Chapter 92 - The Fine Line Between Greatness and Madness
Enkrid carefully polished his boots and gloves before wiping down his sword with an oiled cloth.
The recent task of clearing out a horde of beasts had drawn merchants to the area.
This, in turn, meant a new sword for Enkrid.
The broken blade, once forged with Valerian steel, had been reforged with the addition of Noir mountain iron.
Mixing two high-quality metals recognized across the continent was no small feat.
"This is something only I can do," boasted the blacksmith.
It wasn't mere arrogance.
While he couldn't forge magical swords, his skill in working with metal rivaled that of a mage's finesse.
He was a renowned artisan within the Border Guard—though his fame might not extend beyond the city.
Still, that was something.
When the artisan finished crafting Enkrid's sword, even the notoriously picky Ragna offered a begrudging nod of approval.
"It's decent enough. Though it's still far from ideal for my use," Ragna added with characteristic bluntness.
Enkrid inspected the blade, carefully running the oiled cloth over it before flicking a finger against its edge.
Ping.
The resonant tone indicated the sword's exceptional quality—this was the first time Enkrid wielded a blade worthy of being called a masterpiece.
He couldn't help but feel satisfied.
Ragna, on the other hand, wasn't so particular about his weapons.
He used whatever was at hand, even if it was a battered piece of metal.
In the past, Enkrid had sharpened Ragna's notched arming sword himself because Ragna couldn't be bothered.
Without Enkrid's help, he might have kept carrying a chipped sword into battle.
"Esther, that's not a toy," Enkrid said gently, addressing the lake panther.
He had several items recovered after taking down the sewer necrophile mage, but one stood out—a grimoire bound in human skin.
When Enkrid handed over the items to Krais for sale, the man had remarked with suspicion.
"It was really a mage in the sewer?" Krais asked.
"Did you doubt me?"
"I believed you, but now I believe you a bit more," Krais replied, though it sounded as though he hadn't entirely trusted the story before.
In the end, most of the items sold easily, except for the grimoire, which was tricky to handle.
The staff and other materials, such as alchemical stones, fetched a decent price.
The proceeds, along with funds from guild contributions and the mage's bounty, were all poured into the creation of Enkrid's new sword.
Even with the expense, Enkrid had no regrets.
"This will do just fine," he thought, knowing that in battles where lives hung in the balance, a superior weapon could make all the difference.
Meanwhile, the grimoire, still wrapped in its unsettling cover, was rewrapped in thin cloth for storage.
Esther had claimed it as her new resting spot.
"Should I just leave it there?" Enkrid wondered.
At least Esther wouldn't urinate on it; she was fastidious about her habits, always finding a secluded spot for her needs.
When Enkrid reached out toward the grimoire, Esther hissed.
"Leave it be. She seems comfortable," Rem commented, prompting Enkrid to let the matter rest.
With his new sword in hand and the mage's legacy dealt with, Enkrid turned his focus back to training.
Rising earlier than the dawn, he added hours to his routine, thanks to the flexibility of his new role as platoon leader.
The cold predawn air was biting, but Enkrid began his day by practicing the Isolation Technique, a method of warming his body through controlled movements and lifting weights.
Soon, Audin joined him, beginning his own training.
"Good morning, platoon leader," Audin greeted, adding a formal tone to his usual address.
Enkrid recalled the company commander's promise to assign more members to his platoon.
However, Audin's voice pulled him back to focus.
"Concentrate," Audin said sharply.
"Yes, yes," Enkrid replied, shifting his attention back to his breathing and movements.
His training was not limited to physical exercise.
He honed his skills in swordsmanship, refining techniques like Heart of the Beast, Sense of Evasion, and Isolation Technique.
He also practiced observing opponents' physical conditions and predicting attacks through instinct and intuition.
Among the various styles he had learned was the Valen mercenary swordsmanship, which he considered keeping in his arsenal.
"Should I abandon it, or can it still be useful?" he pondered.
Ultimately, Enkrid decided to retain the style.
"If I lack the skill to use it effectively, I'll simply work to improve," he concluded, dedicating himself to continuous growth.
Courage is always essential.
It proves its worth simply by keeping one's eyes open at critical moments.
To Enkrid, the Heart of the Beast was the foundation of everything.
"Calmly."
One day, he trained his intuition.
On another, he combined his senses with focus.
"Let's blend it into my body."
Every swing of a sword carries the weight of countless experiences.
It is a process of internalizing through instinct, recognizing with the mind, and embedding it into the body.
Of course, it was far from easy.
Through this process, Enkrid gradually honed a pattern and method unique to himself.
"Training alone isn't enough."
What was necessary was real combat—training intertwined with actual battle.
Preferably...
"Combat where you risk your life."
"That's what I told you before," Rem had joked.
