347 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

347. It Couldn't Get Any Better Enkried volunteered to escort Krang, but it wasn't an immediate task. "We'll stay here for ten days, maybe a week if it's short." That was Markus's decision. "Wouldn't staying longer be too risky?" Krys interjected with concern, but Markus shook his head. "Isn't it too much of an adventure just for a simple visit?" Krys quickly grasped Markus's implication, as did Enkried. They hadn't come merely to see him; there were additional pragmatic purposes for visiting the city of Border Guard. It made sense, after all. Count Molsen was a powerful figure whose influence reached the very heart of the noble society in the capital. Avoiding the notice of such a person, and with the queen still reigning at the central court... Whether she was indifferent to succession or harbored other intents was unclear. In this scenario, attempting to usurp the queen would either be easy or exceedingly difficult. The foundation, position, and advantages were absent at the start. They possessed only the bloodline of a royal bastard. 'Not to mention that distinctive charm.' Krys had only seen one other who naturally exuded such radiance. The first, needless to say, was Enkried. 'The leader is unique in his own way.' In Krys’s view, Krang was different in other aspects. He was like a massive galleon, drawing people in and using them as stepping stones. Enkried, on the other hand, was more like a flag than a ship. He stood alone and forged ahead. Sometimes he became a signpost, a target, or a shield protecting the way forward. 'Not to mention his exceptional abilities.' Regardless, that galleon—or rather, Krang—was engaged in an uphill battle. To not just endure but to achieve something in such a struggle demonstrated a formidable capacity for both the individual and those surrounding him. "So, are we leaving now or not?" Now that the cold had cleared, Lemm was brimming with renewed energy. Yet, Lemm didn’t understand a word of the conversation. He simply picked his nose in irritation and asked. "Wait." Enkried knew how to handle beasts, showing his palm to Lemm and instructing him. "Not yet, wait." His manner was akin to dealing with a puppy. "......" Lemm silently held his axe, and swift chops naturally followed. It was half-intended teasing as well. In that spare time, they sparred. Training or conditioning. * * * Digging a single hole allows you to dig deeper than digging several holes. Pick one and dig. That's the advice anyone hears when they first pick up a weapon, whether it be a sword or an axe. Straight, heavy, deceptive, swift, soft. Which one will you hone? If you corner ten so-called adept swordsmen and ask them, ten will give you the same answer. If you dig wells in several holes, no water will be drawn from any, and you'll die of thirst. Of course, this also means that you have to dig where there's likely water to be found—choosing a path suitable to you—but that’s another nuanced discussion. The conclusion to this is simple: "Dig just one well." Ask a hundred people, and the answer will be much the same. However, Enkried didn't follow that convention. He worked on various wells, digging different holes. The heart of a beast, sensory techniques, methods of isolation, focused concentration. He learned a bit of everything—even swordplay. One hundred out of a hundred would say it's a misguided path. Yet, none of his comrades in the Battalion of Madmen criticized him for it. They didn’t question him. Truths or commonly perceived truths among ten or a hundred people could occasionally find variations among a thousand or ten thousand. "Why does it have to be that way?" They would inquire, or "Why bother? Just follow where your hand leads." Such conversations sometimes lead to this comment: "Are all geniuses like you?" Most such individuals end up being regarded as madmen or envied. Understandably so. They choose paths atypical of others yet lead. They aren’t in stride with their peers. Ordinary individuals, seeing such advance, grapple with despair. Talent became a form of discrimination. The world is not fair. Fortune does not favor everyone. It is a universally acknowledged truth. Enkried often heard similar advice: "Focus on just one." Commit to the Valen-style mercenary sword. "Why not concentrate solely on a swift strike? At least you'll be better than now." He often received advice urging specialization in a swift, decisive first strike. Such advice came from those who respected Enkried’s perseverance. But Enkried didn't follow it. He didn’t dig just one well. Rather, he couldn’t afford to. To survive, he couldn’t confine himself. Moreover, he naturally embraced a diversity of skills after receiving what seemed both a curse and a blessing. During that journey, did he never think to dig just one well? He did, but he disregarded it. Everyone’s advice couldn’t be the absolute truth. Enkried acted following his instincts. Above all, the joy of it led him. 