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Chapter 483 - CHAPTER 480

"Sir, I've made up my mind."

Ziba said this as she ran over, while shaking off her wet hair after coming in from washing up.

Her hair was getting a bit long, making her wonder if she should cut it.

Encrid seemed like a different person than before. In other words, he appeared as composed as ever.

While shaking out Ziba's long hair with a dry cloth given to her by her mother, Encrid asked with his eyes: What decision?

Ziba, meeting Encrid's gaze, firmly moved her lips.

"Sir, I will become your bride. Just wait for five years."

Gurgle, gurgle.

Luagarne puffed her cheeks and laughed beside them. Dunbachel tilted her head and spoke.

"Will five years be enough? You might not grow enough."

Ziba was still just a child.

"Look at my mother. I'll grow, a lot."

What exactly would grow?

Ziba's mother quietly straightened her back and puffed out her chest from the side.

The man from the West, who had set aside his hostility, nodded in agreement beside her.

Indeed.

There was a hint of pride on her face.

She had grown, but that wasn't what mattered.

"What's this about?" 

Rem asked.

Although he had been here several times, Rem had only spent long hours in this tent on the first day, so he didn't know the cheeky Ziba.

"Ziba, a kid whose dreams are hard to support."

Encrid's blunt assessment made Rem nod.

"It's the first time I've seen a kid whose dreams aren't supported."

One could support any dream, but this was different.

Marriage is something where the other party's will is important. It's not something that can be decided by one's own wishes.

Of course, Encrid had no thoughts about the cheeky Ziba.

No, he merely thought of her as a bold kid who was lucky to be alive. That was all.

Having said what she wanted, Ziba retreated. She had no choice.

They had just fought and washed up after returning.

The heat still lingered. Encrid had many visitors, not just one or two.

"You've improved a lot."

Rem commented. It was true. People's shouts of 'great warrior' and 'savior' didn't sound like hollow words.

Rem had an eye for things, so he could recognize the improvement.

He gauged Encrid's current skills based on his own experience with finding sorcery.

In real combat, many factors affect the outcome. This was not the full picture.

For example, just because someone is a Junior-Knight, does that mean they would never die to a Squire?

They could die. It was possible.

That's what real combat was like.

Even using willpower didn't turn your body into steel.

The current assessment was only a rough evaluation.

But that didn't mean it was meaningless.

What is swordsmanship, and what is combat?

Strength, speed, stamina, judgment, adaptability, courage, tenacity that squeezes out the last breath, unwavering mental strength, sharp eyesight, heightened senses.

All these things combine to kill the opponent.

From what could be seen now, all of Encrid's abilities had been elevated.

It wasn't just that he had become stronger, some concentrated experience had seeped into him.

'It's strange.'

He'd been watching for a long time, but seeing such transformations occasionally still amazed him.

That didn't mean he couldn't understand it.

The world is vast, and Rem didn't know everything.

So perhaps things like this happened outside his realm of understanding.

'Though I don't believe it, it could be possible.'

Geniuses are known for breaking boundaries.

Rem had also broken such boundaries in the past, which is why he had no rigid preconceptions.

On the contrary, those with poor skills would be stuck in their own thoughts, shouting that it didn't make sense.

Only those with narrow minds would think that way. But Rem wasn't one of them, nor was Luagarne.

Dunbachel didn't have much of an opinion either.

The majority of Westerners didn't know Encrid's past, so they only found him remarkable now.

"You've improved a bit."

He had grown even more since the practice duels on the way here.

Encrid nodded calmly because he knew that as well.

Cutting down two giants wasn't just cutting down two giants.

It was the moment when accumulated experience translated into skill.

Even Encrid found it hard to put into words, but what was certain was that the path to Knighthood—the clues to it—seemed to have grown into a thicker, clearer route.

"Impressive."

Next to Rem, Ayul spoke up. She didn't hide her admiration or the fact that she was moved.

"It's the first time I've seen someone fight better than Rem."

Ayul's words continued. Juol was even more astonished. He had known Encrid fought well and had heard that he had subdued the twins, but still...

"From the first time I saw him, I knew he wasn't an ordinary person."

He couldn't even finish his sentence.

That's how extraordinary what he saw was.

"He stopped curses and killed giants—what can I even say?"

There was also a middle-aged Westerner who would occasionally come by and strike up a conversation.

