Esther ran her hand through her jet-black hair.
The hair that was lifted up cascaded down again like a curtain made of ebony.
Between the curtains, a pretty, plump pink window opened up, and a voice flowed out.
"A gift?"
Although he hadn't exactly called it a gift, Encrid nodded vaguely.
His attitude was ordinary, but Esther's eyes sparkled exceptionally, like a star fallen from the sky.
For some reason, there was also a feeling of exhilaration.
Was she in a good mood?
Sometimes, people just feel that way.
Like waking up after a good night's sleep and feeling unusually refreshed.
Encrid had taken out what he had packed in his backpack and laid it out.
He had gained a lot from killing the Apostle.
There were holy relics, but also other artifacts.
He instinctively knew they were enchanted items.
Some pouches tied with strings hadn't even been opened.
"Poison or something similar."
It was thanks to Hira's advice.
So, Encrid had thought of leaving them in the western lands, but when he heard that a wizard would appreciate them, he decided to bring them along.
Some were intact, but many were broken.
A cracked pearl necklace, a ring split in two, a handkerchief embroidered with a weeping woman, a beast's tooth, and more.
Among them were some truly valuable items.
Esther recognized them at a glance.
The Apostle Encrid encountered in the west had prepared thoroughly, though he couldn't resist properly.
Wizards differ greatly depending on how prepared they are.
Encrid had rushed in and cornered him.
Wizards often lack the quick situational judgment of swordsmen.
Anyway, these were the items the Apostle had been holding.
He was a madman and a necromancer who had devoted his life to turning fertile land into a demon realm.
Being considered mad or seen as mad can often come from witnessing incomprehensible genius.
Though his specialty was handling corpses, he was both mad and a genius, so the insane acts he desired were almost realized.
He had the bad luck—or someone's misfortune—of meeting Encrid and Rem.
Esther opened one of the pouches with her slender, white fingers and began to carefully pack what Encrid had spread out on the ground into it.
"Not bad."
Her eyes were already judging the value of the artifacts.
Wizards are those who dedicate themselves to research and study.
No wizard would dislike something that could aid their spells and research.
But where did you get such valuable things?
From talismans that blocked curses and negative energy, to charms imbued with western witchcraft.
It was as if they had cut down a sorcerer and robbed him.
No, that must be what happened.
"The way you dealt with the sorcerer was useful."
Listening to Encrid's nonchalant words, Esther was sure.
"I see."
Esther spoke, packing up the items, then returned to her original seat.
It looked like she was doing nothing, but she was busy.
So busy that she wouldn't be able to do anything for a while.
In Encrid's absence, she had discovered that part of an old curse had permanently eroded her world of spells.
Even if you sew up a torn doll, traces remain. The erosion was that trace.
For a wizard, their spell world must always be flawless. But what if the caster feels that their world is flawed?
It's like playing chess without a knight and a bishop.
As time passes, the eroded parts would only get worse, not better.
Esther now faced two choices.
One was to somehow repair the eroded world.
It would take a long time, but it wasn't impossible.
However, it would be like a swordsman fighting with missing limbs.
If she made a mistake and drew power from the eroded world?
That would lead to self-destruction. At best, she would die gracefully, and at worst, she might become a monster, neither dead nor alive.
So, what should she do?
The first method was to control the magic properly and live with it, which was the easy way.
The second way was difficult.
'To recreate the spell world.'
Instead of sewing up the torn parts of the doll, she would dismantle it and create a new one.
Most wizards wouldn't dare attempt such a thing, but Esther saw a way.
And for that, she needed various artifacts.
Things imbued with other wizards' unique spells. Just like the things Encrid had brought in abundance.
"Enki."
Esther called to him as she sat.
When Encrid looked back, the black-haired beauty continued.
"Welcome back."
The fact that he had brought such rare items was amazing and surprising, but more than that, Esther was glad Encrid had returned.
Seeing him made one of the two paths clearer.
It felt as though the God of spells had given her a revelation.
Though Esther herself didn't realize it, seeing Encrid return made her understand.
She had been waiting for this man.
'Instead of hesitating, I'll take even one step forward.'
Does it matter if the path is hard and difficult?
That man always spoke through his actions, through his life, and through everything else. No, he was still speaking.
If it's the path you believe is right, what does it matter if it's hard?
Esther smiled faintly.
Seeing her smile, Encrid tilted his head slightly.
Were the items he brought really that valuable?
He had heard wizards would like them, but were they truly that rare?