'This is fun, too.' That was enjoyable. Thanks to daily repetition, what could be arduous translated into exhilaration. He embraced it, rendering the debate over one versus multiple wells pointless. He layered his swordplay over the skills imparted by the Battalion of Madmen. Every process was sheer delight. Each day was new. Waking up every morning was like unwrapping a gift. Growth and transformation immersed him in joy. Such was possible only because Enkried wasn't like the average person. Even if crawling, moving forward brings joy—is that conceivable? Not to everyone. It was a privilege unique to Enkried. Truly grateful for the refusal to settle, every day, every moment was always fresh and thrilling. All this enthusiasm, the blessing and curse alike, and the fateful meeting with the Battalion of Madmen that started by chance and persisted as a bond. Combining all these elements, Enkried drew water from multiple wells. "If I had to divide the talents for swordsmanship, weapons, or martial arts, I see it as twofold." This was advice from an instructor in a large city—a man with firm principles and standards. "One is here." He pointed a finger at his forehead. "The talent for using a sword with your mind. It's about observation, judgment, thinking, and strategizing. The second is the talent of the body. Can your body follow through with what you've conceived? You close your eyes when the sword flies toward you, right? No matter how much you focus, it's not easy. What does that tell you? Your body doesn't keep up with your mind." So, focus on one. If you want to wield a sword, strike first. It was also this person who advised concentrating on the swift sword technique of mercenaries. However, none in the Battalion of Madmen spoke such words. They were individuals who shattered common sense. Even within the elven race, Sinard was considered a rarity. Most importantly, from their perspective, the skills Enkried had amassed were interconnected. There was no need to obsess over a single well. "That move just now was good." Just as Lemm experienced moments ago. The Method of Isolation followed by Audin's martial arts trickled into his swordplay. The sword technique based on the Nameless True Sword style incorporated Ragna’s heavy sword technique. Earlier, Enkried swung a silver longsword with his right hand, placed his left hand on Ember, and stepped half a pace forward with his left foot. Ember is a fast, straight thrusting sword. Faced with its seemingly imminent emergence, Lemm had to swing his axe to intercept. Deflect and redirect. Thoughts flowed and conclusions reached in an instant. But Ember didn’t strike. The overhead sword swing didn’t carry its weight. Just as Lemm thought it was all a decoy, Enkried had used two powerful sword techniques as bait to close the distance. He engaged in a close-quarters scuffle. It was a maneuver borrowed and adapted from the Valen mercenary sword style. Both sword techniques carried an aura of authenticity. He had learned insights from other sword techniques that bore down pressure. "It's crazy!" Lemm blurted out in excitement. By then, Enkried had already twisted Lemm's arm in the opposite direction. In a situation where his arm seemed about to break, Lemm kicked off the ground, leaping into the air and twisting his body—an almost acrobatic movement. As his arm twisted, he spun his body in the same direction. Using the edge of his hand, he struck Enkried's forearm to push him back. Enkried, stepping back, seemed to move in a calculated manner before seamlessly catching the longsword he had let slip into the air, precisely having thrown it up lightly. He immediately swung down, executing a crushing sword style. The strike combined elements of the heavy sword technique. The exhilarating style even thrilled Lemm, who had twisted in mid-air and landed, propelling himself with brutal leg strength. Lemm’s body blurred, leaving an afterimage. It seemed as if his body would split in two. Enkried’s sword cleaved the stationary image of Lemm. The retreating Lemm leaned back and then swung forward. Every motion was rapid, fierce, and raw. As he pulled his body back, he hurled both axes in his hands forward. 'Crazy.' Enkried marveled inwardly. What Lemm had displayed was a spontaneous move. Whoosh! Accompanied by explosive noise, the two axes flew like discs. Enkried tilted his sword diagonally. Thus, he perfectly blocked the trajectory of the two axes. Crash! Receiving the incoming axes, an explosive shock vibrated through his whole body. They carried immense power. The axes struck by the sword whirled upward, tracing strange arcs in the air before embedding themselves firmly into the ground. The weight in the blades prevented them from dropping handle-first. Enkried bent his knees halfway, holding the longsword with both hands, maintaining a diagonal guard. "Let's leave it at this." Seeing Enkried parrying the axes, Lemm decided to stop. Going further would risk breaking a bone or incurring serious