Chapter 118 - Leap

"Come at me!"

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG.

Again and again, sword and spear met.

Vengeance was rough and strong.

No matter how much stronger than an ordinary man Encrid was,

his opponent was still a trained soldier.

With only one hand, it was hard to crush him through strength alone.

'Then how?'

He thought as he fought, and put it into action.

Let it slide.

Let the heavy blows flow aside, and stab at the openings.

A line connecting point to point.

He found the optimal path of movement, thrust his sword in, watched the response, and stepped back.

His feet moved busily.

Then, when he saw an opening, he brought the sword down from above with weight, making use of the essence of the Heavy Sword Technique.

SKREEECH!

Vengeance blocked the blow with the shaft of his spear and hooked his foot out.

This was a fight Encrid was more familiar with.

Had he not fought Pin of the Ale Karaz style close-quarters combat countless times by now?

On top of that, he had learned the Balaf Style Combat Technique, so he was used to ground techniques known as bed techniques.

He snapped a kick into Vengeance's foot, then aimed for the opening and struck the spearhead with all his strength.

CLANG!

For an instant, the spearhead twisted to the side.

In that gap, he forced his sword up against Vengeance's neck.

It felt as if something in the muscles of his left forearm had snapped with a crunch.

Still, he had won.

"Your left hand."

"I trained it originally. Often. When no one was looking. It was my secret weapon."

A prepared excuse was always a beautiful thing.

After repeating today so many times, he had also grown skilled at making excuses.

"Shit."

"Why the sudden spar?"

"I don't know. Watching you made me want to have a go."

He had only been training the basics, though.

Had he shown any especially remarkable movement?

Steps, repeated thrusts and cuts.

Had there been anything else?

Vengeance had nothing to say either.

So he knew that Encrid was already above him.

In skill, and in character.

From the moment Encrid had saved him during the fire at the Medical Barracks, he could no longer hate the bastard.

Seeing him train his sword with his left hand did make him wonder what the hell he was doing.

'Why is he good with his left hand too?'

Still, something did seem lacking.

"That, what do you call it, it feels strange."

"What?"

No, shit, who would understand if he explained it like this?

Vengeance cursed himself, turned his head again, and spoke the thoughts that whirled inside.

"It feels like a dead sword."

That was the best he could do.

If he tried to explain more, it felt like it would only be a string of clumsy words.

And what more could he say to a guy who fought better than him?

But looking at the situation, it was pretty ridiculous.

He had suddenly stepped forward and asked to fight, then lost and started blaming his opponent.

"No, I mean."

"Wait."

Encrid cut him off and began staring blankly into the air.

His eyes were open, but his mind was somewhere else.

Vengeance felt wronged.

He had not stepped forward out of jealousy or envy.

Vengeance had been pure in that moment.

Literally like when he had first picked up a spear.

Like when he first caught a beast after enlisting, got excited, and swung his spear morning and night.

That time had come back to him.

His blood had boiled, and he absolutely could not stay still.

A man whose right wrist was ruined.

According to the rumors, he had returned from a vicious mission, sparred with his own platoon members, and gone to sleep.

That was the kind of guy he was.

He must have been hurt and exhausted.

Then why was he pushing his body like that?

Then why was that bastard smiling?

Because Vengeance could not think of jealousy or envy,

his blood surged hot all at once.

"Thanks."

Then Encrid, who had been staring blankly into the air, suddenly spoke.

Then he looked at Vengeance, who was standing there vacantly.

"What are you doing?"

he asked.

Vengeance blinked and answered.

"Nothing."

But what was he thanking him for?

Anyway, he was definitely a strange bastard.

A lunatic mad for training.

Was that not a fitting nickname?

It was definitely a better nickname than Devilish Platoon Commander.

Encrid had realized something from Vengeance's words.

'Clumsiness.'

The dissonance he had felt while chewing over the past and walking the path he had once taken again.

Rather than feeling and finding what was wrong, he had been too busy swinging his sword every day.

Because he had not known a better way.

But now he did know.

It was a difference in sensation.

A right-handed person's right hand and left hand differed in every sensation, starting from the fingertips.

That came first.

'Start with meals.'

Starting with using a spoon and fork.

As it happened, he also knew a training method that used the sensation in the fingertips and the arm muscles together.

