The Art of Valen's Swordsmanship

"Huh? What? How did you know?"

"I'm not a prophet."

At Encrid's words, Rem shook off a bug from his boot onto the ground with a confident tone.

"Did the squad leader put it there?"

"I didn't put it there."

"Hmm."

Rem didn't remove his suspicious gaze.

Encrid didn't care about Rem's suspicious look. It wasn't important.

Encrid stepped on the bug Rem had dropped to the ground.

Crunch.

A rather unpleasant feeling traveled up through the bottom of his boot.

"Ptooey."

Encrid spat and rubbed the bug's corpse into the dirt on the ground, saying, "Can you tell me about the Heart of the Beast?"

"Hm? You remembered that?"

Rem fixed his boot and stood up.

"It's not something one would forget."

"And when was it that you poured alcohol down your throat to forget?"

Back then, it was like that. Constantly dreaming of having his head chopped off by an axe, life hardly felt like living.

"Can you do it? Or not?"

"You seem unusually enthusiastic today. Sure, let's do it."

Rem nodded.

"Jaxen, can you take the morning shift? I'll do it tomorrow."

Eating to keep up their strength was necessary, but there was no need to waste time on chores like dishwashing.

"Sure, I'll do it."

Jaxen was a squad member who smiled easily and got along well with others.

He was someone whose presence here was almost inexplicable due to his unremarkable personality.

When Encrid first saw him, he thought Jaxen played the role of a mediator here.

Jaxen shook his reddish-brown hair and left the tent.

Watching him go, Rem snorted and blew his nose.

"That guy really annoys me for some reason."

Obviously, if Jaxen had performed his mediator role well here, Encrid might not have had to come here.

Jaxen got along well with other squads, but oddly enough, he didn't get along with the members of the 4th Squad.

Except for Encrid.

Encrid somehow managed to gain the trust of his squad members.

He didn't know if it was because he silently handled their various requests or because he seemed destined to live his life as a squad leader with mediocre skills.

He just assumed it was one of those reasons.

Rem moved toward the tent's exit, and Encrid followed.

"He's an unsettling guy. Since he feels off, you shouldn't get too close to him."

And what about you?

Encrid only asked this inwardly.

Is this coming from the guy who got into a fight with his superior in the previous squad and broke his jaw?

Rem was a benefactor to him but was practically hated by others, especially in the 1st Platoon where he came from. They glared at him like they wanted to kill him.

They wouldn't be fond of the guy who broke their platoon leader's jaw.

Encrid didn't argue.

Arguing wouldn't change anything.

It would be a waste of time. Instead of arguing, it was better to focus on learning the Heart of the Beast.

There were many things to do besides learning the Heart of the Beast from Rem.

"It's more disturbing since he's close to those 1st Platoon guys."

Fine, let's leave it at that.

When Encrid didn't respond, Rem stopped walking.

"What?"

"Squad leader, you're really strange today. Normally, you would've said something by now, right?"

Indeed. Normally, he would've said it wasn't for a jawbreaker to talk or told him not to even look if he wasn't going to get along.

He preferred to keep people apart if they weren't going to get along, rather than force them to be friends.

That was also Encrid's secret to leading the unique and deadly 4th Squad.

"Nothing to say."

Encrid cut him off.

Rem scratched the back of his head.

"This is really a strange day."

The two ate breakfast and headed to an open space outside the barracks.

It might seem odd to train on the battlefield, but Encrid did this regularly.

To those who knew him, it wasn't anything special.

Passersby didn't pay them any attention.

Thus began another session of Heart of the Beast training.

"Have you secretly learned from someone else? That's unlikely."

"I just repeated what I learned."

"Does training alone get you this far?"

Another death meant another experience.

Encrid found it easier to focus than before.

Seeing this, Rem gave him a curious look but then simply said, "Fine."

"I think the squad leader has a talent for this. If you're doing this well."

Rem repeated what he had said the day before.

Talent, huh? That would've been nice.

Earlier, he hadn't avoided Rem's axe.

The axe stopped just before his throat.

A flick of the wrist would have left a long scar on his neck.

"That was close."

Rem chuckled.

He seemed pleased with Encrid's progress.

Encrid could sense it.

"How do you swing an axe like that?"

Just a moment ago, that axe swing.

Rem's axe was faster than the stab that had killed him multiple times.

The axe blade approached his neck so quickly it was almost touching his skin.

It had happened in the blink of an eye.

Even though Encrid hadn't blinked, he missed the movement of the axe blade.

"Hmm, talent?"

Encrid thought Rem was an annoyingly arrogant bastard.

Well, he was always like this.

"If training alone worked, there'd be no one who couldn't handle a sword, right?"

Rem laughed.

Encrid, sensing that Rem enjoyed teasing him, knew this strange bastard took pleasure in it.

There was no one normal in this squad anyway.

"If I train more? If I try harder? What if I swing my sword without sleeping?"

Encrid reflexively asked.

It was a dilemma he had held for a long time.

Should he give up if he had no talent?

Encrid didn't give up.

If he chose to advance instead of giving up, what did he have?

All he had was his persistence to keep moving forward without tiring.

If so-called geniuses took ten steps, he resolved to keep walking steadily, even if it was in half-steps.

"Today really is strange. Did you have a surge of seriousness or something?"

Rem said, attaching his axe to the rope tied around his waist.

"No."

