family's name is..."

He couldn't hear the last words. The energy dispersed. Everything around him began to crumble. Beyond the collapsing world, he saw a familiar face. As he left the mental world, the evil spirit inhabiting the sword disappeared. "You won."

He heard Luagarne's voice. This was reality. Encrid nodded.

"Was it dangerous?"

At her next question, he shook his head. It hadn't been dangerous. Inside, all that remained was swordsmanship. A game of moves and countermoves. He had to overcome his opponent through swordsmanship itself, not strength. He had gripped the sword well over a hundred times, but hadn't bothered counting. A full day had just passed. The gray barrier vanished without a sound. As it disappeared, Esther raised her head and glared at Encrid. There was no mistaking it. She was glaring. Esther was astonished. How had he managed that? Exorcising an evil spirit with divine power or magic was quite different from purifying and releasing it through sheer brute effort.

'Even an accomplished mage would struggle with the latter.' She might be a panther now, but Esther had once been a mage with a spell world of her own, a witch. To her, what Encrid had done made no sense. All she could do was marvel at it.

'How can he do that?' In truth, the soul had been purified by performing its swordsmanship to exhaustion, quite literally to death, and by passing on its dream. But she had no way of knowing that. Esther blinked repeatedly in astonishment. Encrid noticed. "What? Are you hungry?"

He waved a hand as he spoke. Incredulous, Esther snorted and lay back down. She decided to think of it as a string of coincidences. Digging into it wouldn't yield an answer anyway. Encrid inwardly marveled at Esther. She really did have a wide range of expressions for a panther. She was fun to watch, too. Just now, he'd seen her surprised eyes and asked if she was hungry, only for something like contempt to appear in them. Encrid chuckled and sat down. His legs weren't shaking, but he'd spent the entire day swinging a sword with barely a moment to breathe, while experiencing simulated deaths in his mind. It would be a lie to say he wasn't tired. Still...

'Krais was right after all.'

Hadn't he said it would be like picking up copper coins off the ground? That was how this had felt to Encrid. Except the copper coin he'd picked up had turned out to be gold. He had learned a new sword style. How much further had it taken him? That was hard to judge. It depended on what standard he used. Still, he had gained a little confidence, rather than conceit. 'Naurilia's soldier grading system is meaningless now.'

In the end, he needed Rem. How about knocking his axe aside and leaving a couple of scratches on his cheek? A refreshing goal. "Let's sleep before we leave," Encrid said.

That seemed safe enough. The gray barrier was gone, and there was no danger. With no flying insects, it was a perfect place to spend the night. Pleasantly cool, too, and not damp. So the party decided to stay another night. After going to sleep, Encrid dreamed. The evil spirit appeared again in his dream.

"Let's fight again."

Encrid nodded at its words. He won easily this time, too. A movement began with understanding, but what if he had memorized every last one? If his opponent only repeated the movements he had memorized, there was no reason to lose. And he had added a little understanding to them, too. The reason for moving his left foot sideways was to prepare a stab after a cut to the crown. Angling his wrist to match the dozens of ways his opponent might dodge or block produced a strike along an unexpected path. Fundamental followed fundamental, forming a single flow. That was swordsmanship. As he reflected on it once more, everything in the dream tore apart, and the ferryman abruptly appeared out of thin air. He said nothing. Expressed no intent. He merely looked aggrieved. 'You're putting my curse to use elsewhere?'

He almost seemed to be saying that. Encrid lightly set his hand against the right side of his waist, offering an apologetic military salute. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the cavern. A nonsense dream. "You sleep so peacefully," Luagarne said as he woke.

"Didn't you sleep?"

"I did." She gazed at him for a moment, then asked, "You really do intend to become a knight, don't you?"

What need was there to say it? Encrid nodded.

"Right," Luagarne said calmly. "It doesn't have to be in this country, does it?"

Her next words carried significance, but he couldn't ask her more. With that, she turned away as though she would hear no reply. It hadn't been a question, but advice. Knowing that, Encrid didn't press her. 'This country.'

