Chapter 184 - Liberation
If he could just endure the pseudo-death—something similar to death but far easier to bear—if he could just do that, then he had a living textbook. A textbook that demonstrated every single move in detail, right before his eyes.
So, this was a good thing. Cursed sword, malevolent spirit, whatever it was, it was a good thing. At least, it was for Enkrid.
"Think about why you move your left foot to the side there."
And he even had a teacher to meticulously interpret the textbook for him.
Therefore, the result was only natural. Enkrid absorbed the swordsmanship like a dry cotton ball soaking up water. No, it was more like he engraved it onto his body first and left understanding for later. It was something he had learned while mastering the Instinct of Evasion.
'Is there really a need to understand?'
When you don't understand, you just have to throw your body into it. You engrave it into your body through repetition and postpone understanding until later.
"By any measure, you are well and truly mad," Luagarne commented in the middle of it all, a note of admiration in her voice. Enkrid let it slide. He was completely engrossed in the swordsmanship. In truth, it was endlessly enjoyable.
What was the reason he had learned the Valen-style Mercenary Swordsmanship in the first place? It was a thirst that began from within. He wanted proper techniques and proper swordsmanship. A foundation that would become his strength to move forward.
"From the basics!"
That's what every teacher, every instructor, every person who had taken his silver coins had told him. It wasn't that he disliked it or thought it was wrong. It was just…
'This is fun.'
As is natural for any person, he simply wanted to see what came next. And so, as Enkrid gripped the sword again and again, he smiled. A bright, clean, and pure smile.
"I'll be honest, I'm starting to get a little scared of you now," Luagarne said.
"I agree with that. It's creepy," Finn concurred. Krais, surprisingly, was calm.
"He's always been that kind of person, but it's particularly intense right now."
Krais had seen Enkrid's madness countless times. He thought it was a relief that he was at least smiling. Isn't this better than him silently swinging a sword until his palms burst, without a single smile? Gripping a cursed sword and experiencing a pseudo-death was something Krais himself couldn't even dream of doing.
'But if it's the Commander, he can probably endure it just fine.'
That was the thought that came to him. It was a harmony of intuition and perception. Krais saw through to the essence of it. As long as there was the joy of growth, Enkrid could sublimate the pain of death through sheer effort.
And so he was absorbed. In the sword, in himself, in the swordsmanship.
The sword is a tool for killing people. Swordsmanship is the method of killing an opponent. Adding Luagarne's words to the mix: "Feet, waist, posture—everything is for the next movement. Think."
Enkrid thought, and he swung his sword. To meet his excellent textbook, he relentlessly gripped the spirit-possessed sword. There were even times when he would let go immediately after dying, only to grip it again.
After several hundred times, the spirit seemed to hesitate. Is that right? Did I see that correctly? Enkrid wondered. It was strange that the thing, which had always charged relentlessly, didn't immediately swing its sword. This was something Enkrid truly did not want.
"Let's not do that. Let's both do our best in our respective positions."
Respective positions. If its job was to mess with the mind of the one holding the sword, it should do its best. Hesitating was a truly unwelcome sight.
When he sincerely wished and urged it on, the spirit fulfilled its duty. It charged. They fought. He trained his swordsmanship. He learned. He memorized. He mastered. He deliberated and reviewed. And he gripped the sword again. He repeated the process.
If you know how to use your body properly, if you can perfectly replicate what you envision, then all that's needed is an understanding of the movements. By memorizing an entire sword style and listening to Luagarne's interpretation piece by piece, it had actually become an easy task.
The one who created the cursed sword and bound the spirit to it would probably grab the back of his neck if he saw this, but isn't that just how the world works? It never flows exactly as planned or expected.
"You've worked hard," said the spirit, its chest slashed and neck severed. The blue light within the heap of iron flickered. It seemed to be saying something. Enkrid watched the spirit in silence.
Soon, the spirit bound to the sword spoke.
"Thank you."
Is there anything to be thankful for? The spirit told its story. It was quite a long one.
"Keep it short," Enkrid said. He had no particular desire to listen. The spirit was taken aback. The blue light dimmed further. It had no choice but to speak briefly and to the point.
"I was trapped here against my will. And my swordsmanship is not complete; it is only one half. It was my life's wish to find the other half."
How had a mere swordsman become a malevolent spirit? It required the power of spells and curses, and before that, the deep-seated desire of the entity that would become a vengeful soul. The spirit's desire was similar to Enkrid's. One dreamed of becoming a knight.
'It is the lost swordsmanship of my family.'
And the other wished to properly restore a sword style. In terms of sheer desperation, they were similar.
