Chapter 92 - A Fine Line Between Greatness and Madness

After tending to his boots and gloves, Encrid was polishing his sword with an oiled cloth. Clearing out that pack of demonic beasts had brought the traveling merchants back, which in turn meant a new sword for him. The Valeri steel from his broken sword had been melted down and mixed with Noir wrought iron. Two metals renowned across the continent for their quality, combined. ["Nobody else could pull this off."]

The blacksmith had boasted loudly. And with good reason. He might not be able to forge an enchanted sword, but his skill with metal was every bit as wondrous as a mage's magic. He was a renowned craftsman within Border Guard. Admittedly, one could say his fame barely extended beyond the city, but that was still something. And that craftsman had made Encrid's sword. Even Ragna, who was particular about weapons and especially swords, had given it half a nod of approval.

["Decent enough. Not good enough for me, though."]

That last remark was why it only counted as half a nod. Encrid carefully polished the blade with his oiled cloth, then flicked it with a finger. TING. It rang with a rather pleasing resonance. This was the first sword he had ever owned that deserved to be called a fine blade. How could he not be satisfied? Ironically, Ragna, who was so hard to please when it came to swords, would use any piece of metal lying around. When his arming sword had chipped before, he could not even be bothered to sharpen it himself, so Encrid had done it for him. Otherwise, he would have kept carrying it around with the edge still chipped. "Esther, that's not a toy."

Finished with his sword, Encrid gently coaxed Esther. He had brought back a few items after killing the corpse enthusiast in the sewers. He had asked Krais to sell them, but one had proved difficult to unload even in the back alleys, so he had kept it. ["That cover's made of human skin. Was there really a mage in the sewers?"]

That was what Krais had said when Encrid entrusted the items to him. The question sounded as though he did not believe Encrid had killed a mage down there. ["You didn't believe me?"]

["I did. I just believe you a little more now."]

... That sounded like he hadn't believed him. ["So that one's a bit hard to get rid of. The staff and the rest, though, yes. Those sold nicely."] There were plenty of people in the world who wanted rare curiosities. According to Krais, anyway. It was not an area that interested Encrid.

And so he had sold the black wooden staff and a few stones. The staff was apparently a crude piece of work made by the mage. The stones were related to alchemy, but he was told they were nothing particularly impressive. The tribute from the Gilfin Guild that Krais had promised him, the Krona he had taken after killing the mage, the proceeds from selling the items, his commission payments... He had poured all of it into buying this sword. Noir wrought iron alone was damned expensive. He did not begrudge a single Krona.

'If only there'd been a little more Valeri steel.' ["All that money for one sword."]

Krais had said that too, but Encrid was satisfied. What mattered more than a weapon to someone who lived by the blade? Even if weapons wore out, why spare the Krona if a better one could give him an edge in a fight for his life? "This is good enough." That left the grimoire. Uncomfortable with its human-skin cover, he had wrapped another layer of thin cloth around it and left it by his bed. Esther had found it and dragged it over to her own spot.

What would happen if she pissed on it? What was a grimoire? A treasure in which a mage spent a lifetime recording and preserving everything they knew. Something so important that it bore a grand name invoking the pursuit of the path of magic.

And a panther was using one as a cushion. 'Should I let her keep that?'

At least she did not seem likely to piss on it. Esther never relieved herself in front of the soldiers. Whether that was a feline habit, he did not know, but she always went somewhere out of sight to do her business. She washed frequently, too. Encrid stopped worrying about the grimoire. He had no idea how much it might be worth, but whenever he reached to take it away... HISS! Esther hissed at him, which she rarely did. "Leave her be. Looks comfortable."

With Rem chiming in beside him, Encrid could only nod. Having disposed of the legacy the mage had left him in death and turned it into a sword, Encrid continued devoting himself to training. He rose before sunrise every day, starting his routine a little earlier. A Platoon Commander only had to serve a special shift once every ten days. Usually, that meant four to six hours of unannounced inspections of the patrols and sentries. Freed from ordinary shifts, he had more time available and could begin his day earlier than before.

His day now started two hours before the ordinary soldiers woke. MRROW. One such morning, he got up, set down the Esther nestled in his arms, and went outside. The cold had yet to fully recede, and the predawn air carried a wind that cut into his skin. Was this what they called a bitter north wind? Facing that wind, Encrid first steadied his breathing. He began with the Isolation Technique, moving to generate warmth, loading his muscles with equipment made from heavy stones and the like. As he warmed his body, Audin emerged from the quarters, stood beside him, and began the Isolation Technique as well.

"Good morning, Brother Platoon Commander." Was that his way of showing respect? Now he had added "Platoon Commander" to "brother." Hearing it reminded Encrid of the Company Commander's promise to fill out his unit's ranks soon. "Concentrate."

The instant his thoughts wandered, Audin scolded him.

"All right." He could not perform the technique properly with his mind scattered. Focus on his breathing and his muscles. That was what Audin emphasized, and Encrid did just that.

A process of conditioning his body, again and again. Nor did he practice only the Isolation Technique. He still believed he needed to organize what he had learned.

'The heart of the beast, the sense for the blade, Concentrate on a Single Point, the Isolation Technique.' Swordsmanship, including the Heavy Sword Technique. Its practical applications. The discerning eye to judge someone's training and specialties from their body. Predicting attacks through Sixth Sense and intuition.

As for swordsmanship, there was also the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique he had known from before. 'Can I use it, or should I discard it?'

There was no need to discard it. That was his conclusion. How a person used what they had depended on their own capabilities.

