Chapter 846 - Today's Me is Better Than Yesterday's Me
The swordsmanship the Ferryman had previously shown, the one for killing giants, looked different on the surface, but its core was the same as the Vortex.
'To gather all of one's strength and Will and load it into a single strike.'
Naturally, there were differences upon closer inspection.
If the Vortex was about rotation, what the Ferryman had shown was about the fall.
'Using the elasticity and weight of the entire body.'
Perhaps the person who had mainly used this swordsmanship had worn a full suit of armor forged from dark steel.
If not, they must have used some other method.
'A technique that is only meaningful if you increase your body weight.'
The image of him jumping high and plunging down was vivid in his mind.
He had cut off the giant's neck with that single blow.
'Can I increase my body's weight by using Will?'
That would be difficult.
However, if he gathered his Will at the moment of impact and struck, it would be a very heavy blow, as if his weight had changed.
Several thoughts intersected, searching for an answer.
Enkrid, as if it were natural, worked his mind.
In Themares's eyes, Enkrid's talent for using his body was strangely dull.
Now that he had reached the level of a knight, it was natural for him to be beyond the pale of an ordinary person, but no further specialness was visible.
Instead, Enkrid contemplated, deliberated, and explored.
This was a disposition he had originally possessed, and it was also something that had become more skilled as he repeated 'today.'
He naturally repeated his thoughts, digging into, dissecting, and examining everything he had seen, felt, and experienced.
'The Sword of the Fall.'
The movement would have to be large.
Inevitably, an opening in his stance would be created.
Assuming he were to use the Sword of the Fall himself, would the ferryman, the master of the swordsmanship, leave such an obvious weakness?
'No way.'
It was a swordsmanship created by a knight.
There was no way.
Then how?
He had had enough time to deliberate.
To create a new sword style, an expansion of concept and vision is essential.
Enkrid opened his eyes wide—not in a physical sense, but in a mental one.
He did not forget to learn, did not forget to listen.
He took everything he had mastered, experienced, learned, and realized, and brought it to a conclusion.
'Apply pressure with Will.'
The basis of the Sword of the Fall was to use an intimidation that ensnares the opponent.
In a way, it would be similar to Aishia's swordsmanship.
She ensnares her opponent with intimidation, restricts their movement, and then cuts and stabs.
A technique called the Sword of Detention.
Aishia did not use a heavy sword, but the form of her swordsmanship was similar.
'It would be helpful to tell Aishia to train with a heavy sword later.'
It was a point he had suddenly realized in the process of contemplation.
There is no perfect person in the world.
Also, the me of today is different from the me of tomorrow.
One who advances day by day is bound to always change.
If he had known this then, he would have told Aishia much more.
He let go of the thought about Aishia that had intervened and immersed himself in swordsmanship again.
'The principle of the killing strike is different.'
But is the foundation also different?
It is not.
Enkrid mixed the killing strike, the fall, that the Ferryman had taught him into the Vortex.
Once it was established in his head, it was time to execute it with his body.
And so, he was swinging his hand blade as a sword, without a sword.
"What are you doing?" the Ferryman asked.
Now, the moment he came to the dream or the world of imagery, it was training without a single word.
The boat creaked and rocked.
Enkrid paid it no mind.
"How is it?"
He had asked what he was doing, but a question came back in return.
The light from the lamp in the Ferryman's hand dimmed and brightened repeatedly.
It was as if he were blinking.
"Not bad," the Ferryman played along.
Enkrid nodded his head, not at all awkward.
"Then what about this?"
He then showed a few sword techniques derived from the Dragonkin.
The foundation was the five sword styles: Breaking Wave and Orthodox Swordsmanship, Flash and Coincidence, and on top of that, the Vortex.
To this, he mixed in what he had learned and mastered.
And Enkrid found this process supremely enjoyable and fun, to the point where he couldn't stop even after facing the Ferryman who had come out of his dream.
"Behold," the Ferryman said and gestured.
Through that gesture, Enkrid drew a sword.
A sword that had appeared in his hand at some point.
"When the detention tightens," he continued to speak.
Enkrid naturally demonstrated the Sword of Detention, following the Ferryman's words.
To be precise, it was the beginning of the heavy sword style called the Vortex.
In the process of gathering strength, he revealed intimidation and suppressed his opponent.
The Ferryman raised the corners of his lips from within his robe.
A few pieces of gray, dead skin fell from his face.
At the same time, the Ferryman extended the skewer-like sword in his hand.
The thrust he extended poked a hole in the detention.
'And the flowing sword at the same time.'
The Ferryman did not stop at the thrust; he twisted his wrist and changed the angle of the blade.
