Chapter 347 - It Could Not Have Been Better

Encrid had offered to escort Krang, but that did not mean they were leaving immediately.

"We'll stay here ten days, or a week at the least, before leaving," Marcus said.

"You don't think staying longer might be dangerous?"

Krais interjected with the question, but Marcus shook his head.

"Didn't you think this was an excessive risk just to come and see one person?"

Krais immediately understood. So did Encrid. Krang had come to see him, but that was not his only purpose. If coming to Border Guard was itself a gamble, there were other practical objectives as well.

That made sense. Count Molsen was a powerful figure whose influence reached even the nobility in the capital. Not only did Krang have to evade such a man's eyes and ears, but the Queen still held firm at the center of power. Whether she had no interest in the succession or had something else in mind, no one knew.

In these circumstances, he intended to usurp her throne. Would that be easy? Or difficult? He had begun with no power base, no position, and no advantage. All he had was his bloodline as a bastard son of the royal family.

'No, there's that peculiar charm of his, too.'

This was only the second time Krais had met someone whose very existence seemed to shine. The first, of course, was Encrid.

'The Captain certainly is unusual.'

To Krais, Krang was unusual in a different way. He drew in those around him and used their support to move forward. He brought to mind a great sailing ship, taking people aboard and carrying them with him.

Encrid, on the other hand, was more a banner than a sailing ship. He stood alone and pressed forward. A banner that could be someone's signpost, someone's goal, or a shield standing in their defense.

'And he's exceptionally capable, too.'

In any case, that sailing ship—no, Krang—was fighting at a disadvantage. What did it prove that he had not merely held out this long, but was actually accomplishing things? It showed that neither his own abilities nor those of the people around him were to be taken lightly.

"So are we going now or not?"

With the cold gone, Rem was brimming with enthusiasm. He had understood none of the conversation. He merely picked his nose and demanded an answer.

"Wait."

Encrid knew how to handle a wild beast. He held up his palm toward Rem.

"Not yet. Wait."

Faced with treatment more suited to a puppy, Rem had no words.

"..."

He silently raised his axe. Naturally, the swing came faster than any reply.

The teasing had been partly deliberate. And so Encrid spent his spare time sparring. Or training. Or conditioning his body, again and again.

* * *

Dig one hole instead of several, and you can dig deeper. Choose one and keep digging. Whether you took up a sword or an axe, that was what you heard when you first picked up a weapon.

The Oniak Sword Technique. Straight, heavy, deceptive, swift, and flowing. Which of those would you pursue?

Ask ten men who knew their way around a blade, and all ten would give the same answer. Dig several wells at once and none would yield water. In the end, you would die of thirst.

Of course, there was also the matter of digging where water could be found—in other words, choosing a path that suited you. But those were details, and a slightly different subject. Setting them aside, the conclusion was this:

"Dig just one well."

Ask a hundred people, and the answers would be much the same. But Encrid had done no such thing. He had tried his hand at all sorts of wells, digging holes in each.

The heart of the beast, sensory arts, the Isolation Technique, Concentrate on a Single Point. He had learned all sorts of swordsmanship, too. A hundred out of a hundred would call it the wrong path.

Yet not one member of the Lunatic Company spoke up against it. None questioned him.

Something might sound like truth, even an immutable truth, when ten or a hundred people agreed. But gather more than a thousand, or ten thousand, and a few might give a slightly different answer.

"Why should I?"

They might ask that in return. Or:

"Do I have to? It works out if I just do whatever comes to hand."

Say things like that, and there was something you would hear in return.

"Are all you genius bastards like this?"

Most were treated as madmen or met with envy. Understandably so. They had not taken the ordinary path everyone else followed, yet they pulled ahead all on their own. They did not run at the same speed as everyone else. Ordinary people watching their backs had to struggle against frustration and despair.

Talent was discrimination. The world was not fair. The goddess of luck did not love everyone. Everyone knew that.

Encrid, too, had often heard similar advice.

["Focus on just one thing."]

Whether that meant devoting himself to the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique, or:

["The Swift Sword. Why not focus on that alone? At least you'll be better than you are now."]

He had often been told to learn the Swift Sword, staking everything on the first strike. Those who said such things thought highly of his persistence. But Encrid had not listened. He had not dug just one well. More precisely, he could not have. He would not have survived that way.

And after receiving that curse-like blessing, he had naturally come to master a wide variety of things. Had the advice to dig only one well never occurred to him along the way? It had. He had simply ignored it. Not everything everyone said could be right. Encrid had followed his instincts.

Above all, enjoyment had guided him.

'This is fun, too.'

And so was that.