'hidden knife.'

Good.

This would become the path.

"Captain!"

Krais's voice rang out again.

"Grrrr."

Esther showed hostility.

"Ah, fuck."

Vengeance spat a curse.

"Thanks be to God for letting us meet again."

And Mitch Hurrier, who seemed to have fallen deep into religion unlike before, stood in their way, soaked through.

Even if he ran, the day would return to how it was.

This was a wall he had to overcome with only his left hand.

What need was there for words?

The only answer was to grip his sword and fight.

Encrid fought without a word.

He swung his sword.

He hooked his foot.

He tried to memorize his opponent's patterns.

And he died.

Pain, darkness, abyss, death.

After dying and waking again, he began living with his left hand from the next day on.

"What are you doing?"

Krais asked, tilting his head.

"Filling my stomach."

"Did you injure the fingers on your right hand too?"

"No. I'm trying not to use it. It has to be unused to heal."

"That's excessive."

Yes.

It was an excuse he had thrown together.

Twenty todays had passed since he began living left-handed.

During that time, Vengeance requested a spar a few more times.

His face was that of a soldier whose blood boiled, admiring pure force.

"Good."

After twenty todays had passed, only today did Vengeance not call his sword dead.

'Thanks to him.'

He swung his sword again and died.

He died like that, died, and died again.

He felt the change on the ninetieth today.

'It's different.'

If he walked the path he had taken with his right hand using his left hand, would he simply repeat the same thing?

No.

The Encrid of then and the Encrid of now were far too different.

'Concentrate on a Single Point.'

Immersion, training where he sank into himself even as he drew his sword.

A body changed through the isolation technique.

Immersion, and a changed body.

And yet the heart of a beast kept him from losing composure.

The movements of his own body.

In other words, where the wavering blade was heading.

When it did, how much his body moved.

Repetition, repetition, repetition.

In the midst of training that continued to the point of tedium,

Encrid met a moment he had never once experienced before.

SWISH.

SWISH.

SWISH.

Beyond the blade moving as he intended,

he felt there was no obstruction in roughly imitating the basic forms of The Oniak Sword Technique.

Accurately, heavily, swiftly, softly, and strangely.

His body moved on its own.

What was talent?

It could not be defined in a single phrase.

Skill in using the body would be necessary,

and even forgetting everything and focusing would be part of talent.

He did not even have the leeway to feel pleasure.

The sword found its path and moved on its own.

His body moved on its own.

There was no need to look around him.

Even while moving like this, he could feel the gazes watching him from around him.

This was something he experienced by tearing apart and remaking his meager talent through effort acquired later.

So it was his first time experiencing it.

Something he originally would never have experienced in his lifetime.

With sensitivity added atop the balance held by immersion, his body, and composure,

Encrid felt that his swordsmanship had advanced by leaps and bounds in a single day, rather than through repetition.

"Hoo."

At the same time, he saw what was lacking.

Fineness.

What did he need to do to fill that?

It was not something he could achieve simply by swinging his sword.

Things visible through the opening in his talent.

Beyond replacing his daily life with his left hand,

it seemed he only needed to make hidden knife settle completely into his hand.

So it was repetition again.

Nothing changed just because he could clearly see what was lacking.

And so he repeated again.

Sometimes they might be tedious days, and sometimes painful days,

but Encrid, stepping one by one along the path he had passed with his left hand, felt joy.

'Can this really work?'

Watching himself grow.

Nothing set him ablaze as much as that.

On the today when he sharpened his senses even further and felt he was now roughly prepared,

"Let's have a spar."

As always, Vengeance came at him.

At this point, he was a friend who challenged him every single day, every time.

The fight was not long.

CLANG-CLANG!

He struck the spearhead away and flicked his sword up, and the blade seemed to bend like a snake.

The blade stopped in front of Vengeance's throat.

"Fuck, with your left hand."

"I trained it originally."

At an excuse similar to the other todays, Vengeance closed his mouth.

Vengeance was simply dumbfounded.

'How can he do this with his left hand?'

No lament came out.

In the first place, he had only asked for a spar because admiration had formed in him.

"What are you thinking so hard about?"

Just then, Encrid asked.

Vengeance spoke his true feelings exactly as they were.

"I was thinking I should work hard when I get back."

