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If one could endure pseudo-death, which resembled dying but was far easier, just endure it, if only that could be done—

There was a living textbook. One that showed every move in detail right before his eyes.

This was, in essence, a good thing. Cursed sword or malevolent spirit aside, it was good—at least to Enkrid.

“Think about why you step your left foot to the side.”

There was also a teacher who meticulously interpreted the textbook.

Thus, this was only natural.

Enkrid absorbed swordsmanship like a soaked cotton ball drawing in water. No, he engraved it into his body, leaving understanding for later.

He had learned this while honing his sense of evasion.

‘Is understanding even necessary?’

When he didn’t understand, he simply threw his body into it. By repeating it, he could engrave it into his body, postponing understanding for later.

“You’re insane, no matter how I look at you.”

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