injury. After the intense exchange, Lemm commented, "That move just now was good." Enkried caught his breath and replied. "You threw it on a whim, didn’t you?" "Why ask when you know?" Lemm laughed, his tone light-hearted. Enkried's sword-throwing technique was a result of days of contemplation. But not for Lemm. He created a technique spontaneously in response to what he observed. Yet the execution was flawless. "And after that?" "Sling, charge, martial arts." He referred to what followed the axe throwing. It's a killer technique, unsuitable for mere sparring. He would throw stones with a sling, charge in, and follow up with punches and kicks. Lemm's martial arts were of an advanced level. Most frightening was his reckless rush, closing the distance while opponents fumbled blocking the incoming stones. He intended to exploit their disrupted stance and breath. "Nice." Enkried nodded. He visualized Lemm’s movements in his mind. "Good stuff." Lemm agreed, nodding. He, too, was pleased with Enkried’s growth. Of course, he didn’t learn everything at once. His talent was indeed peculiar. Suddenly acquiring skills but gradually unfolding them made his progress seem painfully slow from the outside. Yet, Enkried never hesitated and remained unprejudiced. He genuinely admired and absorbed his opponent’s techniques. What an admirable approach. "Is it fun?" "Do you need to ask?" Aside from Lemm, Enkried occasionally crossed blades with Ragna. Training with Audin remained constant. In the meantime, "Take me with you!" Not fully understanding what Dunbarkel was, he eagerly volunteered. He wished to join the escort mission. Enkried nodded. It was clear that assassins or other threats would emerge. Would it be dangerous? Is this path a thorny road? Is it filled with nothing but peril? It certainly would be. Yet knowing that, Enkried felt somewhat excited. "Why the excited face?" The perceptive Wide-eyed asked, noticing his expression. Each time, Enkried answered sincerely. "What kind of people do you think will attack us?" Krys racked his brain, considering a few assassin groups he knew of. He had started his life in the backstreets, after all, so he knew quite a bit. In fact, he knew even more now, thanks to running the Gilpin Guild like an information network. "Troublesome ones?" Enkried chuckled brightly at Krys's words, a smile like sunshine in spring, causing Krys to frown. "Is this really something to laugh about?" "Isn't it?" Tap, tap. Lemm tapped Krys on the head while watching the exchange with amusement. "If you understand this guy's mind, you'd be a madman too." Enkried felt a twinge of annoyance at that. The craziest person calling him crazy? Was this like a ghoul calling another beast ugly? 'No, that's not quite right.' That phrase is usually when similar people disparage each other. A more fitting saying here would be a dog covered in mud calling another dog dirty. "Fine. Bring it, Lemm. I accept your challenge to a duel." "...Where in my words was there a duel challenge?" "In all of them." "It sounded more like picking a fight to me." To Krys, they were two of a kind. Anyway, with various little incidents, five days went by quickly. "The task was completed sooner than expected." A formal request came from Markus. The royal family requested a protection job. Officially, it involved escorting members of the family’s trade caravan, internally it meant protecting a royal bastard. They were the targets of the assignment, with the duration set separately. The escort would go from Border Guard to the kingdom's capital. Two days later, as evening approached and decisions had been made on who would go and who would stay behind... "Well, damn. Sneaking in here like a stray cat. Who do you think you are, sneaking in like that?" Enkried had returned after picking up useful equipment and some seasoned jerky. He also got a flask of brandy—they might have moments when a few sips of liquor were sorely needed. As he entered, Lemm commented upon seeing someone in the tent. "Sneaking? You're just too dull to notice." Sitting silently without even lighting a lamp, the person blended in with the surroundings, like an inanimate object. "You're back?" Enkried said, standing just inside the tent. Saxon, who had returned, nodded. "Yes, I’m back. But I’ll have to leave again soon." "Where to?" "I have matters to attend to in the capital." "...By 'capital,' you mean the very place where the Nawrilia palace is?" In response to Enkried's question, Saxon blinked from his seat. "That's what I meant, naturally." Coincidence or sheer luck? "That's where we're headed." Saxon blinked again. Where are you going? "A burden, a burden. Are you bringing him along?" Lemm chimed in, but Saxon paid no attention. "Are you going to the capital?" "Yes." "When?" "Tomorrow." Saxon thought it was quite a coincidence. He was just looking for an excuse to venture to the capital, specifically to the palace. And soon—like tomorrow—was better, so this couldn't get any better.