Chapter 378 - Repetition

'How did she achieve such delicate movements?'

In his memory, Sinar swung her sword. Her steps were light as a butterfly, and the leaf sword she wielded was equally light. Though its leaf-shaped blade broadened in the middle, it seemed to flutter. Watching the blade dance, he could almost believe she put no strength into it at all.

But facing it was a different matter. Those strikes carried real power. He knew that well from crossing blades with her.

How did she do that? Precision required tension. Yet he could only reproduce those movements by relaxing. He understood how the movement worked, but that left the question of whether his body could actually perform it.

'Is this a path I don't know?'

No. He already knew it. Countless lessons, practice sessions, and hard knocks had ingrained certain things in his body.

["Do you think there is only one way to exert strength? Without precision, the Isolation Technique means nothing."]

Audin had said there were different kinds of muscles. There were large muscles, and there were small ones that controlled fine movements. Training those muscles over and over had given Sinar her precision. Encrid needed that too.

["Sharpen your senses, and you will be able to feel it."]

That was something Jaxon had told him countless times. Drawing on those words, Encrid half closed his eyes and began swinging the weapons in both hands. He imagined a line in the air and swung his swords precisely toward it. He couldn't get it right on the first try. That didn't matter. He repeated it.

It resembled drawing a circle on a tree and practicing hitting that exact spot, but striking a large circle and the exercise he had named "Meeting Sword Tips" demanded entirely different levels of precision and fine control. In terms of Naurilia's soldier grades, the gap was that between a lowest-grade soldier and someone of the highest grade or above. And his opponent's sword kept moving, too.

'Aesia doesn't stand still.'

She would take small steps, turn her body, and shift the direction of her sword. There was his answer. He needed the precision to pluck a feather from a moving bird. To achieve that, he needed to practice aligning one sword tip with the other. Encrid immersed himself in the exercise, swimming in a sea of concentration.

Then a voice reached him.

"This is no place for a barbarian to interfere! Go suck on a goat's teat!"

Training on his third today hadn't differed much from usual, but the meeting with the constable, where events truly began, had taken a very different turn. Encrid looked over to find Rem grinning as he gripped his axe haft.

"A goooat?"

Ah, too late to stop him now. Encrid halted the step he had been about to take.

The south gate guard captain desperately tried to interpose himself in front of the constable. But whether out of unwavering loyalty, sheer thoughtlessness, or boundless confidence in his own skill, one soldier drew his sword and swung.

"You bastard!"

He stepped forward without warning, shouting as he brought his sword down at Rem's head. Just before the blade touched his hair, Rem moved. He pushed lightly off the ground and hopped aside. The descending sword cut empty air, and Rem immediately spun his axe around and swung.

THWACK!

A crisp impact rang out. Instead of a lightning-fast slash, he had struck with the back of the axe head. The soldier's belly caved inward for a moment, then sprang back. Rem hadn't swung to kill, but it was hardly a gentle pat either.

"Gurgh!"

The blow to his belly sent the soldier flying.

'That's going to hurt.'

Encrid had been hit enough times to know. That was no padded hammer. Audin's hammer blows were bearable; take that one wrong, and it would break bones and rupture organs.

The soldier flew aside and rolled across the ground, then vomited amid tears and snot. There was blood in the vomit too. After that single roll, he retched until his eyes rolled back. A blow to the belly had knocked him unconscious.

Rem snorted and muttered, "Weak."

His voice was quiet, but he had silenced everyone with a single blow. Even his muttering carried clearly. The constable gaped in shock, then shut his mouth, gritted his teeth, and spoke.

"... This is treason!"

Left alone, Rem would begin a massacre. Ragna and Jaxon behind him were more likely to join in than stop him. As soon as the constable finished speaking, Encrid moved. Once again, he stepped forward to persuade them.

He pushed off the ground and advanced in a crouch, closing the distance and chopping the neck of the man blocking his way. The fellow had been staring at Rem in bewilderment when the cry of treason made him instinctively tighten his grip on his spear. The veins bulging on the back of his hand were impressive, but his body had gone just as rigid. Not that he could have reacted even if he hadn't stiffened.

SMACK!

The man crumpled with a choked grunt. Before he even hit the ground, Encrid spun all the way around, adding centrifugal force to a palm strike that came down on the helmet of the man beside him.

His palm struck the helmet vertically.

BANG!

"Urgh!"

The soldier's knees went limp as an octopus's tentacles, and he collapsed. His brain had been rattled; he wouldn't be coming to his senses anytime soon. Those two soldiers had stood directly between Encrid and the constable.

