Chapter 560 - 560 - The Old Man and the Question
Chapter 560 - The Old Man and the Question
The layout of the buildings was designed for Enkrid, by Enkrid.
Everything revolved around the training ground.
The old man, having stepped outside, gripped the handle of his cane without hesitation and pulled.
Sreung!
A blade gleamed as it was drawn.
Enkrid, standing opposite him, unsheathed his Valerisan steel sword.
Srururung.
The sound of the blade scraping against the scabbard was sharp and refreshing.
Enkrid let go of the rest of his equipment, wielding only his sword. Without a word, they faced each other, both holding live blades.
Though it was a sparring match, it could easily turn deadly.
After all, there were no promises or agreements between them.
Then, the old man clicked his tongue inside his mouth.
Tak!
The sound rippled out like a wave.
Enkrid's sharpened senses, refined through Jaxen, allowed him to feel the sound waves as if they were physical vibrations.
Some waves passed unimpeded, while others struck his body and bounced back.
The vibrations carried information directly to the old man.
It was a technique called
Echolocation.
Using sound, one could identify the distance and shape of objects in their surroundings.
The old man raised his sword handle beside his face, its tip pointed forward, his eyes closed. His milky-white eyes were no longer visible.
The old man spoke.
"Be careful."
With those words, he moved.
This time, there were no vibrations, no sound—only a blade falling straight from above.
Of course, no one here would fail to perceive the old man's strike, and everyone watched closely.
Luagarne puffed out her cheeks unconsciously, her eyes darting about.
She had been training to develop her dynamic vision since first picking up a sword, and now she saw the results.
The old man's slash seemed as though he had folded space itself to fly forward—a rapid strike she could barely keep up with.
It was a slash from above.
If Luagarne could barely perceive it, Shinar and Jaxen—standing a step back—had precisely understood the old man's motion.
He crossed his feet to gain momentum, dust scattering beneath him without a sound, his steps silent and secretive.
At first glance, the strike didn't seem to contain
Will,
either.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, Enkrid moved. With instantaneous reflexes, he responded to the old man's blade.
He lowered the tip of his sword ever so slightly from its central stance.
Strength gathered in his trained muscles and poured into the blade. Like an eagle snatching prey, a surge of blue light shot upward from below.
When the upward swing of the Valerisan steel sword met the old man's cane-sword blade, the old man's weapon bent like a snake.
Ting!
The resulting sound was surprisingly faint for clashing metal.
The slender blade, flowing along Enkrid's steel sword, looked almost like the Snake Blade technique Enkrid himself used.
In that fleeting moment, Enkrid made a decision and moved.
Though the bending blade threatened to slice his arm, Enkrid's step advanced instead of retreating.
The sword that had been about to strike vanished as the old man leaped back to gain distance.
And then—
Tak!
He clicked his tongue again.
Though he was blind, his swordsmanship was far from defensive.
His movements were aggressive, and even as he stepped back, he changed his stance.
Crossing his feet, he brought his blade to his cheek, a position that signaled his attack.
With echolocation pinpointing Enkrid's location, the old man stepped sideways.
Swish, swish.
His steps skimmed the ground before rapidly shifting into quick strides, his soles pressing down as though memorizing the terrain beneath him.
He walked in a circle around Enkrid, his movements creating an illusion—his figure multiplied as though there were many of him.
It was a technique that deceived the eyes through controlled changes in speed.
Shuffle Drive.
Jaxen muttered under his breath. It was an advanced assassin's technique.
Shinar recognized it, too—she had faced something similar before.
Though many could attempt
Shuffle Drive,
few refined it to such a level.
As the afterimages of the old man multiplied, his figures surrounded Enkrid.
The old man's blade slashed, retreated, thrust, and twisted, his myriad stances targeting every inch of Enkrid's body.
Anyone else would have panicked, but Enkrid was used to such tricks.
He had already learned and mastered similar techniques through the wraith imprisoned in his blade, Aker.
If the
Will
could be used to pressure the opponent with illusions, Enkrid could wield something similar—perhaps even more.
In that instant, he felt it—an intuition that he would gain something more, move forward.
