They were talking about Oara, the one who was like sunlight.
The funeral was over. None of the townspeople were wailing in grief. They shed tears, but they cried in a calm manner.
"Oara!"
Now, only the cry for her remained.
"For Knight Oara!"
The cries of those who remained continued.
The will of Knight Oara would forever be etched into the city.
Just as every Knight had an engraved weapon, Oara now had a city with her name engraved on it.
City of Oara, that was the new name of Thousand Bricks.
"Have a long talk, it's been a while. I'll head back first."
As Encrid and Krang were deep in conversation, Luagarne stepped aside to give them space.
After talking for a while and reaching the city gate, Encrid clenched and opened his hand several times. His forearm muscles were still stiff.
It was to the point that wielding a sword felt burdensome.
Checking his physical condition, Encrid suddenly asked,
"Are you going straight away?"
It would make sense to rest for a day, but Krang hadn't even unpacked, and the faces of his escorts had darkened since earlier. They also looked anxious. All of this meant one thing.
They weren't staying, they were going straight back.
They had come to mourn the death of the Knight and comfort the townspeople, but they were originally very busy.
"Check the carriage. If the wheels break while we're on the road, there's nothing more annoying than that."
Krang turned his head to his escorts and then responded to Encrid.
"I dropped everything I was doing to come. If I don't go back immediately, someone might die of overwork because of me."
Half of it sounded like a joke, but half of it also sounded serious.
"Then."
Krang came and went like the wind. It seemed like he didn't need a proper farewell and was just leaving as he was.
As Krang was about to leave, he turned his head back and asked.
"Will you come back as a Knight next time?"
Krang's eyes glowed, shining brightly even between the rays of sunlight, showing his intent. His eyes asked: Will we meet again in our rightful places?
Will you come this far?
Encrid locked eyes with Krang.
"Do you really believe you can rise without even wearing the Red Cape?"
Krang smiled and spoke.
It was a question, but there was trust underneath.
It was a question demanding an inevitable answer.
Eyes unwavering, showing belief that he would rise no matter what.
"Do I need to answer?"
"No."
Krang burst into laughter and turned away. One of the escorts approached before leaving and said,
"Squire Rug here. How is Lawford doing?"
"Probably fine."
Thanks to today's repetition, the name Lawford felt somewhat distant.
He was a friend who followed the Border Guard after the civil war.
The image of him constantly challenging Ragna came to mind.
If he hadn't died at Ragna's blade, he'd still be alive and well.
"That guy, after wandering around for so long, suddenly changed. They say it was all because of Sir Demon Slayer."
The title sounded odd.
He had gained the title of 'Sir' and the nickname 'Demon Slayer' seemed to have stuck.
He wasn't part of the Knighthood, but he had proven his skills, which was why it ended up that way.
Of course, Encrid just thought it was an awkward nickname.
"Can I receive some instruction in the future?"
Squire Rug asked again.
In his eyes was a desire to compete.
A desire to test his skills against someone who had made a name for themselves.
"Rug, if you want to quit being my escort and become Enki's Squire, just say so. You can go anytime."
"No, my Lord! I have no such intentions."
"I'd bet a year's worth of budget that's a lie."
Krang joked with a laugh, and Rug nodded with a smile before turning back.
"Come to the Border Guard whenever."
Encrid called out to his retreating figure.
Rug briefly turned his head and thanked him with his eyes.
"Now I'm really leaving. I'm so tired I could die. Didn't they say the one who wears the crown must bear its weight? That's all a lie. It's not the crown, it's the work that you have to endure."
With that, Krang truly left with a quick pace.
Feeling the sunlight and the peaceful air, Encrid also began to walk. He had seen Krang's fatigue from rushing here, but despite resting for a few days, his own body creaked just as much.
The result of facing off against Jerix.
Turning back down the path, Encrid walked with heavy steps, glancing around at the bustling soldiers. They were lively.
They were moving materials to repair the broken city gate.
In one corner, they were firing up the forge to cast molds and make arrows.
Some were dismantling the corpses of spider beasts, which were said to make good sturdy shields out of their tough hides.