'If mine fall short, I just need to improve them.' Boldness was always necessary. Merely keeping his eyes from closing at a critical moment proved its worth. Encrid considered the heart of the beast the foundation of everything.

'Stay calm.' Some days he trained his Sixth Sense. On others, he tried combining his senses with his concentration.

'Combine them and engrain them in my body.' A single thrust of the sword embodied a wealth of experience. He learned it by feel, understood it with his mind, then hammered it back into his body. Naturally, none of it came easily. During this process, Encrid gradually settled on a pattern, a method of his own.

'Conditioning alone won't come close.'

He needed real combat. Real combat alongside conditioning and training. Preferably...

'Real combat with my life on the line.' ["I told you before. Fight for your life and survive, and you gain a lot. But you've only got one life, so building your skills that way doesn't really make sense."]

Rem's half-joking remark had been the answer. Encrid now understood the importance of fighting with his life on the line. Dying was not the important part, of course. What mattered was overcoming death, again and again. Knowing he needed real combat, Encrid took on commissions. From trivial tasks to violent ones, he turned nothing down. "What did you want me to find?"

"My cat, please." It was a commission from a noblewoman. Was the army wrong to accept even requests like this? No. They did it because it, too, was necessary.

Encrid saw no reason to be picky about commissions. Whatever the situation, whatever the moment... 'I believe everything helps me train.'

He repeated that to himself and truly took it to heart. So he found the cat up a tree. "Come along quietly."

The cat was poised to flee. His Sixth Sense, the realm of intuition, let him see it. Absurdly enough, even this offered a new realization. He could steer the cat's instincts in the direction he wanted. He projected killing intent and menace to make it jump from the tree, caught it snugly in his arms, then subdued it with a look.

He could do even this now. "Because you've unlocked your Sixth Sense."

That was Jaxon's comment. He no longer tormented Encrid at all hours. The days of being subjected to killing intent were over. There was no longer any point to it, either. The commissions ranged from finding a cat to...

"Someone committed a robbery and is hiding in the city?"

There were requests like that, too. Some drifter had come into the city and tried something foolish. "Find him."

Encrid had not expected to put the Gilfin Guild to this use when they took it over, but Krais apparently had. He handled everything that needed doing with practiced ease. They found the man in a back-alley gambling den. A retired soldier with a blade scar across his forehead.

"You want to fight me? Fuck, you really see all sorts out here in the sticks. Heard Border Guard's standing army is pretty good. Come at me, then." Confidence. Did he have the skill to match? It did not look like it.

This was a good chance to test the eye Encrid had been developing. He pretended to lose ground and tested the man's moves.

'Intermediate-grade to high grade, at best.' That was his assessment under Naurilia's soldier grading system. The man had no unexpected skill to offer. "Hah, hah... What are you?"

"Border Guard standing army." With that, Encrid gave his legs a good breaking and hauled him away. The captive would be locked in the military prison. Unless someone paid his fine for him, he would never get out. "You'll pay for this."

He did say that, but Encrid doubted they would ever meet again. After that, he was called out to inns several times to break up fights between trading-company guards. One of them was quite skilled. Fighting him, Encrid also practiced combining Concentrate on a Single Point with his sense for the blade. Concentrating with his senses fully open. He had done it several times before, but it still offered fresh insights. A difference in concentration could change a great deal.

'It's slowing down.' Not as much as before, but his opponent's sword appeared slower. Partly because it moved exactly as he predicted, and partly because there was a real difference in how quickly he perceived it. Everything was a continuation of training. Conditioning followed by more conditioning.

As he carried out one commission after another... "Seriously, what are you, some commission-crazed bastard?"

The soldiers began to talk. It was not criticism. "Does he have ten bodies? He doesn't rest. Why doesn't he rest?"

"He's not human. Not human."

It was surprise rather than criticism, admiration rather than surprise. "He didn't become a Platoon Commander for nothing."

"Fuck, I ought to get up earlier and make a habit of practicing a few spear thrusts myself." Encrid sparked an unexpected training craze. He had proved himself through skill and enjoyed a good reputation among the soldiers. Talk of him being at least on par with a high-grade soldier had spread, and he had become a Platoon Commander. Some soldiers owed him their lives. All of it combined to fuel a training craze throughout the unit. Everyone started getting up a little earlier to condition their bodies.

Encrid paid little attention. He was too busy watching the path ahead of him. Throughout his training, Encrid felt a quiet flame burning in his chest. What had he been like before, when he went into battle? Even if he had not been afraid, he could hardly enjoy it. The battlefield had not been a welcome sight. 'I don't think this is normal.'

Now he looked forward to the battlefield. He wanted to go out and fight. To prove himself. To show his skill. To risk his life there and cross the line between life and death once more.

Yes, it sounded insane. And then...

["Don't you know there's only a fine line between greatness and madness?"]

Rem's words came back to him once more. If the road to greatness was open only to the mad, shouldn't he go mad? One day amid all the training and commissions...

"Another match could be fun."

The Company Commander had summoned Encrid to her private training ground to say that. "A spar?"

Naturally, Encrid did not refuse.

"I'd be happy to." The situation was the same as before. Would the outcome be the same, too? There was no knowing.

His eye was not yet good enough to gauge the Fairy Company Commander's skill, but he did not think she would get the better of him as she had before. Of course, he would only know once they crossed hands or blades. The Company Commander held her hand straight, presenting its edge like a blade.

"We'll use these today." It felt something like a test. After all, sparring with her before had made him realize what he lacked.

Close-quarters unarmed combat. The things Audin called wrestling. Encrid nodded. A moment later, their knife-hands cut through the air and met. TAP. That brief sound of impact was their greeting.