Chapter 83 - Heat

Chapter 83 - Heat

As the ferryman of the Black River had mentioned, Enkrid's days were akin to an endless repetition of today.

Each day was wholly dedicated to training.

"Control, control, and more control."

The sparring sessions with Rem focused on Enkrid achieving absolute mastery over his body and sword.

The chilling sense of malice that occasionally gripped him came from the piercing gaze of Jaxen, lurking somewhere in the shadows, observing him.

Jaxen had a knack for making one's body freeze up just by staring.

Even the slightest lapse in vigilance felt like it could lead to death.

Jaxen himself did nothing more than stare, yet that alone was maddening enough to drive Enkrid crazy.

Finding Jaxen, who constantly exuded killing intent, became a regular part of Enkrid's training.

To achieve this, Enkrid tried expanding the scope of his hearing and other senses but failed repeatedly.

The concept of the "Door of the Sixth Sense" remained elusive to him.

"It doesn't come easily."

Jaxen persisted with the same unyielding practice.

Meanwhile, Enkrid began losing weight, a testament to the grueling nature of the training.

Difficult as it was to endure, Enkrid never told anyone to stop.

"Take it easy, you sly stray cat. You're seriously annoying."

"Did a barbarian sense my killing intent? My finesse must be lacking."

"You let it slip on purpose and still talk like that. Now, where's my axe? I'll split that stray cat head of yours wide open with my aaaxxe!"

Watching Enkrid wither away, Rem occasionally threw snarky remarks, which inevitably led to more quarrels.

Then, as if it were routine, Enkrid would hold Rem back, stopping him from rhythmically searching for his axe.

"This is my choice," Enkrid would say.

"Damn it. Just don't overdo it, alright?"

Coming from someone who said "don't overdo it," it was ironic that Enkrid rarely had a day without bruises covering his body.

This was thanks to Rem's fists and axe.

Rem didn't know how to hold back, either.

Though it seemed hypocritical, Enkrid never told him to stop.

Had it not been for his training in the Isolation technique, he wouldn't have been able to endure any of this.

Audin would often check in.

"If it's too much, you can take a break, brother."

This guy wasn't a saint; he was clearly a demon's priest whispering.

"Take a break if it's too hard" and "It's fine to stop" were his constant refrains.

But those were the whispers of the devil himself.

"Maybe I should."

When Enkrid showed even the slightest sign of giving in—

"Well then, we should train your mental fortitude," Audin would say, immediately launching into another bout of relentless exercise.

"Mental strength comes from physical power. This is a secret, but I'll share it with you, brother. Mental resilience is actually born from muscles."

This offhand remark led to an increase in the day's training weights and a more intense combination of Isolation techniques and wrestling.

The unhinged priest seemed to take pleasure in tormenting people while imitating a demon.

Yet, surprisingly, Enkrid didn't resent him for it.

Occasionally, just occasionally, when the training became unbearably grueling, Audin's demonic whispers served to reawaken Enkrid's resolve.

"I feel like taking a break today."

Knowing full well how Audin would respond, he sometimes said this deliberately.

And Audin, with a wide smile, would reply,

"You must be feeling quite capable, then."

This provocation was inevitably followed by another grueling session as Audin prepared a regimen that pushed Enkrid to his limits.

Exhausting.

Unbearable.

No one could call this anything but arduous.

Yet, the results of his training were beginning to accumulate in his body.

Even though he still couldn't perfectly defend against Rem's axe when it moved like a beam of light,

He could now block two out of three strikes without losing balance.

In sparring with Ragna, his ability to read moves had improved.

Previously, he could barely anticipate the immediate next step; now, he could string together several feints to manipulate his opponent's actions more precisely.

Though Ragna and Rem were vastly different opponents, both contributed significantly to Enkrid's growth.

However, detecting Jaxen's killing intent remained an insurmountable challenge.

"The Door of the Sixth Sense, huh."

He had experienced countless moments when his entire body broke out in goosebumps.

No matter when or where, he felt the need to brace himself for Jaxen's gaze and the malice behind it.

The thought was chilling.

It was as terrifying as the idea of dying from endlessly repeating today.

Enkrid had encountered assassins twice before.

Each time, the situation demanded he repeat today's pattern.

Yet, the malice he felt then never matched this intensity.

They say well-trained assassins hide their killing intent entirely.

Enkrid recalled the assassins he'd faced.

The first had attacked him at the medical barracks.

"There was noise rather than malice back then."