At those words, Encrid stared at him blankly, then showed a gentle smile.

It was a face so handsome one could covet it.

Soon, he opened his mouth and said,

"Good. Then someday Jenny will fall for you too."

"You son of a bitch?"

How did he manage to get this worked up every single time?

Jenny was Vengeance's trigger switch.

Encrid laughed as he pushed him away, and Vengeance ended up chuckling too.

'I should at least let him confess to Jenny.'

Then he could not die here.

PHEEEEEEEEP.

A whistle blew.

The one hundred and twelfth today began.

CLATTER.

Mitch Hurrier appeared, stepping on gravel.

"Caaaaptain!"

Krais was a little late today.

Just because today repeated did not mean it was the same every time.

Of course, whether Krais was late or not was not important.

Encrid wore the sheath at his right hip and gripped the hilt with his left hand.

"This is, well. Should I say you were lucky?"

Mitch Hurrier muttered as he looked at Encrid.

Encrid did not listen.

At some point, the sound of the whistle, Mitch Hurrier, Vengeance, Esther, Krais,

and even himself were forgotten.

He held only the sword within him.

The sword and his opponent.

The line that forgot point and point.

What was speed?

SHIIING!

The blade met the sheath and spat out a sound of friction.

Before the sound had even ended, the drawn sword traced the optimal path of movement and fell toward Mitch Hurrier's forehead.

PING.

That sound reached Encrid's ears.

In a gap where time had been split, in a state of immersion, a preemptive attack drawn with full force.

This one blow, at least, could be called better than his right hand now.

And then.

CLANG!

Mitch Hurrier's sword was drawn too.

KLANG!

Blade met blade.

The blades crossed in a cross, and Encrid pushed with strength.

GRRRIND!

Mitch's feet were forced backward.

If he lifted his foot as he was, he would fall.

He endured it as he was, and Encrid closed the distance without giving him even a gap to withdraw his sword.

After closing the distance so much he did not even need to reach out,

Encrid let go of his own sword and seized Mitch Hurrier's sword hand.

The instant he crushed the hand with all his strength,

CRUNCH.

a clean sound of bone grinding rang out.

"You crazy bastard!"

SMACK!

Mitch Hurrier drove his knee into the area around Encrid's thigh.

Even then, Encrid tried not to let go of his opponent's hand,

but after the next punch struck him near the cheekbone, he had no choice but to step back.

'That fist sure stings.'

"Esther!"

As he retreated and shouted, the quick-witted panther sprang forward.

"My sword!"

I did not mean attack, you panther.

Encrid's intent reached her properly.

Esther had been shaking her head at what this ignorant human was doing, then reacted to her name and leaped out.

At the shout that followed, she bit hard into the grip of Encrid's sword with her teeth and tossed it back.

Esther had to put all her strength into even this small movement.

Today, her magic was on break, and her body was not normal either.

WHOOSH, CLATTER. THUD.

The sword flew low and landed one step in front of Encrid.

THUNK!

A spear flew in and lodged itself where Esther had been.

It was an enemy soldier behind them.

The man who had stabbed the floor with a short spear tried to kick Esther again.

CLANG!

This time, Vengeance blocked it.

"Where do you think you're going, asshole?"

The enemy soldier whose spear met his snorted, and the two began flinging spearheads and spear shafts, fists and feet at each other.

In that gap, Encrid picked up his sword.

"Is your hand all right?"

Encrid was the one with a splint on his right wrist.

So it did not seem like a question he was suited to ask.

"This bastard."

But it did become a question that made Mitch Hurrier twist up his lips and glare at Encrid.

Because his thumb had broken in the clash just now.

Without the thumb that bore force, he would not be able to grip his sword properly.

Mitch looked once at his broken thumb, then at his opponent.

Now that he looked, this man Encrid was holding his sword in his left hand.

Had he originally been left-handed?

It did not seem so.

When he fought Mitch, it had been his right hand.

And he had gone all out, too.

Because he remembered that, this situation was nothing but absurd.

"Sorry, but I'm ambidextrous."

Mitch Hurrier said, gripping his sword with his other hand.

His left hand.

Naturally, Encrid was holding his sword in his left hand too.

"Yeah, me too, starting today."

It was not wrong.

Through the repeating today, he had grown quite used to using his left hand.