"Fighting for your life earns you a lot if you survive. But since you only have one life, building skills like that doesn't make much sense."
It was a jest, but it held a kernel of truth.
Now, Enkrid understood the importance of life-or-death combat.
Not because dying was significant, but because overcoming death repeatedly mattered.
Aware of the necessity of real battles, Enkrid began accepting missions—ranging from trivial to extreme.
He turned none away.
***
"What are we supposed to find this time?"
"My cat," requested a noblewoman.
Such was the nature of some tasks his unit undertook.
Still, Enkrid did not discriminate between assignments.
Any situation, any moment—all were opportunities to train.
With this mindset, Enkrid found the cat, perched atop a tree.
"Let's settle this calmly."
The cat appeared ready to bolt.
Its instincts, visible even through the realm of intuition, were vivid.
Oddly enough, even this became a learning experience.
By channeling his intent and aura, Enkrid drove the cat to leap down, catching it mid-air and subduing it with his gaze.
This, too, was now within his grasp.
"You've opened the door to intuition," Jaxen remarked, observing.
Jaxen no longer tormented Enkrid with constant pressure, recognizing it as futile.
From finding cats to pursuing thieves, the missions varied.
"Someone committed a robbery and is hiding in the city?"
Such was another task.
A drifter had caused trouble, entering the city only to botch their crime.
"Find him."
Back when the Gilpin Guild was overtaken, Enkrid hadn't anticipated its value in moments like this.
Perhaps Krais had foreseen it, as he executed tasks skillfully and without hesitation.
This time, it was in a back-alley gambling den.
The target was a retired soldier with a scarred forehead.
"You want to fight me? Damn, coming to the outskirts brings all sorts of nonsense. They say Border Guard reserves are tough. Let's see what you've got!"
Confident words—but did he have the skills to match?
Enkrid assessed him carefully, feigning struggle to gauge the man's capabilities.
"At best, mid to upper level," he concluded, using Naurilia's soldier ranking system as a reference.
There was nothing unexpected in his skill.
"Huff... who are you?"
"Border Guard reserves," Enkrid replied, swiftly breaking the man's leg to subdue him.
The captive would now rot in the unit's prison unless someone paid his fine.
"Just you wait," the man threatened, though Enkrid doubted they would cross paths again.
On other occasions, Enkrid was dispatched to inns to break up disputes among caravan escorts.
Among them was a particularly skilled fighter.
Sparring with him, Enkrid trained by merging his heightened focus with blade intuition.
Maintaining a state of intuitive awareness while concentrating revealed new insights.
The difference in focus altered everything.
"It slows down."
Though not as stark as before, his opponent's blade appeared slower, moving predictably as if his mind and perception outpaced reality.
Everything was a continuation of training—a cycle of endless refinement.
As the missions piled up...
"Are you insane with these requests?" murmured fellow soldiers.
Their words weren't criticism but astonishment and admiration.
"Does he have ten bodies? Why doesn't he rest?"
"He's not human. He's a monster."
"Guess there's a reason he's the platoon leader of those madmen."
"Damn it, maybe I should wake up earlier and stab a few spears for practice."
Thanks to Enkrid, an unexpected wave of training enthusiasm spread through the unit.
His results spoke for themselves, inspiring soldiers and elevating his reputation.
Some soldiers owed their lives to Enkrid, further fueling the fervor for self-improvement within the unit.
Enkrid paid no attention to the ripple effect he caused, focusing solely on his path.
During training, he felt a faint, steady flame burning in his chest.
How had he felt on the battlefield before?
While not afraid, he couldn't say he enjoyed it.
The battlefield never brought joy.
"This doesn't seem normal," he mused.
But now, he eagerly anticipated the battlefield.
He wanted to fight, prove himself, and showcase his skills.
He yearned to risk his life and cross the line of death once again.
Perhaps he was mad.
And yet...
"Don't you know greatness and madness are only a hair's breadth apart?" Rem's words resurfaced.
If the path to greatness was reserved for the mad, then madness was the only way forward.
One day, immersed in training and missions...
"This might be fun," the company commander said, summoning Enkrid to his private training grounds.
"A duel?"
Naturally, Enkrid did not refuse.
"Of course."
The situation mirrored their last encounter.
Would the result be the same?
That remained uncertain.
Enkrid couldn't yet gauge the full extent of the commander's skills.
But he was confident he wouldn't suffer the same defeat.
Ultimately, only by clashing fists or blades could he discover the truth.
The commander raised her hand, forming a knife-like edge with his palm.
"We'll use this today."
It felt like a test.
Their previous duel had exposed Enkrid's deficiencies, particularly in close-quarters combat—what some called wrestling.
Enkrid nodded.
Soon, their hands struck, the crisp sound marking the start of their spar.