Chapter 433 - Permission Had Never Been Given

The lunatic, both pilgrim and madman wandering in search of a dream, had met three knights.

The first was the knight from Aspen. Every technique he possessed was fast and powerful. Even knowing what was coming did not make it possible to block.

No, now Encrid could probably block a blow that lacked any real commitment if he knew it was coming. But that was how it had felt then. The man's physical abilities had seemed to belong to an entirely different order. His sword strokes reflected that.

The next person he encountered with knight-level might was Anu, the Mercenary King. He had not shown everything he possessed, only a tiny fraction. And the Mercenary King was a Beastman. Those techniques were what he could achieve without even transforming.

Even so, Encrid had seen, felt, and learned much, because Anu had fought as though slowly demonstrating each thing in turn. What he had shown was artistry. From incomprehensible movements, his spearhead had come flying at unimaginable angles.

The last stood right before him, drawing back the black blade he had brought down. Ragna's sword was a one-strike kill. A sword that would kill without fail. It embodied the defining characteristic of the Heavy Sword Technique.

Not all knights were alike. What was this experience the Mercenary King had spoken of? Where did these differences begin?

'By honing what you have.'

If you believed the path you walked was right, you should take another step rather than look back and agonize. The king's words remained vivid in his memory. His lesson was clear.

The moment Encrid understood that, he knew for certain: neither talent nor heaven would grant him what he sought.

'A genius among geniuses.'

One in ten thousand. Gather those people, then choose and choose again until only one remained. That was a knight.

'So what?'

Did that change anything? No. It was no different from usual. It had always been this way. Permission had never been given.

What if he found a way, even without permission from heaven, talent, or anyone else? This was one such way. Encrid felt he understood. He could see a clue. That was why he smiled, why his mouth opened and the words escaped before passing through his brain.

"Again."

His arms trembled. Unless he braced his stomach, he felt he would be driven backward. It was like standing without so much as a walking stick before a storm fierce enough to uproot trees. Like climbing a glacial mountain range where piss froze as it left you, without even a rag to wear.

'No, that's not right.'

He had a walking stick. And though it might be no more than rags, he had clothing wrapped around him.

Encrid steadied his resolve. Everything he had built up so far was his clothing and his walking stick. There was no tomorrow for someone who denied all they had accumulated and could not believe in themselves. So believing in himself was the first step.

That, too, was part of what the Mercenary King had meant. Walk the path you believed was right. Do not turn away from what you had built.

Encrid smiled at Ragna and asked with his eyes: Was he planning to finish with just one swing?

As though the answer were obvious, Ragna assumed his stance. Blackie rose perpendicular to the ground, its blade splitting the sun. He intended to repeat the same movement. An attack that could not be blocked even when you knew it was coming. A stroke that recreated exactly what Encrid had felt upon first seeing the knight from Aspen.

* * *

And this was Ragna holding back.

Black lightning struck three times in all, and Encrid blocked all three. No, endured was the more accurate word. The muscles in his right arm had nearly torn, and his left arm had nearly broken.

'That reckless bastard.'

Rem, who had watched to the end, almost voiced the thought, then stopped. His neck suddenly itched, and he raised a hand to scratch it. He couldn't bring himself to make a wisecrack.

'I'd have done the same.'

He, too, agreed that it was hard to take things lightly when facing a man like Encrid. Both arms quivering, he still tried to grip his swords again. His body swayed as though he might collapse at any moment, but his eyes had lost none of their fire.

Could anyone casually face a man who challenged them with such fervor that he seemed to burn his very soul? That spenadul, that lazy bastard who would smoke through his asshole, had actually restrained himself. A little more force, and Encrid's arms would have been shattered. So it was hard to call him reckless.

"Ho ho. Our lazy brother has gained some extraordinary insight."

Audin was genuinely impressed. Knight-level swordsmanship was not an everyday sight. Even if he undid his bindings right now, he could not immediately do something like that. He, too, would need time to adjust. Or perhaps a period of grueling training.

Still, it was not beyond his reach. Rem and Audin were composed. The others were not.

