Chapter 398 - Strike and Stab

In the end, the adjutant holding the throwing spear retreated, faltering. His opponent did not pursue him, as if inviting only those willing to attack to come forward. He merely shook the blood from his sword in silence and returned to his original spot. The horse he had ridden gave a neigh beside him. Neither its size nor the look in its eyes was ordinary. Watching all this, the adjutant had backed hesitantly away until he reached the main army. Lierbart brought his sword down on the returning adjutant as he spoke.

"You should have fought to the death instead." CRUNCH! The skull split in half. Lierbart pulled his sword free. SCHLUP!

A long strand of blood trailed after the blade. "Jalvan, you idiot."

A clear voice beside him cursed the dead man. It was the Fairy warrior Banat. Her blond hair was cropped as short as a man's, and her tone went beyond coldness to utter absence of feeling. It was her characteristic way of speaking: icy venom that betrayed no emotion. "He was the weakest among us. I'll do it."

Banat stepped forward, but Lierbart shook his head.

"I'm going." Did they hope to raise their spirits by sending out a single wretch like that? Then he would crush them. Apart from Count Molsen, Lierbart held the highest rank here. He was the second-in-command. He needed no one's permission. Banat nodded without changing her expression. She was a Fairy whose face revealed nothing of her feelings. Malten could not speak to begin with, and Benukt seemed not to care. "Just let me fight."

Giant blood flowed through Benukt's veins, and he made no effort to curb his lust for slaughter. "Once I kill him, charge all at once."

That was how it would go. Having spoken, Lierbart set his mount moving. He held the reins and urged it into a brisk walk. He dismounted where the two corpses lay, after glancing at the dead Jalvan, and readied his equipment. He adjusted his sword belt and armed himself with a shortsword as well. At the back of his waist hung a thick-bladed, single-edged machete. It was no less than a magical weapon. He also fastened a plain kite shield to his left arm before stepping forward. The shield was somewhat smaller than usual, designed to fasten to a gauntlet rather than be held by a grip. Even so, its weight made it a choice only someone with considerable confidence in his strength would make. Lierbart's armor clattered with every movement: plate armor worn over a gambeson. With his equipment ready, he advanced. All this time, his opponent had merely stared at him. Lierbart decided he did not like those eyes.

"Your name?"

"Encrid."

"Lierbart." Encrid had never heard the name. The count's five living weapons were fairly famous within his domain, but they did not operate outside it. Their names were not widely known. It would be fair to say Encrid was several times more famous than they were. "I think I've won."

That train of thought led Encrid to speak.

"... We haven't even started."

"I meant my name seems better known than yours." What the fuck was wrong with this bastard? Of course, Encrid had not said it because he was genuinely mad. It was a simple taunt to unsettle his opponent. He had felt it necessary. The man's gait, his manner of preparing his equipment, even the way he came forward and spoke: didn't every one of those actions suggest a formidable opponent? "So that's why they call it the Lunatic Company."

"Jealous?"

For a moment, Lierbart was speechless. Was he jealous? Honestly, who would dislike building a formidable reputation and having their name known far and wide? Even someone who did not burn with ambition would welcome that. And Lierbart was an ambitious man. He was also an experienced one. He realized he had been played by his opponent's glib tongue. "I'll chew you up, you bastard."

"I'm tough." Was he saying he would be hard to chew because he was tough? Lierbart was good with words himself, so he immediately caught the meaning. That only made him angrier. "Fine. I'll kill you." Lierbart strode up and swung his sword in a diagonal cut. To Encrid, the blade seemed neither especially fast nor subtle, and he saw an opening. Seeing it, he moved. He put power into his first strike. Will of the Instant. He thrust Spark forward. The awl became a ray of light aimed at his opponent's sword-bearing forearm. Lierbart abandoned his swing and drew in his left arm, bringing the kite shield across to block. CLANG! Spark was stopped. The shield held. Both its material and its wielder's skill were exceptional. As Encrid withdrew Spark... WHOOSH. Lierbart's sword came at him in a simple thrust. There was no instant acceleration, no rhythm-breaking swordwork. Instead, it was composed and precise. If Encrid stayed where he was, it would graze his neck. He bent backward as though reclining to avoid it. Expecting the sword to drop next, he raised Silver in readiness. Instead, his opponent drew back the thrust and reset his stance, once more shielding his front. Wouldn't charging straight in have given him the advantage? Of course, Encrid had considered several responses in preparation for that, but the man still wouldn't attack with this opening before him? Encrid straightened from his deep backward lean and looked at his opponent's helmet. He could see Lierbart's eyes through the visor. 'A trick?'

