Chapter 370 - Contrasting Colors

The boat rocked. The current rippled. A single light illuminated the pitch-black darkness. Following its glow, Encrid saw a figure holding a lamp aboard the ferry. He was riding in a long ferryboat that plied the river. Was it his imagination, or had the boat grown larger and longer? It had been a long time since he had dreamed this. The ferryman stood opposite him, holding an oar. "It's been a while," Encrid said. He could see eyes, a nose, a mouth, and skin like drought-parched earth. There was not a trace of humanity in that cracked, dark-gray skin. The expression remained difficult to read, but he could see more than when they had first met. At least the eyes, nose, and mouth were visible. He could even speak now. The ferryman's mouth opened. A straight line briefly parted, then closed. There was no reading lips that moved like that. "This wall will be interesting," he said. His heavy, low voice felt like a blunt hammer. Words reached their target the moment they were spoken. No weapon was faster. Before Encrid could defend himself, the hammer of the ferryman's words seemed to strike his heart. The shock spread through his entire body. He trembled, feeling the vibrations. It stirred the fear inherent in humanity. That was what the ferryman did. And Encrid said, "I'll look forward to it."

He enjoyed it all. Here, he had neither the heart of the beast nor Concentrate on a Single Point, neither his sensory arts nor his trained body. Only his essential self remained. He answered with his own innate determination, convictions, and resolve. He truly enjoyed it. Sincerely, genuinely, he enjoyed even this situation. Those words came from his heart. His trembling heart and the shock running through his body would all become stepping stones toward what came next. Anticipation overpowered fear. Could there be a today that failed to become a stepping stone? There could, but there could not. A contradiction. Two opposing statements. Yet nothing suited Encrid better. 'Even a flower blooming in a field has something to teach me.'

There were lessons in the stars of the night sky. In dandelion seeds drifting on the wind. Ponder. Deliberate. Wrestle with it. Think, and think again. Never forget that all of it could become your sword. Masters, instructors, mercenaries. Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, Audin, as well as Esther, Dunbachel, Teresa, Krang, Andrew, and most recently Aesia. Countless others, too. Those who had died by his sword. The enemy soldier from his first repeating today. The swordsman of the Hurrier family. Mages, magic, spells, strategic traps.

Everything had been a lesson. "Is it madness, or resolve?" the ferryman asked. His form faded bit by bit. This was a dream, an inner world. Encrid would soon wake. "Or merely an ignorant man's desperate struggle?"

The ferryman looked at him. His eyes changed color from moment to moment. Blue turned to red, red to pitch-black. Then they became violet, then the color of dark tree bark. Only then did Encrid realize this was the first time he had looked directly into the ferryman's eyes. "Now you can even meet my eyes."

He heard the ferryman speak. All he could discern was a faint note of admiration. With that, Encrid opened his eyes. 'It's been a while.'

It had been a long time since he had dreamed of the ferryman at all. Even their last encounter felt distant. He had not repeated a today recently. Had that made him careless? Had he assumed he would no longer face a repeating today? He had not. Not when hunting the Moonlight Beast, nor when facing Aesia. As his thoughts reached her, their sparring came to mind. What a shame. Such a shame. Fighting her a little longer would have been fun. There was still so much to learn, but she had left. Aesia possessed a discipline he rarely saw in Rem, Ragna, or Jaxon.

'Because she learned her fundamentals in the knight order?' Supple, yet upright. It was illusion swordsmanship, but utterly different in form from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. 'Illusion swordsmanship deceives and confuses the opponent.'

Her method removed the deception and turned the opponent's concentration against them. Ironically, it might not work on a warrior or swordsman of ordinary ability. Someone below proto-knight level—no, below squire level—could probably ignore Aesia's Point Aim and swing their own sword. Ignorance of what was happening could sometimes look like boldness. Of course, she would not need Point Aim against an opponent of that caliber. Their time together had been brief, but there was so much to learn. His outlook was the same as in the dream. Even drifting dandelion seeds held lessons.

'Everything that happens around me is my teacher.'