But why had this person suddenly shown up?

A man with a tear-stained face, who had emerged between Geom and Hira, took Encrid's hand and repeatedly thanked him.

"Oh, it's the chieftain."

One of the sorcerers recognized the man and said.

Encrid hadn't known that the man in front of him was the chieftain.

His clothes were similar to everyone else's, he didn't lead anyone, and he didn't possess extraordinary strength.

He would occasionally stop by, say thanks, and bring some fruit, so Encrid just thought he was a nice Westerner.

He did have a kind face and manner of speaking.

Though he used the distinctive Western dialect and sometimes dropped words unique to the West, the chieftain always made sure to explain things clearly to Encrid.

He would kindly repeat himself twice when necessary.

In many ways, he was a considerate person.

So, was that why he was the chieftain?

"You're the chieftain?"

"You didn't know?"

Nod.

"It doesn't matter."

He had stopped the curse and killed two giants. The chieftain was ready to do anything for him.

He had been incredibly grateful when Encrid became their totem.

But now that he had killed the giants as well...

"If there's anything you want, I'd even put my position as chieftain on the line to get it for you."

After the brief commotion with Ziba's odd statement, the chieftain's expression of gratitude, Ayul's surprise, and the others' reactions, everyone eventually went back to their business.

"Let's talk later."

Rem also left the tent.

There were people shouting, calling Encrid a savior, and it was a moment filled with heated excitement.

Though the way people looked at Encrid had changed, it didn't mean his life would change much.

"Let's spar later."

Geom Nares spoke quietly. Though his body was still aching, Encrid could see him slowly standing up and stretching.

"Didn't you say you'd spar as soon as you recovered?"

"A simple spar wouldn't be fun."

Geom Nares said, licking his lips. He was also a Westerner.

Initially, he had planned to take it easy, but that no longer seemed appealing. Once the Western matters were settled, he clearly wanted to fight Encrid with all his might. His fangs seemed especially sharp as he spoke.

Encrid nodded.

"The result won't change, though."

"You have a knack for annoying people with your words, don't you?"

"I've heard that from time to time."

With no particular tasks at hand, Encrid quietly reflected on the things that had been condensed and manifested this time.

It was his old habit to review things. It was exactly what he needed right now.

"Are you going to reflect on everything you've got?"

Luagarne asked in passing.

Encrid knew exactly what he was doing.

It was something he had been doing for a long time.

Starting from the basics of footwork, the way to swing a sword, how to grip it—all the things he had learned up to now.

From the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique to the unnamed Correct Sword Technique he learned from the demon sword, Tutor, various steps, swordsmanship, and techniques.

He retraced and broke them down, analyzing the essence of those techniques.

Why?

Because it felt like he could go further.

It was something he realized through contemplation in the realm of intuition and the sixth sense.

So, what was necessary now?

"It seems you won't need me for a while."

Luagarne continued.

She was right.

Although he still swung his sword as he always did, it felt more appropriate to manifest things physically than to worry and think.

"That seems to be the case."

"Is it good timing, or what?"

Luagarne muttered as she prepared to leave. She had been going out frequently lately, but Encrid didn't bother asking why.

She would tell him when she was ready.

Given the circumstances, it was natural that his daily life hadn't changed. Encrid was still dedicated to training as usual.

"You can leave now, but if you feel more comfortable staying, that's fine too. If there's anything you want, just say the word. I can get just about anything."

Hira, chewing on a reed stick, said. Although she had always treated him well, she had become even more considerate now.

Ziba's mother remained the same.

"This is wind rabbit meat, a delicacy of the West. Please try it."

The wind rabbit was an animal native to this region.

It was light on its feet and twice as fast as an ordinary rabbit, so it was said that only the best hunters in the West could catch them.

The wind rabbit meat was so tender it felt thin. It had been pounded, mixed with grain flour, and grilled flat in the Western style, melting in his mouth.

"In my Company, there's a guy named Krais. If he ate this, he'd probably want to open a restaurant immediately."

It was high praise.

Hira and the other Westerners kept asking what he wanted, so Encrid finally answered.

He said it would be nice to have a sparring partner.

"Geom Nares, are you still not healed?"

Hira called for Geom Nares, but he shook his head.

"Not yet."

It wasn't that he was trying to avoid it. He simply felt that proper preparation was needed for a real fight.

