Chapter 92 - Because the Extraordinary and the Insane Are Only a Hair's Breadth Apart

After maintaining his boots and gloves, Encrid was wiping his sword with an oiled cloth.

Dealing with the previous pack of beasts had ended up drawing in peddlers.

And that meant Encrid would soon have a new sword.

The Valery steel that had been the material of his broken sword was melted down again.

Noir wrought iron was mixed into it.

It was the work of mixing two kinds of high-quality iron recognized across the continent.

"No one but me can do this."

The blacksmith bragged loudly.

He had every right to.

Even if he could not forge magic swords.

When it came to handling metal, his skill was no less than a magician's.

Within the Border Guard, he could be called a renowned craftsman.

Of course, one could also say he was only barely famous inside the city.

Still, that was something.

In the end, that craftsman had made his sword for him.

Even Ragna, who was fussy when it came to weapons, especially swords, half-nodded in approval.

"It's decent enough. Though it would be bad for me to use."

The reason it was only half a nod was because he added that.

Encrid carefully wiped the blade with the oiled cloth, then flicked a finger against it.

TING.

A fairly good resonant note rang out.

For Encrid, it was the first sword he had ever used that could be called a fine blade.

So how could he not be satisfied?

Ragna, who was never easily satisfied when it came to swords, would grab and use any scrap of metal lying around.

The chipped arming sword he had used before had been too much of a bother for him to sharpen himself on a whetstone, so Encrid had even sharpened the blade for him instead.

If he had not, Ragna would have simply carried around the chipped sword as it was.

"Esther, that's not a toy."

After finishing the sword maintenance, Encrid gently coaxed Esther.

There were a few items he had brought back after killing the corpse lover in the sewers.

He had told Krais about them, intending to sell them off.

But one of them was troublesome to dispose of even in the back alleys, so he had simply kept it.

"The cover was wrapped in human skin. Was there really a magician in the sewers?"

That was what Krais had said when Encrid entrusted the items to him.

But the question sounded as if he did not believe Encrid had killed the magician in the sewers.

"You didn't believe me?"

"I did, but now I believe you a little more."

... That sounded like he had not believed him.

"So that one will be a bit difficult to handle, and the staff and the rest, yes, sold well."

There were many people in the world who wanted rare items.

According to Krais, anyway.

It was a field Encrid had no interest in.

And so he sold the black wooden staff and several stones.

The staff was said to be a crude item made by the magician.

The several stones were said to be items related to alchemy, but nothing particularly impressive.

Thus, the payments Krais had promised from the Gilfin Guild, the crona gained from killing the magician, the proceeds from selling the items, the payment for carrying out requests, and so on.

He poured all of it into buying the sword.

To begin with, Noir wrought iron was damn expensive.

He did not regret the crona.

'It would have been nice if there had been a little more Valery steel.'

"Spending that much money on one sword."

Krais had said that too, but Encrid was satisfied.

For someone who lived by the blade, what could be more important than a weapon?

Even if it was a consumable, if he could take the advantage of a superior weapon into a fight where his life was at stake, would he really spare the crona?

"This much is enough."

And so the grimoire remained, and because the human skin made him uneasy, he had wrapped another thin layer of cloth over it and stored it roughly at his place, only for Esther to find it and carry it back to her spot.

What would happen if she pissed on it?

What was a grimoire?

It could be called a treasure in which a magician recorded and filled in what he possessed over the course of his life.

It was important enough to bear the grand name of the path of magic, the pursuit of magical arts.

And a leopard was using such a grimoire as a mat.

'Is it all right to leave it like that?'

At the very least, it seemed she would not piss on it.

Esther never relieved herself in front of the unit members.

Whether this was a habit of the feline family or not, she always hid somewhere and took care of it.

She washed herself often too.

Encrid stopped paying attention to the grimoire.

He did not know how much value the grimoire might have.

But if he reached out to take it right away.

"Hiss!"

Esther hissed, which was rare for her.

"Leave it be. Guess it's comfortable."

When Rem added that from the side, Encrid could only nod.

And so, after disposing of the legacy the magician had left behind as he died and turning it into a sword.

Encrid still devoted himself to training.