If there was a lesson, he would ponder it again and again, master it, and learn. Though Encrid was not conscious of it, the drive to improve always surged within him. The wish to become better. The desire to go further. The eagerness to develop his ability, his level, his techniques. It naturally made him proactive, but he did not stop there. He reflected on himself, too, because he now knew that was actually the faster path. Rest mattered. Sometimes, stepping back to look was more necessary. Now he understood. Things he had not known while learning from countless instructors were finally becoming clear, one by one, for him to understand and reflect upon. He knew the time he had spent had not been wasted. With that thought, he rose and began his daily routine. Outside, he warmed himself up by bouncing on the spot. Only then did he work through the distinctive Isolation Technique, loosening each joint and stretching his muscles. Next, he stood before the landscaping stones he had ordered Andrew to pile up, gripped one with both hands, and pulled it upward as he stood. The exercise trained his hamstrings and core, and his thighs as he squatted and rose. Before he knew it, he had forgotten both the dream of the ferryman and his drive to improve. Only enthusiasm filled their place. "Don't you ever get sick of it?"

Andrew had come out later and could only marvel. "Of what?" Encrid asked during a brief rest as he caught his breath. "What you're doing now. No, all of it." He trained every part of his body in the morning, then trained again by taking hits from Dunbachel's rocks or Rem's fists. Next came swordsmanship and practice with all kinds of weapons. Then more sparring and more assorted training. In whatever time remained, he taught Andrew and the trainees. A schedule that would have been excessive for a single day, yet he followed it every day without a care. Could a human being really do that? That was the sentiment behind Andrew's question. On top of that, he had recently gone out and beaten some human or monster called the Moonlight Beast, or whatever it was. He spoke of it as though he had merely taken an evening stroll. Andrew wondered whether Encrid was actually human. His life was even more brutal than before. Andrew had thought his training was punishing back when he served under him, but though Encrid was now far more skilled, his training had increased rather than diminished. It was more intense, more unconventional. "Actually..." Encrid began. "Actually?"

When he did not continue immediately, Andrew echoed him in encouragement. "I'm having so much fun it's killing me." Andrew's lips parted halfway, closed, then opened and closed again. He could hardly find words. Yet if he did not say something to express all this astonishment, he felt his chest would clog up. So he turned his head slightly aside and muttered out of earshot. "... Crazy bastard." He thought he had whispered, but naturally Encrid heard him. Jaxon, who had emerged at some point, offered a word of advice from behind. "He can hear all of that." "What?"

Startled because he had not sensed Jaxon's presence, Andrew turned to look behind him. "The Captain has sharp ears," Jaxon kindly repeated. Andrew turned a doubtful gaze toward Encrid. "I didn't hear you call me a crazy bastard." "Ah," Andrew groaned. "Let's begin training." That day's Isolation Technique began with a regimen specially tailored to Andrew. The human body adapted. Train at the same intensity every day, and the effect was bound to weaken. Thus, one had to train harder, more strenuously. Encrid gave Andrew that gift. "Why us, too?"

The five trainees also had to endure the heightened intensity. Something like resentment began to enter their eyes. "Looks like you've got energy to spare, boys."

Rem smiled at the sight. Who did they think they were, looking like that? Resentment? Reeeesentment? "Good. Very good."

Rem cackled. At the sight, all five trainees went pale. Ragna did not come out to the training grounds until late morning. Compared to before, he was truly like a different person. It seemed it would be another ordinary day, apart from Krang's investiture being tomorrow. But it was not. Encrid felt the change in the air against his skin. "Awfully quiet out there."

Rem's wild instincts had caught a similar scent. So had Dunbachel. "Let's gear up," Encrid said.

Rem nodded without comment. Everyone began moving, and Encrid gathered his own equipment. 'Six whistle daggers.'

They would be useful with the right timing. He equipped three swords, wound the bandage-like armor around his body, and donned leather armor over it. The armor was lined with tough cloth. Its stiffness would restrict his movement somewhat, but hardly enough to hinder him much. It had been a gift from Andrew. "Get your weapons."

Morning training had just ended. At Encrid's words, Andrew and the five trainees gathered as well. "What's going on?" Mac asked.

Had he sensed the ominous air too? Or was he merely unsettled by the sight of Encrid and his companions? "Something feels wrong," Dunbachel answered.

Off to one side, Ragna collected his sword and added a shortsword at his waist. Then he pulled his bootlaces tight. Starting with his sword belt, Encrid checked every piece of equipment as he looked around the mansion's surroundings and listened. "No one there, right?"

