Chapter 253 - A Night of Stimulation

253. A Night of Stimulation

If you've had a realization, act on it immediately.

"If even the smallest clue comes to mind, act on it right away. If you delay, you'll lose it. And once it's lost, it's no longer yours. Lost things disappear forever. Even the slightest epiphany should be engraved into your body through action."

It was a brief lesson, as Enkrid remembered.

The lesson came from a fencing school near the gateway to the southern continent. The instructor was a dark-skinned man.

Following this wisdom, Enkrid rose immediately.

It didn't matter what he had done earlier that day, whether it was time for rest or anything else—it held no significance to him.

He stepped outside, where the sun had long set.

The sleet had ceased, leaving the ground wet and mushy. Beside him, a torch on a nearby post illuminated the surroundings with flickering flames.

Whoosh.

The wild horse Enkrid had rescued watched him silently.

Passing by the horse without a word, Enkrid began moving his body in front of the barracks.

"What muscles are critical for wielding a sword?"

The entire body is crucial. The forearm muscles influence grip strength, while a solid core serves as the foundation for generating centrifugal force in a strike.

"When slicing through fire..."

His thoughts reached the moment when he had cleaved through flames.

A spell cast through a scroll—an astonishing and mysterious feat—but the only reality before him had been a fireball heading his way.

He recalled his movements in that instant.

He swung his sword perpendicular to the ground.

The back.

In his mind, Enkrid dissected his body, breaking down its muscles and scattering them into fragments.

He merged his senses into one intuitive realm, then used this unifying observation to fuel his training.

Enkrid mimicked the motion of splitting firewood.

It was the movement he needed at that moment. Simultaneously, he analyzed how his muscles worked.

This was the beginning of transformation, the foundation of progress, the cornerstone of something new.

Inside the barracks, a few observers watched. Members of the Madmen Unit.

Dunbakel slurped the drool back into her mouth, stood up, and thought, If I copy him, perhaps I'll understand.

"Don't, Sister. You'll ruin your body," Audin said, stepping in to stop her.

Audin moved forward, watching the man acting wildly under the moonlight with a mix of curiosity and amazement.

Why does the Lord grant me such joy through this sinner?

Audin whispered to his god, his father, as he approached.

What Enkrid was doing wasn't about following instructions or seeking guidance from others. It was the pursuit of self-driven discovery.

Through observing and understanding the deficiencies in his body, he was forging his path to improvement.

How could such a sight not bring joy?

Although Audin had taught the Isolation Technique to countless individuals—or simpler, less effective versions of it—no one had reached this realm.

It was rare to find those who found delight in mastering the technique, let alone improving it.

"Weight, balance, breathe deeply into your diaphragm. If your core wavers, everything else is useless, Brother," Audin advised, standing beside Enkrid.

Enkrid absorbed Audin's guidance.

What had been mere habit and inertia yesterday transformed into purposeful navigation today. Like a sailor who had finally found his direction, he was ready to row his small boat properly.

Audin couldn't suppress his laughter as he taught, his joy audible enough to draw the attention of nearby soldiers.

They turned to look, their pupils quivering with confusion.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Didn't he just get back today?"

"Why is he dancing with a rock in his hands?"

"So, the 'Madmen Unit' isn't just insanely good at fighting—they're literally insane?"

Such whispers passed among the onlookers, for to them, Enkrid's behavior was far from normal.

Inside the barracks, Rem quietly shut the door.

"You're letting the cold air in."

Dunbakel was disappointed. She had wanted to observe Enkrid's actions further.

"Just ignore it. Pretend you didn't see anything. Why is he doing this in the dead of night? It's embarrassing to even look at," Rem grumbled.

No one responded to his remarks. It was their nature to remain indifferent.

Unable to suppress her curiosity, Dunbakel stepped outside. Rem didn't bother stopping her.

In truth, he was preoccupied with his own thoughts.

What kind of man does this?

He enters battles and emerges victorious.

He doesn't gloat over his absurd strength or revel in others' praise.

Even the cheers of those he's saved barely register with him.

A spell-infused axe doesn't tempt him, nor do gold coins or gemstones.

Then, after meditating until his eyes glaze over and drool drips from his lips, he runs outside to do this.

Is that normal?

No, it wasn't. But that very abnormality stirred something in Rem as well.

After all, hadn't a flame-wreathed axe fallen into his hands just recently?

It was undoubtedly an item imbued with magic.