"Squad leader."

Rem called Encrid without a hint of laughter.

Encrid met his gaze.

After a brief silence, Rem spoke.

"People die if they don't sleep."

Tremble.

As soon as Rem finished speaking, he started trembling, trying to suppress his laughter before bursting out laughing.

It was his response to Encrid's earlier question about not sleeping.

"Screw off."

Encrid made a universal hand gesture.

He flipped his middle finger.

Rem, still chuckling, suggested they go for lunch.

Encrid didn't beg for more lessons.

You can't expect to be full from the first bite.

Encrid knew this all too well.

After lunch, he reviewed his swordsmanship.

Stabbing, slashing, swinging — the basics of swordsmanship.

After mastering the basics, he learned Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

It wasn't crude.

He had put in considerable effort and spent a lot of money.

It wasn't something one could learn for a few silver coins.

The Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

Not quite knightly, but fairly renowned among mercenaries.

It was classified under the illusion sword (幻劍) style.

He didn't know how Vallen originally used it.

But he had mastered a few techniques in his own way.

Encrid focused on that.

'After dying, the same day repeats, but what's left in my body didn't disappear.'

He learned the Heart of the Beast not by head but by body.

This meant that what remained in his body stayed with him.

He pushed his body hard. His palms, with deep calluses, were torn again from the constant sword swinging.

Typically, soldiers didn't use swords. Spears were the standard weapon.

Being the squad leader of the 4th Squad gave him the privilege.

Encrid didn't want to let go of his sword.

He continued his training. His grip hurt, but he endured.

His stomach ached from not fully digesting his meal, but he endured.

He focused all his senses on the tips of his feet and hands.

The illusion sword was a deceptive sword.

He was told to use whatever means necessary to deceive the enemy.

In the mercenary world, some Vallen-style techniques were already well known.

For example, pretending to fall while stabbing the opponent.

It couldn't be called underhanded.

How could doing anything to survive be considered underhanded?

If someone said knights wouldn't do that, Encrid wouldn't argue.

Everyone had their own values.

He had his own values.

The allotted time was half a day.

His legs didn't tremble. If they had, the daily stamina training would have been meaningless.

Encrid's legs were sturdy.

"Having a strong body is a real asset."

Rem said to Encrid as he returned.

A messenger had just arrived.

It was the sixth repetition of today, and he could roughly estimate the passage of time by looking at the sky.

"Twenty years of training."

Encrid answered briefly and moved back to the platoon's position.

"Make sure your sturdy body doesn't end up as a training dummy."

Rem chuckled before the battle began.

"You're on duty tomorrow."

Jaxen added from the side.

One seemed to be mocking him.

The other seemed determined not to do kitchen duty two days in a row.

Well, regardless of their expressions, both seemed to want him to come back alive.

"See you later."

The sixth today began.

Encrid killed enemies more smoothly than on the fifth day.

He tripped the first charging enemy and smashed the back of his head with the edge of his shield.

The second enemy, he stabbed after a feint.

The Vallen-style swordsmanship.

Not the commonly known version in the mercenary world, but the one he had learned through effort and expense.

The trembling sword tip itself was a mirage that confused the enemy's vision.

He applied what he learned, and it worked.

He felt a sense of achievement.

The joy of growth, the satisfaction filled his chest again.

He accomplished a lot through the repetition of a single day.

Encrid didn't waste a single day even if he died and came back.

On the contrary, he was more intense, more focused, more immersed.

He had to, driven by desire and aspiration to seize any opportunity that came.

Encrid did just that.

He cut down, hit, and tripped enemies.

Repeated battles gave him new experiences.

'The Heart of the Beast.'

He saw things he hadn't seen the day before.

He reached the point where he saw Bell falling.

Fighting at the same place every day, he saw Bell every time.

He couldn't pull back or move to another place at will.

Crossing the front line recklessly was suicidal. It wasn't easy to change one's position on the battlefield.

'I'm not at that level yet.'

Encrid knew himself well.

Although he had become more confident, he wasn't skilled enough to break through enemy lines or take reckless actions.

Moreover, he wasn't able to detect the arrows of a skilled archer in advance.

Thud!

Bell's head exploded again.

"Damn it."

He tried to save him this time, but he failed again.

Encrid immediately lowered his head.

As if by agreement, an arrow whizzed through the air. The piercing sound echoed in his ear.

It was a skillful move, as if he had expected it.

"You seem to be in good shape today?"

Rem approached and said.

"Go, slit the throat of the bastard who shot the arrow."

"I was planning to. Stay safe."

Rem left.

Encrid encountered another enemy specializing in thrusts.

He failed again.

This time, he avoided a club swung by a soldier approaching from behind, but a guy next to him threw a tomahawk.

It was a mess.

The seventh morning dawned.

"I put the bug in."

Encrid told Rem.

"Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind?"

"No. Isn't keeping calm in such situations the Heart of the Beast?"

"Hm?"

"Teach me."

The day began again.

Rem blinked and then agreed.

Learn. Master. Swing the sword.

This time, he didn't even try to save Bell.

To save him, he had to read the incoming arrows.

If he couldn't, he had to rely on luck.

How did Rem dodge arrows?

Encrid wondered and moved his body.

He died from a thrust again.

"That damned mercy."

That mercy.

He died. So the eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth… Over a hundred deaths, Encrid repeated the day that began with his death.