Chapter 381 - So Excited I Could Go Mad

Encrid watched the sword tip Aesia held out.

It was the same as before. Her body vanished, leaving only the blade, then only its tip, a single point obscuring his vision. His sense of distance disappeared. He could no longer see Aesia. Soon, the sword tip began to waver.

This, right from the start? Why?

'Did my words provoke her?'

It felt as though she were telling him to prove himself. Steady breathing. A wall he had to overcome without killing. The ferryman's words. The wavering sword tip.

The wavering point split, appearing to become several. He imagined knocking each one aside. In each imagining, he was different. He became Rem, Ragna, Jaxon. As he faced Point Aim that way, the distinctive traits of those he imitated became unmistakable. Naturally so: this was how he learned and mastered their methods.

Rem's method was to join in and play along. Jaxon swept the game away before it could even be set up, insisting on facing his opponent only on his own stage. Ragna overlaid the determination his opponent displayed with his own. Encrid had followed each example, repeating them over and over through more than three hundred todays.

They all seemed different, yet they were the same. What allowed Rem and Ragna to do it? 'Their senses.'

It was possible because their senses were finely honed and precise. Whether that took the form of Jaxon's five senses or something that manifested only with a sword in hand, as with Ragna, the conclusion was the same.

Encrid had cultivated that precision. After going the long way around, he had returned to where he began. "You bastard..."

Aesia spoke, her voice ringing in his ears. The points vanished from Encrid's vision, and everything blurred away. Naturally.

He had closed his eyes. Darkness came. Then he swung, perceiving everything through sound, touch, and Sixth Sense.

A diagonal downward cut, pivoting on his left foot, drawing on the spring of his entire body and channeling the rotation of his waist. The blade moved as though dropping straight out of the air. "You think that'll work?"

Aesia shouted, drawing her sword back into a defensive stance. It was a simple diagonal cut, but Point Aim could not stop it. Point Aim meant nothing against someone who wasn't looking. For an instant, Encrid's blade accelerated, seeming to stretch forward.

CLANG! Deflecting an attack required identifying the exact point of contact, and the change in speed made that difficult. Yet despite Encrid's change of pace, Aesia twisted her wrist in an instant and knocked his sword aside.

Had she failed to block even that, she would have been unworthy of the title of proto knight, and of the Scarlet Cloak Knight Order's name. Encrid hauled the deflected sword back by force and brought it down.

WHOOSH!

Aesia retreated. When he opened his eyes, she had taken her stance again, aiming her sword tip at him. "Don't want to admit I've broken it?"

Encrid asked without moving from the finishing position of his downward cut.

"Do it again," Aesia said. He didn't even need to close his eyes. Encrid deliberately unfocused them. Leaving only blurred images scattered his visual concentration. Point Aim was illusion swordsmanship that exploited an opponent's concentration.

In other words, this was enough. He could simply make up for his limited vision with his other senses. CLANG!

From the finishing position of his downward cut, Encrid twisted his wrist and struck upward. His sword shot up like a thunderbolt. Aesia could not ignore it. She held her sword horizontally to block, leaping backward to shed his absurd superhuman strength. Blade met blade, then parted.

CLANG!

Sparks flew between them. Even after she redirected it, the force sent a shock through her entire body. Aesia knew very well that she could not overpower him. Encrid's half-unfocused eyes sharpened.

"One more time?" he asked. "... What are you?"

Aesia could not understand it. Once could be dismissed as coincidence, but twice?

In truth, she had known after the first time. Encrid had broken Point Aim. But how was this possible? During their spars, he had struggled merely to face it, let alone find an answer. His techniques had lacked polish, and he had little experience against this sort of technique to begin with.

So what was this? It was as though he had trained hundreds of times specifically to counter her sword. That was how precisely his attacks seemed tailored to hers. It put a crack in Aesia's composure. 'I'm losing focus.'

The moment she realized it, Aesia collected herself and steadied her breathing. If she lost her composure, she would lose the contest of presence. So she dismissed it. No, she broadened her thinking until she could accept it. "Fine. This must be that absurd talent Luagarne mentioned."

"I got lucky."

A commonplace excuse. It sounded like a taunt. One corner of Aesia's mouth lifted. "People tell you you've got an obnoxious mouth a lot, don't they?"

"Sometimes?"

"Yeah. You're obnoxious."

"Thanks for the compliment." She couldn't best Encrid with words. Even in the knight order, few could run their mouths like that.

Aesia let her sword speak in place of her tongue. Point Aim wasn't all she had. 'Breaking a technique doesn't make your proficiency leap overnight.'

That was a truth. Yet before even ten exchanges had passed, Aesia's understanding of the world began to shake and crack. Encrid's techniques displayed a degree of polish they had never possessed before. Swordsmanship that had lacked precision now had finesse. For instance, the gap between his deflection and the strike immediately following it had narrowed. Previously, he had bent his wrist too far, giving his opponent time to prepare. Not anymore.

From the angle of his wrist to the force with which he deflected and pushed her blade aside, everything was just right. The precision was clear. 'Impossible.'

Was this what they called talent that left you speechless? At this level, it surpassed even the talent of those she called her seniors within the knight order. Aesia had to move her feet to evade the sword that deflected her stab and curved back like a snake. His responses were faster than before, and his sense of timing had improved.

Breaking Point Aim was far from all he had done. 'How?'