That made it manageable.

Though some resentment lingered in the axe, Enkrid had erased it.

Rem reflected on what he had left behind when he departed his tribe.

Those were things he would have to reclaim someday.

As his thoughts churned, he began to process the stimulus Enkrid had provided.

Grasping the axe, Rem retreated into his own world.

There are moments when physical training is paramount, but there are also times when refining and manifesting what one already possesses is key.

For Rem, this was the latter.

For Ragna, it was the former.

He, too, couldn't take his eyes off Enkrid. Even after Enkrid left, he stared blankly at the door, continuing even after Rem shut it.

The same when Audin stepped out, and again when Dunbakel followed.

Is this what it feels like?

This sensation of blood boiling?

In truth, if blood were to boil, a person would die.

But that's how it felt, nonetheless.

Seated on the edge of his bed in the vast yet stifling barracks, Ragna felt his blood simmering, his heart pounding with urgency.

It seemed to demand he grab his sword and train immediately.

But he didn't.

The practice swords crafted back at Border Guard were of poor quality.

Strength.

Ragna was a genius, well aware of his shortcomings from early on.

He had already grasped the methods of training but required proper tools to support him.

Not things he would typically need, but—

Look at that man.

He felt an inexplicable urge to show the world a person like Enkrid.

How could one not be stirred after seeing such a figure?

Even a laid-back genius like Ragna had been seized by urgency.

The profound impression Enkrid left had led him down an unanticipated path.

Ragna resolved to create the tools he needed.

If he sought out a dwarven blacksmith, couldn't he craft exactly what he desired?

He yearned and aspired—to move forward, beyond his current state.

This was more than a desire to wield a sword; it was an intense stimulant, almost toxic.

Like a forbidden mushroom or addictive drug, it set his heart and mind aflame, shaking him beyond his own will.

Ragna wasn't the only one affected.

Even Teresa, her gaze obscured behind her mask, couldn't stop her eyes from darting about.

What was it that drove Enkrid to move as he did?

The answer lay within her.

The joy of battle.

The instinct to fight, the blood of a giant stirring within her veins. Teresa kicked open the door and stepped out.

She felt she wouldn't be able to sleep without sparring with that man at least once.

A sudden duel under the moonlight—it hardly mattered if it was appropriate.

Thus, Teresa slammed the door open and left.

What's her deal now?

Krais, who had been examining jewels and other items, lifted his head.

Everyone here was far from normal.

Through the open door, he saw Enkrid, Audin, and Dunbakel outside.

Dunbakel appeared to have paused in a half-crouch, listening to a few words from Audin.

Whenever she faltered slightly, Audin chuckled and grabbed her shoulder with his palm, pulling her upright.

"That hurts!"

Dunbakel exclaimed. Pain, after all, had a way of forcing words out immediately.

"It's supposed to hurt, Sister. So fix your posture," Audin replied.

Nearby, Teresa muttered something under her breath, though it wasn't audible.

A few soldiers watched the scene with sidelong glances, while the wild horse observed indifferently.

Krais felt a twinge of concern but brushed it aside.

In his hand was an expensive ruby nicknamed "Red Flame."

If I trade this properly, I could get several hundred gold coins.

They had called it some explorer's tomb, hadn't they? And there were supposedly more like it on this continent?

Maybe I should switch to treasure hunting.

No, that's madness.

Even with a surplus of lives, it's not worth it.

Even the greatest swordsman could fall victim to a single misstep in a trap, ending up knocking on heaven's gate or swimming in the rivers of hell.

Better to stay here.

Enkrid was a whirlwind of upheaval.

Sticking close to a captain like him might mean encountering more tombs, but it would also lead to adventures of a similar kind.

The Border Guard's guild was already providing steady income, wasn't it?

Knees deep in gold coins—that's the life I want

Krais, his eyes practically transformed into gold coins, glanced outside and then spoke to Jaxen beside him.

"Honestly, everyone here is just so strange, don't you think?"

It was a statement made without any awareness of himself. Normally, Jaxen would have ignored such a comment, brushed it off, or looked the other way.

"Is that so," Jaxen replied unexpectedly.

What's up with him now?

Krais turned his gaze to Jaxen, whose eyes burned with a similar intensity.

Cold, yet hot.

That's what it felt like.

Jaxen, too, had been stirred.

"What do you seek from techniques meant for killing?"

That was a question his mentor had once asked him. Why had he posed it back then?

