Chapter 183 - Some Madman is Chasing Me With a Sword (3)
Luagarne didn't show her bewilderment. In a situation like this, to suddenly begin swordsmanship training… even for a madman, she wondered if it made any sense. But it was also the correct answer.
'Because it's him.'
And because it was Enkrid, it also seemed to make perfect sense.
Soon, Enkrid, who had been gripping the sword and trembling, let go and stepped back.
'Did he give up?'
Giving up is easy the first time. The second time is even easier. If he retreated even once, the Tutor would become an insurmountable wall. That would be a fatal weakness for Enkrid. Luagarne watched with concern.
"It would be troublesome if it showed me a different technique," Enkrid muttered, and without even taking a breath, he grabbed the sword again.
"…?"
"Uh, well, the name of the squad our commander leads is the Madmen Squad," Krais said indirectly. No, at this point, was he just saying it outright? It sounded like he was calling Enkrid a madman.
Could it be called a commotion? While Esther simply went back to sleep, Enkrid grabbed and released the sword four more times before showing a faint smile.
"This is it."
He then swung his sword in the air. At this point, Luagarne realized there was no use in trying to stop him. So, what should she do?
"What a madman," she said with admiration.
"That's not it," she corrected. And then she began to teach him.
Enkrid welcomed Luagarne's guidance. Winning a fight and mastering swordsmanship were two different matters. Luagarne possessed a wealth of experience and outstanding swordsmanship. Parrying, striking, reading the opponent's intent—it was a story told with swords, an orchestra conducted by blades. Enkrid memorized what he saw and what he suffered, and Luagarne helped him refine it.
The spirit living in the Tutor also possessed excellent swordsmanship, but it was no match for Luagarne. If only that sword had a single loop on its hilt, or if it was something that could be activated with a light touch, couldn't Luagarne have solved it herself? As Krais had tested, simply touching the sword with a finger did nothing. You had to grip it tightly, with more than a certain amount of force. Thus, it was impossible for Luagarne.
Shhk! She tried a few more times, but the result was the same. "I can see him, but…" The time was too short to do anything. After that, Enkrid was naturally the only one to grip the sword.
"Seems like something is going well," Finn muttered as she laid out her bedding. She took a blanket from her pack, pulled out a block of hard cheese, shaved off the rind with a knife, and sliced it thinly. She placed the slices on a piece of hard bread, also with its crust trimmed, and the meal was ready.
"It is my responsibility, after all," Krais said, and for some reason, he stepped forward and gripped the sword himself. And he died. His body was fine, but he suffered mental exhaustion. This happened during a brief moment when Enkrid wasn't holding the sword.
"Gurgle…" Krais collapsed, frothing at the mouth. It was a foolish thing to do.
Esther only slept, and so everyone's roles were naturally decided. Enkrid would grip the sword, be released, and return. The Frog would teach him swordsmanship based on what he saw. Finn and Krais prepared the bedding and meals. And Esther ate, slept, and woke up.
There was no proper place to relieve themselves, so everyone used a corner. The barrier extended underground, but they could dig into the earth to a certain extent. The prison was roughly a hemisphere with a slightly convex bottom. They dug a hole there for their business.
"We Frogs can go over a week without needing to relieve ourselves, if necessary." At the Frog's words, Finn nodded and said that must be nice.
After a full day had passed, Luagarne was inwardly amazed. Originally, she had so many things she wanted to say, so much advice to give. Enough to make something boil inside her. Enough that the bits and pieces she had given on their travels were insufficient. It was advice she had planned to give in a condensed form on the way back, but at this moment, it was becoming unnecessary for Enkrid.
What does Enkrid need for the next step? She had intended to give him the answer to that question.
'But he's already in the process of finding it himself.'
Still, a few words of advice would surely be needed.
Krais, thinking it was all his fault, kept his mouth shut. It was supposed to have been an easy task, like picking up silver coins from the floor, but suddenly they were trapped, unable to see an inch ahead. His mind was racing, trying to find a way out of here. Of course, an answer was not likely to come easily.
'I was blinded by krona.'
This happened because he didn't assume the worst-case scenario. Krais reflected on his mistake through regret.
As the situation took a strange turn, Finn simply stopped thinking about it. She just observed Enkrid.
'He's swinging his sword even in here.'
Should she call him consistent? Then again, to overcome this Tutor, he had to swing his sword. Still.
'You definitely can't call him normal.'
That was the thought that came to mind whenever she looked at Enkrid. No, behind his outstanding skill, there must have been this kind of madness. Watching it, Finn felt something new filling her chest. A small, or perhaps larger, realization. For some time now, she had defined her own limits and had stopped moving forward. All of that was being shattered, one by one, after meeting Enkrid, and today, she had finally grasped the beginning of a certain enlightenment.