Enkrid's blue eyes gleamed brighter than ever.
Though his eyes emitted no actual light, they appeared to glow.
The old man, too, sensed that Enkrid was doing something.
And indeed, he was.
Enkrid was a madman who enjoyed grueling, near-abusive training.
What was needed for progress in such moments?
Talent?
Effort?
Both were important, but readiness when the moment arrived was far more critical.
In that sense, Enkrid was ready every day.
Aker's Web.
Will
was
Willpower.
To press an opponent with Will?
That was intimidation.
If slightly transformed, it could be used in other ways.
Having trained himself to project an iron wall behind him, Enkrid now grasped another realization.
It was an opportunity presented to the prepared, and he seized it.
Enkrid adjusted the positions of his shoulders, toes, and sword tip in response to the old man's illusions.
Some movements were too subtle to perceive, while others boldly swung the blade.
All of them controlled the flow of speed, mirroring the old man's movements.
"Hmm."
Jaxen let out a faint groan, surprised.
What would it look like if one faced Enkrid's sword now?
Though impossible to understand fully from a distance—
"It'd be stifling."
Shinar's words were the truth.
The oppressive weight of Enkrid's
Will,
previously like a solid wall, had transformed into countless movements pressuring his opponent.
The old man stopped, clicked his tongue again, and retreated.
Tak!
'What else do I have to show?'
The old man, contemplating, returned his sword to position.
Enkrid pursued him, sensing the tide had turned.
There was no reason to retreat.
Bang!
Finally, their blades collided fully.
With a strike from his monstrous strength, Enkrid sent the old man's body flying sideways.
Or rather, the old man propelled himself in that direction.
Sensing this through his sharpened senses, Enkrid chased after him, smoothly rotating his ankle as he flowed into another attack.
His blade again targeted the old man's neck.
Bang!
Their blades met once more, sparks scattering in the air.
Veins bulged across the back of the old man's hands—he was exerting his full strength.
Through this exchange, Enkrid was surprised by three things.
First:
'No presence, no Will.'
Though it was clear the old man was using Willpower, there were no signs of it to detect.
Second, his mastery of silencing sound and presence was exceptional.
If Enkrid lost sight of him for even a moment, he would be hit.
Third, the old man was weaker than expected.
Enkrid seized his moment.
With a horizontal slash of overwhelming force, he pushed the old man's blade aside and held his own sword to the man's neck.
"Is this your best?"
Even in defeat, the old man smiled.
"You'd think I wouldn't last a single move in a contest of strength, but I lost."
"One more time?"
"Are you trying to kill an old man?"
However, the strength emanating from the old man felt different from his own.
If he had to compare it, it seemed similar to Jaxen's type.
"What's your name?"
He was only now asking for the old man's name.
"I've forgotten."
It wasn't that he didn't want to say it; it seemed to be the truth.
Is it only fun when you clash swords and force against each other?
No.
For Enkrid, everything he did with a sword belonged in the realm of enjoyment.
"How strange, strange indeed. You find this fun?"
Though the old man couldn't see, or perhaps because he couldn't see, he spoke as if seeing through Enkrid's psyche with more clarity.
In truth, everyone would know.
Who couldn't tell when Enkrid's eyes gleamed with excitement, his face practically screaming with exhilaration as he fought?
"Yes."
Enkrid replied and raised his sword.
The second sparring match, too, ended with a decisive victory.
As Enkrid fought, he thought, even if they sparred ten times, he would win all ten.
Meanwhile, Jaxen, observing from the side, thought differently.
He recognized the danger in the old man.
'How terrifying.'
From his movements, decisions, and the trajectory of his blade, Jaxen could tell—
if the old man chose a different kind of battle instead of a head-on duel, very few would survive.
And if Jaxen compared himself?
He wouldn't know until he tried.
For the first time in a long while, tension surged, quickening his heartbeat.
'When was the last time I felt this?'
It must have been since he took on the role of Geogr's dagger.
That old man was of the same breed as him.
Clack!
"Oh, so you can hear sounds and figure out positions and get a rough understanding of the surroundings?"