Esther's smile quickly disappeared, and she closed her eyes. She had embarked on a new journey to rebuild her spell world.
Of course, no one, including Encrid, would know about it.
Night deepened.
Sinar returned after receiving her gift, and Esther closed her eyes.
As Encrid settled down to sleep, Rem sat on the bed after washing his hair and spoke.
"It seems those bastards have fled."
"…Sleep."
Rem growled twice more before falling asleep.
Encrid closed his eyes too. Sleep soon came, a deep slumber without dreams.
* * *
"Your greatest strength is your adaptability."
It was during his practice of the Isolation Technique at dawn that Luagarne spoke.
The rain had stopped, and the temperature had dropped, making the morning unusually fresh and filled with invigorating air.
It was the perfect morning for training.
Not that Encrid was the type to skip training just because it was hot.
So, it wasn't about returning to the city where he originally lived, feeling comfortable and at ease during training.
'He sleeps well, eats well, and runs well no matter where he is.'
This was one of the impressions Luagarne had of Encrid.
Whether on the way to the western lands or while there, and now even in the city, he was always the same.
Encrid just nodded as if it were obvious and continued what he was doing.
He was standing up and sitting down with his legs spread wide, maintaining his balance.
On his shoulders was a pole made of stone, crafted by Audin himself. No, it was more like a pillar.
It was too thick to wrap one hand around, so calling it a pole didn't seem right. Pillar was the more fitting term.
Watching this, Luagarne considered adaptability and persistence to be Encrid's strengths.
In any case, watching him was enjoyable and entertaining.
Despite having seen and taught many people, she had never found it this fun.
Luagarne knew all too well how foolish so-called talented people could be.
There were plenty who, after swinging a sword a few times, would say swordsmanship was easy and go off drinking.
She wanted to show those arrogant people Encrid.
'Look.'
Even if the sky split open tomorrow, he would still move the same way.
Isn't his consistent attitude and mindset remarkable?
Despite the sweat dripping down from carrying a stone pillar on his shoulders, his eyes were not clouded by suffering.
You could feel it without words.
He was always hungry and yearning for more.
Luagarne brought up tactics. She wanted to teach him how to fight properly beyond just relying on his body.
Tactics were about how to fight.
While there were times one had to rely on instinct, if not, it was always better to think and prepare.
"It's good to know exactly what you want before a battle. Why do you think that is?"
Luagarne posed the question.
"Not to rush into battle recklessly, but to plan with a purpose."
The answer came quickly. It was clear that he often thought and pondered. What a great attitude.
"Half right. The other half is to avoid becoming intoxicated by the sword."
There's a saying about becoming drunk on the blade. Those who find joy in killing are merely murderers.
Surprisingly, many talented martial artists turn into murderers.
Stabbing someone and watching them drop dead?
Then maybe he'll try cutting their neck. Next, how about slicing their legs?
As their skills grow, they start to enjoy it.
Luagarne thought Encrid looked more like that now than at any other time.
Everyone's skill develops at different times.
So, she saw this moment as Encrid's prime.
Her concern, even though she knew he wouldn't become intoxicated by the sword, was a cautious word.
"I understand."
Encrid replied obediently.
He had dreams and ambitions, so he wouldn't go down that path.
He knew.
Luagarne knew it, and Encrid, who answered, knew it too.
Yet, he nodded.
Because he understood why Luagarne said such things.
'Adorable.'
How could anyone dislike this man?
Luagarne suddenly realized why the mood in the barracks had changed this way.
Everyone alike spared no time in training and didn't hesitate to push themselves towards improvement.
No barracks or Knightly order was ever like this.
In some places, soldiers would tear each other down, competing until they were broken.
Others, relying only on their talent, would die on the battlefield.
But here, that couldn't happen.
Some soldiers knew how Encrid had reached his current level.
And even those who didn't know, understood that this man, despite his outstanding skills and rank as a General, was the first to greet the morning every day.
Yesterday, a newly recruited soldier witnessed it.
His name was Marco, though neither Luagarne nor Encrid knew it yet.
After finishing his final shift guarding the front of the General's barracks, Marco had sensed something and come inside to see.
His pupils trembled.
'Didn't he just return yesterday?'
Doing this would only accumulate fatigue, wouldn't it be inefficient?
Yes, but for some, this was the best method.
And Encrid was now so used to this routine that resting would be counterproductive.
He needed to move to relieve his fatigue, and this was one of the effects of the Isolation Technique.
As Marco watched, unconsciously entranced—
"Brother, you need to sit deeper."