It was thanks to his repeating today. Things that might have been agonizing had become exhilarating instead. Once he was enjoying himself, there was no reason to worry about whether he was digging one well or several.

He built his swordsmanship upon the arts the Lunatic Company had taught him. Every part of the process was a joy, over and over again. Each day was new. Opening his eyes each morning felt like a gift. Growth, change, progress—all of it immersed him utterly in delight.

This was possible in part because Encrid was not a normal man. Moving forward, even if he had to crawl—was simply knowing that a source of joy? No. Not everyone could feel that way. It was possible because he was Encrid.

He was sincerely, wholeheartedly grateful that he no longer settled for where he was. That made every day, every moment, fresh and joyful.

All that enthusiasm, the blessing-like curse, and the members of the Lunatic Company, whose chance encounters with him had become lasting bonds. Together, they allowed Encrid to draw water from every well.

["If I had to divide talent for swords, weapons, or unarmed combat into categories, I'd say there are two."]

An instructor in a large city had told him that. The man had firm principles and standards of his own.

["One is here."]

He had pointed at his forehead with his index finger.

["The talent for using a sword with your head. Observing, judging, thinking, figuring things out. The second is physical talent. Whether your body does what you want it to. You lack physical talent. Closing your eyes when a sword comes at you? What does it mean when you can't easily stop yourself, no matter how hard you steel your resolve? Your body isn't keeping up with your mind."]

So focus on one thing. If you intended to use a sword, strike first. He was also the one who had advised Encrid to concentrate on mercenary-style Swift Sword techniques.

Yet none of the Lunatic Company said anything of the sort. They were gifted people who stood outside common sense and shattered it. Even Sinar was considered a rarity among Fairies.

More importantly, even they could see that the arts Encrid had accumulated were intertwining. There was no reason to cling to a single well.

"That was good just now."

Exactly as Rem had felt a moment earlier.

Audin's unarmed techniques, built upon the Isolation Technique, were finding their way into Encrid's sword. Ragna's Heavy Sword Technique had blended into Captivating Sword, which he had created from Nameless's Righteous Sword Technique.

A moment earlier, Encrid had brought down the silver longsword in his right hand while laying his left hand on Spark and sliding his left foot half a step forward.

Spark was a sword for fast, straight thrusts. The sense that it might leap out at any moment had forced Rem to sweep his axe across.

Knock it aside, then deflect. His thoughts raced to a conclusion in an instant. But Spark never came. Nor did the descending sword carry any weight.

Just as Rem wondered what sort of bullshit trick this was, Encrid closed the distance, using his two main sword strikes as bait. He took the fight straight into point-blank range.

It was a maneuver he had devised by incorporating the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. Both sword strikes had even carried a presence that made them seem "real," thanks to the insight he had gained from Crushing Sword.

"That's insane!"

Rem shouted in excitement.

Encrid's hand had already seized his arm and bent it backward. With his arm about to be twisted out of shape, Rem kicked off the ground, leaped into the air, and spun his body around. It was almost acrobatic. He had turned his whole body in the same direction as his bending arm.

As he did, he struck Encrid's forearm with the edge of his hand and pushed him away. Driven backward, Encrid caught the longsword he had released—or rather, tossed lightly upward—as though he had planned the movement.

He caught it and brought it straight down. Crushing Sword, combined with a downward cut from the Heavy Sword Technique. The absurdly entertaining maneuver excited Rem, too.

The instant he landed from his midair spin, Rem drove off the ground with the tremendous strength of his legs. His body blurred, leaving an afterimage. It looked as though he had split in two: one Rem standing still, another retreating.

Encrid's sword cleaved through the one standing still. The retreating Rem leaned backward, then folded forward. Every movement was fast, forceful, and rough. As he swung from that backward lean into a forward bend, he hurled the weapons in his hands—both axes.

'That's insane.'

Encrid marveled inwardly. Rem had come up with the move on the spot.

WHOOOM!

With an explosive roar, the axes came flying like a pair of discs. Encrid angled his sword diagonally, placing it squarely in the path of both axes.

CRASH! CRASH!

As he caught the flying axes on his blade, the thunderous impacts shook his whole body. They carried monstrous force.

The axes struck his sword and spun upward. Tracing strange arcs through the air, they thudded into the ground. With their weight concentrated in the heads, they were never going to land handle-first.

Encrid stood with his knees half bent and his longsword held diagonally in both hands.

"Let's stop here."

Seeing that Encrid had blocked the axes, Rem called a halt. Any more and one of them would break something or suffer a serious injury.

It was after all this that Rem had said, "That was good just now."

Encrid caught his breath and asked, "You threw those on impulse, didn't you?"