Encrid had many richly talented people around him. Rem, Jaxon, and Audin were exceptional, but the others were formidable in their own right.

Teresa sank into thought, her eyes half closed. Again and again, she replayed what she had just seen. It had been lightning. A disaster descending in the form of black metal, something she could not even imagine blocking.

'Could I block that with a shield?'

Suppose she had a shield that would never break. Could the arm behind it hold out? That sword stroke had made even someone with a half-Giant's body question it.

Teresa clenched her back teeth. Her jaw muscles tightened, drawing a long ridge along her jaw. Just as despair began to rear its head, she caught sight of Encrid, who had finally passed out and collapsed after enduring those blows.

Looking at him, another emotion surged up before frustration or despair could take hold.

'I'll do it too.'

It was both a refusal to lose and a resolve not to give up. Dunbachel and Roford felt the same. They all had much to think about.

Luagarne's eyes did more than shine. Tears spilled from them.

"Why's that Frog crying?" Rem asked when he noticed.

"She seems overcome with emotion, Brother Barbarian."

Audin was right. Luagarne felt something swell in her chest. A storm of emotion swept through her, leaving her unable to speak. Her smooth Frog fingers trembled.

'How can he be like that?'

She had watched Encrid grow, but she also knew how pitiful his talent was. Her gifts as a Frog and the experience she had accumulated as Luagarne made her keenly aware of his limits at every moment.

Yet he kept advancing. What she saw went far beyond a mere absence of envy. It was the determination to advance even without heaven's permission, even without talent. It shone brighter than a falling star and burned hotter than a blazing fire. Pure, undivided determination.

'Permission had never been given.'

Encrid had said that with his entire body, then proved himself through his actions. Luagarne opened her mouth.

"He'll become a knight."

The remark came out of nowhere, but no one objected.

The Mercenary King had not left Encrid something because he was certain. What he had left was closer to a gift tossed to a man who carried his dream upon a sword.

And now, the Frog who explored the unknown precisely because she always recognized and understood reality felt a powerful certainty for which reasons no longer mattered. That man would become a knight.

The Frog was deeply moved, and everyone else was lost in thought. But of them all, Pell was the most shaken.

'What was that?'

He had never thought he would lose to anyone in talent. Why would he? He came from the Shepherds of the Wastes. Every last one of them was a monster. How many elders could he do nothing against even if he drew Idol Slayer and attacked them right now?

But that had been fine. He might be behind now, but he would soon catch up. Yet what had happened before his eyes chipped away at that confidence. What he had thought was a solid mountain seemed to scatter in the wind like a loose mound of dirt.

'Is my talent actually worthless?'

Pell could not move for shock.

* * *

If both arms were wrecked, he could train his lower body.

"You never rest. An excellent attitude. The faster your blood circulates, the faster you recover."

A properly trained healer would have called that madness. When the body was inflamed, rest came before exertion.

But there was no such healer here, and Audin was not wrong, either. Encrid's body was not so feeble that this would break it. Through the Isolation Technique and his regenerative body, he had developed a physique specialized in recovery.

It took seven days for both arms to heal completely. Exactly one week later, Encrid took up his sword and called for Ragna.

"Stop lazing around and get out here. Today I'll cure you of every one of your bad habits."

The directionally challenged man, who was swinging his sword in the center of the training ground harder than ever, turned his head and replied calmly.

"I'll spar with you even if you just ask normally."

A little embarrassed, Encrid scratched his cheek.

"Force of habit."

It was a habit he had picked up calling out Rem and the others. Habits like that did not disappear overnight. After all, telling Rem, "Get out here, you crazy barbarian bastard. I'll knock you down a peg," was not really a taunt, but a request to spar.

"This time, I'm coming from this direction."

As he spoke, Ragna held his sword parallel to the ground. Rather than driving it straight down as before, he meant to swing horizontally.

If the previous blow had been falling lightning, this one felt like a collapsing fortress wall. It was no faster than before, but there was nowhere to evade it. It also felt like an enormous boulder rolling toward him. As though it were declaring: this was a knight's strike.

This time, two of Encrid's ribs cracked. Still, he did not die.