Was that assassin just clumsy?

The second time, he had faced a half-elf who threw whistling knives. Back then, Enkrid had focused entirely on tracking every movement, every flick of the fingers.

His eyes had been wide open, staring as if to pierce through his opponent.

Neither instance aligned with the notion of using the sixth sense.

***

As the brutal winter of the season's end began to give way, the air subtly changed.

It wasn't warm yet, but the chill seemed to be lifting slightly.

Rain fell when snow was expected, hinting at the arrival of spring and the start of a new year.

Though the cold would linger for a while longer.

This region was known for its prolonged winters.

Thinking about assassins naturally led his thoughts to them again.

"They were said to be relentless, but have they stopped coming?"

The Grey Hounds, Aspen's famed special forces, were notorious for their persistence.

Hadn't he experienced their tenacity firsthand?

"To send assassins after one soldier..."

Though it remained on his mind, there was no sign of any further attacks.

To be honest, Enkrid wondered if he could even react, given how consumed he was by training with Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxen.

"Whatever happens, I'll deal with it."

For now, worrying about the Grey Hounds—or whatever else—wasn't a priority.

"It's a gift for tomorrow's me."

The time he poured into his body today would be a gift he'd enjoy in the future.

Tomorrow's Enkrid would embrace today's pain as a source of joy.

***

Mitch Hurrier stood at the center of the training ground, sending the chill of winter into the air.

Moving his body and swinging his sword, steam rose from him as the cold was forgotten.

He focused solely on the sword, himself, and his opponent.

Swing after swing, he continued.

Having risen from his sickbed and regained his strength, Mitch Hurrier behaved like a man possessed by his sword.

His practice weapon was a thick, weighted blade designed for training.

The sword carved several lines through the air before halting, its tip angled sharply toward the sky.

Then Mitch's arms bulged with effort as the blade cut downward through the air.

Swish

From above to below.

Anyone with a discerning eye would have shivered at the precision of that strike.

The sword drew a perfect vertical line, its tip unwavering.

Even after swinging such a heavy weapon for hours, Mitch delivered a flawless strike, astonishing in its precision.

Mitch Hurrier had turned his defeat into the foundation for growth.

'That's why I can't allow myself to die like that.'

While he lay bedridden, he heard someone had sent an assassin after the man who had defeated him.

That knowledge infuriated him.

Yet, the assassination had failed.

And that made Mitch happy.

'You should die by my hand.'

On the battlefield, no less.

Since his loss to Enkrid, surpassing him had become Mitch's reason for living and his ultimate goal.

"It looks impressive, but it's also a disgrace."

His father harshly criticized him, claiming Mitch had become a madman swinging a sword mindlessly.

Such behavior wasn't what the family patriarch expected from a member of the household.

But what did that matter?

Better to be an obsessed swordsman than to tarnish the family's honor by sending assassins in the name of the Grey Hounds.

"I'm far more respectable."

Mitch smirked.

He eagerly anticipated the day he would meet his foe on the battlefield.

It wasn't a futile dream.

Considering how Aspen was mobilizing its forces after the last defeat, a rematch seemed inevitable.

"See you on the battlefield."

The face of his opponent was etched vividly in his memory.

It was one he would never forget.

It had been the first time Mitch had lost like that.

That defeat had turned him into a training addict who refused to leave the sparring ground.

The Grey Hounds' commander, seeing Mitch's current state, had stopped further assassination attempts.

"Can you capture him if you meet again?"

"I'll meet him. And I'll kill him."

Satisfied with Mitch's response, the commander decided to let the matter rest.

There would be no more assassins sent after that soldier.

***

"Let's retract the comment about you changing. That seems more accurate."

Rem spoke after their sparring session had concluded.

"It feels like you're in a slump."

The foul-mouthed barbarian rarely threw sharp words at Enkrid, but this time, he did.

"Is it a habit of yours to stop progressing as soon as you improve?"

Enkrid chose not to argue back.

It wasn't hard to understand why Rem was acting this way.

It was the nature of his growth: just when his instructor began showing enthusiasm, his progress would come to a halt.

For an observer, it could be incredibly frustrating.

Rem wasn't the only one to feel this way.

"It's strange how you can't seem to adapt. You absorbed the basics so quickly, yet when it comes to applying them, you're stagnant. Normally, a sudden improvement is a sign of talent, but with you, it feels like you're just barely keeping up," Ragna remarked sharply.

Even Ragna, typically indifferent, voiced his opinion, echoing Rem's thoughts.