Had he spent months somewhere swinging his sword like mad under an excellent teacher?

One surprise followed another, but Aesia collected herself again. ["What is Will?"]

It was heart, conviction, determination. How could someone already defeated in their heart win in reality?

She used her master's words as an anchor to steady herself. That was what Aesia did. Those words applied equally to Encrid's current situation. He had steadied his own heart by saying he did not want to kill Aesia.

She had accomplished the same thing on the spot. A proto knight's mindset truly was different. "Ha!"

She expelled her stray thoughts in a shout. Pivoting on her right foot, she channeled the rotational force into a stab with her right-hand sword.

Her third Will technique, after intimidation and illusion swordsmanship: the High-Speed Stab. It was similar to Encrid's Will of the Instant. It was also one of the knight order's fundamentals.

Speed was always the answer. CLANG!

Encrid caught the stab on the flat of his gladius, using his own Will of the Instant. 'This, too.'

In their earlier spars, even when he used Will, each use had been separate and distinct. The breaks were obvious. He had needed to prepare before using Will of the Instant, and it showed.

Not now. "You blocked that?"

"If you think it was a fluke, try again."

Before they knew it, both were smiling. Encrid brought his sword down as he spoke. Aesia feigned a horizontal block, then swiftly dodged aside. As his sword fell without a target, another High-Speed Stab came.

Encrid twisted. The sword tip barely grazed his cheek, nicking the skin and sending droplets of blood flying. They clashed and swung and fought. Encrid had overcome Aesia's Point Aim, but he failed to subdue her completely.

More precisely, they fought to a draw. Had they intended to kill each other, one of them might have died, but neither did. So it ended with both exhausted and wounded. Encrid could no longer raise his left arm after a stab to the upper arm. A deep cut to Aesia's calf had impaired her mobility.

They stood several paces apart, their swords briefly still, when she asked, "What are you, really?" Then she spoke again, making no attempt to hide her disbelief.

"No, fuck, why are you smiling?"

Encrid stood before her with a broad smile on his face. It utterly baffled her. There were limits to enjoying a fight. Anyone who could smile in this situation had something broken in their head. The sun was already setting. Sunlight faded from the windows as the glow of sunset approached.

Aesia frowned. Encrid was still smiling. 'Has fighting driven him mad?'

It truly might have.

Looking at her, Encrid spoke. "I'm so excited I could die."

"What?"

What was he talking about? Encrid's eyes seemed to hold the sunlight that had vanished. They shone with a light born of passion and zeal.

He continued.

"Knowing there's a way to climb higher makes me so happy I could go mad." He meant it. It was pure joy, without a trace of anything else.

Encrid had gone beyond dodging sense and attacking sense, bringing finesse to his senses. Every technique he had learned had advanced another step, yet he still could not completely subdue Aesia.

That was why. There was a way to go further, train more, climb higher. He could see it, could brush it with his fingertips.

That made him indescribably happy. "You crazy bastard."

Aesia's assessment of him was just as heartfelt.

He heard that often.

* * *

"That is not the wall."

The ferryman appeared in his dream. He seemed to have more free time these days.

Encrid couldn't even answer. It was a dream, little more than a fleeting afterimage. An afterimage that remained vivid in his memory, though. It felt as though he had to obey the ferryman, no matter what.

"Kill her."

Someone was giving an order, and it felt as though he must obey.

Encrid cheerfully ignored it all. "What a ridiculously good morning."

Muttering to himself before the sun was even up, Encrid went outside. Roused from sleep, Rem watched him go through half-open eyes and tilted his head. "Why are you acting crazy first thing in the morning?"

An ominous atmosphere had been spreading since last night. What was so good about it?

That was what Rem meant, but Encrid paid him no mind. He went out and trained his body with the Isolation Technique. His thoughts arranged themselves neatly, coming to a conclusion.

Thoughts about the wall.

The wall was a condition. Sometimes the condition was killing the Stabbing Maniac. Sometimes it was simply surviving. Sometimes it was withstanding a single stroke of a knight's sword.

Had there been only one path through all those todays?

No.

Then this time was no different. Whatever the ferryman said, Encrid did as he always had.

Whatever he wanted. A little later, Esther assumed human form and announced she was heading out. Seeing her, Encrid said, "Bring back a melon."

Melons were rare fruit from the far south, difficult to find on this continent. "You're getting worse by the day."

Esther spoke dispassionately and left, having concluded that trying to understand that man was hopeless. "What are you so excited about? Feel like you could fly?"

Rem hadn't known him for only a day or two. He could see that his captain was happier than ever.

Jaxon had noticed too and was giving him a curious look. Dunbachel's eyes kept losing focus, whatever she was thinking about, while Ragna had never been interested in such things. Of course he was excited. It was only natural.

A heavy weight had hung from his heart, and now it was gone. Didn't taking off sandbags make your body feel lighter by contrast?

Besides, he could see a path forward, and walking it was immensely enjoyable. "Ah, thinking about knocking someone flat makes my heart race," Encrid said.

Naturally, Rem couldn't know what he meant, but he didn't press him. The constable soon appeared. Only after watching Encrid strike the man's head and knock him unconscious did Rem ask, "Was this the fellow you meant to knock flat?"

Had he known the constable was coming? That was what Rem's question meant. Encrid smiled.

"No."

The person he meant to knock flat was an orange-haired woman knight.