'I am not the one who defines my limits.'
Ailkaraz-style martial arts, her aptitude as a Ranger. Why had she stopped trying to advance in any of it? Why had she stopped?
'Because everyone said that was the right way.'
But Enkrid was different. Even without saying it directly, his actions, his attitude, his entire approach to life spoke a different language. A quiet wave of inspiration washed over Finn. It was unexpected, but it kept her mouth firmly shut.
Esther was blaming herself.
'It was a pathetic curse (주). Something so pathetic you could barely even call it a curse.'
It was something that could hardly be said to have reached the realm of a proper spell. And she had been trapped because she hadn't noticed it? If she were her former self, before becoming a panther, this would have been a mistake worthy of biting her tongue off and dying on the spot.
There were reasons, of course. From enchanting Enkrid's sword to constantly consuming her magical energy to strengthen her body—it was all too much. Her body was bound by a curse, and the gate to her world of spells was closed. She had been operating on shortcuts, and it had all come back to bite her.
'Even so!'
To fail to notice something like this? It was because she had neglected the task at hand. She hadn't focused on recovery because she had assumed the journey back would be leisurely. Esther needed time to recover the strength she had spent and the stamina she had lost. She didn't know what would happen next, but she wouldn't just stand by and watch.
Esther lay down. She buried her head and sought a light sleep. In a week at most, she would recover a certain amount of her magic and break through this pathetic barrier. Esther thought this, half-drunk on sleep, and then drifted off.
As these situations intertwined and connected, a strange time flowed by.
"Knowing what you lack is important," Luagarne said, not sparing her teachings even in the midst of it all. This was separate from the Tutor's swordsmanship. It was just a lesson. Winning a fight and mastering a sword style were different problems, something Enkrid was keenly feeling. Luagarne was an excellent teacher. It went without saying that she was superior to any instructor at the training halls Enkrid had paid krona to attend.
"What happens in a card game if you don't hold any cards?" Luagarne asked. For Enkrid, it was a way of looking at things he had never encountered before. Her next words surprised him, and he realized anew what a brilliant teacher she was. She was someone who could not only teach but also create signposts for the path ahead.
"Basics. Start with the basics." "Whatever you do, you must first build your body." "If you don't know how to hold a sword, you can't lift it. If you don't know how to lift it, you can't swing it!" "You must open your eyes to see what comes next. Do you really have to keep holding that sword?" "That's why all that's left is to deliberate. Deliberate and review. You have no choice but to burn the candle of your life. Until it goes out, you must burn, using your body as fuel. If you don't die, you will gain something." "Can't you just go be a farmer? Do you really have to hold a sword?"
There had been countless instructors. They always said the same thing in unison. The basics are important. So that's what he did. Faithful to the basics. He tried to open his eyes wide, tried to move his feet swiftly, and never swung his sword carelessly. Even so, he would often hear those words.
Go be a farmer. Do you really have to hold a sword?
"If a man sits down at a gambling table with a pouch full of silver coins, what should be in his hand?"
At first, Luagarne had tried to stop him, flabbergasted, but she now seemed to be enjoying the situation to some extent. Well, it could have just been Enkrid's own misunderstanding. Reading a Frog's expression was not an easy task for a human. He just felt it intuitively.
"You can't sit at a gambling table without cards."
"Right. Cards. Right now, you're a fool who sat down with a bag of silver coins."
The silver coins were the basics. No one sits at a gambling table without a single copper, but no one sits down with only a few coppers either. For some reason, hearing those words, why did he feel a sense of pride?
'They told me to build my basics.'
And now she was telling him those basics were built. He had hated that slow progress and had sought out and learned the Valen-style Mercenary Swordsmanship as a way to struggle against it. So, could that mercenary style be his cards?
"It can. But better than that would be a sword style polished over a long time. That Valen-style Mercenary Swordsmanship is, in the end, a method of attack that is too one-sided. You can't use a hand if it's full of jokers."
What a brilliant metaphor. A joker only shines when combined with other cards. The same went for the Valen style.
Static, Centered, Circular, Fast, Flowing. Leonesis Oniac had defined the branches of swordsmanship, and later generations created styles based on them. This meant that even Northern-style heavy swordsmanship was not a single entity. The same went for Central Continent-style formal swordsmanship. A sword style was created by mixing the fitting elements from the five principles and weaving them together through trial, error, and talent.