A few days later, the pain in his side had vanished and he was well again. Sinar returned and, seeing Encrid sweating on the training ground, displayed a rare change of expression. It was only a slight lift of her left eyebrow, but Encrid knew it meant surprise.

"You must have been somewhere far away."

"Did you miss me, my battered betrothed?"

"Did you learn to add those little descriptions from Audin?"

"I'm rather past the age of learning things from others."

Encrid nodded and raised his sword. He had not forgotten what Sinar had shown him when he collapsed. If not for Ragna, he would have spent every waking and sleeping moment waiting, wondering when she would return.

Sinar raised Nidle and smiled. It was a Fairy's smile she showed only to Encrid. He did not fall under the beguiling spell of her inhuman beauty. Her smile vanished, and she closed the distance.

CLANG!

Was it thanks to Ragna? She was slower than the black lightning, and easier to block than that inescapable horizontal cut that felt like an entire fortress wall charging him.

Instead, her sword moved like a butterfly. He blocked it, only for it to curve around and abruptly drop from above. He barely blocked that, and then it was in front of him again, stabbing hard at his stomach.

While he somehow managed to block and evade, an unseen blade targeted the back of his head, despite his never letting down his guard.

She was bringing her sword down in front of him, yet a blade appeared behind him at the same time? She had shown him this trick once before. It was a secret Fairy sword art, formed from the forest's spiritual essence.

"There's nowhere to dodge," Sinar said.

Encrid smiled again. He had no intention of dodging.

He twisted sideways in an instant, blocking the Fairy's Nidle with Aker in his right hand while drawing his gladius with his left to strike aside the formless blade. The formless blade winked out without resistance, but he could not block Nidle completely.

A few similar attacks left him with a few scratches. Naturally, he lost, and this time he nearly ended up with a hole in his thigh.

"A little higher and you'd have spent the rest of your life as some new creature, neither man nor woman," Rem joked after watching.

"I nearly made a grave mistake."

After the bout, Sinar briefly looked contrite.

"It's fine."

Encrid did not mind.

What followed was a routine both ordinary and anything but. One day he sparred with Ragna, another with Sinar. In his spare time, he learned various techniques from Rem. He spent time with Audin, too, and since Jaxon no longer seemed as busy as before, he would corner him and refuse to let him go.

"The Intentless Stab isn't about making a thrust impossible to block even when they know it's coming. It's about stabbing before they know at all."

He did not necessarily have to learn it, but simply knowing a variety of techniques would help. That was why he kept learning and practicing all sorts of things.

The Fairy's blade was invisible, but it had caught in the net of his senses.

'Ultimately, is it a thrust you can neither see nor feel?'

He had intuited the Fairy's secret technique. It was an insight he gained before Sinar demonstrated it again.

Repeating days like these, repeating this training, was precisely Encrid's forte. He kept practicing writing letters with his left hand and maintained the keenness of his senses by dodging the daggers Jaxon threw.

Each day was so similar it should have been tedious, but Encrid simply did it. It was not difficult for him.

As he passed his days this way, the ferryman appeared in his dream. He had nothing in particular to say. He merely intended to scold Encrid: was he really enjoying these tedious days? If this was what he wanted, he should have stayed in a comfortable today instead.

But Encrid was quicker to ask his question.

"When is that ominous threat coming?"

Those were the blazing eyes the ferryman had seen so many times. The world he inhabited lay within the mind. That burning gaze meant Encrid was speaking with his very soul. He was asking with everything he had. His desperation showed.

The ferryman could not tell him that the ominous threat had been a curse wielder, and that the fellow had already met an untimely end. Hadn't he made such a grand show of warning Encrid to beware?

Knowing none of this, Encrid asked again.

"Is it almost here now?"

The question seemed more a desperate struggle than anticipation. The ferryman could not answer.

"Or will it be here tomorrow?" Encrid pressed.

The ferryman only cursed silently.

'Persistent bastard.'

Unable to bring himself to say anything that would damage his dignity, the ferryman closed the world without a single word, for the first time since he and the man had begun communicating.

And so Encrid woke from his dream having met only a ferryman who had suddenly lost his tongue.