Chapter 136 - No Day Can Be the Same

After leaving the Battalion Commander's barracks, Encrid felt much more at ease.

The Battalion Commander's expression had not looked particularly good, but for Encrid, even that was a new experience.

'I spoke of becoming a knight, of my dream.'

And he had not been flustered or laughed at him.

Was that not, in itself, something fresh to him?

In any case, that was not what mattered.

He had said it, and he had been refused.

Now it was time to finish what he had been doing.

Encrid returned to the barracks and stood in front of Rem.

"What?"

"We have to keep going."

He meant Rem should teach him the sensation.

It was something they had been doing, so they were simply continuing it; it was nothing remarkable.

Watching that Platoon Commander, Rem inwardly thought he really was a madman.

Was this really normal?

Even Rem, who was teaching him, could tell that he felt nothing, truly nothing at all.

And yet he said he would keep doing it.

He never seemed to get sick of it.

It was impossible to even imagine him looking tormented.

Frustration, despair, suffering—he was a man who had built a wall between himself and things like that.

Still, Rem was curious all over again, so he asked.

"You're not getting tired of it?"

"Hm?"

Seeing the look in his eyes asking what on earth that meant, Rem had nothing to say.

Fine, they had to do it.

Of course.

He was planning to work at it diligently.

"Let's do it.

I had nothing else to do anyway, so this is nice."

At Rem's words, Andrew's expression brightened.

Over the past few days, as Rem stuck to his Platoon Commander, Andrew had felt such things as peace and love, life and hope.

"Life is full of beauty."

"Please get a hold of yourself."

Mac soothed him at Andrew's words.

Henri was absent.

No, he had left.

The day before yesterday, he had joined the unit transporting the wounded and gone back with them.

Originally, as a member of the lunatic platoon, returning like that should have been out of the question.

But it was a special reward, a privilege for his contribution to leading the battle to victory.

"I think I'll try living a different way."

When Henri said he was leaving, the one who nodded for him to do so and arranged things so that it would become a privilege was Encrid.

Encrid respected Henri's choice.

Not everyone could make a living by the blade.

Still, Henri's absence was felt.

Even if they were exempt from cooking duty and guard duty, they could not also withdraw from nearby scouting missions.

And so, while carrying out scouting missions and, at Krais's forceful insistence, searching the position the enemy had abandoned...

With Henri gone, even finding the way became work right away.

Of course, Encrid was no Pathfinder, but he did have an ordinary knack for finding his way.

Even so, it was different from when Henri, an excellent guide, had been there.

Then should he have another platoon member do it?

Compared to the other platoon members, Encrid's ability to find the way was not ordinary but extraordinary.

"I'm no good at finding roads, but I'm good at finding beasts and monsters, so since we're already out here, how about we raid a monster nest or two?"

That was Rem speaking, as he considered new real combat after the transmission of Heart of Monstrous Strength had stalled.

A road?

Whether he could find one or not was unclear, but one thing was certain: he had no interest.

"We'll come across one if we keep going."

That was Ragna, and this bastard went without saying.

He was hopeless with directions.

"We merely go forth as the Lord calls."

Audin, depending on how one looked at it, was just as dangerous a man as Ragna.

The Lord's calling?

It sounded like nothing but him saying he would do whatever he wanted if things went sideways.

Jaxon said nothing, but he did not look even slightly willing to lead them and find the way.

Rather than soothe them and go along, would Jaxon not choose to simply vanish?

Mac remained, but...

Encrid was a little better than Mac.

In any case, the lunatic platoon did sweep through the enemy position.

Even though the allied Recon Party had already rummaged through the place when they dug through the enemy position...

Krais filled his pockets with astonishing skill.

"Indeed."

"That's right."

"Oh, a jewel."

Krais, who kept muttering to himself, found pouches of crona, daggers set with jewels, and the like.

There were no precious items, but there were quite a few things that would be easy to convert into crona.

"You know how people hide things before they go out to the battlefield."

As Krais said, there were soldiers who did that.

Digging a hole in the ground in front of their barracks, burying something valuable like a jewel, and then saying that if they died, someone should dig it up and take it to their family—that sort of thing.

Of course, if they died and the comrade who heard the request also died, it was meaningless.

But who went out onto a battlefield thinking of total annihilation or collapse?

It was the same this time, and when it came to finding hidden items, Krais was the best.

This was a place the allied Recon Party had already turned over once.

And yet if he dug under beds, or found a nearby tree around the traces of a barracks and dug the ground, something came out without fail.

"How do you find all that?"

Encrid showed pure curiosity.

He was standing to one side and keeping watch over the surroundings, but since there was not even a hint of anyone, he had nothing to do.