The stench was bad, so they worked with their faces covered.
Everyone looked busy, moving diligently.
The funeral was a funeral, but work was work.
This kind of liveliness originally suited the city.
"Oara!"
The battle cries continued as soldiers carried logs on their shoulders.
So, the city would now be called Oara?
It seemed the name of the Knight had carried over to the city itself.
City of Oara, it was quite a nice name to hear.
On the way back, sleepiness kept creeping in.
Aching muscles, a pulling sensation in his abdomen, and stiffness around his shoulder blades.
It felt like pleasant muscle pain but also like it could become an issue if he moved the wrong way.
"Rest when it's time to rest."
Luagarne, who had been waiting at the lodging, said, and Encrid nodded.
She was right.
Now was the time to recover. It was time to close his eyes and rest.
But still, there was something he needed to say.
"Dunbachel, if you don't go out and wash immediately, I'm going to give you a blood bath."
He had sent her out scouting to help with the cleanup, but after killing a few beasts, she hadn't washed at all, and the smell of the spider corpse was still clinging to her, filling the lodging.
Dunbachel recovered better than Encrid did. Something about breathing in some toxic fumes that were apparently good for her body, but he didn't understand the details.
"Do I smell?"
Dunbachel asked, pretending to be innocent.
"How do you not smell yourself?"
Rem, who had been lying down recovering, threw a jab at her.
But Dunbachel stood her ground.
"That's none of your business, is it?"
For some reason, she had become more fearless than before.
In the final moment, she had thrown herself in place of Encrid. He had known, and had stopped her, but if he hadn't, Dunbachel might have died.
It was a strange situation.
This was a battlefield, anyone could die.
Rem grinded his teeth with a smile.
"Just because I'm injured, don't think I can't kill you."
Even off the battlefield, having an enraged barbarian as a comrade could still get you killed.
"I'm going to wash. I'm going now."
Dunbachel quickly learned her lesson and bolted outside.
Rem, gripping the half-shattered handle of his axe, spoke.
"That one seems to only listen when you beat them."
'You seem to be the one with the condition of hitting first and talking later.'
Encrid thought to himself, and Rem, noticing, spoke.
"Are you badmouthing me right now?"
"I wanted to ask what's out in the West. I guess now's as good a time as any."
They both needed to rest and recover.
Their bodies creaked from the battles with the beasts.
Rem was close to being severely injured.
Though he lay there pretending to be fine, anyone else would have been crying out in pain.
"Low skies, interesting clouds, and on the other hand, high skies, rivers of sand you can't return from, stuff like that. You want to hear some old stories?"
"If they're interesting."
"I've got a few I heard when I was young."
Encrid smoothly shifted the topic, and Rem began to share some old tales from the West.
They were stories tied to mythology and folklore.
Some of them even contained bits of ancient dialects.
At one point, Encrid wondered if they used a different language in the West, but that wasn't the case.
"After the Language War, the entire continent started using the same language."
The Language War was a conflict started by the Empire.
It was a story from when the Empire was still divided into the three Kingdoms.
Surprisingly, Rem told the stories in an engaging manner, and Encrid listened well.
For instance, in the West, being called a 'pocket spy' was considered a great insult.
They had a deep disdain for stealing in secret rather than taking something through an open confrontation.
"What's a pocket spy?"
"A thief."
"Openly taking it in a confrontation is fine, but isn't that just being a bandit?"
Luagarne asked. Rem shook his head.
"It's different. Banditry is just taking by force. This is more like a wager."
Encrid listened quietly. Soon, Dunbachel returned after washing and joined the conversation, adding to the lively discussion.
The stories of the West were fascinating in many ways.
"Out there, they don't ride horses. Instead, they have something else. In the desert, it's as tough as a camel and while it's not as fast as a horse on flat land, it can run across most terrains with ease. They call them Velopters."
Encrid had heard of them before, but had never seen one.
* * *
The ferryman looked at the one having a conversation.
"You seem happy."
The ferryman said .
And they truly did.
