"Where did you learn those steps?"
Ragna abruptly asked on the fifth today. Of course, you're the one who taught me. Enkrid could not be honest.
"I've been to more than twenty training schools."
Some of them were run by charlatans, but many taught properly.
"Hmm."
Ragna nodded.
As Enkrid moved based on the steps he had learned from Ragna, Ragna’s expression gradually came alive. He was enjoying this moment. Viewed dispassionately, Ragna was not a great teacher.
He couldn't be. A genius cannot see what lies at their own feet. That is why it is difficult for them to teach the path they have walked.
How is one supposed to explain something you just do? When told to strike down with a sword, they think you should just strike down. They don't explain the necessary steps and shifts in the center of gravity that happen in between.
No, they can't explain it. He was the worst type of person to open a swordsmanship school. Enkrid realized this on the first today.
But that was fine. If the teacher is a mess, the student just has to be good. In that respect, it was no exaggeration to say Enkrid was the best on the continent.
"Where do my feet go? In which direction should my toes point?"
"Do I have to tell you even that?"
It was not a critical tone. He was genuinely asking out of curiosity.
"Yes."
Ragna told him the direction his toes should point, corrected his posture, and showed him his own. That stance was the very model of fundamentals. Anyone with a discerning eye would drool over such talent.
For Enkrid, just repeatedly watching Ragna’s stance was helpful.
"And the center of gravity?"
"Yes, that timing is correct."
Enkrid asked, and Ragna answered. For twelve repeated todays, Ragna taught Enkrid nothing but steps and posture.
"Posture and feet first, fundamentals are next."
"Sometimes you swing it decently."
"Right now, you're at a level where you can't even split firewood."
"If an enemy soldier were to die from that last downward strike, you should thank that soldier three times for being kind enough to die for you."
"Just now, were you... dancing?"
"It was dancing, wasn't it. Since you danced with a sword, I should call it a sword dance, but I'd rather not. Let's name it the stick dance."
Ragna calmly delivered his insults. 'Was this bastard always this type of person?' Rem was a much gentler teacher by several orders of magnitude.
Sometimes the things he said made you wonder if he was insane, but still, it was satisfying. Every day felt like breaking out of an egg, being born anew. Around the time they started on diagonal cuts, Ragna spoke.
"The line connecting you and the opponent you are facing is called the attack line. This line is usually the shortest distance between two people and also the path a weapon will travel during an attack."
"Blocking the opponent's attack line and extending your own, this too is a fundamental. You understand? It doesn't seem like it. Ah, is this it? The thing where your head understands but your body won't listen?"
"Let me say it again. Squad Leader, you've only understood with your mouth."
Ragna was a man who couldn't teach without spewing insults. Learn and learn again. Twenty todays passed.
Twenty-five todays passed.
"... I thought your fundamentals were abysmal, but at least you know how to use your feet."
He heard this on the thirty-fifth today. By this point, Enkrid's pattern of behavior had changed slightly. He didn't die immediately after the fog rolled in.
He would dodge the first thrust, then charge into it and die. Spears would be stuck in his body like a hedgehog. It was a pretty good method.
After all, a single spear would sometimes miss. Why would they pull their spears back when someone was charging at them, begging to be killed?
He understood.
It must be bewildering to see someone suddenly charge at you asking to die. When a thrust missed like that, he would have to squirm for an hour before dying. It was a truly unbearable continuity of pain and a succession of horrific moments.
Each time, Ragna would call or shout for Enkrid.
"Squad Leader!"
"You madman!"
"Hey!"
Toward the end, he was in such a hurry that he would just shout "Hey!" Enkrid faithfully filled his todays.
"Your posture is better than I thought."
Little by little, he improved. Each time he changed like that, Ragna would frown.
"Until yesterday, he was definitely..."
He would also mutter things like this.
"... Where did you learn what?"
Around the time one hundred todays had passed, Ragna spoke.
"Who are you?"
Enkrid looked at him, wondering what this sudden nonsense was.
"You were a complete mess until yesterday. How, in a single day... is this magic?"
Ragna was shocked. Seeing this, Enkrid burst into laughter.
"Why? Do you think my skills are a bit better than you expected?"
"It's not just a bit. It's to the point where I wonder if you're really the Squad Leader."
Ragna's eyes were genuinely filled with suspicion. This was the troublemaker squad; Ragna was an eccentric himself.
"So, are you not going to teach me?"
"That's not it."
Ragna started again, looking uncertain. After that, they swung their swords against an imaginary sparring partner. The concept of the attack line, how to grip the sword, how to use it as a means of defense.
"If it's a quality sword, you can block with the flat of the blade. If not, block with the edge."
"Cutting, thrusting, and slicing. These three are the basics. Your steps and posture aren't bad, so focus on practicing these three fundamental sword skills."
Ragna taught him many types of steps. Advancing, passing, lunging, dodging, turning sideways, turning around, making a wide turn. Just memorizing them was complicated, but as he kept at it, they became somewhat ingrained in his body.
No matter how talentless one might be, with a master of this level teaching one-on-one continuously, his skills improved. What might seem like insignificant progress in the eyes of a genius was a continuous thrill for Enkrid.
"Picture an opponent in your head. Then swing your sword."
Clang!
He continued to learn through dozens of todays. Diagonal cuts, binding swords, spiraling strikes, snapping cuts, overhead horizontals, side cuts, crown cuts, counters, half-sword fighting, parries, glides, chained strikes, lunges, and grazing draws. As time went on, the insults lessened.
"Better than I thought. Where did you learn to bind swords?"
"One of my previous instructors drilled binding into me until I was sick of it."
"Excellent."
Ragna said he was satisfied with that. He used this method when learning other techniques as well.
