Chapter 182 - Some Madman is Chasing Me With a Sword (2)
Strictly speaking, a sword of this nature was not a demonic sword. Though it was called a malevolent spirit, it wasn't truly possessed by one. It would be more accurate to call it a fragment of an psyche.
However, in the past, a genius magician realized a brilliant idea through his spells.
"Is there no way to pass down my abilities to my descendants through the generations?"
He pondered and deliberated, and his genius soon brought the idea to fruition. However, while his magical talent was exceptional, his understanding of humanity was abysmal. The psyche, trapped in the sword for a singular purpose, existed only for the sake of teaching. As a result, it made the ears of every student bleed. It could not be considered a proper transfer of knowledge.
After this failure, the magician created a new method for transferring the skills of a swordsman or warrior—that is, the art of handling the body.
"My swordsmanship will be passed down to my descendants for generations."
The cursed sword he created was the Tutor.
"Dolph, was it? He must have truly hated his descendants," Luagarne said, flicking her cheek with her tongue—an expression of dismay.
The cursed sword, Tutor. In reality, it bordered on the realm of necromancy, but it didn't suck blood or turn its wielder into a berserker. What happens when you trap a human's consciousness inside a sword in the form of a spirit? The magician did not know humans. He truly, deeply did not. He ground up the human mind, the human soul, and poured it in.
And so, a soul with only a single purpose remained in the Tutor. Whether the student dies, or coughs up blood from their ears, it does its job. To learn a single technique, one had to cross the mountain of death dozens of times. Only by surpassing the opponent with the exact same swordsmanship would the soul trapped in the 'Tutor' disappear.
The treasure mentioned here was probably…
"Swordsmanship," Luagarne said, blinking one eye. "All you have to do is obtain the swordsmanship. However, while the body doesn't die, the mind will not be able to withstand the death of the spirit. So, rather than trying to do anything with that sword, it would be better to find another way to open this barrier."
After Luagarne spoke, Enkrid looked blankly at the sword, then turned his gaze back to her and asked, "So I have to overcome death to learn the swordsmanship?"
"Yes, it's an absurd task. What human could possibly do that?" Luagarne's tongue flicked her cheek again. Was that the Frog equivalent of a human clicking their tongue in disapproval?
"Ah, damn it. This is my mistake. I apologize," Krais said, bowing his head.
"Hah, this is crazy. We have enough rations to last over a fortnight, but can we dig a tunnel up or down?" Finn said. She was also at a loss, but a Ranger was a Ranger; she immediately began to think of other solutions.
And Esther was fast asleep. Is she sleepy even in a situation like this?
Enkrid looked at everyone and thought.
'So, I just have to risk death to learn some swordsmanship?'
"Hey, um, doesn't that sound like a scam?"
For some reason, he felt like the Ferryman from his dreams might appear and mutter something like that. To be honest, compared to being surrounded by a pack of gnolls and dying from poison at the very end…
'Isn't this… easy?'
Enkrid furrowed his brow, wondering if he was thinking correctly. It felt almost laughably easy, and since when had things in this world ever been so simple?
Probably not. All he had to do was learn one style of swordsmanship? That couldn't be right.
"What's the probability of it being another trap?"
"Tsk, if it had a loop or something, I could try to do something about it," Luagarne said, showing her slick palm.
Enkrid mulled it over one more time to be sure that was all, then said, "I'll do it."
"Experiencing death multiple times is not an easy thing. Should I show you what happens right now?" Luagarne snapped, her anger rising. The human spirit wears down easily. Yes, she knew Enkrid was an amazing man who pushed forward without backing down. His skills would suddenly improve, and he showed glimpses of an incomprehensible unknown. But for a mortal, death in any form was the worst possible experience. Enduring it was not something one could even attempt without an extraordinary level of discipline.
"Among the priests who serve the god of patience and hardship, nine out of ten failed."
That was the nature of the Tutor. There were only a few of them left on the entire continent now. And one of them was right here. To an antique collector, it would be an item worth pouring a fortune of gold coins into.
'To weave a trap around this…'
The barrier seemed like it wouldn't open unless handled by a magician who could wield proper spells. Luagarne was not deeply versed in magic, but she knew a thing or two. Just in case, she tried striking the barrier with her whip, but as expected, it didn't even leave a scratch. It was clearly a difficult situation.
"Let me try one more time."
In the midst of this, Krais grabbed the sword again.
"He's still chasing me. Looks like a berserker."
He let go of the sword as fast as the wind. Grabbing and letting go was no effort at all. This was also the core feature of the Tutor sword.
'If you let go of the sword, you can return.'
You could give up anytime you wanted. Surrender was easy. Which meant the curse tied to this Tutor would likely never be broken. To overcome the mound of death, you'd have to be the peculiar type who feels pleasure every time they die. Of course, Enkrid himself was no such pervert, but…
'It doesn't seem that hard.'
He couldn't help but think this way, given everything he had done so far. He had wondered if this would become another 'wall' that would cause the Ferryman to appear, but that didn't seem to be the case.
"Damn it, I really thought this would be as easy as picking up a few coins off the street!" cried Krais, who sometimes turned into an idiot when krona was involved.
"Should we ration the food and try to hold out as long as possible? Maybe the barrier will weaken over time?" Finn brought up a realistic point, worrying about the future.
"This is completely unexpected," even Luagarne expressed her dismay.
Scratch.
Enkrid, however, was calm. And just as calmly, he gripped the sword again.
"Enki!" Luagarne raised her voice, uncharacteristically, but that was all. He was back in the muddy field.