Was it unexpected, or was it to be expected?

Sparring partners were not in short supply.

These were Westerners, and Westerners considered running away in battle to be a disgrace.

If Encrid wanted to fight, plenty of people were willing. It wasn't the Western way to back down just because an opponent was strong.

One of them came forward.

He had arrived ten days ago, witnessed Encrid's battle, and came to ask for a lesson.

"In the West, a scar on the back is a mark of shame."

Short gray hair, a square jaw, and a firm expression.

"What if you get hurt by an ambush?"

"That can't be helped."

Westerners weren't rigid. They were flexible and loved to joke.

Encrid smiled as he took the wooden sword his opponent handed him.

"I enjoy fighting in many ways. My friends often tell me I'm sometimes too dirty or underhanded."

It was a calm, soft-spoken comment. His attitude was casual.

After grabbing two wooden swords, the man handed one to Encrid and said this.

Encrid caught the wooden sword the man had thrown to him.

Luagarne went out again, and Dunbachel sat off to the side, acting as a spectator.

"Ahhh."

With her limbs stretched wide, Dunbachel yawned, looking relaxed.

She had been sleeping a lot more lately, too.

Encrid held the wooden sword given to him and nodded up and down. He could tell without even swinging it properly.

The balance was off.

It was a poorly made tool. Or perhaps the materials were wrong, but despite that, it looked like it had been carefully carved. The rough texture suggested it was a freshly made wooden sword.

In other words, it had been made specifically for this sparring session.

The opponent kept talking. It was starting to seem like they would never fight.

"But when they call me underhanded, it's because they think I don't give them enough time to prepare..."

As the man spoke, he suddenly swung the wooden sword mid-sentence.

Whoosh!

The man wore a cloak to hide his arm movements, so the cloak flapped wildly as he moved.

The patterns embroidered on it blurred the field of vision.

The wooden sword, the cloak, and the words—all were part of his plan for victory.

'It's a tactic.'

Deception was also a form of strategy.

But that didn't mean the opponent's strategy had worked.

It was irrelevant to Encrid.

For instance, the fact that the wooden sword was made from hollow, rotten wood.

Encrid pretended to clash his sword against the man's but instead dropped it.

The opponent swung his wooden sword with all his might.

Thwack.

The dropped wooden sword broke in the middle.

'How rotten was the wood?'

With that thought, Encrid stepped in, driving the solid base of his palm into the opponent's solar plexus.

He didn't use full force. Otherwise, there would be one more corpse.

Wham!

The impact vibrated through his hand, accompanied by a sharp sound.

The opponent had no time to react.

The sudden move had caught him off guard, leaving him open.

The force of the blow lifted the opponent off his feet. When he fell back to the ground, he collapsed face-first.

It looked as if he had died.

"....Urk."

The man, his breath choked by the strike to his solar plexus, lay on the ground, unable to speak.

"Trying to kill him?"

Dunbachel asked as she approached and grabbed the Western warrior by the back, helping him stand.

"Urgh, huff, huff, gasp."

The sound of ragged breaths echoed continuously.

"I saw my dead father."

Encrid looked at his hand.

He still hadn't quite mastered controlling his strength.

Beside him, a female warrior was waiting for her turn.

If the previous opponent had been a hunter using every trick available, this one was more like Rem.

She had her hair tied back, well-trained shoulder muscles, and a large axe in her hands.

She had witnessed the man who had been half-dead from a single hit, but she didn't care.

Encrid liked that.

"It seems like you wouldn't die even if I swung with all my strength, so can I go all out?"

The female warrior asked. Encrid nodded.

Afterward, Encrid deflected the heavy axe swings with just his sword's edge and knocked the female warrior out with a chop to the back of her neck.

Encrid realized there were quite a few capable fighters within the tribe's walls.

And it seemed their numbers were growing.

"Is he really that amazing?"

A few new faces, curious to see the warrior who had killed the giants, approached.

"Mind your manners, or you'll end up dead."

Geom Nares warned the cocky warriors beside him.

"Got it."

The warriors quickly nodded.

While they found Encrid's accomplishments impressive, they had their own tasks to attend to.

Whether sharpening their weapons with a whetstone, meditating, sparring, or training.

It was clear just by looking.

The entire tribe was preparing for battle.

In other words, killing the giants wasn't the end of it.

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