What Luagarne was talking about was one of them. Specifically, the swordsmanship learned through the Tutor. "This may be a cursed sword, but what's inside it is real."
In truth, Enkrid had rarely learned any sword style other than the basics. Everything had been superficial. Luagarne once again emphasized the necessity of a proper style.
"If you properly learn a style derived from the formal sword, it will feel as if your opponent is reading your every thought."
He was experiencing that repeatedly right now. The spirit living in that sword was doing something similar.
"I see."
Enkrid nodded, his eyes still blazing like fire. Reflected in the torchlight, his usual blue eyes were mixed with a reddish hue. When it came to learning, Enkrid revealed his emotions without hesitation. To Luagarne, that was nothing short of amazing.
'He's truly a madman for the sword.'
Perhaps she could shorten it to 'sword-madman.' Everything he had learned and mastered so far wasn't so much the art of handling a sword, but the preparation for it. This was the gist of what Luagarne had said. Enkrid realized this anew as he learned from the Tutor.
"I'll just be a moment, going to fetch some swordsmanship," he said with a joke and gripped the sword again. It was a repetition. An act of learning swordsmanship through a death that was much gentler and more peaceful than a real one.
To be perfectly honest.
'It's easy and enjoyable.'
For Enkrid, it was.
He gripped the sword, and after a brief moment of his body swaying left and right, he returned. Blinking, he shook his head from side to side.
"Did you get got again?"
"This time, all my legs were cut off."
For someone saying that, he was far too calm. "The last move looked like a vertical head strike, but it somehow became a diagonal neck slash." He had seen the process, so he understood it. So, what was needed now? Enkrid lifted the broken sword he used as a practice weapon, scabbard and all.
Luagarne's heart pounded without her realizing it. Her cheeks puffed up as interest surged within her.
"You are truly…"
…an incredibly interesting man.
Even the Tutor cannot constrain him. No, look at this now, his spirit has already surpassed the Tutor!
She kept that thought to herself. She couldn't teach him a new sword style. That was forbidden by the covenant that bound her. However, she could guide him in the style he was learning from another source. And that's what they did.
He would go inside, steal a technique, come out, and immediately replicate it. It was something only possible because he had perfect control over his body. Then, Luagarne would help him polish it. Once he mastered it, he would grip the sword again.
This time, Enkrid's mouth uttered that his fingers had been cut off. "Then it stabbed me in the neck. The blade bent like a snake."
"It used a wrist snap," Luagarne replied.
They trained again. Dark circles seemed to form under his eyes, but Enkrid remained unfazed. He took breaks in between. The body would break down if one didn't eat and drink.
During a short break, Finn, who had been staring at the sword, muttered, "It reminds me of an old legend. There was a story about how pulling a certain sword would make you king."
Enkrid, also resting, heard her. Someone makes you a king just for pulling out a sword? Even for a legend, it seemed too crude. A king was someone who existed through a combination of politics and various other circumstances, wasn't he? Well, legends and stories were bound to be exaggerated.
After that, Enkrid devoted most of his time to swordsmanship. He had already gripped and released the sword over a hundred times. It should have looked like an act of self-abuse. But Enkrid was stoic. The pain remained vividly in his body, but for someone who truly repeated his days, it felt somehow weakened.
'I can do this.'
Enkrid felt a thrill once more in the act of learning. It had only been a day and a half. Instead of having to die to repeat a day, he could just grip the sword for an immediate, high-quality exchange of swordsmanship. It was thanks to his immersion, sparing no time.
A short but intense period passed. That was enough.
"It's done now," such words came from Luagarne's mouth.
Was this thanks to the Tutor? No, that wasn't it. More than anything, Enkrid was different from before. The time when he struggled with his meager talent was completely different from now.
Enkrid mulled over all the 'todays' he had lived through. In the entire process of reviewing and reflecting, how had he passed through it all? What had he gained from it? It was a period of time that couldn't be described simply, but if asked to say it now, Enkrid could summarize it all in one word.
"Talent."
What he had felt amongst the gnoll pack had been systematized and branded onto his body. From the Heart of the Beast to the Instinct of Evasion. He had trained his body, increasing his strength, agility, and reaction speed. He had even learned to perfectly control his body. And supporting all of that were his cultivated boldness, concentration, and senses.
"You, uh, what are you?" Luagarne was shocked. From her perspective, it was as if a talent that hadn't existed before had suddenly appeared.
And so, he gripped the sword again. Soon, with the familiar feeling of the muddy ground, the lump of iron charged.
CLANG!
Sword meets sword. If there was one thing different from before, it was that this time, there was an Enkrid who understood his opponent's swordsmanship.