Every day, he woke earlier than the sun and brought the start of his day a little further forward.

A Platoon Commander only had to stand separate duty once every ten days.

Usually, it was duty where he made surprise inspections of the patrolmen or night watchmen standing guard for around four to six hours.

Thanks to no longer having to stand ordinary duty like this, he had time left over and could begin his day a little earlier than before.

In other words, Encrid's day began two hours ahead of the wake-up time for ordinary soldiers.

"Mrrp."

On the morning of an ordinary day when he woke like that, after setting down Esther, who had been curled in his arms.

He went outside.

The cold had not fully left yet, so the air before dawn carried a wind that cut at the skin.

Was this what they called a biting wind?

Facing that wind, Encrid began by steadying his breathing.

The beginning was the isolation technique.

He moved his body and generated heat.

With devices made of heavy stones and the like, he placed a load on his muscles.

As he warmed up his body that way, Audin came out of the quarters and stood beside Encrid, beginning the isolation technique himself.

"Good morning, Brother Platoon Leader."

Was this supposed to be giving him proper treatment?

The title Platoon Leader had now been attached before Brother.

Hearing that, he was reminded of what the Company Commander had said about soon filling out the headcount of his unit members.

"Focus."

As soon as his thoughts drifted, Audin scolded him.

"Got it."

If he let his mind wander, he could not properly perform the technique.

The way to focus on breathing and muscles.

That was what Audin emphasized.

Encrid did just that.

It was the process of training his body again, and then training it again.

And the isolation technique was not all he did.

His thought that he needed to organize what he had did not change.

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

Swordsmanship, including the Heavy Sword Technique.

The application of swordsmanship.

The eye to look at a body and discern the opponent's degree of training and specialties.

Predicting attacks based on the Sixth Sense and intuition.

Speaking of swordsmanship, there was also the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique he had originally possessed.

'Can I use it, or should I discard it?'

There was no need to discard it.

That was the conclusion Encrid reached.

How one used what one possessed depended on the individual's ability.

'If my ability is lacking, I just have to build it up.'

Boldness was always necessary.

If only because it proved its value by keeping him from closing his eyes at critical moments.

Encrid saw Heart of a Beast as the foundation of everything.

'Calmly.'

And so, on some days, he trained his Sixth Sense.

On other days, he tried mixing his senses and concentration.

'Mix them together and carve them into my body.'

A single thrust of a sword was something into which various experiences melted.

He acquired it by instinct and recognized it with his head.

Then it was the process of hammering it back into his body.

Of course, there was no way it would be easy.

In this process, Encrid gradually settled on his own pattern and method.

'Training alone won't even come close.'

What he needed was real combat.

Real combat that combined conditioning and training.

If possible.

'Real combat where I put my life on the line.'

["I told you before. If you fight with your life on the line and survive, you gain a lot. But since you only have one life, building skill that way doesn't really make sense."]

Rem's joking words had been the correct answer.

Encrid knew now.

The importance of real combat with one's life on the line.

Of course, dying was not what mattered.

What mattered was overcoming death again and again.

Because he knew the necessity of real combat, Encrid accepted requests.

From small ones to violent ones.

He did not discriminate against any of them.

"What did you ask me to find?"

"My cat, please."

It was a noblewoman's request.

Was the unit at fault for accepting even this kind of request?

No, this too was something necessary, so he was doing it.

Encrid deliberately did not pick and choose requests.

Whatever the situation, whatever the moment.

'I believe everything helps with training.'

He repeated that to himself, and because he truly accepted it that way.

Encrid found the cat that had climbed up a tree.

"Let's go quietly."

The cat looked ready to flee.

He could see it in the realm of the Sixth Sense and intuition.

Absurdly enough, this too became a realization.

He made the cat's instincts move as he intended.

He projected bloodlust and momentum, making it leap down from the tree.

Then he caught it with a soft thump against his chest and subdued it with his gaze.

Now even something like this was possible.

"Because you've opened the door of the Sixth Sense."

That was what Jaxon added.

Now, Jaxon did not torment Encrid at every hour of the day.

The time to be harried by bloodlust had passed.

Now, that had no meaning either.

The requests began with finding a cat.

"They say someone committed robbery and hid in the city?"

