Chapter 435 - The Lake of Experience

Encrid had stalled so many times in his life that he had forgotten how to feel impatient. He simply did what needed doing. He ran, leaped, and climbed mountains.

Luagarne left no tool unused. People or otherwise, she put everything to work. This was one example.

Just yesterday, Encrid had fought Dunbachel, Teresa, and Roford together. He had expected their pride alone to keep them from accepting a three-on-one fight, but all three agreed without hesitation.

Luagarne taught them a formation that would keep them from getting in one another's way. That alone made it difficult for Encrid to gain the upper hand. Their tactics were exceedingly troublesome.

Dunbachel used her characteristic speed and agility to circle him, striking only at openings, while Teresa relentlessly pressed her shield at him from the front. Teresa was already a difficult opponent: her technique for obscuring his vision had grown more refined, and her overall proficiency had clearly improved.

Beside those two, Roford swung his sword steadily. This was not the Heavy Sword Technique. He was calculating various moves and countermoves as he struck.

Sometimes, for instance, Roford swung at empty air rather than directly at Encrid. When that was the only place left to dodge, Encrid had to go out of his way to knock the sword aside. That naturally created an opening, and Dunbachel's curved blade darted into it.

Encrid caught a fresh glimpse of Roford's talent.

'He's calculating moves with all three of them fighting together?'

That sort of talent would shine when commanding a small force.

Roford was indeed awakening his talent: a sense that let him read the course of a battle as though looking down from above. It would work not only in small-unit tactics like these, but in individual combat as well.

It was a textbook example of the Righteous Sword Technique. Luagarne had spoken of suggestion and checks, but Roford drove his opponent back with steady, committed swings.

'Impressive.'

Encrid recognized Roford's talent. Luagarne had spotted it long before and awakened it with just a few pieces of advice.

It might have brought home the stark difference in their talent all over again, but Encrid paid it no mind. His training left him too busy gasping for breath every day. What else could he do?

Whatever Dunbachel had been doing, her skills had improved markedly too. She demonstrated killing techniques that used her entire body, from her two curved swords to the claws on her hands and feet. Slashes born of the realm of instinct. Claws thrust out with deliberate thought amid them. It was chaotic, and all the harder to block for it.

In any case, he had barely held out against the three of them yesterday. Today brought a still more unusual suggestion.

"Have you ever fought a mage?"

Before Encrid could answer Luagarne, a woman with long, straight hair, wearing only a thin robe, emerged from behind the Frog. Esther, of course.

"Is it necessary for improving your swordsmanship?" she asked in turn.

Encrid thought for a moment before answering.

"It might be."

Truthfully, he had no idea, but there would be something to gain. Encrid's greatest strength was his ability to make a teacher of everything in the world, everything he saw.

Esther did not refuse either. She blinked her large eyes a few times, combed back her hair with one hand, and raised the other.

"Then let's do that. Demuller's Scythe."

As she spoke, she extended her thumb, index finger, and middle finger in a seemingly meaningless gesture. At that same instant, Encrid drew Aker and swung.

CLANG!

The blade of compressed air flying toward him shattered against his sword. A faint recoil ran through both his arms. It felt as though he had blocked a full-force sword stroke from a thick-armed warrior.

He might have been startled, but the moment he blocked, Encrid reversed his motion and advanced. He kicked off the ground, leaving an afterimage in his wake. Anyone short of a knight would have struggled even to follow him with their eyes.

"Beware the snake."

Esther's words slipped into that brief interval and drove into his ears. No, her voice resonated through his entire head. He felt compelled to heed it.

It was strange. He was charging straight ahead, wholly focused, yet another person's voice rang vividly in his ears. At the same time, he saw an illusion of Aker turning into a snake in his hand and coiling around his arm. The vision vanished in the blink of an eye, thanks to his determination of refusal activating on its own.

CLANG!

Encrid's sword stopped above Esther's outstretched palm. A mage's barrier.

How could he break it? He had done this once before, when he cut off the Count's head. Raise the sword vertically, then bring it down in a downward cut from the Heavy Sword Technique.

He imbued it with the determination to cut. It fell short of Ragna's black thunderbolt, but the stroke was something like a thunderbolt nonetheless.