Enkrid nodded. It was his way of saying he would do it if he got the chance. He was busy chasing his own dream. He couldn't shoulder the dreams of others as well.
At the final moment, the blue light flickered and vanished, and a faint human figure appeared and said, "And let's never see each other again." The spirit was sick of him. It was fed up. It truly, sincerely never wanted to see a human like that again. Of course, the two of them would never meet again. One, its malevolence erased, would depart to a distant place. The other would remain in this land. The soul that had been a spirit was quite pleased by this.
"Let's really, truly never meet again," it said, repeating itself for emphasis.
Enkrid tilted his head. He was the one who had been tormenting me, so why was he saying that?
"The name of my family is…"
He couldn't hear the last words. The energy scattered. Everything around him began to crumble. Beyond the collapsing world, he saw familiar faces. And so, by escaping the world of the psyche, the spirit bound to the sword disappeared.
"You won," Luagarne's voice sounded. It was reality. Enkrid nodded.
"Was it dangerous?" Luagarne asked again. Enkrid shook his head. It wasn't dangerous. Once inside, the only thing that remained was swordsmanship. It was a battle of wits. You had to defeat the opponent with swordsmanship itself, not with brute force. He had gripped the sword well over a hundred times, though he hadn't bothered to count. A full day and then some had passed.
The gray barrier vanished without a sound. As it disappeared, Esther lifted her head and glared at Enkrid. It was definite. She glared. Esther was shocked. How did he do that? Exorcising a malevolent spirit through divine power or spells was one thing, but brutally purifying it and setting it free with one's body was another matter entirely.
'The latter is difficult even for an accomplished magician.'
She might be a panther now, but Esther had once been a magician, a witch who possessed a world of spells. In her eyes, what Enkrid had done was nonsensical. And for that reason, it was surprising and amazing.
'How can he do something like that?'
In reality, the soul had been purified by him tirelessly, deathly executing the swordsmanship, and the spirit passing on its dream, but she had no way of knowing that. The astonished Esther blinked her eyes repeatedly. Enkrid saw it.
"What? Are you hungry?" Enkrid asked, waving his hand. Esther snorted in disbelief and lay back down. She decided to think of it as a series of coincidences. It wasn't like she would get an answer even if she dug into it.
Enkrid looked at Esther and was inwardly impressed. For a panther, she was remarkably expressive. It was fun to watch. Just now, he'd seen her shocked eyes and asked if she was hungry, and something akin to contempt had seemed to flicker in her gaze.
Enkrid chuckled and sat down. His legs weren't trembling, but he had been swinging a sword all day, without a moment's rest, and had mentally experienced pseudo-death. It would be a lie to say he wasn't tired. Still…
'Krais was right, though.'
He'd said it was like picking up fallen coppers, right? That's what this felt like to Enkrid. Except, what he thought was a copper turned out to be a gold coin. He had learned a new sword style. How much further had he progressed by learning it? It was hard to gauge. It depended on the standard. However, instead of arrogance, he now had a bit of confidence.
'Naurillia's soldier ranking system is meaningless.'
In the end, he needed Rem. How about he tried to slap his axe away and leave a couple of scratches on his cheek? It was a refreshing goal.
"Let's sleep here and leave in the morning," Enkrid said. It seemed fine. The gray barrier was gone, and there was no danger. There were no bugs, so it was a perfect place to spend the night. It was moderately cool and not damp. And so, the party decided to stay for the night.
As he fell asleep, Enkrid had a dream. In the dream, the spirit appeared again.
"Let's have another match," it said. Enkrid nodded. He won easily this time, too. Movement begins with understanding, but what if you've memorized everything? If the opponent only repeats memorized movements, there's no reason to lose. And a bit of understanding had been added as well. The reason to move the left foot to the side was to prepare a thrust after a vertical head strike. And twisting the wrist to match the dozens of ways an opponent might dodge or block becomes a strike that aims for an unpredictable path.
Basics connecting to basics to form a single flow. That was swordsmanship.
As he was mulling this over, everything in the dream tore away, and the Ferryman popped out of thin air. He was silent. He expressed no particular intent. However, he looked aggrieved.
'Are you using my curse for something else?'
It was as if he were saying that. Enkrid lightly placed a hand on his right hip and expressed his apology with a military salute.
When he opened his eyes, he was back in the cave. It had been a strange dream.
"You sleep so peacefully," Luagarne said as he woke up.
"You didn't sleep?"
"I slept."
Luagarne, who had been staring at Enkrid, asked, "You really intend to become a knight, don't you? You?" When Enkrid nodded, as if it was obvious, Luagarne said calmly, "Right."