"My previous school kept telling me my overhead horizontals were a mess. If you're going to teach me swordsmanship, I think it would be best to start there."
"... I'm the one teaching, but it seems you've already decided what you want to learn before coming."
"Not necessarily."
When he shrugged, Ragna gave him a short test. Then he did exactly as Enkrid said.
"Let's do that."
Ragna would never know, but after teaching him over numerous repeated todays, he would decide that was enough and move on. Each time that happened, Enkrid would move on to the next lesson. A repetition of todays, drenched in sweat under the scorching sun as his roof.
It was something that could make another person sick with boredom, but not for Enkrid. Around the time two hundred todays had passed like this.
"Hmm?"
When he opened his eyes, he saw the Black River. What was happening? He saw the ferryman.
The blindfolded ferryman. He didn't see his lips open, but the voice struck his ears clearly.
"Are you insane? You keep walking to your own death? You dull-witted fool."
The ferryman's tone was plain, but his words were not. Before he could answer, he woke from the dream. Again, it was the familiar today.
Enkrid opened his eyes but didn't move. He remained lost in thought.
"Did you have a wet dream or something? What are you doing?"
Beside him, Rem made a remark worthy of a dog. Ignoring him, Enkrid sat up. 'Let's just say he wanted to call me a madman.'
Even if he wanted to ask why, there was no way to ask. There's no point in holding onto a problem that won't yield an answer no matter how much you think about it. Enkrid got up.
"Do you know anything about sorcery?"
At those words, Rem's head whipped around.
"Sorcery?"
"Tell me what you know. Whatever you know."
Every time the fog rolled in, Rem would say something related to sorcery. He definitely knew something. Until now, he had been too busy training in the fundamentals of swordsmanship, but now he had some leeway.
It meant the training had become second nature to his body. His skills had improved to the point where Ragna would be surprised every time he saw him. He hadn't tested his skills yet, but one thing was certain: Enkrid himself felt he had gotten better than before.
"Sorcery is sorcery, what else would it be."
"Just spit out what you know, it sounds interesting."
The usual Enkrid never initiated conversation like this. Rem grinned and opened his mouth.
"What's gotten into you to make you so curious? Alright. Hmm, I'll explain it simply. Do you know the difference between magic and sorcery?"
"Magic is more common."
Though rare, you could see mages from time to time.
But sorcery?
Even Enkrid, who had wandered all over the continent, had never seen it. It was that rare.
"You're not wrong."
Rem said as he tidied up his sleeping area. He roughly rolled up his blanket, pushed it to one side, put on his boots, and went outside. Enkrid followed him out.
It was the same today. He didn't feel bored. Any today was a joyful today for Enkrid.
As he followed him out, Rem continued.
"Sorcery needs a medium. I know magic sometimes needs a medium too, but for sorcery, the offering or medium is veeeeery important. Without it, you can't even start."
"Did your tribe use that kind of thing?"
Rem was from the western frontier. That area became a frontier because the Central Empire won a war. Before that, the west was the land of foreign tribes.
This was a story from over a hundred years ago. Now it was firmly established as the western frontier, and the western tribes were incorporated as one of the races. They were still called barbarians when looked down upon, but in any case, sorcery originated in the west.
That was common knowledge.
"I've seen it a few times. But you know that real sorcerers are actually few and far between? The ones wandering the continent are all charlatans, just frauds."
If Rem said so, it must be true. Enkrid nodded and went back to what he had to do.
"Where are you going?"
"Training."
He meets Ragna and hones his fundamentals again. Around the time two hundred and fifty todays had passed, Ragna spoke.
"Were your fundamentals this solid from the beginning?"
He could see Ragna's red pupils widen as he swept back his blond hair.
"And it seems you originally favored the longsword as your main weapon."
Yes, you're probably right. I've been training with this sword continuously. It feels awkward, but it's familiar to my hands.
It's the first time it has felt Enkrid's touch, but this process has been repeated so many times. It was a familiarity gained through the repeated todays.
"It's time you need some real combat."
Ragna said after the training was over. Enkrid nodded as if to say, "Is that so?"
"What are you doing? They're calling for us to gather."
Rem called out to the two of them. On the way back, Enkrid got some bread from Krais and chewed on it. He soaked the hard bread in water and forced it down, then got some jerky to eat as well.
He checked his equipment and stood on the battlefield once again. As the longsword he had exchanged with Ragna swayed at his waist, Rem asked.
"Didn't you say you paid a lot for the sword you were using?"
"This one feels more familiar in my hand."
"I've seen plenty of guys switch weapons overnight and get themselves killed."
Was that a curse or a word of concern?
"Worry about yourself."
He let out a breath and steeled his heart. Just because the Heart of the Beast gives him boldness, he can't rely on it alone. If he was going to engage in real combat, it might as well be something for the sake of 'tomorrow.'
Before the enemy came into view, Enkrid thought. 'Sorcery needs a medium.' And that medium is extremely important.
That's what Rem had said. What if the reason the enemy stayed in the tall-grass field wasn't for an ambush, but for concealment? What if there was something they wanted to hide?
Enkrid had seen it beforehand. The flagpole and the flag. When he set fire to one of their tents, weren't they more concerned with putting out the fire in that tent than killing the intruder?
Soon, the enemy army came into view. A soldier from the Third Squad right next to him, holding a spear, frowned and muttered.
"What's with that formation?"
It was a formation clustered around flagpoles, so it had no tactical value. In that case, it must have only sorcerous value. Six flagpoles and flags rose up above the enemy forces.
The medium for the sorcery.
"Ugh!"
The fog spread, obscuring his vision. Now then, shall we take a swim in the fog of sorcery? Enkrid's ears twitched.
It was time for the sensitive hearing he'd gotten from Jacksen to take the place of his eyes.