Chapter 5 - Valen-Style Swordsmanship
"Uh? Huh? How did you know?"
"I'm not a prophet."
At Enkrid's response, Rem shook out the bug from his boot onto the ground and spoke confidently.
"Did you put it in there?"
"I didn't."
"Sure."
Rem kept his suspicious gaze fixed on him.
Enkrid didn't care about Rem's accusatory look.
That wasn't the issue at hand.
He stomped on the bug that Rem had dropped.
Squelch.
A distinctly unpleasant sensation spread from the sole of his boot.
"Ugh."
Spitting onto the ground, Enkrid rubbed the remains of the bug into the dirt and said:
"Can you teach the Heart of the Beast?"
"Huh? You rembered that?"
Rem straightened his boots and stood up.
"That's not sothing easy to forget."
"Didn't stop you from drowning your guts in booze, wanting to forget."
Back then, he'd kept seeing the scene of his head being cut off by an axe in his dreams.
Life felt unbearable.
"Can you teach , or not?"
"You're fired up today, huh? Alright, let's do it."
Rem nodded.
"Jaxen, can you handle morning duty? I'll take over tomorrow."
Since they needed strength to train, wasting ti on chores like cleaning dishes was unnecessary.
"Sure, no problem."
Jaxen, a squad mber who was always cheerful and got along well with others, replied.
He had such a mild personality that it was hard to understand why he was part of this unit.
When Enkrid first t him, he assud Jaxen was so sort of diator within the squad.
Jaxen casually dusted off his reddish-brown hair and stepped out of the tent.
Watching him leave, Rem snorted and blew his nose.
"That guy always gives a bad vibe."
It was true that if Jaxen had been an effective diator, Enkrid might never have ended up in this squad.
Jaxen got along well with other units but didn't get along with the Fourth Squad mbers—except for Enkrid.
For so reason, Enkrid had a knack for earning his squadmates' trust.
Whether it was because he silently took on all sorts of tasks or because of his diocre skills that seed destined to keep him as a low-ranking squad leader, even Enkrid didn't know.
He just figured it had to be one of the two.
Rem headed out of the tent, and Enkrid followed.
"That guy feels off. Sothing about him doesn't sit right with . You should keep your distance."
And what about you?
Enkrid only asked the question in his mind.
Was this the sa guy who broke his superior officer's jaw in his last unit, giving advice about keeping distance?
Rem might have been his benefactor, but to others—especially those from his forr unit—he was a walking disaster.
The first squad mbers glared daggers at him whenever they crossed paths.
No one would warm up to soone who'd done that to their squad leader.
Enkrid didn't argue.
It wouldn't change anything.
Ti wasted arguing would be better spent practicing the Heart of the Beast.
There was much to learn from Rem beyond that technique.
"Especially since he's close with the First Squad mbers. That makes it even worse."
Alright, if you say so.
When Enkrid didn't respond, Rem stopped in his tracks.
"What?"
"Squad leader, you're acting weird today. Normally, you'd have sothing to say by now."
That was true.
Normally, he'd have remarked on how ridiculous it was for soone who broke his superior's jaw to give advice.
Or maybe he would have suggested ignoring Jaxen entirely if friendliness wasn't possible.
Instead of encouraging them to get along, Enkrid preferred to keep people apart to avoid conflicts.
That was his secret to leading the chaotic, death-laden Fourth Squad.
"Nothing to say."
Enkrid cut the conversation short.
Rem scratched the back of his head.
"Strange day, huh."
They ate breakfast and made their way to a clearing outside the barracks.
Training on the battlefield might seem odd to others, but for Enkrid, it was routine.
Those who knew him wouldn't see it as anything unusual.
Even passersby didn't spare them a second glance.
And so, the Heart of the Beast training resud.
"Have you been secretly learning from soone else? Not that you'd have had the chance."
"I just practiced what I've been taught."
"Practice alone got you this far?"
Each near-death experience brought a new layer of understanding.
Enkrid found it easier to focus than before.
Rem eyed him suspiciously but eventually shrugged.
"Fine. If you say so. Squad leader, you've got talent, I'll give you that."
Rem echoed a sentint he'd expressed the day before.
Talent, huh?
That would have been nice.
Monts ago, Enkrid failed to evade Rem's axe again.
The blade had stopped just shy of his throat.
A re flick of the wrist would have left a deep scar on his neck.
"That was close," Rem chuckled.
He seed pleased with Enkrid's progress, his laughter tinged with satisfaction.
Enkrid noticed it, too.
"What kind of trick lets you swing an axe like that?"
That axe strike just now—it was faster than the thrust that had killed him before.
The axe blade had approached so quickly, it felt like it would graze his skin any second.
Even though Enkrid didn't blink, he couldn't track its movent.
"Talent?"
Enkrid was reminded once again what an irritating bastard Rem could be.
He'd always been like this.
"If training were enough, everyone would be a master swordsman, wouldn't they?"
Rem laughed heartily.
Just as Enkrid had picked up on his satisfaction earlier, he now realized Rem took delight in teasing him.
He was an odd one.
Then again, was anyone in this squad not odd?
"What if I train more? Work harder? Practice endlessly, even without sleep?"
Enkrid's question ca out instinctively.
It was a dilemma he'd grappled with for a long ti.
If he lacked talent, should he give up?
Enkrid chose not to.
Instead of giving up, he pressed forward.
If geniuses could take ten steps at a ti, he'd take a quarter-step at a ti, but he'd keep going.
"Man, you really are strange today. Did you drink so potion of seriousness or sothing?"
Rem chuckled, hanging his axe on the strap at his waist.
"No."
"Squad leader."
Rem's tone grew serious as he called out to him.
Their eyes t.
After a brief silence, Rem spoke.
