Chapter 434 - Training à la Luagarne

Chapter 434 - Training à la Luagarne

It lasted an entire month.

Lagarne meticulously observed Enkrid's changes. She watched him without fail every single day.

She was one of the most perceptive and sensitive Frogs on the entire continent.

When it came to evaluating and teaching someone's talents, she was arguably on par with a seasoned knight.

Thus, observation alone was sufficient.

Enkrid was already at his limit. This was the end. He was at the final stretch.

It was akin to suddenly choking on a bite of soft, boiled potato.

The conclusion was inevitable.

"He's stuck."

Stagnation.

"It's a shame."

This was the simultaneous emotion that surfaced.

For an entire month, he lived as if scraping together every remaining second of his time, as though he'd received a terminal diagnosis.

"You'll die if you keep this up."

The fairy sparring with him remarked bluntly.

"Don't push yourself too hard," advised the human knight, demonstrating his swordsmanship.

Even the bear-human hybrid had to persuade Enkrid to rest for a day, using both hands and feet.

Though whether beating him into resting during a sparring session was the proper way to go about it was another matter entirely.

"This is one of the traditions of martial priesthood."

Forcing someone into unconsciousness to make them rest?

Audin's words were true. Martial priests devoted to the god of war often wrecked their bodies with excessive training. When that happened, it was the duty of senior priests to care for them—sometimes with fists and feet.

Lagarne, being an open-minded Frog, nodded in understanding.

Others, however, reacted differently.

Dunbakel, observing from the side, widened her eyes. "He's not running away after taking all that?" she muttered in disbelief.

Fel, meanwhile, stiffened as if frozen, murmuring, "A shepherd could withstand this much." Yet no one took him seriously.

"I'll rest properly."

Ropord made his resolve clear. He might have persistently challenged Ragna to spar countless times, but taking a quality nap after being hit by Audin's fist was a different story.

In a way, it could be seen as a wise decision. He hadn't been chosen as part of the knights' ranks without reason.

Regardless, Luagarne observed Enkrid's struggles.

"Despite such desperate efforts..."

It was stagnation, not progress.

And even that stagnation was precarious.

He barely avoided regression.

The reason he hadn't regressed entirely?

"It's thanks to mastering various techniques."

The rigorous training Enkrid subjected himself to each morning had forged his body into something unlike that of an ordinary man.

Having already realized Will, his body had transformed to match its demands.

Will represented sheer determination. Techniques driven by that resolve placed immense strain on the body. Yet enduring that strain hardened the body further.

It wasn't without reason that knights exhibited combat prowess of another level.

Lagarne retrieved a squirming, high-quality caterpillar from a leather pouch, placed it on her hand, and snapped it up with her tongue in one gulp.

She needed to eat to think clearly.

Over the month of observing Enkrid, she devised various methods.

"What would help?"

Nothing was certain.

She plunged herself into thought. Sitting on a chair Rem had crafted, she pulled one knee close to her chest.

Occasionally, she'd puff out her cheeks, eat another caterpillar, or sniff the Frog-exclusive herb Epiphrimum, which had a pleasant scent.

Frogs preferred summer over winter. While they didn't have a pathological aversion to the cold, dry climates often left their skin parched and cracked. Severe cases could even lead to bleeding, which was far from pleasant.

For humans, it would be akin to someone cutting their skin with a blade daily—painful and miserable.

Cold and wind dried out Frogs' skin, so naturally, they favored summer.

Lagarne felt fortunate it was summer. She could forgo moisturizing her skin and focus entirely on observing and thinking.

Why did that man struggle so desperately?

"I understand."

Lagarne listened to what Enkrid conveyed through his actions and demeanor.

Even if the heavens denied him, he declared he would press on.

It was a silent scream directed at the world.

At least, that's how Lagarne saw it.

So what could she do for him now?

Something for a man at a standstill.

Thought alone wouldn't suffice. What mattered was action. Lagarne rose from her seat.

"You can't keep going like this."

Enkrid was in the midst of training, wielding a sword ten times heavier than an ordinary blade.

Whoosh!

Unable to fully control the weight, the blade trembled as it came to a halt.

Sweat streaming down his forehead flung into the air in tandem with his movements.

Between his damp, black hair, his piercing blue eyes glimmered.

"You must already know."

Lagarne spoke again.

"Is there another way?"

Enkrid replied calmly. He already knew.

If Lagarne had recognized his stagnation, it was no surprise that Enkrid had foreseen it.

He always knew this moment would come.

Although he had squeezed out talent he didn't possess and tasted the joy of unprecedented growth, he had anticipated that a limit would eventually present itself.

It was a familiar feeling.

He recalled the boatman's words from the previous night.

"Tsk, tsk. You should have stopped at enjoying today. Do you seek the thrill of advancing further? Then you'll never find such a day. There might've been one, had you not looked to tomorrow—a day where you repeat today endlessly and feel the same joy."

The boatman had scolded Enkrid.

Of course, before their parting, the boatman had revealed the nature of the ominous aura surrounding him. When Enkrid dreamt again, the message echoed.

"There is no such thing as perfection in this world."

The boatman had said this boldly, feigning confidence. Enkrid paid it no mind.

Was his distaste for stagnation so strong that he wished for a wall to appear?

It wasn't so much dislike as it was a resolve to find a way forward. Since he expected it, he preferred action over idle contemplation.

The knight's path? He understood it now.

"Observing other knights' swordsmanship to learn even a fragment more."

Simultaneously, honing his own techniques and moving forward.

This was the path Enkrid had grasped.

Was it the correct one? He didn't care.