Was he making a show of ease? No. He was serious. Bring together ten people who had attained knighthood, and all ten would have taken different paths. That was what made the road to knighthood so difficult and grueling. Following a predecessor's path did not guarantee the same result. The same was true of proto knights. Each had a different road. Of those roads, Lierbart's was twice as solid and sturdy as the others. He wore thick plate mail and carried a shield. He thrust and cut, but attempted no attack without a perfect opportunity. He took no risks. Even faced with a stone bridge built on steel pillars, he would go around rather than cross it. Upon that firm foundation, he had added the weapon of his tongue to complete his style of swordsmanship. After his opening taunts, Encrid had instead fallen silent. His opponent's defenses were solid. Spark could not pierce them, Silver could not cut them, and a whistle dagger thrown at an opening was blocked with his helmet. It was not simply that his armor made him tough. He used the armor on his body with skill. That was what made it impressive. All the while, Lierbart kept talking.

"You dream of becoming a knight, I hear?" Encrid put Spark away and gripped Silver in both hands. The Crushing Sword. Bear down and subdue through pressure. Lierbart raised his shield to receive the descending sword. CLANG. The impact sounded oddly weak for such a collision. Silver's blade struck Lierbart's shield. At the moment of contact, Encrid bore down with the Crushing Sword. His opponent tilted the shield, and the sword slid aside along its angle. He blocked and retreated, withstanding the Crushing Sword without buckling. His stance and skill were as solid as his armor. "So, are you satisfied with the road you've traveled?"

Encrid heard Lierbart's words amid the exchange, but merely moved to launch his next attack. If crushing him would not work, then the Captivating Sword. A game of moves and countermoves began. The trouble was that no matter how unusual the move, his opponent dealt with it using armor and shield. Both emitted a faint glow. Naturally, they were no ordinary objects. They were enchanted equipment, imbued with spells. 'Could Scission split them?' If he could not gain the upper hand in the game of moves and countermoves, he would once again put his strength into a single blow. What if he filled it with the determination to cut through anything? It would be an imitation. He could not imbue it with that determination, but he could substitute the Heart of the Superhuman and strike down. Encrid acted as soon as he thought of it. A slash built on Ragna's technique. He added the Heavy Sword Technique's spinning cut, driving his foot into the ground and twisting at the waist to channel strength into his sword. He was about to swing with all his strength gathered when Lierbart, swift despite his armor, charged in to ram him. If Encrid followed through, at best he would strike an arm with the ricasso. Encrid had to retreat. His stance faltered briefly, but Lierbart did not attack. He settled into position with his shield, bending his knees to keep his center of gravity low. His eyes stayed on his opponent, his sword ready to thrust or cut at any moment. A troublesome enemy. "What will you do if the path you chose is wrong?" Lierbart asked. Encrid studied him. His skill was already on par with Encrid's, yet he devoted himself to defense. What did that say about the situation? Encrid thought he understood the man's tactics. "The road to knighthood is harsh. A path of thorns. Like leaping off a cliff with a thorn bush clutched to your chest. Yet make even one wrong turn, and that ideal becomes unreachable. Every time you leap off a cliff clutching those thorns, it has to be the right path." Even while running his mouth, Lierbart kept his breathing steady. He was fighting with a drawn-out battle in mind. Nullify his opponent's attacks with armor and shield. Talk to him while doing so. Never let his breathing appear strained. A tactic built entirely around playing it safe, ill suited to the nickname of living weapon. Yet it was threatening nonetheless. Lierbart's shield and armor looked like an unbreakable wall of steel. That would have been the intention. Above all, he kept talking to unsettle his opponent. Find a weakness, then squeeze, stab, and cut at it. With words as well as steel. "Every time you take the wrong path, your talent dwindles, and you lose the strength to go on. That's why talent alone cannot make a knight. So how far do you think that precious talent and luck of yours can take you?" He really did talk a great deal. It explained the skill with which he had immediately understood and answered the opening taunt. This man, too, wielded his tongue as a weapon. "A knight? A wish that only grows more distant. Grapes in a painting. A star you can see but never touch. Can wishing for a star in the sky make it yours? You've set foot in an empty dream. Fairy tales don't come true." He used words as spear and sword. Rather than answer, Encrid repeated his earlier attacks. He thrust with Spark. His opponent reacted to the instant acceleration, so he could not pierce the shield. The Crushing Sword was blocked as well. This was a man who could withstand a boulder falling on him. The Captivating Sword fared no better. His opponent remained unshaken. Rather than engage in the game of moves and countermoves, he cut it short, thrusting his shield forward to forcefully obstruct the sword's path. And all the while, he ran his mouth. "Walk barefoot through thorns until your feet fester, split, and rot, and you'll lose them. You could simply choose not to walk that road. Why do you do it?" Lierbart was persistent. Even without an answer, he kept talking. Encrid responded to that persistence.