"If you don't sleep, you'll die."
Thud.
Rem's words were followed by his cheeks trembling as he struggled to hold back laughter before bursting out.
It was his answer to Enkrid's earlier question about practicing without rest.
"Screw you."
Enkrid responded with the universal gesture of disdain—raising his middle finger.
Rhem chuckled and suggested they head for lunch.
Enkrid didn't plead to learn more.
You can't fill your belly in one bite, and he understood that truth better than anyone.
After lunch, he reviewed his swordsmanship.
Thrusting, slashing, and swinging—basic techniques of swordsmanship.
After mastering these fundantals, he learned the Valen rcenary swordsmanship.
It wasn't subpar.
He had invested significant ti and money into learning it—far beyond what a handful of silver coins could buy.
Valen rcenary swordsmanship.
Though it didn't reach knightly levels, it was renowned among rcenaries, and Valen's swordsmanship stood out.
If categorized, it would fall under the "Illusion Sword" style.
The original manner in which Valen used it was unknown, but Enkrid had incorporated several techniques into his repertoire.
He poured his effort into mastering them.
"After death, each day repeated itself, but the lessons etched into the body remained."
The Heart of the Beast was not learned with the mind but ingrained into the body.
This ant that what his body retained stayed intact.
He pushed himself to exhaustion, wielding his sword until the calloused skin of his palms, already thickened, split open anew.
Ordinary soldiers didn't use swords; spears were their primary weapons.
His role as a squad leader granted him the privilege of wielding a sword.
And Enkrid had no intention of letting it go.
He trained relentlessly.
Despite the pain in his grip, he endured.
Even as his stomach churned from undigested food, he persisted.
He focused all his senses on the tips of his toes and fingers.
Illusion Sword techniques revolved around deception.
They encouraged the use of any ans to mislead an opponent.
So of Valen's swordsmanship techniques had already spread throughout the rcenary world—for instance, feigning a fall to deliver a surprise thrust.
Call it dishonorable if you like.
Why would survival tactics be considered disgraceful?
If soone claid knights wouldn't stoop to such tactics, Enkrid wouldn't argue.
They had their values, and he had his own.
The half-day allocated for training passed swiftly.
His legs didn't tremble; if they had, the daily physical conditioning he had undergone would have been aningless.
Enkrid's legs were sturdy.
"A strong body is quite the asset."
Rem comnted as Enkrid returned.
A ssenger had just arrived.
This was the sixth repeat of the day, and by glancing at the sky, Enkrid could estimate the ti.
"A body trained for over 20 years," Enkrid replied casually, moving back to his squad's position.
"Make sure that sturdy body doesn't end up as just another training dummy," Rem quipped before battle, his laughter ringing again.
"You're on duty tomorrow," Jaxen added nearby.
One seed to mock him, while the other appeared resolute not to take cooking duty two days in a row.
No matter the tone, both seed to want him to return alive.
"See you later."
The sixth day began anew, and Enkrid killed enemies more efficiently than the previous one.
The first enemy lunged, but Enkrid tripped him and smashed his head with a shield edge.
The second fell to a feint before being stabbed.
Valen rcenary swordsmanship wasn't common knowledge; he had sought it out and paid to learn it.
The wavering tip of his sword beca a mirage, obscuring his enemy's focus.
His efforts bore fruit.
He felt the satisfaction of growth, a fulfillnt filling his chest.
Even amidst the repetitions, his progress wasn't negligible.
Despite his death and resurrection, Enkrid didn't squander a single day.
Quite the opposite—he fought more fiercely, imrsed himself further, and honed his focus.
He lived with yearning and fervent hope, never letting opportunities slip away.
And so, Enkrid fought, cutting down enemies, striking, and toppling them.
The repetition of battles granted him new experiences.
"The Heart of the Beast."
He began to perceive what had previously been invisible.
Eventually, he reached the mont where Bell fell.
Fighting daily at the sa location, he always saw Bell fall.
He couldn't retreat or relocate at will.
Recklessly crossing the frontlines was tantamount to suicide; it was no easy feat to alter one's position on the battlefield.
"I'm not at that level."
Enkrid knew himself well.
Though he had grown confident, he wasn't capable of weaving through enemy ranks or attempting reckless gambits.
He couldn't yet foresee the flight of a seasoned archer's arrows.
Thud!
Bell's head exploded once again.
"Damn it."
He had resolved to save him this ti but failed again.
Imdiately, Enkrid ducked.
An arrow whistled through the air as if preordained, its piercing sound lingering in his ears.
His movents were almost instinctual, as though he had anticipated it.
"You're sharp today, aren't you?"
Rem comnted as he approached.
"Go slit the throat of that archer."
"Was planning on it anyway. Stay sharp."
Rem departed, leaving Enkrid to face another enemy.
This ti, a soldier thrust a spear at him.
Enkrid failed again.
He evaded a club swung from behind but was struck by a throwing axe from another direction.
It was infuriating.
Morning broke for the seventh ti.
"I put a bug in your boot."
Enkrid told Rem.
"Are you insane?"
"No, I'm not. Staying calm in such situations—that's the Heart of the Beast, right?"
"Hmm?"
"Teach ."
When the day restarted, Rem blinked, then agreed.
Enkrid trained, practiced, and wielded his sword.
This ti, he didn't try to save Bell.
To save him, he needed to predict the flight of arrows.
If he couldn't, he'd have to rely on luck.
How did Rem dodge those arrows?
With that question in mind, Enkrid moved his body.
Another thrust led to his death.
"I'll show rcy,"
he muttered bitterly.
That cursed rcy.
And so he died.
Through the eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth...
Over a hundred deaths later, Enkrid continued to repeat the day, always beginning with his death.
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