"What do you think?

He smells crona.

Look at that bastard's nose.

Doesn't it look like a gold coin?"

Rem cut in from the side.

He was just as bored.

How could a person's nose, and the nose of someone who belonged among the handsome at that, look like a coin?

Even at Rem's absurd words, Krais paid him no mind.

From the beginning, he knew full well that if he talked back, he would only be at a disadvantage, so he let it go in one ear and out the other.

It was a skill Andrew needed to learn.

"If you think about it, the answer comes out quickly."

Krais said, tapping near his temple with his right index finger.

Who knew when he had prepared it, but the leather backpack slung over his back was already bulging.

"Think?"

Encrid asked back.

He was genuinely curious.

It was also a way to cool his head.

"If I were hiding something, where would I hide it?

What if the whole position was smashed to pieces and I alone survived?

People are like that, aren't they?

They can't easily give up hope.

Then suppose the position was blown apart and I had to find my things.

Where would I hide them?"

"... Somewhere I could recognize at a glance."

"Yes.

This tree branch is unusual, isn't it?

It's not far from the barracks either, and it's perfect for stopping by briefly while deploying, isn't it?"

He was right.

"Above all."

Krais spoke, his eyes gleaming.

It was the same passionate gaze as before.

"The more precious something is, the more you want to hide it well."

This bastard really did seem to have an astonishingly sharp head on his shoulders.

Of course, if one thought about it a little, in other words, once the answer was known, it did not seem like anything great.

What was astonishing was that he had predicted and thought through all of this before even setting out.

"You still want to open a salon?"

"Why do you think I'm living this hard?

In my later years, I'm going to open a salon, crack useless jokes all night, laze around, eat well, and rake in crona."

As a dream, how should one put it?

It was crude.

But Krais, who said it, was serious.

Was he only serious?

If he could sacrifice something for it, he looked prepared to stake half his life on it.

Above all, Encrid's own dream was more absurd, so how could he laugh at another's dream?

Compared to becoming a knight, was the dream of opening a ladies' salon and earning crona not more realistic?

So, criticism, condemnation, mockery...

He did none of it.

Henri's dream of marrying the florist widow, having children, and living peacefully was the same.

He wanted to become a knight.

All over again, Encrid felt his heart stir.

Because it felt as though he was slowly drawing closer to the dream he had never stopped wishing to reach.

Was it only excitement?

A tingling wave of something like emotion ran through his whole body.

Yes, he was walking.

He was drawing closer.

Even if he had to crawl, even if it was only half a step.

So wait for me, my torn and faded dream.

I will personally stand beside you and walk with you.

"All right, done!"

After searching a few more places, Krais gave Encrid two thin-bladed throwing daggers.

"Use them.

They're nothing special."

Encrid wondered why he was giving them to him.

"No, did we come all the way here just to clean up after Big-eyes?"

As soon as enough time had passed to count exactly to ten, Rem got angry.

This meant he was asking him to block that, didn't it?

"Shall we spar when we get back?"

Placating him was now part of everyday life.

Once they returned to the unit like that, all they did was train again.

It was the same after the meeting with the Battalion Commander.

An endless chain of training with no progress.

When the next day came again, after the isolation technique, Encrid abruptly began swinging his sword.

'Focus.'

Through Concentrate on a Single Point, he focused all his senses solely on the sword.

It was the same as usual, yet different.

How could every day be the same?

Encrid himself did not know it, but he was already different from the past when he had possessed wretched talent.

There were many things to make up for his talent.

Experience, the things he had newly learned.

Heart of the beast, Concentrate on a Single Point, Sense of the Blade, the isolation technique.

And even the time spent training that had accumulated afterward.

That time was twice as dense as before.

Encrid sank into that time.

At some point his eyes clouded over and his pupils unfocused, yet the sword he swung began growing sharper, and his feet grew swifter.

'Frog, Mitch Hurrier, battlefield.'

As he reviewed and pondered alone while swinging his sword, at some point everything began to blur.

Heart, beast, monstrous strength, fighting, battlefield, pondering, reviewing.

They were forgotten and pushed back, and only the sword and himself began to remain in the world.

Only a faint afterimage and a few stray thoughts remained.

Thus he swung his sword fiercely, again and again.

His recovered right wrist bent more firmly than before.

Was this the effect of divinity, or the efficacy of the medicine the Fairy Company Commander had given him?

That was probably not important.

A stray thought surfaced, blurred, and then that too vanished.

Soon, after everything disappeared...

Encrid felt the sensation of watching his own body from outside his body.

It was a series of absurd sensations, detached, as though his body and self had been separated.