Rem had not called it quiet for nothing. Jaxon nodded in answer. Instead of a longsword, he wore a blade the length of his forearm at his waist. Jaxon had surveyed the surroundings the instant he sensed the ominous atmosphere. No one was around the mansion. Not even a dog could be seen on a street that normally saw considerable traffic. Beyond the neatly swept bluestone road, he spotted a few people hiding inside their homes. Had someone cleared the area? No, the residents were avoiding the mansion. Troops had already surrounded it. Soldiers in guard uniforms, armed with spears and swords, stood out in particular. There were roughly twenty-odd of them. Encrid ignored them. They could not intend to accomplish anything with so few men. What did they intend, then? He had Krang and Marcus backing him. Were they acting in disregard of that? 'What are they planning to do?'

He even felt a little anticipation. As they waited a short while, Esther suddenly lifted her head. Her eyes met Encrid's. She had been lying still when something provoked her into looking up sharply. 'A spell?'

More precisely, interference in mana. Someone had played a magical trick here. Nothing was happening yet, but if left alone, the preparations would allow them to do whatever they intended. It was said that in a battle between mages, the one who prepared won. That was how much of an advantage knowing one's opponent and preparing for them conferred. 'Does my opponent know me?'

In magical terms, they probably did. She had rarely revealed herself, but she had killed Galaf, He Who Holds the River's Course. One of his disciples might have recognized her traces. 'Who might it be?'

It was competitive spirit rather than curiosity. There was a reason she had been called the Fighting Witch. Esther did not shy away from a challenge. Had rumors of her being weakened by the curse spread far and wide? If her opponent had come knowing that, they would surely regret it deeply. Esther stepped forward from her panther form and became human. Her fur disappeared, revealing fair, smooth skin, then stopped disappearing and became a long coat. Once transformed, she pulled its front closed and looked around. "Look, and you'll lose your eyes."

She saw Encrid take Andrew by the chin and turn his face away. "Well done."

Esther offered that brief praise and started walking. "I'll be back shortly." Encrid did not ask where she was going. Everyone would act as they saw fit. If something magical was afoot, she was probably going to stop it. He was not exactly worried, but he wanted to offer a little encouragement, so he did. "Don't come back beaten up." "Who do you think you're worrying about?" Proud and arrogant, Esther pulled her long black hair back, tied it tightly, and vaulted over the wall. Long leather trousers and a white shirt had appeared beneath her coat. As she broke free of the curse's effects, creating clothing imbued with protective spells was no longer difficult. She had not spent all this time idling on her cushion. She, too, had made various preparations and equipped herself. Not every mage was a prophet, but anyone who properly wielded spells developed a sense for foreseeing danger. Esther was no exception. She had not foreseen this particular moment, but she had prepared. Now she only had to show those preparations. Just after Esther left, Encrid turned his head to one side, twitched his ears a few times, and spoke. "Andrew, station everyone inside the mansion and defend it." "What?" "Sounds like quite a few are coming." Andrew followed the instruction without asking questions. "Everyone, inside!"

The few servants—the remaining maids and attendants—went inside first, along with Mac and the five trainees. Andrew remained on the training grounds. When Encrid glanced at him, he answered, "You could use another pair of hands, couldn't you?"

He had said there were many, after all. Encrid had given the order because protecting people while fighting was a bother, but Andrew would not go down easily. The five trainees and Mac should be able to hold out for a while. Besides, he had no intention of letting anyone inside the mansion in the first place. RUMBLE. Soon, a ground-shaking sound reached them. He felt the earth's vibrations draw closer through his skin. A cloud of dust rose, and cavalry appeared, riding over the bluestone. A force filled the mansion's entrance, where everyone's gaze was directed. At its head, a man in ornate armor spoke. "I am Polman Vertes! Is there a man named Encrid here?" "... The constable?" Andrew muttered upon hearing the name. "That's me."

Encrid raised a hand conspicuously encased in a gauntlet of tough leather reinforced with iron plates. In other words, he was armed. The constable could see that too. Twenty men had surrounded the mansion's front. More than thirty cavalry had now arrived, with infantry following them, bringing the total to over a hundred. It seemed the entire guard had assembled. Among them was the south gate guard captain from the Moonlight Beast hunt. His face was ashen. "I am taking you into custody on suspicion of murdering Viscount Vantra," the constable declared from horseback. Oh, what utter bullshit.

Encrid said it with his face. "Bullshit."

Rem said it aloud. At that admirably concise reply, the fellow called the constable went red in the face. Quite a contrast to the south gate guard captain's complexion.