Instead of wasting time on doubt, he received Ragna's black thunder more times than he could count, evaded Shinar's invisible blade, and worked tirelessly to comprehend Jaxen's life-preserving thrust.

He had tried everything, or so he thought.

"Once, there was an exceptionally talented bard. To compose extraordinary and remarkable songs, he shut himself in his room, repeating the same tasks over and over. He believed that was the best approach."

It was an old story about a foolish bard who never ventured out. The moral was simple: one must experience and witness the broader world to find true inspiration.

Enkrid already knew the rest of the story.

"It was his friend, a lifelong baker, who made him realize the error of his ways. With just a few words, that friend inspired the bard to write the famous song The Well-Bound Frog, a tune known across the continent even today. Yes, I know the story."

The bard was a Frog, and upon understanding his mistake, he created a song that even children and adults still hum today:

"Did you think the sky was round?

Did you think the world was round?

Was my world so narrow?

Frog, oh frog,

If you don't leave the well, you'll gain nothing."

The lyrics repeated a simple yet profound message.

"Are you willing to follow my lead?"

Ruagarne, the continent's greatest mentor, had never encountered a disciple like this one before. What was she to do? She decided to try everything possible.

"Let's do it."

Enkrid nodded. He had no other choice. He had faced stagnation like this several times. While it didn't make him restless, it was far from a situation he welcomed.

Walking under the moonlight felt like being engulfed by a sudden overcast sky, obscuring his vision. It was as if a sturdy bridge he'd been crossing abruptly collapsed midway.

In such moments, Enkrid always found a way forward—even if it meant closing his eyes or stringing ropes across the broken bridge to crawl over it.

This time was no different.

That summer was unusually long.

The scorching heat felt as though it would barbecue a person whole.

"This is insane, Instructor," one soldier muttered before the torturous march began.

He was a nobleman's son who had studied in the capital. While from a cadet branch, his family was among the vassals of the newly appointed Duke of Okto.

Confident in his skills, he had joined the Border Guard, convinced he'd soon stand out among the so-called Madmen Unit after a bit of training and luck.

But what was this madness?

The instructors handed out a long sword, two daggers, a heavy wrist-mounted crossbow, armor padded with linen and leather, guards for the forearms and shins, at least three throwing knives, a hand axe, a small round shield, a helmet, a short baton, and—on top of it all—a backpack.

They called this state of gear "fully armed."

"This isn't arming; this is torture," he thought.

For him, it truly was.

The instructor leading the reconnaissance unit simply nodded at his protest and responded with a single line:

"Then leave."

She was ruthless.

The soldier couldn't retort. Many had challenged this female instructor and ended up beaten to a pulp. Fighting back only made things worse.

"Then the monster will come next," he thought bitterly.

If Rem showed up, there was no hope. Though rare these days, he used to appear frequently to complain about the training intensity being too weak, dragging someone out to pummel them. It was pure, one-sided violence, targeting nobles especially.

"That noble-slayer."

The soldier knew Rem's infamous nickname, well-known among noble circles.

"Run!"

Even fully armed with a sword belt and backpack, they were expected to run.

Grinding his teeth, the soldier started moving.

"This is reconnaissance training. If you can't handle it, drop dead," the instructor barked.

The exercise lasted three days: scaling mountains, digging smoke-free pits at designated points for meals, and then returning.

"Even demon slayers wouldn't endure this," he grumbled, staggering on.

Resentful, he cursed his father for sending him here out of admiration for the so-called Demon Slayer. But eventually, his exhaustion left him too drained to think.

Then, he noticed another soldier.

"A steel helmet?"

While everyone else wore leather helmets, this one had a full steel helm. His backpack looked larger and heavier, he carried three hand axes, two long swords, and even a gladius strapped horizontally across his lower back.

And if that wasn't enough, he had two spears slung over his shoulder.

"A spearman?"

It didn't make sense. Their current training was for reconnaissance, a fact everyone painfully knew. But why was this man so overburdened?

The soldier dismissed it as a hallucination until he caught a glimpse of the man's face.

"Demon Slayer!" he gasped. Though too exhausted to shout, his voice carried enough to catch attention.

The man—the legendary Demon Slayer, holder of a general's rank bestowed directly by the king—turned his head slightly.

"Dragging your feet will only make it harder," he said, offering a brief piece of advice before continuing ahead.

The noble-born soldier fell silent.

The Demon Slayer carried several times his own load and still marched unfazed. In that instant, the small rebellion brewing among the soldiers evaporated.

Finn, the instructor and commanding officer of the training, approached Enkrid as he walked ahead.

"It's been a while," she said, giving a casual salute with her right hand at her waist. She, too, was fully armed.

"Improved, have you?" Enkrid remarked, instantly assessing her with the same sharp gaze as ever.

Finn clicked her tongue and shifted the conversation to Torres.

"They've ramped up the frontier defense training at Martai. You should visit sometime."

"Maybe if I have time," he replied. For now, his schedule was packed with exercises inspired by Ruagarne's methods.

Finn sighed. Even after so long, Enkrid was still an unparalleled training maniac. But then again, that's what made him the Demon Slayer.

Though she had once been his superior, she had later served under him and now commanded as part of his forces. Despite everything, Finn couldn't help but feel proud. Enkrid had a unique way of making those around him feel fulfilled.

"Breaking through narrow perspectives requires diversity. Try everything."

Following Luagarne's philosophy, Enkrid pushed himself to the limit, carrying heavier gear than any soldier and running alongside them.

"Run."

Splash!

He dove from mountain ridges into lakes below.

"How do you break past your limits? I have no idea. But I know clinging to a sword alone won't get you there."

Broadening one's view allowed for greater understanding, and that was the essence of Luagarne's teachings.

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