"It doesn't necessarily have to be in this country, does it?"
The words that followed were meaningful, but he couldn't ask further. With that, Luagarne turned away as if she wouldn't hear any more. What she had said wasn't a question, but advice. Knowing this, Enkrid didn't press the matter.
'This country.'
When he was young, he didn't understand the concept of a country. When he grew up, he learned that the knighthood, bound by oaths of loyalty, was different from what he had dreamed of. If so, could there be another path? It wasn't a problem to worry about just yet.
'When the time comes, in that moment.'
He just had to follow his heart and take the right path. That's how he had lived so far. In a way that could be called conviction, or it could be called stubbornness.
"Let's get going," Enkrid had just said, when…
"Oh!" Krais's surprised voice was heard. "There's a secret box under the chest!" Krais looked up and met Enkrid's eyes.
Whatever that Dolph fellow's intentions were, he was clearly a man who enjoyed messing with people. To empty the chests and draw attention with a letter, trap them in the dungeon with a cursed sword, and then give the treasure only to those with a keen eye.
"Ancient gold coins!"
Something expensive had appeared. The modern currency had been standardized to the imperial currency. Imperial coppers, silvers, and golds were the basis for the krona. It had been over a hundred years since the currency standard was set. Naturally, what was called a krona was the imperial currency.
But now, an item from a past era, somewhere between history and legend, had appeared. It wasn't priceless, but if they found the right buyer, they could get ten times the value of gold of the same weight. And there were more than ten such coins. The coins were as large as the palm of a hand, so they weren't small. Their pouches felt heavy.
"Share them," Enkrid said. Krais looked crestfallen but soon nodded. He even pressed some upon Luagarne, who had refused them.
"You're taking this, right?" Krais asked, as if it were obvious. He was, of course, referring to the sword stuck in the ground.
Before he finished speaking, Enkrid stood before the sword again. The madman with the sword had been liberated and had departed for another world. A world of souls beyond reality. So what was left?
"Anyone can tell it's expensive," Krais said.
Enkrid gripped the sword with one hand and pulled it out with a shhhk. It was a strength bordering on monstrous. Perhaps it was because he used Heart of the Beast so often, but he felt stronger than before. The pulled sword was dirty, but its core was still alive. It seemed it would be fine if he just restored the edge and sharpened it well. He held it and swung it a few times. The center of gravity was decent, but the hilt and pommel looked like they would need a lot of work.
"A strength worthy of an honorary Frog," Luagarne praised him in a Frog-like manner.
"You're going to sell that, no, you're not selling it, right?" Krais asked.
"Not selling."
It was perfect timing, as both of his swords were in ruins.
And so, Enkrid and his party packed their things and truly began their journey back. Monsters and beasts were still scarce. Whether it was the aftermath of the large colony, even the common bandits were nowhere to be seen.
Finn showed a rare recovery speed, and on the way, she occasionally asked Enkrid for a martial arts spar. Since they couldn't fight for real, they moved their hands and feet slowly, focusing only on the strategy of the fight. After learning the new sword style, Enkrid had become twice as skilled, so Finn never won once.
And then, Luagarne left.
"Well then, I'm off."
"See you again."
It was a simple farewell. Krais also waved, and Finn gave a rough bow. Esther ignored her completely. Luagarne didn't seem particularly sad and turned away. Enkrid, who had been watching the back of the departing Frog, also turned as if he had forgotten any sense of loss.
"She left just like that," Krais commented.
"It was strange that she stayed in the first place."
Isn't that because of you, Commander? Krais expressed his thought briefly and pointedly.
"Demonic."
"Don't."
It was the nickname he hated the most. Something about being demonic.
"Demonic," Krais said again, the corners of his eyes raised. Enkrid didn't hold back.
"This is the Ailkaraz-style wrist lock. It's good to learn."
As he spoke, he grabbed Krais's wrist and twisted.
"Kweeeek!"
Krais's scream spread across the summer sky. Without further incident, the party returned to the Border Guard.
As Enkrid's party was returning to the city, the higher-up who had dispatched the cultist—that is, the priest of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult—heard some absurd news.
"He failed?"
It was the bishop who managed the diocese, the priest's direct superior. He was a man with blond hair and thick eyebrows, handsome by anyone's standards. The gold embroidery on his white robes complemented his appearance, making him look quite splendid. He asked again, his face stained with disbelief.
"Did a knight order show up?"
That wasn't it.
"What? A platoon leader? A panther?"
Hearing who was responsible for the failure only made it more absurd.