The obstacles faced each day would leave scars even after they were overcome. Those scars lingered, eating away at a person.
Moments where you met someone you couldn't save no matter what you did.
It seemed that today was perfectly matched for this madman, the ferryman thought.
But once again, he was wrong.
"When does a person die?"
The ferryman muttered.
When they reach the end of their life?
Then, when does a Knight die?
When the sword of their conviction breaks. When they fail to protect what they swore to protect.
The Knight, Oara, had fulfilled her duty, kept her vow, and died with a smile.
This madman had passed by something that couldn't be undone.
Instead, he moved to ensure that the choices already made became the best they could be.
That attitude awakened a memory in the ferryman.
He let the memory float down the river.
It wasn't something he wanted to recall.
It was something he had long since forgotten.
"To recall the path not taken is to be left with nothing but regret."
The ferryman muttered like he was reciting poetry.
His words carried a certain rhythm as they spread.
The ferryman continued watching the one bound by the curse.
And then he saw the man rise from his seat.
For a moment, he felt a realization—this was a man who had cast off the dead yesterdays and lived for tomorrow.
Watching from the confines of today, the ferryman found the sight to be dazzling.
So dazzling that he couldn't look away.
Those who live in the dark naturally long for the light.
That's why he wanted this man to sit in darkness.
Wasn't it natural to want to keep something that emitted light close by?
With the waves lapping, the purple lantern swayed, and the ferryman gazed at the cursed man on the boat.
This human was doing something that no one else had ever done.
It stirred something in the ferryman.
It was a change that had come from seeing the man's unwavering attitude.
So, what was left now?
There was still much to come.
If even the tip of his foot got caught on something, it would be over. That's why this was a curse.
The ferryman let out a sigh.
"Hah."
Was that amusement?
Was his body almost recovered, or was he already moving like that?
The man swung his sword. Swinging the sword while sweating profusely, yet somehow, it didn't seem normal.
"A madman. A madman."
The ferryman continued muttering.
Seeing that appearance, he realized something.
That madman had never simply passed by the dead. He had always been receiving something from them.
* * *
After resting for two more days, his body had mostly recovered.
Even the sharp pain that shot through his wrist with the slightest finger movement had vanished completely.
They called it regeneration magic.
He owed Audin his thanks for that.
His body had recovered so quickly.
He rose and gathered his gear before stepping out in front of the lodging.
"You've been patient."
Luagarne was already outside. She smiled in the sunlight, her white cheeks glowing.
It was a humid day. The kind of weather Frog liked.
"Yeah."
Encrid replied, reflecting on everything that had been on his mind.
There was a lot to think about.
His head was full of what Knight Oara had left behind.
What she left behind wasn't just laughter.
Oara and the Fragment of Balrog.
Every move from their battle was etched in his memory.
Taking down Balrog would come later.
One could only face tomorrow by repeating every day.
Encrid knew that better than anyone, so he focused on the task at hand.
He meticulously studied the moves Oara had shown him. He reviewed what she had taught him in his dreams. He analyzed the movements of Balrog that he had barely witnessed.
This wasn't the level of a Squire, but that of a Knight. There was far more he hadn't seen than what he had.
Even so, there was a mountain of things to reflect on and learn. Luagarne helped with that.
"Take it slowly, one thing at a time."
Encrid resolved himself and moved.
"No need to tell you not to rush, I see."
Luagarne was pleased.
This man was worth teaching. He learned slowly, but steadily.
Frog's words earlier were already part of Encrid's way of life.
Take things step by step.
Study what you don't understand. Slowly, but with endless repetition, make what you understand your own.
"Gain experience, and through training, make it yours."
Luagarne spoke. It was something Encrid was already doing.
He was reflecting and absorbing. That was part of the legacy Oara had left behind.
In Oara's battle with the beast, they had both floated in the air, not as a metaphor or exaggeration, but literally, with swords emitting actual light.
Oara had used simple, continuous movements, but Balrog's Fragment had not.
It had twisted its body and used strange movements.
So how had Oara's sword been able to counter them?
Encrid began reflecting on all of it.
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