"It will be stopped."

Esther spoke as her hands moved ceaselessly through changing shapes. After several such gestures, barriers overlapped above her head and caught Encrid's sword.

"Roita's Sticky Web."

A passing mage would have been horrified. Esther had manifested the spell first, then spoken its trigger words. This was a technique called delayed incantation, something most mages would not dare attempt.

To put it simply, Encrid was helplessly outmatched by Esther. The saying that a prepared mage was more frightening than a knight existed for a reason. She proved it.

The Count's magic had been vast in scale and overwhelming. Having fought through ten thousand wraiths, Encrid had believed he would hold the advantage in a fight against a mage. He was wrong.

Of course, he had no idea how extraordinary a mage Esther was. In particular, when it came to fighting individuals, she was already a genius few mages could hope to match. Even Galaf, He Who Holds the River's Course, whom they had encountered on a battlefield prepared by Aspen, would have fled at the sight of her had she been in proper condition.

Esther felt threatened three times while fighting Encrid. Driving a mage of her caliber that far was an impressive feat, but Encrid did not realize it.

"One more round?"

He simply did what he always did.

"As many as you like."

Esther readily nodded. If he wanted it, she need only oblige.

She did not back down. That day, Encrid broke his left arm and had to have his hair trimmed short after it caught fire.

"That looks good on you too."

Luagarne, whose eye for beauty was unerring, liked Encrid's short hair as well.

Encrid made no dramatic leap forward through all this. Still, simply changing his perspective brought considerable gains.

"When facing a mage, merely talking to them means handing them the first attack."

Esther offered advice on fighting mages. Encrid took every word to heart. Receiving instruction and turning it over again and again until he absorbed it was something he did better than anything else. So that was what he did.

Esther smiled. Seeing it, Encrid said,

"You shouldn't smile at other people carelessly."

Come to think of it, she smiled as rarely as Sinar.

"Why?" Esther asked.

"I imagine a mirror would tell you. You threaten to pluck out anyone's eyes if they look through that thin robe, and you don't know?"

"No, I know. This is a weapon too. Those who lose themselves in my face naturally forget for a moment that I'm a mage."

Where did tactics begin? Encrid gained a small new insight. What if tending to one's appearance could distract an opponent's gaze? It touched on the principles of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

"Excellent."

"My face is always excellent."

Esther answered without her smile. He had meant her tactics, not her face, but Encrid saw no need to clarify.

Anyone overhearing their conversation would have found it utterly cold, but the two of them thought they had shared an unusually warm exchange. Esther acknowledged that she had become part of this group before she knew it.

"What about that soldier?"

Encrid asked after their sparring ended. He had seen Esther bring a soldier over, saying she would teach him, and occasionally summon him to do something.

"He has talent," Esther replied briefly.

That was all. Encrid asked no more.

Esther was not trying to raise an apprentice. Her first reason was to redefine her own knowledge through teaching. Her second was that, left alone, he would clearly learn some half-baked magic and cause trouble anyway.

Wasn't it obviously better to steer him toward something useful? Watching what that man Encrid did day after day had opened her mind to the idea.

Did a mage need to be narrow-minded?

'Not anymore.'

Esther admitted it. She had spent her life shut away alone, researching and struggling, but she had also learned much by keeping people around her and observing them. No, for her, that had been even more helpful.

"All right. Just don't kill him."

Encrid said it because false rumors occasionally spread that Esther was using the soldier as a sacrifice.

"If bad luck kills him in the process, there's nothing to be done."

Esther said this because she knew how perilous the path of magic was. Encrid read no malice in her words and nodded. She would not truly be using him as a sacrifice.

Granted, a few soldiers had frightened themselves after seeing the characters inscribed on the body of their friend whom Esther had dragged away. But a mind that crumbled over something like that would shatter just as easily on the battlefield. Encrid wanted to raise strong soldiers. They ought to be able to overcome trivial rumors like these without difficulty.

Thus, sparring with a mage became part of Encrid's daily routine.

"What will you do if your opponent uses suggestion and checks?"