"You enjoy this too much. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing here. But hey, that's not really my problem, is it?"

The mentor's words came back to him. A man broken in many ways, but honest in that moment.

Jaxen had enjoyed learning techniques.

Even perfecting skills meant for killing had been a source of joy.

Yet, after engraving his mentor's words, his life experiences, and his own goals, he had set that enjoyment aside.

He hadn't needed it anymore.

But now, someone had dragged a long-buried desire violently to the surface.

Ah.

Jaxen felt his heart race as it had when he first held a sword.

Desire and ambition fused into a stimulant, pushing him to wield his sword once more.

Why not refine his techniques?

Why not revisit every skill and push further through disciplined training?

A hunger for growth roared within him.

All of this was triggered by Enkrid running out under the moonlight.

Though the barracks remained quiet, with everyone experiencing these changes internally, the transformation was undeniable.

"Honestly."

Krais shook his head and returned to his task.

Thus, the night of stimulation passed, and by the next morning, Enkrid was up early again.

Whereas he used to find joy in rejecting others, now he was obsessed with refining the Isolation Technique.

Every movement felt like a unique form of stimulation.

After finishing his morning training, the lord invited him to a meal.

"Let's go fill our stomachs."

Enkrid led everyone there.

"I need to thank you again, but seriously, what was last night all about? Why do something like that under the moonlight?"

Even the lord, familiar with Enkrid, couldn't help but comment on how peculiar the previous night had been.

"It was a perfect night for training," Enkrid replied casually. Anything more detailed would be incomprehensible to them.

Missing even the smallest thread was unacceptable to someone like him.

It was about living life with purpose and direction, ensuring that his aspirations were always within reach.

How could he possibly explain all that?

"Fair enough," the lord conceded, giving up on understanding.

Breakfast turned out to be a feast.

Perfectly roasted lamb, marinated pork ribs, steamed catfish, butter and cheese, a mix of milk and watered-down wine, and clear water.

The star of the meal was the bread.

Its soft, white texture lived up to Martai's reputation as the Land of Bread.

"Unbelievable," even Rem admitted in admiration.

"What about the blond?"

The lord asked, referring to Ragna.

"He's not much of a morning person," Krais answered on his behalf.

Enkrid didn't seem to care, and the lord let it slide.

After all, weren't they all eccentrics?

It wasn't unusual for them to ignore a summons from someone like the lord.

Resting and eating well were just as important as anything else. Enkrid ate and drank without pause, as did the rest of the unit.

"They've got a good appetite," the lord remarked, offering thanks to the fighters who had protected his domain.

He seemed to have gained a sense of gravitas since assuming the role of lord from his position as garrison commander.

"Are you heading back this afternoon?"

"No, we'll stay a bit longer," Enkrid replied. He mentioned his intention to commission something from the dwarves, and the lord nodded in understanding.

"The local folks might be a bit rough. Still, go easy on them, if you can."

What did he mean by that?

Enkrid, chewing on a mouthful of catfish, nodded indifferently.

After the meal, they spent more time in training, the effects of the previous night's stimulation still lingering.

Only after sweating it out and washing up did they head to the estate's marketplace, with Krais leading the way.

"I already memorized the layout," Krais explained. A habit of his, always scouting escape routes and surroundings.

Their first stop was a small tavern, despite Martai's bustling marketplace being filled with narrow streets, throngs of people, newly built houses, and even domed buildings that turned out to be temples.

Seeing one, Rem suggested cautiously, "Why not visit that place, Captain?"

But Enkrid ignored him.

Inside the tavern, Krais spoke up.

"The bread here is a treat. They call it rusk, I think? Sprinkled with sugar and butter—it's amazing."

He gave a thumbs-up to emphasize just how good it was.

It wasn't served at breakfast, but Krais was right—it was exceptional.

Though hard instead of soft, it was made by double-toasting bread, almost to the point of charring.

Still, as long as it tasted good, that's all that mattered.

Their lunch consisted of rusk paired with well-cooked duck.

At this point, it seemed like all they were doing was moving, eating, and drinking.

Once lunch was finished, they planned to visit the dwarves.

As they were eating, someone kicked open the tavern door and walked in.

"What are you looking at? Bring me a plate of bread!"

The man sat down and cast a long, deliberate look at Enkrid.

From his glaring eyes to his mannerisms, it was obvious to anyone—this was a provocation.