Chapter 261 - A Gentle Stroke Does Not Turn a Blade into Cotton

"Enjoy being a recruiter? See anyone worthwhile?"

At the question from a friend he had not seen in some time, the rapier swordsman nodded.

"I did."

"... Really?" This was not a man who would say that about an ordinary talent. Who had been the last person his friend had called promising? Someone whose talent stood out even among the gifted. Even in the Empire, where geniuses of every kind gathered, there were only a handful this man acknowledged. And now he said this out of the blue? How could he not be intrigued? Hadn't he said he had been traveling the continent, over in the kingdoms? For the man before him, this assignment as a recruiter had been a sort of holiday. He was almost a workaholic; this was what he did to relax. For him to say such a thing about someone he had encountered on holiday was both rare and unexpected. It was not the answer a casual, joking question should have elicited. The two sat in a small room in the inner castle of a territory at the Empire's gateway. Its only furnishings were a round table and a few chairs with woolen cushions. One man governed the territory; the other was a training officer back from leave. The rapier swordsman gave a plain account of what he had seen and felt. Though he calmly recounted nothing but facts, a fervor shone in his eyes. The lord thought it sounded like a quietly impassioned speech. "So you couldn't discern his talent, but he repelled intimidation?"

The rapier swordsman had related only the facts, leaving out just the part where he had stood in the rain for half a day, so astonished that he could only keep saying, "Huh?" "An intriguing fellow, certainly."

The gateway territory's commander stroked his chin and tossed back the whiskey before him. It was a strong liquor called Farmer's Tears. The liquid announced its presence with a sting as it passed down his throat, then settled in his stomach and warmed him from within. "Would you put him on a level with a capable Frog?"

"Capable Frog" was slang that had originated as a collective term for the Frogs employed by the Empire. It described a Frog who could roam the continent alone, survive, and get the job done. The question was meant to establish a benchmark for the man's skill. "A Frog, eh."

Swirling the glass in his hand, the rapier swordsman answered without needing to think.

"Not even close." Did he mean the man fell short of a Frog, or that a mere Frog would be no match for him? Naturally, it was the latter. The lord was perceptive enough to understand that. Was awakening Will special? Yes. But there were stranger things still, peculiar things a calm recital of facts could not convey. 'Even the way he wielded his sword.'

It had improved beyond reason. Changed. Grown and evolved. And all overnight. He had seen it with his own eyes. Had anyone told him about it, he would never have believed them, not even on pain of death. 'It would be easier on my mind to believe a spell had fooled me.'

A capable Frog? If it was a Frog who only wandered the borderlands...

'How many exchanges would he last?'

He would be hopelessly outmatched. That was how strong Encrid was now. The rapier swordsman raised his glass to the lamp. The brown liquid within had taken a long time and many stages to produce. That was why it was called Farmer's Tears: making it meant toiling until it wrung tears out of you. Ordinary soldiers, squires, and proto knights needed a similar process.

'Time, effort, tempering.'

He could see that process as clearly as if it were unfolding before his eyes. His discernment, honed through service as a training officer, picked out such things. Even the Frogs known as talent readers acknowledged him. Through those discerning eyes, he could see effort in the human named Encrid, but it made no sense. Time was fair to everyone. That was why talent mattered. If two people spent the same day training, it was only right to nurture the more talented one. Then what was this Encrid? Something beyond his understanding. Someone possessed of an inexplicable, explosive talent. That was his conclusion. 'Unless he went into some other world and came back after spending years doing nothing but training through the same repeating day.'

The man gave a short laugh, dismissing the thought as utterly ridiculous. It was easy to say. Repeat a day and train over and over. So very easy to say. If all you had to do was say it, it truly could not be easier. But who could endure it? He had seen and nurtured all kinds of talent. No one could endure such a process. And if someone did?

'If such a person existed.'

The Empire be damned; he would want to nurture that determination to full bloom himself. That alone was a talent worth coveting. He had once posed the question "What is the greatest talent?" in a scholarly work he had written in the Empire. The liquor in his swirling glass still reflected the lamplight. He tossed it back and gathered his thoughts. 'The greatest talent is to remain unbroken even by death, to look ahead no matter what happens.'

To know no despair. That had been his conclusion. Of course, without physical talent to support it, such a person would simply wither away. How many men like that had he tried to raise? How often had he seen their temperament and character and tried to force talent into their bodies? Every attempt had failed. For the talent he envisioned to grow explosively, mystic arts would have to lend a hand somehow, whether through a demon of curses or the goddess of luck. And if that happened? If someone like that truly existed? If someone with such insane willpower, who could endure the incomprehensible, something tantamount to torture, rose to the rank of knight through either acquired ability or an inborn gift?

'It would be the birth of a monster.' As he thought, the rapier swordsman let the man's face drift through his mind. Black hair and blue eyes. An uncommon appearance. One not easily forgotten.

* * *

"Someone's here to see me."

Encrid answered the Fairy Company Commander. Beside her, Gilfin stared at him with sweat quite literally streaming down his face. Still, he had enough sense not to interrupt outright and merely glanced between them. "I see."

The Fairy Company Commander nodded and stayed put. She looked ready to follow him wherever he went. Should he turn her away? There was no particular need. He left her be. Encrid turned to Gilfin. Sweat poured down the face beneath his fur coif. He had clearly run here in a hurry. His face was flushed, and the chest of his thick fur coat rose and fell. "Whew... Please help us."

As Gilfin spoke, Encrid suddenly recalled, quite out of nowhere, the name of the Frog who had visited Border Guard before. He had not forgotten that name. The Frog had said he would return, and he would keep his word. Wasn't keeping their word what made Frogs Frogs? "Meellun?"