As a child, he hadn't understood the concept of a country. As he grew older, he had learned that a knight bound by oaths of fealty and the like was different from what he had dreamed of. Did that mean there was another path? It probably wasn't something to worry about yet. 'When the time comes. In that moment.'

All he had to do was follow his heart and take the right path. He had lived that way until now. Call it conviction, or call it stubbornness. "Let's get going."

Just as Encrid said that, Krais's startled voice rang out.

"Oh!" "There's a secret box under the chest!"

Krais raised his head to meet Encrid's eyes as he spoke. Whatever this Dolph fellow had intended, he clearly enjoyed messing with people. Leaving the chests empty, drawing their attention with a letter, then trapping them in the dungeon with a demon sword, only to give treasure to those observant enough to find it. "Ancient gold coins!"

They had found something valuable. Modern currency had settled on the Empire's coinage. Imperial copper, silver, and gold coins were the standard for Krona. That monetary standard had been in place for over a century. Naturally, Krona meant imperial currency. But these came from before that age, from somewhere between history and legend. They wouldn't fetch just any price one asked, but with the right buyer, they would be worth ten times their weight in gold. There were more than ten of them. Each was palm-sized, hardly a small coin. The pouch was heavy. "Split them up," Encrid said.

Krais looked miserable, but soon nodded. He even pressed a share on Luagarne, who had said she didn't want any. "You're taking that, right?"

Krais asked as though the answer were obvious. He meant the sword embedded in the ground, of course. Before he had even finished speaking, Encrid was standing before it again. The lunatic with the sword had been freed and departed for another world. Beyond reality, into the realm of souls. So what remained? "You can tell it's expensive just by looking," Krais said. Encrid gripped the sword in one hand and pulled it straight out. His strength was almost superhuman. Perhaps because he had been using the Heart of the Superhuman so often, he felt stronger than before. The freed sword was filthy, but its core was still sound. It seemed he only needed to restore the edge and sharpen it properly. A few swings told him its balance was decent enough, though the grip and pommel would need considerable work. "With strength like that, I'd like to make you an honorary Frog."

Luagarne complimented him in true Frog fashion. "Are you selling—no, you're not selling that, are you?" Krais asked.

"I'm not."

Both his swords had just been ruined, after all. Encrid and his companions packed their belongings and finally set off home. Monsters and demonic beasts remained scarce, with none in sight. Perhaps because of the enormous colony, even the bandits they would ordinarily encounter were nowhere to be found. Pin showed an unusually swift recovery and occasionally asked Encrid for unarmed sparring along the way. Since she couldn't fight in earnest, they moved their limbs slowly, playing only a game of moves and countermoves. Encrid had become twice as seasoned since learning the sword style, and Pin failed to win a single time. Then Luagarne left.

"I'll be going, then."

"See you again."

Their farewell was simple. Krais waved, and Pin gave a casual bow of her head. Esther ignored her. Luagarne turned away without any particular show of regret. Encrid watched the Frog walk away alone, then turned as well, as though he had forgotten any sadness at parting. "She just up and left."

"It was strange that she stayed in the first place."

Wasn't that because of the Platoon Commander? Krais expressed that thought in one succinct word. "Irresistible."

"Don't."

It was the nickname Encrid found most uncomfortable. That whole irresistible-something business. "Irresistible."

Krais repeated it, the corners of his eyes lifting. Encrid didn't hold back. "This is an Ail Karaz-style wrist lock. It's useful to learn."

As he spoke, he bent and twisted Krais's wrist.

"Aaaagh!"

Krais's scream spread across the summer sky, and the party returned to Border Guard without incident. While Encrid and his companions were making their way back to the city, the superior who had dispatched the Cultist, a priest of the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm, received an absurd report.

* * *

"He failed?"

The speaker was the bishop who administered the diocese, the priest's immediate superior. Blond, with thick eyebrows, he was a man anyone would consider handsome. The gold embroidery on his white robes further complemented his striking appearance. With disbelief written across his face, he asked, "Did a knight order show up?"

That wasn't it. "What? A Platoon Commander? A panther?"

Hearing who was responsible only made it more absurd.