"You really don't fucking shut up." In truth, he could answer precisely because his opponent's words did not shake him. "Don't shut up? Look within yourself. If these words hurt, then deep down you already admit they're true."

"You'd put a sage to shame." Encrid took two steps back as he spoke and reset his stance. Left foot forward, right foot back. Back to the most basic of basics. He raised his sword point as though to pierce the sky. "What if your chosen path is wrong? Haven't I told you over and over? What will you do when your talent is gone and you lose your way?"

His show of concern was masterful. "I'll just try again."

Lierbart blinked. Hadn't he been saying all along that it did not work that way? Similar remarks went back and forth several more times. A path of thorns, dwindling talent, already too far astray to dream of knighthood. "I said I'll just try again." A contest between all-out offense and all-out defense is commonly called a battle of spear and shield. Until now, that had described their swords. Now it described their tongues. Only their roles had changed. With swords, Encrid attacked and Lierbart defended. With words, Lierbart attacked and Encrid blocked. Calmly and steadily, Encrid repeated much the same answers. "All I have to do is try again."

"Then I'll do it again."

"Losing my way is nothing new."

"I don't need a shortcut, either."

"I'll just try again." Here was something stronger than Lierbart's armor and shield. A declaration of determination that brought forth the Will of refusal of its own accord. Of course, Encrid's "again" did not refer to repeating today. Even without that, he would keep going. Even before he had it, that was how he had lived today, tomorrow, every day. When he swung his sword until his palms split, had he been certain this was the right path? He had possessed no such certainty. He simply repeated it every day, walking and walking. And so there was a dream upon which dawn had shone and left its mark. With three more todays, he would have overcome the rhythm-breaking proto knight, too. The todays he had repeated while striving to surpass Aesia had also been a door into a new world. After that, he had had a month. Encrid swung from the stance with his sword aimed at the ceiling. Captivate and crush. He mixed the Crushing Sword into the Captivating Sword, a feat performed with the sword in his right hand. The Flowing Sword Technique was difficult to employ here. His opponent had staked everything not on attacking, but on enduring and blocking. So he would hammer at him. With everything he had. His left hand was accustomed to speed, so he struck with instant acceleration in his left arm alone. A feat of splitting his thoughts to perform both actions at once. He brought his sword down, loading the muscles of his right arm. CLANG! Before the metallic ringing had faded, he thrust Spark. CLANG! Spark struck the pauldron and failed to reach its target. Silver, blocked by the shield, likewise neither broke nor split it. That was fine. He could just try again. Encrid repeated the attacks. A man who chose a drawn-out battle had confidence in his stamina. So did Encrid. He stopped breathing. Inviting his opponent into a world without breath, he repeated it all. Strike and stab, strike and stab, strike and stab. For Lierbart, it was block and endure, block and endure, over and over. Before they knew it, their sword fight had become a contest of persistence. Naturally, the talking stopped. CLANG! CLANG!

Only the ringing of steel sounded in the middle of the battlefield. With horns and drums alike silent, that metallic clash spoke for every sound of war.