Audin also chimed in with similar sentiments.

"Brother, making your body move as you envision requires training. Repetition is key. Usually, that's all it takes. But... Brother Squad Leader, you're a bit slow."

A roundabout way to say he wasn't making progress.

Jaxen said little on the matter.

After all, the issue of the "sixth sense" was one that Enkrid had yet to even grasp at.

***

That morning's training session saw the soldiers, professionals in their craft, dedicate themselves to honing their bodies.

As career soldiers, physical conditioning was their livelihood.

In the midst of the training hall, Rem abruptly halted.

"Let's call it a day."

"Fine."

Leaving Enkrid behind, Rem headed to the barracks.

It wasn't a matter of giving up.

Not at all.

He simply realized that simple sparring wouldn't suffice for what they needed now.

"Real combat," Rem muttered as he entered the barracks.

Esther lifted her head slightly to glance at him, and the rest of the squad also cast their eyes toward him.

For the first time since joining, Ragna, Audin, Rem, and Jaxen all agreed.

When Enkrid eventually entered, Jaxen grabbed his arm.

"Take a mission."

"Huh?"

"It's time for some real combat. Throw yourself into a battlefield and survive—if only we could..... But since that's not possible right now…"

Rem added, "It's necessary."

It was clear they were all of the same opinion.

Enkrid was genuinely surprised by their united stance.

'I knew they wouldn't give up on me.'

But he hadn't expected them to come together like this.

That even the lazy Ragna was taking the lead amazed him.

For the four of them to act as one was a sight Enkrid never thought he'd witness, not even in his dreams.

"Nyaa."

Esther mewed at his feet.

Enkrid picked up the panther and said,

"I was thinking the same thing."

It wasn't about recklessly throwing his life away.

Enkrid had always refined his skills and tested his blade on the battlefield.

For someone lacking natural talent, overcoming stagnation required nothing less than relentless effort.

'If I'm blocked and stuck…'

He'd keep pushing forward, clawing his way through, just as he always had.

"Starting tomorrow morning, let's take a mission. A beast hunt would be ideal."

"Apparently, there's one available," Enkrid remarked.

Enkrid had already looked into it.

"You had the idea of combat experience in mind already, huh?" Jaxen said.

Enkrid scratched Esther's head with his fingers as he responded,

"Yeah."

Jaxen had often explained what the "sixth sense" entailed.

To unlock it, one had to step into the realm of instinct.

"Fighting with all your senses sharpened to a razor edge, repeatedly confronting life-and-death situations, teaches you how to predict, perceive, and respond on a primal level," Jaxen had explained.

Even a knight could attain this ability with the right training.

Encouraged, Enkrid resolved to face beasts, whose instincts would undoubtedly challenge his own.

Their raw killing intent would be sharper than Jaxen's.

But of course, not everything would go as Enkrid planned.

***

"The mission? Handle this for me first. We're short-staffed right now," the squad leader of a neighboring platoon interjected the following morning as Enkrid searched for a beast-hunting mission.

A shoemaker had reported strange noises coming from his workshop at night.

The suspicion was an undead-type monster living beneath it.

"If something like that existed in the city, there'd already be chaos."

"I know, but still. Completing a mission gets you merit points, right? Just take care of it. You'll be doing me a favor," the squad leader added, reminding Enkrid of a previous encounter involving a stitching job.

Reluctantly, Enkrid agreed, planning to reassure the shoemaker and quickly move on to the beast hunt.

As he prepared, Jaxen casually asked, "Not going for the beast-hunting mission?"

"I'll head there after this," Enkrid replied.

This bout of real combat was sure to help.

'Whether it's my blade, senses, or how I use my body…'

He felt that fighting beasts would reveal something crucial.

***

The shoemaker's workshop was an ordinary place—until the owner revealed a hole in the floor leading to a tunnel.

"Look here! I found this underneath!"

Surprised, Enkrid peered into the hole to see an artificial cave below.

"Let me check it out first," he said.

Descending into the dimly lit tunnel, he noted six branching paths.

"What kind of lunatic made this?"

The tunnels reeked of deliberate design.

Enkrid chose the leftmost passage.

The faint hum of vibrations reached him as he walked deeper inside.

Soon after, a burst of light and sound erupted.

Boom!

The heat and force engulfed him, and as his consciousness faded, Enkrid realized,

'I died.'

The last thing he felt was the searing heat.

Now, he had to figure out how it happened.