"Why ask when you already know?"

Rem grinned.

Encrid's sword-tossing maneuver had come after days of thought. Not Rem's. He had watched his opponent and demonstrated a technique devised on the spot. Even so, it was remarkably polished.

"What comes next?"

"Sling, charge, unarmed combat."

He meant after throwing the axes. Those were killing arts they could not carry on with in a spar. He would fire a stone from his sling, kick off the ground and charge, then close in with fists and feet.

Rem was an accomplished unarmed fighter as well. Most frightening was the headlong rush that would bring him within reach while his opponent blocked or dodged the sling stone. He would exploit the disruption to their stance and breathing as they dealt with it.

"Nice."

Encrid nodded, picturing Rem's movements in his head.

"Very nice."

Rem nodded, too. He was pleased by Encrid's growth.

Of course, Encrid could not learn everything all at once, either. His talent truly was peculiar. He would suddenly master something, yet from beside him, his progress seemed painfully slow.

But he never hesitated, never stopped, and held no preconceptions. He admired an opponent's techniques with genuine wonder, responding to them and turning them over in his mind. What an excellent attitude.

"Having fun?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

Besides Rem, Encrid sometimes crossed swords with Ragna. His conditioning with Audin continued as before. In the midst of all that:

"Take me, too!"

Dunbachel volunteered without even knowing what it was about. She wanted to join the escort job. Encrid nodded.

Assassins or something else would certainly come after them. Would this be dangerous? Was the road ahead strewn with thorns? Was this a job full of nothing but danger? It probably was.

Yet even knowing that, Encrid was half looking forward to it.

"Why do you look so excited?"

Apparently those thoughts showed on his face, because the perceptive Big-eyes kept asking him. Each time, Encrid answered honestly.

"What sort of bastards do you think will come at us?"

Three or four assassin organizations he knew flashed through Krais's mind. He had begun life in the back alleys. He knew a great deal himself. No, he knew even more now. He had learned quite a bit from running the Gilfin Guild like an information guild.

"Troublesome ones?"

At that, Encrid smiled so brightly that it seemed to resemble the spring sunshine. Krais frowned.

"Is this something to smile about?"

"Isn't it?"

TAP, TAP.

Rem, who had been watching, tapped Krais on the head.

"The day you understand what goes on in this man's head, you'll be a madman, too."

Encrid found that a little offensive. The craziest bastard of them all was calling him crazy. Was this what they meant by a human-faced hound insulting a Ghoul?

'No, that's not right.'

That saying was for equally bad creatures tearing each other down. Something else would fit better here. A dog covered in shit scolding a dog covered in dust. Yes, that was right.

"Fine. Come at me, Rem. I accept your challenge to a duel."

"... What part of what I said was a challenge?"

"Every word of it."

"Sounds like you're just picking a fight."

To Krais, the two of them seemed much alike.

In any case, five days flew by as they passed the time with one thing and another.

"Our business concluded sooner than expected."

Marcus brought them a formal commission. A house of royal lineage was hiring them for an escort job. Publicly, they would be escorting members of the house's trading company; privately, a bastard son of the royal family. The duration was left separate from the terms, with those people designated as the subjects of the commission. The route ran from Border Guard to the kingdom's capital.

They agreed to leave in two days. A day passed, and by evening they had just decided who would go and who would stay.

"... Fucking hell. Sneaking in and making yourself comfortable? Just like an alley cat."

They were returning from gathering various useful pieces of equipment and buying provisions such as seasoned jerky. Encrid had also procured a canteen of brandy. There might come a moment when he desperately needed a few mouthfuls of liquor.

They had just come in when Rem spoke to the person sitting in the barracks.

"Sneaking? You're simply too dull to have noticed."

The man was astonishingly good at concealing his presence, at least. Sitting there without even lighting a lamp, he looked like some inanimate object that had become one with the bed.

"You're back?"

Encrid spoke from where he stood inside the barracks. The returned Jaxon nodded.

"Yes, I'm back. But it seems I'll have to leave again soon."

"Where to?"

"I have business in the capital."

"... By the capital, you mean where Naurilia's royal palace is?"

Still seated in his chair, Jaxon blinked once at Encrid's question before answering.

"Obviously."

Was this coincidence, or good luck?

"We happen to be headed there."

Jaxon blinked again. They were going where?

"Deadweight. Nothing but deadweight. You're taking him along?"

Rem cut in from beside Encrid, but Jaxon paid him no heed.

"You're going to the capital?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

Jaxon thought it a remarkable coincidence. He had been looking for a pretext to go to the capital—to the royal palace, to be precise. The sooner the better, too, and they were leaving tomorrow. It could not have been better.