Chapter 432 - Like Black Lightning

Encrid did not idle away the time he spent waiting for Ragna. Naturally. He had always been that sort of man. Even now, he had called Rem out and was making sword and axe clash.

CLANG!

The silver-bladed axe caught Aker's diagonal downward strike and shoved it aside. Encrid tensed his arms and twisted at the waist, letting the force slide past. Reading his intent, Rem feinted a withdrawal with his axe, then brought it straight down.

CLANG!

Their weapons met and parted once more, sparks flying between the blades. Neither yielded an inch in attack or defense. They continued unleashing their techniques and countering each other's moves.

It was a fierce conversation between sword and axe that left no room even to breathe. But no human could live without breathing. Both drove their stamina to its limits, until their vision briefly spun.

This was already the twelfth time they had reached that point. The relentless sparring had continued for hours, leaving even Encrid gasping. Rem was no different.

"Whew, huff. Watch closely."

Rem spoke as he retreated, pursing his lips into a circle. Then he sucked in a breath. His panting stopped, his heaving shoulders settled.

Instinctively, Encrid saw the line the axe would trace from Rem's shoulder. As expected, Rem swung. And he did not stop at a single blow. Encrid barely managed to swing Aker to meet it.

CHING!

The blades crossed. Encrid immediately twisted aside to dodge. Rem's axe strikes kept coming, impossibly fierce for someone who had just been panting with exhaustion.

His axes had always been vicious and sharp, swift and heavy. Whenever those axes of incredibly light metal came hurtling in without a windup, a chill ran down Encrid's neck. But this was worse. And right after he had been gasping for breath?

Between the swift, windup-free strikes, the other axe came flying in off the beat. The axes in Rem's hands shattered all rhythm and timing, hammering away without pause. Blocking with Aker and his gladius, Encrid felt as though he were catching every drop of a downpour in his bare hands.

These were not attacks he could block simply by predicting them. Even now, Rem was holding back. Otherwise, that assault could have taken at least one of Encrid's arms.

"You squeeze it out when you think you've got nothing left. It's called a Handful of Breath."

Rem was breathing even harder than before. His face had turned a dull purple. He had held his breath and poured out every scrap of energy remaining in his body.

As ever, Rem taught through action rather than words. It was easier for both teacher and student that way. Once he had caught his breath, he continued.

"Get it wrong and your heart will burst and kill you. Or a blood vessel will burst and kill you. Hell, you might even feel like you've shaved a little off your lifespan."

In other words, it was far more dangerous than Heart of the Superhuman. The technique was originally used with spells protecting the body, but Rem had made a few alterations. Insights gained through his recent use of spells had made that possible.

And if the crazy bastard of a captain in front of him learned it, he could put it to better use than Rem himself.

"If you want to land even one hit, learn this before you take him on."

The spar with Ragna was two days away. Rem had made clear his intention to help. Encrid had no reason to refuse, so that was what he did. He rose in the morning and warmed up with the Isolation Technique, then learned a Handful of Breath from Rem.

Rem was generous with advice along the way, too.

"I was born ambidextrous. You weren't, Captain."

"What are you trying to say?"

Even as he taught Encrid, Rem was busy honing his own skills. That much was plain to see. He was throwing himself into training, dripping sweat as never before.

That made life hell for Dunbachel, too, and he had put off Encrid's earlier order to form a unit. Encrid did not press the matter. Rem was not someone who could be forced into it, anyway.

Krais, too, thought forming the unit was no urgent matter.

"Organizing our forces is important, but there's no chance of war breaking out right away. Nothing will happen for at least a year."

That was how long the king would need to stabilize the country. More importantly, after seeing Border Guard's policies, Naurilia had begun establishing outposts in every city connected to the capital. The kingdom and Border Guard were developing along the same lines.

Of course, Encrid would rather swing his sword one more time than worry about any of that.

In any case, founding a unit or otherwise, Rem was applying himself to his axes more diligently than ever. Since he was sparring with Encrid on top of that, his explanations could be a little lacking.

"Right now, you're not really using both hands. That's what I mean."

"Explain... whew. Haaah. A little more."

Encrid planted his sword tip in the ground and caught his breath as he spoke. Rem thought it over, then asked,

"Well, can you write with your left hand?"

He could not. He could draw Spark and activate the Will of Swiftness with his left hand, but he could not write with it.

"If you're going to use both hands, use them both properly. Half-assing it is worse than not doing it at all."

Encrid had no intention of insisting on fighting with a weapon in each hand. But Rem was right. If he had something, he had to use it properly. Otherwise, it was meaningless. The only opponents left were those against whom nothing less would work.

Two days passed quickly, but this time Encrid delayed. Luagarne had dissuaded him. Of course, that was also because he found her reasoning convincing.

"Put the spar off a little longer. You'll ask why, won't you? Yes, I know a few more days won't make you vastly better. But you can prepare your mind. You can't let what you learned from the Mercenary King go to waste, can you?"

Luagarne never began by handing him the answer. Understanding it himself came first. She would help him toward that, but never simply give him the solution. That was her way.

Encrid delayed a few more days. Meanwhile, he practiced writing and eating with his left hand.

"Once you have built supple, strong muscles, they only mean something if you use them, brother."

Audin helped him as well. Encrid learned a few more moves from Balaf-style martial arts: one joint lock and one strike. Not every technique could have a name.

Ragna simply watched in silence.