The momentum of the Will that had been emitted for the detention flowed along the twisted blade.
It was similar to the flowing sword that the Dragonkin had shown.
It went beyond simply deflecting a physical attack; it even deflected the Will contained within.
"A sharp needle pierces even thick leather."
The Ferryman's words sent a shock through his head.
Enkrid mulled over his words.
'A needle and leather.'
How to prevent a needle from piercing leather?
It just has to be thicker than the needle.
Conversely, how to pierce any leather?
The needle must be long and hard.
"It is a person who uses the swordsmanship, you know this, right?" was the next thing the Ferryman said.
Enkrid nodded.
The master of the boat on the black river had pointed out a few key points of swordsmanship.
After the teaching, the Ferryman brought out his purpose.
"This is mercy."
"It is pity."
"It is compassion."
The Ferryman's voices mixed.
Each and every one of the overlapping voices was a different personality.
"You will soon regret not being trapped in today," the Ferryman said.
He was saying that he was discussing swordsmanship now because he felt sorry for him.
Enkrid grasped the gist of his words and thought for a moment.
'Will he teach me more if I act pitiful?'
A thought that only a madman could have.
The Ferryman, in turn, read Enkrid's inner thoughts.
It wasn't because he had a talent for reading minds like a Dragonkin.
It was because Enkrid made an expression that clearly revealed his inner thoughts.
However, Enkrid had never once acted pitiful.
His brow furrowed.
It was the process of deliberation.
To be brutally honest, Enkrid didn't even know why the ferryman thought he looked pitiful in his current state.
The six demons of the demon realm were after him?
That was what he wanted anyway.
He was also after them.
So, it was the same.
Tit for tat.
What else was there?
As he was thinking, the Ferryman spoke.
"You must feel the signs of war, no? Will you be able to protect everything you wish to protect? Will that loss leave you as the you of now?"
The Ferryman felt a sudden urge to pull out a part of himself and show him a memory.
He wanted to teach him the pain of loss.
After losing everything and being left alone, what meaning would that 'today' have?
Enkrid vaguely saw a vision of a woman with braided hair and a spear behind the Ferryman.
But whether he saw it or not, he crossed his arms, hugged his thick forearms, and asked, "Do I look pitiful?"
Whatever the Ferryman said, he had just been agonizing over how to look pitiful.
"...Are you insane, you bastard," the Ferryman couldn't hold back and spat out a curse.
***
Enkrid recalled his meeting with the Ferryman last night.
He had been kicked out just like that, but what he had been taught up to that point was useful enough.
"An inscribed weapon receives its master's Will. So the blade is not easily damaged, but it would be better if you took good care of it."
Tang, tang.
In the distance, Aetri's apprentice hammered away.
Aetri, whom he had seen for the first time in a while, had cheeks that were even more hollow than before.
His face looked more worn out than when he had been forging Dawnforged.
"Is everything alright?" Enkrid asked.
His complexion suggested something was wrong.
"Everything is fine."
Enkrid stared intently into Aetri's eyes.
Are these the eyes of a person who is fine?
"Recently, a few people, including Sir Jaxen, have come by and ordered a few weapons. Sir Krais also gave me enough krona to live on for the rest of my life."
If Aetri had wanted to live with a pile of gold, he would not be living like this.
He had a wish, and he had achieved it.
So was there an emptiness in his eyes?
Had his strength drained away, as is common for those who have achieved their goal?
It was not.
His eyes still shone brightly.
CLANG!
Amidst the sound of his apprentice's hammer, which spread like background music, Aetri's eyes reflected the flames of the forge.
The craftsman, who had lived with the flames as his companion for a long time, stroked the blade of Dawnforged with his blunt fingertips.
"It's a fine sword, isn't it?" he asks.
Needless to say.
"Of course."
Aetri bowed his head, oiled the blade with a touch full of care, then checked each of the joints of Dawnforged and returned it.
The sweltering heat from the forge pushed back the cool wind that insisted autumn had come.
Inside here, it was still as hot as the season of the Salamander.
And Aetri's heart was the same.
"If there's anything you want, just say the word," Enkrid said.
This was the man who had given him an inscribed weapon.
He was more than willing to grant him anything.
"I will."
Aetri replied impassively, without a smile, just as before.
This blacksmith was not a man who showed his emotions well.
The Dragonkin watched the man who had forged Dawnforged intently.
The Dragonkin, Themares, knows that it is not common for things to draw his interest.
The experience of his past years proved it.
'There's another one.'
But here he sees another such human.
A man who has poured his life into his field.
His hair had begun to turn white, and there were signs of abnormality in his eyes.
The whites were cloudy.