With them down, Encrid grabbed the mounted constable's ankle. The startled man looked at him. Their eyes met, and Encrid gave him a smile before yanking his ankle.

CRACK!

"Aaaaargh!"

The constable's other foot caught in the stirrup and broke. Encrid had personally reenacted what Dunbachel had done before. With the constable still half caught in the stirrup, Encrid drove an elbow into his head and knocked him unconscious.

THWACK. CRUNCH.

He heard the man's neck bones shift out of alignment, but that shouldn't have killed him. All of it had happened in the space of a breath or two.

NEIGH!

Only then did the startled horse rear. His work already done, Encrid took two steps back to avoid its forelegs. The squire who had been watching a step behind the constable could only stare wide-eyed, sword half drawn. Beside him, the chief of the constabulary froze with his hand still on his sword.

"Why not just kill him?"

Rem muttered again beside him. Encrid gazed indifferently at the unconscious constable dangling from his horse, then briefly furrowed his brow.

"What was the constable's name again?"

He had paid so little attention that he'd forgotten it.

"Fullman Vertes," the chief of the constabulary answered warily.

"If you're done, you'd better leave."

At Encrid's words, the squire opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. What could he possibly say in this situation? Everyone stayed silent. The soldiers had nothing more to say. The chief of the constabulary saw no reason to step forward and get his own leg broken too. A silence deeper than the one following Rem's blow settled over them.

"I think you're worse than me. I'll pass the title of Noble Hunter on to you."

"Keep it."

As Rem made his inane remark and Encrid retorted, hoofbeats rang out.

CLOP-CLOP! CLOP-CLOP! CLOP-CLOP!

Anyone could tell the horse was at a full gallop. A shout accompanied it.

"Help me!"

The cry came from deep in the man's gut, utterly heartfelt. Naturally, the voice was familiar and the event expected. It had already happened twice. It was Marcus. Encrid strode without hesitation through the soldiers hemming them in on one side and climbed onto the wall.

The soldiers didn't dare stop him. They moved aside instead. Rem followed him onto the wall, and Dunbachel hopped up beside them.

"Rem."

As he spoke, Encrid looked past the fleeing Marcus. He could see the oddly dressed pursuer.

"The Ageless Madman. I let him get away before, and he's been fucking around here all this time. I'll go deal with him."

"Go."

Encrid answered immediately, and Rem shot off without looking back. He sprang from the wall, displaying inhuman hang time as he practically flew sideways onto another building's roof. Then he broke into a sprint, drawing a throwing axe and shouting.

"Try running again this time, you bastard!"

Lying in wait to catch him unawares wasn't even an option. His opponent turned at once, and Rem welcomed it. Catching someone who came at him was too easy. He wanted to chase down a fleeing target and finish him off. It was something like a hunting instinct.

"You're insane."

Called insane by the Ageless Madman, Rem shut his mouth and ran. He crossed roof and wall before landing on the ground, then shot forward with terrifying speed. The Ageless Madman fled just as fast. Both were soon out of sight.

Still atop the wall, Encrid turned his torso back and raised a hand.

"I'm going to the palace. Who'll go stop Viscount Mernes's army from getting in while I'm gone?"

He had condensed what the squire named Roford had told him before and moved things along. Was it that, in broad strokes, events destined to happen would happen? Roford underwent a similar change of heart.

What did the words of the man sitting on that wall mean? What was he himself here for?

"Ragna. Dunbachel."

Seeing the change in Roford's eyes, Encrid called the two.

"Understood."

"Hmph. All right."

They answered, and just as Marcus was explaining that the unthinkable had happened at the palace, the assassins appeared to greet them.

"Sta—"

They had taken their places on the wall again, as though someone had smeared honey over it. The white-haired, monocled assassin at their center was just opening his mouth when Encrid charged at the sight of them. What was the point of talking? It meant nothing.

He had the advantage in timing, and the gap in skill was stark. He charged without hesitation, leaped onto the wall, and slashed downward. As he brought the sword down, a brief thought crossed his mind.

'Has my sword grown more precise?'

There was no telling. He couldn't yet feel any change in his body.

All the assassin saw was something flying toward him, then something dropping fast. He couldn't even attempt to dodge before surrendering his skull to the blade.

THWACK. CRUNCH!

The blade swept down and split the assassin's head vertically. The halves burst apart to either side, and brains and blood pattered down through the path the sword had cut. Having killed one, Encrid leaped back.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK.

Three daggers and five darts struck where he had stood. Encrid, who had dodged as though expecting them, spoke.

"Just so we're clear, I was stabbed. So the job's done. I said ow, it hurt, you know? That's what you asked for, isn't it? I've even got a scar right here."