The thought leaped from his mouth without passing through his head. Gilfin's eyes went round, his pupils widening. He seemed thoroughly startled.

"... How did you know? He's captured the guild leader. Again."

He seemed to emphasize "again." Officially, the Gilfin Guild's leader was the bald man in the coif standing before him, but every member regarded Krais as their superior. The Gilfin Guild had begun as a criminal guild formed by a collection of illiterate, ignorant thugs. Though its character had changed somewhat, its original instincts had not gone anywhere. To them, their superior was their guild leader. Which made Krais the guild leader. And above that guild leader stood Encrid. ["If you're in danger, just run and fetch him. Captain Encrid. Don't forget the name. If you meet him in the marketplace, keep your eyes down. And if you see a gray-haired barbarian beside him, just run. If you think you've made eye contact, get the hell out."] Krais had hammered this home so often that every member of the Gilfin Guild knew Encrid's name and face. Rem and the others, too, of course. He had repeatedly stressed that they must not pick a fight with them by mistake. And Gilfin had seen Encrid fight. Coming here the moment trouble broke out was only natural for him.

"Let's go."

Encrid set off at once. 'Wearing armor and carrying your weapons as a matter of course are part of training, too.'

It was advice he had heard when he first became a mercenary, and he had followed it. Since he had been clumsy with weapons, he had followed it faithfully. The habit remained unchanged. Demonic-beast-hide under-armor bandages were wrapped around his body. The demon sword, The Tutor, hung at his left hip, and the dwarf's gladius at his right. He also carried five throwing knives in a sheath strapped across his chest. Since he had been unable to obtain any whistle daggers, he had left their special sheath in his quarters. Add a gambeson or mail and a helmet, and he would be all but fully armed. He could go out as he was without any trouble. "Er, heading out, sir?"

The soldier guarding the barracks asked. Walking at a moderate pace, Encrid replied,

"Just going for a short stroll."

"Me too." The Fairy Company Commander fell in beside him and added a Fairy-style joke without a trace of a smile.

"Don't you know that affection grows when people spend time together?"

"Does it?"

"The woman filling my bath told me. I thought it excellent advice. So I believe we should spend time together." Joking at a time like this. Encrid answered casually.

"If you mean training together, sure." An ordinary woman would have kicked him in the shin right then. She asked to spend time with him, and he suggested training? Not sharing good food and whispering words of love while watching the sunset? But Sinar was neither an ordinary woman nor even a human. The Fairy spoke as they walked.

"That wouldn't be bad either, but how about looking around the market? A great many interesting things have arrived at Border Guard's market lately. Along with just as much trouble." He had not been away for months. A month or so at most. How much trouble could have arisen in that time? As Encrid walked alongside the Fairy, considering that, Gilfin followed behind, thinking, 'What is all this pointless chatter?' What were they going to do about the Frog right now? And yet the pair walked so quickly that he practically had to jog to keep up. They only seemed to be walking. Why were they so fast? As Gilfin hurried after them, Encrid asked,

"You said the Frog was here?" "Whew... Yes, the one from before. Whew, whew. The one with a white scar across his neck, like this."

Gilfin answered between panting breaths, lifting his head and running a hand across the right side of his neck. The one who had come to collect money from the Gilfin Guild. An opponent whose name Encrid had not forgotten. Back then, driving him away had been all he could do. No, even that had been a close thing. What about now? "Over there!"

It was, somehow, a little funny. The same place, the same situation. Should he call Krais an idiot for getting caught? He knew what had happened intuitively. He entered the mansion and passed through the corridor to the door that barred the way ahead. Had the Frog learned something from their last fight? The door stood wide open. Last time, Encrid had kicked this door open and thrown his whistle daggers first. Putting the overlapping memories behind him, Encrid raised his left hand, palm out, and spoke.

"Been well?"

A greeting. He could see the Frog sitting in a chair at the back of the hall, with Krais beside him. "Fuck, what are we, friends? Happy to see me after all this time?"

Meellun returned the greeting, though he did not seem quite as pleased as Encrid. Encrid was simply excited. This looked like a chance to see clearly how he now measured up against someone he had fought before. And he saw no reason to drag things out. Having asked if the Frog had been well, he had already sprung forward while his opponent spoke. The sound of his foot striking the floor followed.

THUD! Despite the terrifying speed of Encrid's charge, Meellun did not panic. The man was a fighter adept at unconventional moves and unexpected twists. He had experienced that before. Before he had even finished asking whether Encrid was happy to see him, Meellun drew his Loop Sword. Hooking his hand through the ring, he swung the thick blade down. The blow descended with a Frog's strength behind it. Facing him, Encrid drew his own sword. It flashed from his left hip and rose. Then his blade met the silver of the Loop Sword. SKRRRRRANG!

A strange scraping clang rang out. Meellun had intended to overpower him, close in, and crush his skull with a punch. But he could not carry out his plan. His descending sword slid aside, as though someone had pulled it sideways. 'The fuck?'

The curse came unbidden. Then the sword point slithered toward his face like a snake. The blade forged from blue steel struck the capable Frog's eye. More precisely, it slashed across his eyeball.

"Aaargh!"

The Frog screamed. Watching the Frog tumble backward with his eye slashed, Encrid flicked his sword through the air. The Frog's blood pattered onto the floor. A single move had made the gap between them clear. Above all, he had used his new swordsmanship in a real fight for the first time.

'It works.'

Elation and joy filled him. Encrid raised his sword again. While creating his Flowing Sword Technique, he had thought:

'A gentle stroke does not turn a blade into cotton.'

And that had become the first move of the Flowing Sword Technique he had created.