A detriment from living in front of a fire for a long time.
And yet, the purity of the will contained in his eyes was high.
The Dragonkin read a part of the man's inner thoughts.
This man does not know what he desires.
He is just full of a boiling passion.
What will happen when that passion finds a direction?
A high-purity will and passion become an object of interest for a Dragonkin.
Though it has to be on a truly rare level.
'Everything has originated from this man.'
Also, the Dragonkin knows that all of this is not just a coincidence.
It had started with the man named Enkrid.
"Well then."
As Enkrid turned to leave, Aetri asked, "Dawnforged, Dawnforged, there must be a reason you named it so, right?"
A sword shining as if forged from the light of dawn.
"Why, you don't like it?"
"No. It is still a good name."
Enkrid thought Aetri seemed to be hiding something.
His eye for detail was beyond ordinary.
Moreover, after becoming a knight, his five senses had become sharper, and his sixth sense had also developed.
But he didn't ask anything.
He would speak when it was time to speak.
Rather, the apprentice who had been hammering stopped his hand and glanced over.
And the Frog who was fiddling with an accessory next to him did too.
"Hmm, what is it?"
In the midst of that, a dwarf entered the smithy.
A familiar face.
Enkrid searched his memory and said, "Rotten Eye."
He was hazy on other things, but he remembered the key point.
"My name is Argan."
Dwarves are said to be stubborn and fierce, but that too differs by individual.
The dwarf Argan, who had long since been colored by the human world, possessed an adaptability roughly similar to a human's.
He did not carelessly provoke his opponent.
Especially the man before him now, there was nothing to be gained from provoking him.
What was their first meeting like?
It had not been pleasant.
"Have you paid off your debt to Martai?"
Enkrid asked, recalling one more thing about the dwarf.
Krais was a man who never forgot anything related to krona.
He had worked the dwarf named Argan very hard.
The basis of it had been the debt this dwarf owed to Martai.
How many times had Krais mentioned this story?
Over ten times.
"I paid it all off a long time ago. What are you talking about?"
The dwarf looked over Enkrid and his party.
A Frog, an elf, a Dragonkin were together.
Jaxen had already left for his own business.
"Are you off to catch the demon king or something?"
Half of it was a joke, but half was sincere.
The demon king was a joke, but seeing the gathered faces, the words just came out.
"No, a picnic," Enkrid said unconcernedly and took a step.
There are things as important as training: broadening one's horizons and seeing the world.
How could Enkrid not know what Esther had also realized?
"It would be a date if these two weren't here," Shinar, who had been quietly watching until now, added.
"You can think of me as not being here. I will just watch," the Dragonkin said.
"What are you going to watch? That's a misleading statement, Themares."
And the Frog was, on the side, helping Themares adapt to this place.
The dwarf Argan had gained an intuition as good as a human's.
He grasped the situation by looking at Aetri's face and Enkrid's reaction, and then shut his mouth.
A moment later, Enkrid and his party left.
"You didn't give it to him?"
Argan asked.
He was a dwarf who had now steeled his heart and was living, exchanging both skills and heart with Aetri.
He knew the sword that Eitri had recently forged.
"I did not," Eitri replied.
For the past few months, he had been forging a sword that could rival Enkrid's Dawnforged.
'The sword's name is Twilight.'
Less than a month after forging Enkrid's inscribed weapon, Aetri had felt a great regret.
'Today's me is better than yesterday's me.'
And so, he had begun to forge the second sword.
Enkrid used two swords, so he thought this would also suit him well.
It didn't have the scent of the night sky that the witch had put in, nor had the elf personally let her vigor seep into it, but he had forged a similar sword.
The name was Twilight, to be a pair with Dawn.
But he was not satisfied.
The sword he had made now was the result of a compromise.
A sword as outstanding as Dawnforged?
No.
It only looked that way.
"Melt it down."
"What?"
Aetri gave up on the sword he had been forging with his own hands.
His apprentice was startled.
Argan was also on the verge of being surprised.
"Hey, that."
Even the Frog, who was in a corner of the smithy, tried to stop him.
It was an item that the craftsman had forged as if carving his soul into it, not just putting in effort.
All who had watched knew.
"This is not enough."
Aetri had never wanted a Twilight that just matched Dawnforged.
That is why he broke the sword he had been forging.
***
"A message from His Majesty the King."
When Enkrid was away, Krais greeted a messenger sent by Krang.
"The south has moved its troops," the messenger said.
Krais heard the words with an impassive expression.
There was no longer the person who had outwardly shown his anxiety as before.
Krais, too, was different from before.
"Deployment."
Krais replied to the messenger.
***
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