It was the second time. The moment he felt the muddy ground and perceived his surroundings, Enkrid immediately swung his sword.
CLANG!
He struck horizontally, pushing the opponent's blade aside. The opponent's sword, which had seemed to retreat, bent and stabbed toward his side. Enkrid reacted instantly, slashing his sword downwards.
Ching.
A clear sound rang out as the blades clashed.
Whoooooosh.
A wind blew from somewhere, clearing the mist. The figure appeared: a lump of iron for a head with blue flame eyes, and a body clad in partial plate armor.
'Heart of the Beast.'
It didn't activate.
'Though, for this not to work seems a bit like cheating.'
It didn't matter. He just had to recognize this place for what it was: a world of the mind, the malevolent spirit's front yard, or something similar. He had experienced this once before. Just once, but how many times had he rolled around, paying with his life to repeat the day? And thanks to that experience, once was enough for certain things. For example, to understand a situation, once was sufficient. That was why Enkrid could remain calm, even if the situation was unfamiliar.
"Ah."
So my voice works. He opened his mouth to test it, and the sound came out fine.
"By any chance, can you speak?"
The answer came not in words, but in steel.
Thwack!
The armored figure with the sword charged, kicking up the viscous mud.
Hwoong.
A heavy blow, a downward slash from above. It was a fusion of speed and power, and the trajectory of the strike was tricky. Enkrid blocked it in the same way as before. Block and push. The opponent then repeated its own move, stabbing at his side. Enkrid's response was also the same.
Just as they were about to repeat the same sequence as if in a play, the enemy's blade suddenly shot upwards. No, it was a strike that was part of a predetermined sequence. The blade, rising from below, looked like it would pierce his chin. Enkrid bent his left knee and twisted his waist.
Swish. The blade grazed past his cheek, just to the right of his chin, and nicked his forehead. The gap created by his dodge allowed Enkrid's sword to slash at the enemy's waist.
Ta-ang!
'It blocked that too?'
As they continued to exchange blows, Enkrid became engrossed in the situation. He relentlessly traded and swung his sword. He tried to open the gates of his senses to read his opponent's intent, but failed. The price was paid with his body.
The iron lump's blade pierced Enkrid's chest. He woke up, having been stabbed in a spot that would have made Luagarne scream.
"Hah."
A sharp pain spread from his heart throughout his entire body. He had died again. The second death. However, his physical body was fine. His heart was pounding and there was pain, but he wasn't truly dead.
So this is what they meant by unbearable? No, isn't this actually quite manageable? It seems much better than actually dying.
"Did it get you there?" It was Luagarne, right beside him. Enkrid nodded and got up. After taking a few deep breaths, he was fine. He could move. It wasn't like he was seriously injured.
'Grip it, and experience the pain of death. The moment is brief. The task is to steal and learn the swordsmanship.'
Somehow, it all felt very familiar.
"Foolish. It's foolish to even try. Unless you want to go mad…"
Had Luagarne always been such a nag? Enkrid was inexplicably reminded of the very first day he had repeated. That thrust back then, hadn't it become ingrained in his body and become his own technique? And now, he saw the nagging Frog before him. And the sword he had just been holding, the cursed Tutor. And inside that sword lived something like a malevolent spirit with incredible swordsmanship.
"Is this how you do it?"
Enkrid calmly ignored the nagging. Instead, he swung his sword. He showed the form. He displayed what he had seen and learned from his opponent. His intention was clear: he was going to train.
Luagarne stopped her nagging and stared at Enkrid without blinking. She moved her lips, voicing the thought in her mind.
"Did you hit your head? Are you already affected?"
He wasn't injured. Enkrid didn't shake his head at Luagarne's words, nor did he add anything. He just swung his sword freely and muttered to himself. The trajectory was almost coming to him, but not quite. "No, was it like this?"
To Luagarne, Enkrid was slow. Incredibly slow. He was a human who was markedly lacking in talent for moving his body or handling a sword.
'I'm teaching him myself, this body, and he's only improving this much?'
Luagarne called herself a scholar. But she wasn't the kind of Frog who just sat and read books. She also researched swordsmanship. Her understanding was so deep that she had significantly influenced the sword styles of prominent families on the central continent. She wasn't just some Frog who had lived a long time for nothing. She was a Frog who was recognized for aspects other than her martial prowess. Among them, her talent for teaching was exceptional.
And yet, Enkrid's skills improved slowly, so very slowly. Of course, there were those incomprehensible moments. When faced with an absurd crisis, he would change completely in an instant. No preparation, no sign, no omen. His skills would just level up in a flash. For Luagarne, this was the first time she had ever encountered such a human.
An incomprehensible, unintelligible human whom she could not fathom with any knowledge she possessed.
"Can you give me a hand with this? We're trapped here anyway."
At his casually thrown words, Luagarne once again voiced her thoughts.
"I think you've hit your head."
"Mrreow." The panther lying next to them nodded in agreement.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Krais also asked.
"What, you're not possessed by the spirit, are you?" Finn said, her voice laced with anxiety.
Enkrid calmly swung his sword again. It wasn't perfect. In fact, it was clumsy. But in Luagarne's eyes, the intent of the sword was visible. A thrust that would follow after driving an opponent to the left. Enkrid moved in a similar way. His footwork and a few other things were a problem, but what Enkrid was doing now was recreating the form.
Just as Luagarne was about to say something…
"I think I'll get it if I see it again," Enkrid said, and then abruptly grabbed the sword again.
"He's a madman. A complete and utter madman," Luagarne said, newly impressed.