In that state, he looked at his sword.

He swung, stabbed, cut, and pulled.

SCRAPE.

His feet stepped on the ground, pushing aside tiny gravel.

As he changed his steps, the direction of the sword changed with the movement, and its position shifted.

In Encrid's eyes, only the trajectory made by the sword remained.

Points and points, lines connecting points.

A swaying blade, a heavy blow, the sword tip thrusting out like a flash of light, swinging as prescribed to constrict the opponent, and after a half-turn, his arm bent like a whip.

WHOOSH!

The sound of the sword slicing through the air rang out.

If they were people who knew the former Encrid...

Especially if they were people who knew his beginning...

It was a scene that could only astonish them.

Through all that countless time, even after swinging his sword so much, he had always remained in a similar place.

He had been a broken scarecrow with only the will to move forward.

A scarecrow that could not stand, yet somehow writhed.

That scarecrow now stood wholly on its own feet.

'He's improved like crazy.'

Rem, who had come out in front of the barracks, admired him all over again.

When had he become able to forget himself like that and sink into the sword?

When had he become able to stand alone like that?

The broken scarecrow was no longer there.

As he squatted, propped his chin in his hand, and watched, he even felt his chest swell.

Really, when had he improved so much?

Beside him, Ragna also came out of the barracks and stood there.

At the sound of the sword cutting the air, Ragna knew his Platoon Commander's swordsmanship had ripened.

It was something he had already experienced through sparring, but...

Watching him become so absorbed and swing his sword like that made him feel strange.

It was as if someone had lit a fire in his chest.

His motivation surged.

With that feeling, Ragna quietly drew his sword as well.

SHING.

Then he began swinging his sword off to one side.

Audin was the same.

'I built his body well.'

What kind of talent did one need to move one's body as desired?

One needed training that dug into every part of one's body, made one become aware of it and move it, made one feel pain, and even made one roll past one's limits.

Making one knock against one's limits—that was the isolation technique.

The greatest beneficiary of the isolation technique he had imagined in his head now stood before his eyes.

His joints were also supple.

His wrist would never again be injured by the same shock as before.

Lately, they had put effort into training his joints.

'Lord, your servant expresses his joy.'

To feel pure joy by watching another was a rare thing.

Because it was rare, the joy was even greater.

Jaxon felt strange.

'It was the right thing to do.'

Teaching him senses, and remaining here as well.

Though he had not moved by weighing gains and losses, he did not regret it.

At one time, he had thought remaining here was a waste of time.

But looking at the current Platoon Commander, he did not think so at all, truly not even a little.

Esther watched Encrid from one side, her chin resting on her forepaws.

Magic and spells were the path to becoming an explorer of a new world.

The joy and exhilaration gained through them could not be compared to anything else.

Thus she had walked the path of spells.

The joy of inquiry, the exhilaration of discovering something new, and even the fulfillment of building her world on top of them.

All of those were components that made up who she was.

They were the power that made her covet magic and build the world of spells.

Then for what reason was that human now swinging his sword through empty air like that?

The sight of the human called Encrid now reminded her of herself when she had sunk into the world of spells.

Though she had only basic knowledge when it came to the sword, she could clearly feel that man's skill was not to be underestimated.

And so the thought arose.

'What is it that moves you like that?'

It was pure curiosity, the curiosity of one who was a spellcaster, a seeker, and an explorer.

For Esther, it was also an astonishing change.

After all, she had ignored everything her entire life and dug only into spells, until she became this cursed body.

At the sight of herself showing interest in a person, Esther was newly surprised, yet she enjoyed it.

Newness was vitality to her.

This emotion, too, was new.

Soon, the sword of the man called Encrid stopped.

He came to a halt with a sharp breath, sweat running over his entire body.

Esther moved.

She took a cloth in her mouth and hopped over.

When she delivered it to Encrid, Encrid, who had been staring blankly into empty air, accepted it and said,

"Thank you, Esther."

Mrow.

You're welcome.

Encrid wiped away his sweat once with the cotton cloth he had accepted and thought all over again that the weather was too warm.

Was it the comfort, the influence of the weather?

Or was it thanks to focusing solely on the sword without thinking of anything?

It felt as though the tightness that had been blocking his chest had vanished.

Once he felt that refreshed...

"Rem."

He could see the edge of the technique Rem used, Heart of Monstrous Strength.

If he could see it, then he had to pull it in.

Then all he had to do was put it inside himself.

Whether it would go as he intended was something he could find out by trying now.

"Let's do it again."

It was a day that felt no different from any other.

But no day could be the same.

That was an utterly obvious statement.