In the meantime, Encrid became capable of writing a letter with his left hand, albeit in a dreadful scrawl. He needed to answer the king's personal letter anyway. Seeing him at it, Krais had asked what the king had written.

"What does it say?"

Surely it contained promises of all sorts of gifts to keep the King of the East in check. Hadn't it arrived after news of the Mercenary King reached him? Krais had been privately worried when the letter came. His prediction was wildly off the mark.

"He's complaining that now he's on the throne, he realizes it's a miserable job."

"Complaining?"

Encrid nodded. At a time like this? Was Krang the strange one, or was it his captain? Krais could not tell.

In any case, this was Encrid's reply. It said that since he had decided to do it, he should do it properly.

Encrid set down the quill in his left hand, then clenched and opened that hand.

'Not enough.'

He could not make his left hand work like his right overnight. But he thought he understood what Luagarne had meant. So he rose and went outside.

The sun stood overhead, and the day was brighter than any other. Not a cloud marred the sky, and the smell of heat filled his nose. The scent of sun-baked stone mingled with dry earth and fresh grass. It was not a bad day.

He and Ragna had agreed on two days, but a week had passed. Ragna had waited without complaint.

In that time, Ragna had become certain he could control his sword perfectly. Even swinging with all his strength, he could cut a single hair and stop. He could halt the blade so precisely that it left not even a red mark on the skin. Had they fought after two days, he might have ended the bout by cutting off a forearm. Not now.

"I've been waiting a long time."

Ragna stood in the middle of the training ground. He practiced alone in that same spot every day. From the outside, it did not look as though he were honing some magnificent swordsmanship. If anything, his successive swings looked sloppier than before.

Off to one side, Rem sat with his arms folded in the chair he had made. Beside him, Audin sat on an enormous rock he had brought from somewhere. Dunbachel, Teresa, Pell, and Roford were there to watch as well.

Jaxon was away again today, as was Esther. Both had plenty to keep them busy.

Encrid paid no attention to the eyes on him. He raised his sword and aimed it. Aker's tip became a point directed at his opponent. Intimidation, pressure founded on willpower, reached Ragna. He was entirely unaffected.

To Encrid, Ragna did not seem particularly intimidating. If anything, he looked weaker than before.

"Miss it and you'll die."

The instant Ragna spoke, it came from beyond Encrid's perception. Eyes That See One Step Ahead could not see it; only his Sixth Sense barely caught it. Before he knew it, Ragna's Blackie had slashed across his thigh.

The strike came from an unexpected angle, with speed and timing that left him no hope of blocking with Aker. Relying on his Sixth Sense, Encrid had barely managed to shift his weight backward. That tipped his body back enough to save him from a critical wound.

Blackie's dark blade passed over his thin trousers. Blood slowly seeped from the slit, soaking the fabric.

That one strike told him.

"A knight?" Encrid murmured.

"Only at the threshold."

Ragna was matter-of-fact. Watching him, Rem found that nonchalance even more obnoxious and spoke up.

"You spenadul bastard."

Spenadul was a western word that literally meant a bastard who would smoke tobacco through his asshole. In western terms, it carried the profound meaning of expecting something from an utterly pointless act. In practice, it was a common insult for a layabout.

Naturally, no one understood it. Even if Ragna had, he would hardly have reacted.

With the same unchanged air, Ragna raised Blackie. The dark greatsword, made of immensely heavy black gold, rested in one hand, yet looked lighter than a rapier. If he lashed out with it, the blade seemed as though it would bend like a whip.

He was not deliberately exerting intimidation, but anyone seeing him now would have backed away. His sword looked like divine punishment that could not be stopped, like black lightning about to fall from the sky. Though he had yet to swing, everyone watching could see the force his blade would unleash.

Audin's brow furrowed slightly. That was not a strike he could block with his bindings in place.

Though the sword had yet to fall, Teresa saw a vision of her shield splitting. Dunbachel streamed cold sweat. She saw her own death. That was a sword stroke she must not face if she wanted to live.

Veins bulged on Pell's hand as he gripped Idol Slayer. Roford recalled the true knight of the knight order he had seen just once. He, too, had recognized it correctly.

Standing to one side, Luagarne watched Encrid intently. Everyone showed their tension. That was what a knight was: a natural disaster that changed the surrounding air by its presence alone. A calamity.

What if that calamity stood before you with a sword? What if that sword was aimed at you?

The Frog's protruding eyes remained fixed not on Ragna, who had reached the threshold of knighthood, but on Encrid. More precisely, she could not look away.

'He's smiling?'

Encrid smiled. It was the same smile he had worn when the ferryman first told him he would die, that a wall would block his path, and that he should repeat today. No one could have known it, but it was.

Encrid smiled.

WHOOSH.

The black lightning came without thunder. The thunderless blade looked as though it would split Encrid in two.

CLANG!

Naturally, that did not happen.

Blood trickled down. Encrid had raised his swords above his forehead to block, but the force drove him back, and his own blade cut his brow. Drops of blood ran down his face.

Just before the black lightning struck, he had crossed Aker and his gladius to catch it. The timing had been perilously close, but he had blocked it. His hurried twist of the gladius had scraped his forehead open, causing the bleeding.

The blood ran down in enough drops to stain his face red. Even so, he did not close his eyes.

No great realization had come to him. But Encrid had spent his entire life a wanderer, searching for a way, losing himself on the roads, roaming in search of a signpost. He was a lunatic who had stitched together the torn fragments of his dream and made it this far.

That was why this moment filled him with joy.