There were requests like this too.

Some drifter had come into the city and done something clumsy.

"Find him."

When they swallowed up the Gilfin Guild, Encrid had not known he would use it like this.

But perhaps Krais had expected it, because he smoothly took care of the necessary work one after another.

It was a back-alley gambling den.

The man was a retired soldier with a scar on his forehead.

"You want to fight me? Fuck, I come to the outskirts and end up seeing all kinds of shit. I hear the Border Guard standing forces are pretty good? Come at me, then."

Confidence.

Did he also have the skill to match?

It did not seem like it.

This was a good chance to test the eye he had developed all this time.

After pretending to be pushed back moderately and testing the opponent's moves.

'Middle-grade at best, maybe upper-grade.'

That was based on Naurilia's soldier grading system.

There was no unexpected skill.

"Huff, huff, what the hell are you?"

"Border Guard standing forces."

With those words as the end, Encrid broke the man's leg appropriately and escorted him away.

The captured man would be locked in the prison within the unit.

Unless someone paid his fine for him, he would never come out for the rest of his life.

"You'll see."

He did say that.

But Encrid did not think they would meet again.

After that, there were also several times when he was dispatched to inns to break up fights between merchant association escorts.

Among them, one had fairly outstanding skill.

While crossing hands with him, Encrid also practiced mixing Concentrate on a Single Point and Sense of the Blade.

Focusing while the door of his senses was open.

He had done it several times before, but there were things he realized anew.

The difference in concentration changed many things.

'It slows down.'

Not as much as before, but it was an effect where the opponent's sword appeared slower.

It was because the opponent moved exactly as he predicted.

And because there was an actual difference in cognitive speed.

Everything was a continuation of training.

It was the continuation of conditioning and more conditioning.

As he carried out all sorts of requests.

"No, are you some crazy bastard obsessed with requests?"

Talk began to spread among the soldiers.

It was not criticism.

"Does he have ten bodies or something? Doesn't he rest? Why doesn't he rest?"

"He isn't human. Not human."

Rather than criticism, it was surprise, and rather than surprise, it was admiration.

"He didn't become a Platoon Commander for nothing."

"Shit, I should start waking up a little earlier and get in the habit of thrusting a spear a few times too."

Thanks to Encrid, an untimely training craze even broke out.

He had proven himself with skill.

His reputation among the soldiers was good too.

Rumors spread that he was above upper-grade soldier, and he had become a Platoon Commander.

There were also soldiers whose lives had been saved thanks to Encrid.

All of this worked together, and a training craze arose within the unit.

Everyone ended up waking a little earlier and training their bodies.

Encrid did not pay it much attention.

He was busy enough looking at the path immediately ahead of him.

Throughout his training, Encrid also felt a faint flame burning in his chest.

What had he originally been like when going out onto the battlefield?

Even if it was not fear, it had been difficult to enjoy.

The battlefield had not been welcome.

'I don't think this is normal.'

Now, he looked forward to the battlefield.

He wanted to go out and fight.

He wanted to prove himself.

He wanted to show his skill.

There, he wanted to put his life on the line and cross the line of death once more.

It was definitely crazy talk.

And.

["Don't you know being extraordinary and being crazy are only a hair's breadth apart?"]

Rem's words came to mind once again.

If the path toward the extraordinary was permitted only to madmen.

Then should he not go mad?

One day, filled with training and requests.

"It might be fun if we went at it once more."

The Company Commander summoned Encrid to her personal training ground and said that.

"A spar?"

Naturally, Encrid did not refuse.

"Gladly."

The situation was the same as before.

Then would the result be the same too?

That was something he could not know.

With Encrid's eye as it was now, he still could not tell how skilled the Fairy Company Commander truly was.

But he did not think he would be beaten like before.

Of course, all of this was something he could only know after directly crossing hands or blades.

Soon, the Company Commander straightened her hand to make a knife-hand and said.

"Today, let's do it with this."

This felt like a test too.

The spar with the Company Commander before had been what made him realize his own shortcomings.

What he had lacked then was close-quarters grappling.

The things called wrestling.

Encrid nodded.

Soon, the knife-hands of the two struck through the air and met.

TAP.

The short impact was their greeting.