He raised his left arm as he spoke. Naturally, with the forearm guard securely in place, no scar was visible.

"That crazy fuck," another assassin muttered.

"Your insults lack originality."

Encrid's reply was casual. Getting under people's skin was a talent he had never needed to learn.

"You!"

His opponent was too busy getting angry. Assassins specialized in stabbing people unawares. If something displeased them, they cut, stabbed, and killed. How often did they need to anger someone with words? Conversely, they probably hadn't been on the receiving end of much taunting either. That was why this worked so well.

Regardless of their skill, he had naturally seized every assassin's attention. Quite an achievement for one sword stroke and a few remarks. Jaxon had already vanished. He would do what needed doing without being told.

The white-haired, monocled assassin at their center ground his teeth and shouted, "Our information's leaked! Everyone, engage!"

Encrid had reacted too quickly. In the assassin's view, no one could have reacted that fast without advance knowledge. And what was that nonsense he'd spouted afterward? Stabbed? Where? A moment's thought gave him some idea. He meant the commission. They had ordered him killed, and he was insisting a stabbing counted. But why demand originality in their insults?

It was all bullshit. He had meant to fight from the outset. The monocled man was one of the assassins' alliance's leaders. He knew how to fight when necessary. Of course, all this had happened because Encrid was repeating today, but he had no way of knowing that.

Familiar patterns of movement unfolded. Encrid felt anew just how many years the assassins had spent training. No matter the situation, they opened combat in much the same way. Those who threw weapons threw them; those who withdrew withdrew; those who used poison used poison.

Meanwhile, Jaxon's movements had differed slightly on each of the three todays. The first time he had rampaged with a longsword. This time, he was already running along the wall with a stiletto drawn in each hand. Blood flew from their pointed blades. He had already stabbed four assassins to death.

Encrid found it fascinating. The enemy reacted the same way, so why was Jaxon different each time?

'Is he adjusting to my movements?'

It was purely a hunch, but he felt sure it was right.

"Get that one first!"

This time the shout came from someone other than the white-haired man. It was directed at Jaxon, a response to just how dangerous he was. Seeing that, Encrid slipped away and called Odd-Eyes.

"Give me a ride."

He ran out of the mansion grounds as he spoke, and Odd-Eyes drew alongside him. Marcus was at the entrance on his horse, thanks to Encrid having gestured for him not to dismount. Now he rode over beside him.

This was the third today. Encrid judged this better than leaving Marcus hidden off to one side. Most of his decisions were similar to those of the first today, but they couldn't all be perfect. He always strove for the best possible today, making the best decisions he could because, even amid repetition, he gave everything he had to living it. But still...

'Not everything can be perfect.'

He knew that. All he had to do was accept it.

"Have somewhere to hide?"

"I can take care of myself. My lord is trapped in the palace. I think the knight order has intervened."

"Yeah, I know."

"... What?"

THUDUDUDUM.

Encrid heard no more from Marcus. Accelerating hoofbeats swallowed his words. Marcus soon peeled off to the side, apparently intending to find his own hiding place, just as he'd said. During his brief rest, he had torn his shirt and bound his wounded arm tightly. The injury wasn't serious enough to require immediate attention.

Encrid rode straight along the outer road toward the palace and cleared the barricade.

"Whoa."

He even had time to take in a startled soldier's face as he sped past. As Odd-Eyes stopped, he launched himself sideways, practically flying from the horse's back. Even Odd-Eyes looked surprised, as though asking whether he could really pull off a stunt like that.

"Thanks."

Encrid gave that perfunctory reply and strode into the palace at almost a run. An ill-fated acquaintance stepped out along the way, as though to greet him.

"You..."

THWACK!

The word had barely left his mouth. Encrid charged with the Will of the Instant and sent his head flying with Silver. It struck the elegant white wall beside the palace garden with a thud, spattering it with blood.

Before the bullshit-spewing instructor's stunned companions could react, Encrid leaped among them. Once again, like a lone wolf, he stabbed and sliced to death that flock of sheep who lived like scum.

After speaking to the maid, he continued inside without slowing his run and came face-to-face with the orange-haired wall.

"Right, this is as far as I go. Let's get started."

Encrid spoke as he ran, then leveled his sword before Aesia could say a word. Point Aim. He brought his sword down toward its tip.

Neither the beginning nor the end of the fight differed much from before. He still wasn't good enough to surpass Aesia. The only difference was that the man he had seen on the first day never appeared again. Instead, Aesia turned away as soon as she defeated Encrid.

"There's something I need to check."

She left and never returned before darkness fell. After that came repetition, and more repetition. Encrid kept doing the same thing.