Caught staring at the General, Marco was startled by a voice from behind and turned around in shock.
Standing there was a giant, so large that he would have to crane his neck back completely to see his face.
No, not a giant. A human. But how had Marco not noticed him approach?
Audin smiled as he passed the soldier, and the General with the stone pillar on his shoulder greeted him.
"Audin."
"Have you had success with your striking technique?"
"Hit me once."
It was a gesture of welcome, as he set down the pillar.
Behind Audin stood the real giant, Teresa, a half-blood.
She too passed by the soldier, Marco, without a word.
Neither of them said anything to him.
Marco looked back at Encrid.
Bang!
His eyes widened.
Audin had punched the General's side. That's what it looked like. No prior agreement, no warning.
He just hit him.
What's going on? Why did he hit him all of a sudden?
"Oh."
Audin suddenly admired his own action.
"How is it?"
Despite being hit, the General smiled.
Are they all crazy?
Or do you have to be mad to fight like that?
Did the drill instructor Lawford say yesterday that if you put in enough effort, you could become like them?
Nonsense.
Marco realized his talent was insignificant.
No, it didn't end there. Is it over if you have no talent?
Should he quit and go back to bullying weaker guys like he used to?
He didn't want that.
So, Marco took a step forward. A courage he hadn't known he possessed surged within him.
"Why are you hitting him?"
Marco asked.
No one told him to leave, and they let him watch.
So, it was tacit permission, wasn't it?
Even if it wasn't, he would have asked.
Marco was desperate. He wanted to know. Why get hit? Why hit? Why are they smiling? Are they just crazy?
"That's training."
Marco was startled again.
So startled he nearly jumped in place.
Where did this guy come from?
There was a rare red-haired man with a cold, rigid expression standing next to him.
He didn't even look at Marco as he passed.
'There's something different.'
His name was Jaxon.
"If you want to test something, anytime."
The General casually extended his hand to the side. Immediately, Frog handed him a sword.
It was a sharp, real sword.
Marco didn't know it was a royal blade bestowed by the Kingdom, Aker, but he recognized it as a fine sword at a glance.
For wandering swordsmen, a good weapon was directly linked to their skill. So, he naturally had a good eye for blades.
As soon as the General took the sword and assumed his stance, the red-haired man vanished from his spot. Quite literally, all of a sudden.
Marco blinked.
What?
He was right there, but now he's gone. Vanished like smoke.
And then—
Thud.
A beast with gray hair kicked the spot where the red-haired man had been standing.
Marco couldn't see all the movements clearly, but from the stance and the dust kicked up, he could piece together what happened in his mind.
The beast with gray hair spoke with a voice dripping with joy, a grin spreading across his face.
"You've come! Wild cat!"
"You didn't leave that behind?"
The red-haired man appeared next to the General again, holding daggers in both hands.
An axe and two daggers.
The beast and the ghost looked at each other.
The gray-haired one was smiling, while the red-haired one remained expressionless.
Though it was a quiet exchange of glances, Marco felt like he was standing in the eye of a storm.
"Keep it moderate."
Encrid spoke, and that was the signal for them to clash.
Thud, clang!
That was the sound Marco heard.
He hadn't even seen the exchange.
Their positions had switched.
"Mess around, and you'll end up skinned and dead."
Gray-haired Rem spoke with a grin. He now stood in the spot where the red-haired Jaxon had been.
Jaxon stared at his dagger's blade. Only half of it remained. The blade had shattered in a single strike.
It wasn't just the weapon, their skills were now in different leagues.
The broken blade remained stuck in the ground.
"Did you awaken after getting hit a few times?"
The red-haired man asked.
"Yeah, damn it, I did. After getting hit a few times, I awakened."
The gray-haired man replied with an even wider grin.
After crossing swords, it turned into a war of words.
They threw a few more barbs at each other, and Encrid appropriately stepped in between them.
"My turn."
It was a strange thing to say when trying to break up a fight.
Marco saw and learned much that day.
The place where he was, was a well.
If he have to escape that well, what should he do?
He'll have to roll.
Luagarne watched as the man named Marco turned.
She didn't know all his thoughts, but from his steps and attitude, she could tell he had made a decision.
'Here's another one.'
This was Encrid's magic. When you look at him, you can't be content. You feel like you have to move forward. Like you have to push past your limits.
'How do you push past your limits?'
You must train with all your strength and heart.
The most necessary thing for that?
Stimulation.
Encrid was the stimulant for everyone. Whether he knew it or not.
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