Throughout the process, Luagarne began sharing her experience: the experience of a Frog who had sought battle and combat for over a hundred years, searching within them for what she did not know, exploring the unknown.

"Suggestion and checks aren't everything, but if you can use them, there is no finer Illusion Sword Technique."

"A steadfast sword breaks through that easily."

"Then account for your opponent's steadfast, heavy sword as well. Better yet, brother, deflect it, catch the arm, and twist it."

-You can use suggestion and checks with your eyes as well. If your opponent is sensitive enough, determination alone will suffice.

Before long, Ragna's opinions joined Luagarne's lessons, Audin contributed, and even Jaxon left notes despite saying he was busy. Surprisingly, Rem rarely stepped in.

From Luagarne, Encrid gained experience. From the others' words, ways to overcome that experience. Then he put it all into practice with his body, again and again.

"This would have been boring before. At least it's better now."

Amid it all came something from Ragna that barely qualified as praise.

The old Encrid, who could not properly reproduce what he was taught, was gone. His body had grown more solid than ever, proof that all his work with the Isolation Technique had not been in vain. The improvement in his balance showed simply in the way he straightened himself from the feet up and stood with his weight distributed between both feet.

In short, he had become a proto knight who could withstand the black thunderbolt.

Luagarne had not intended every outcome, but the time, experience, and training she gave him helped Encrid tremendously. His skills did not improve by leaps and bounds overnight, but his learning broadened his perspective and changed the scope of his thinking.

Naturally, this affected the others too. Roford, in particular, crossed a certain wall under Luagarne's instruction.

He had been born with this sort of talent. He could not see one step ahead, but he displayed a knack for using his sword to drive an opponent into a trap.

There was an old saying on the continent. Was it best to predict one move ahead? Or was it best to make even that move unfold according to one's own intentions?

It described two approaches to the Righteous Sword Technique. Roford had the talent to follow the latter faithfully.

"Not bad."

Encrid said it as they sparred, and Roford nodded with a satisfied expression. This was recognition from the very man whose approval he sought. How could he not be happy? Yet satisfaction showed before joy or elation.

Frogs enjoyed observing humans, and so they liked beautiful ones. Their fondness for attractive humans meant they knew how to read their expressions. Luagarne saw satisfaction on Roford's face. Utter, complete satisfaction.

Once again, she realized that this was what set Encrid apart from everyone else more than anything. He was never satisfied.

'One more time.'

Wasn't that what he said most often during training? He might enjoy the moment and revel in elation, but he was never satisfied.

'Would he stop, content, once he became a knight?'

Not a chance.

Luagarne knew the world of knights. Even within that world, differences existed. Take Ragna, for instance.

'Among knights, he's still only a beginner.'

Better than a broken knight, of course.

Exceptional talent? By the time one became a knight, talent was hardly worth discussing. Comparing talents at that rank was laughable. Calling any of them a genius hardly did them justice.

From that point on, effort, direction, insight, and the quality of one's willpower would matter more than talent.

The world of knights was vast too. Luagarne knew that. Naurilia's knights alone were proof enough.

'And what of that knight in the western kingdom?'

Or Anu, the Mercenary King?

Every one of them was a calamity. Ragna had risen to a similar level, and the Fairy seemed to have done so as well, but they still had shortcomings.

Knighthood was not the end, but the beginning. Most proto knights who could not cross the wall to knighthood failed because they did not know that. At least, that was Luagarne the explorer's judgment.

A knight's power was a mirage one could never reach by running toward it as a final destination. In that regard, she had no concerns about Encrid. That man, so full of desire and greed, appeared to have no intention of ever stopping.

'What a shame about his talent.'

Enough so that the thought came unbidden. What if that man had possessed outstanding talent? Or at least something extraordinary, above the ordinary? He need not even have been called a genius. What if he had possessed just that much?

'Or failing that, if only he had been given more time than other people.'

What if, for instance, one day for others were a week for him?

It was an idle fantasy. Something that would not happen. Dwelling on things that would never happen was foolish. All the more foolish when looking at Encrid, a man who would swing his sword one more time rather than waste that time worrying.

Luagarne believed that man would become a knight. It was a certainty that needed no reason.