Rem asked, sitting across from the old man, who had demonstrated echolocation.
"That's right."
"Really?"
"That's how I know you just rolled the dice in secret."
"Wow, it was a test, a test! You really can see it, huh."
The old man naturally stayed in the city even after sparring with Enkrid.
He didn't eat or sleep at the barracks but stayed at an inn in the city, occasionally visiting.
At first, the soldiers at the barracks tried to stop him, but once they realized Enkrid had allowed it, they left him be.
No one told him to leave, and no one scolded him for staying.
Some members of the Madmen unit didn't care who came or went.
Others thought it better to have the old man within their detection range.
"He's not a new member, is he?"
At one point, Krais came to ask, and the old man shook his head.
"I've forgotten my name, but I have work to do. I can't stay here for long."
Then what exactly did this man do?
Krais regarded him with suspicion.
How common was someone like this across the continent?
Absolutely not common.
Even if the entire continent was scoured, there would be fewer than a hundred.
Moreover, the neighboring country of Aspen probably didn't even have one now.
Wasn't it strange for such a figure to suddenly stay in Boder Guard?
It was very strange.
Enkrid simply let it slide, so the others did too.
'Even if Gilpin investigated, no one knows who he is.'
But there wasn't even a rumor about this old man.
A blind man wielding a cane-sword should be famous, yet he wasn't.
"Alright, alright."
Krais let it go for now.
It wasn't something he could do anything about.
That didn't mean he stopped completely; he continued using people to investigate the man's identity.
The old man smiled with his cloudy, white eyes, as if silently saying that no matter what Krais did, he would never uncover his identity.
"What is it that you do?"
What would happen if he asked directly?
Uncovering secrets through conversation was one of Krais's specialties.
Wasn't he once renowned for his skill in uncovering hidden truths from noble ladies?
"I can't tell you."
"Then what organization are you from?"
"That's a secret."
The old man gave a wink.
Despite being blind, he somehow managed such gestures.
Faced with Krais's direct questions, the old man just as directly refused to answer.
If he shut his mouth so firmly, there was no way to pry anything out of him.
"Leave him be."
Enkrid interjected at the right moment, pulling Krais back.
It was as if he was saying he would take responsibility for the old man.
Krais nodded.
After that, the old man spent his time mingling with the soldiers.
Ragna wasn't interested, while Rem enjoyed playing games with him, laughing as the blind old man repeatedly caught him cheating at dice.
Apparently, that was fun for Rem, and he spent several days playing with the old man.
Jaxen always stayed in a position where he could keep the old man within his field of view.
He did so naturally, even during meals or bathroom breaks.
Watching this, Enkrid found it fascinating.
For Jaxen to do that meant aligning his entire schedule with the old man's patterns, yet he did so seamlessly.
Unless someone paid close attention, no one would even notice.
"You still haven't left?"
Whenever Shinar ran into him, she'd scold the old man, but he would only smile.
The old man's routine consisted of going back and forth between the city inn and the barracks.
Enkrid paid him little mind and went about his usual business.
He focused on training and honing his skills as always.
He knew that not a single day should be wasted, as today existed because of that effort.
To others, he might seem like a training fanatic, but that was simply his way of life.
About ten days after the old man arrived, on a bright moonlit night, the temperature had dropped, making the air chill as night fell.
The cold wind made the moonlight feel even colder.
Enkrid was heading to his quarters.
On one side of the training yard, Jaxen stood silently, sharpening his dagger, while the old man sat on a log bench opposite him.
It was quite late, yet he hadn't returned to the inn.
But for that old man, day and night probably didn't matter.
After all, his world was always dark.
As Enkrid walked across the stone-paved ground, the old man's voice rang out.
"Can I ask what you plan to do from here on?"
It was sudden, but the weight in his words froze Enkrid's steps.
The moonlight behind the old man cast his shadow forward.
Though the man sat in darkness, the shadow looked darker still, as if it were the very essence of the void.
The shadow's head moved, as if turning toward Enkrid.
I've also introduced a new item in the shop that costs 50 and will get you everything I've translated to date, up to Chapter 710

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