"Didn't you say you were going to meet a fairy?"
Jaxen asked. As he often did when surprised, his tone slipped into casual speech.
Even though he was speaking from the roof, his voice cut sharply into Enkrid's ears. It had that kind of force.
Like a cold flame.
Chill, yet carrying heated defiance. His eyes gleamed, but his voice dropped low, giving it that sound.
"I went. There was a demon."
No matter what Jaxen said, Enkrid stayed calm. A little puzzled, perhaps.
"So?"
Jaxen pressed.
"…I cut it down with vigor. Killed it."
Normally, he wouldn't have spoken this way. He could explain things more clearly now and didn't need to sound like a madman. That was thanks to the framework he had built for himself.
But this wasn't really the right moment to go into detail— not when facing people who had sharpened their spirit like blades.
So, by habit, he spoke as he had often spoken to Ermen.
Not that anyone here would complain about it.
"That's not wrong."
Ragna agreed and stood.
He gripped his sword, stepped forward a few paces, and drew it.
Chiriring—
The clear sound rang sharp. He tossed aside the sheath in his left hand, grasped the sword with both hands, and spoke.
"Step aside, beaten pup. It's my turn."
It seemed he had acquired a fine sword while Enkrid had been away. The blade gleamed faintly, a color close to the sky.
It was forged from Valerian steel, Noir iron, and mixed with True Silver.
Thick and long like his old greatsword, it was a weapon that suited Ragna perfectly.
Even Ragna, known as a genius and a gift from heaven, could be seen with a spark in his eyes. He wasn't trying to hide it.
When Enkrid silently regarded him, Ragna spoke.
"If you can't block it, you'll die."
In sword practice, losing a limb was nothing. That was how Ragna had been taught.
He spoke seriously, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Expectation, joy, excitement. It showed his youth.
From Ragna's expression alone, Enkrid could read his feelings.
He had always been perceptive, and since spending time among fairies—who prized restraint—his sensitivity to emotion had sharpened further.
Ragna's voice brimmed with anticipation as he asked:
"Will you let me try?"
Enkrid asked gravely.
Ragna answered with his sword.
No sign of a preparation stance— yet suddenly his thrust was already darting forward.
Clang!
Enkrid lifted Penna vertically, catching the blade with the flat, then leapt sideways like a bird in flight.
Boom!
Air split with the force of Ragna's second strike as it tore through the space Enkrid had just vacated.
From the first thrust to the slicing follow-up, not one blow was light.
And yet, watching them, one might think Enkrid was simply dodging without effort.
He predicts and reacts.
When errors arose, he recalculated instantly. If that failed, he blocked with sheer strength.
If predictions failed, he turned to skill and willpower.
A few exchanges looked forced, but in the end, it seemed Ragna was being pulled along by Enkrid's design.
He changes tactics in real time.
Accounting for variables, fully focused in the moment. It was possible if one's mind never strayed.
But is this really possible?
It was like raising your head while still watching your own feet.
He turns coincidence into inevitability.
It was as though he viewed battle from a higher plane.
Nonsense— yet seeing it made real before their eyes, they could only accept it.
Rem already knew the result before the real duel even began.
Ten matches with Ragna before Enkrid's return had always ended in a draw. No winner, no loser.
If Rem was being pushed back like this, then so would Ragna.
Wave-Blocking Sword had no real counter. Whatever was tried, it was blocked.
Even Ragna would fail to break through, and then it would become a war of attrition.
Foolish boy.
When that moment came, Enkrid's bottomless Will would drown his opponent.
Fighting him felt like being dragged into a swamp.
That was how Rem always pictured Enkrid's strategies— dragging foes down until the water closed over their heads, where the battlefield favored him completely.
If Rem saw that, Ragna felt it too.
I'll lose.
His genius leapt ahead, compressing the process to predict the result.
At this rate, defeat was certain. So he changed his stance.
Rem had seen it before— a terrifying technique, impossible to counter head-on.
Ragna tensed every muscle, pouring his Will into a single downward strike.
It was just a heavy slash, but from the defender's side, it felt like divine thunder crashing down.
He had taken Enkrid's Will-infused style and reshaped it into his own.
Ragna widened his stance, raised his sword high. The whole motion took only a heartbeat.
So short that it made defending even harder.
In battle, vision narrows. Even seasoned warriors can only react to what's right in front of them.
That was why a knight's foresight technique was called "a glimpse ahead."
But no foresight could predict this. Even if it did, it would be too late.
Retreat wouldn't save you— Ragna's feet were too swift.
On the vast western plains, he had raced faster than most.
To survive, Rem had once rushed inward at the moment the blade fell, cutting its power by half.
But that had nearly killed them both, and they had sworn never to spar that way again.
Now that same strike was descending on Enkrid.
It was the kind of moment when everyone thought: No gaps remain.
"Well now."
Audin murmured.
Just as Ragna gathered his strength, Enkrid stepped well back.
So perfectly timed that it was impossible to tell who moved first.
Of course, Ragna could chase and still bring his sword down. It was a strike that included the "Sword of Continuity."
But distance meant power would bleed away. Enkrid had chosen well.
A tactical move.
He was reading the flow of battle in advance.
It reminded Audin of Aker's "Spiderweb Sword"—but this was superior.
The spiderweb trapped the opponent. Enkrid's technique blocked everything.
Is his mind simply faster?
No. It was as if he had two streams of thought at once.
Rem saw it, Jaxen saw it, and now Ragna and Audin saw it too.
Their eyes all shone.
Ragna swung at last, but Enkrid met it with a horizontal cut from his short sword.
Two Will-forged blades collided with a thunderous boom.
Boom!
The air itself seemed to burst. Thunder from above, volcano from below.
The sky-blue streak and pale moonlit streak crossed, then parted.
Neither wanted the ruin of a full clash, so they let the blades glance and drew back.
It was only a spar, after all.
They both retreated a step, their paths crossing as they circled apart.
The duel was over.
Ragna had spent nearly all his Will. Enkrid had not.
"Want to keep going?"
Enkrid asked, Penna raised before his face.
Ragna met his eyes, then let his sword fall limp and walked to stand by Rem.
Side by side, they looked oddly comical. Anyone who knew how their relationship had soured during Enkrid's absence would have found it absurd.
"Shriveled brothers, your turn."
Audin stepped forward. His eyes burned as well. Joy, exhilaration, anticipation.
Had he always been like this? Or had Enkrid changed him?
It no longer mattered.
They were all burning with rivalry, itching for combat like true madmen.
Golden light began to seep from Audin's body.
It drifted over him like grains of sand, sliding down to his feet, then flowing back up his calves.
That golden dust was the mark of his divinity.
"This is my power as I am now."
He moved.
From his clenched fist, light burst forth.
With a twist of the hips and a punch, the divine glow surged like a spear of light.
Bang!
Enkrid blocked it.
But the spear didn't end with one blow— it scattered into countless motes, raining like starlight.
Fists, kicks, clawing hands came at him from all angles.
Enkrid blocked, stepped, blocked again.
It looked one-sided.
Audin pressed in, Enkrid refused him space.
When Audin finally closed the gap, Enkrid dropped Penna, seized his arm, wrenched it, and smashed a knee toward his jaw.
Thwack!
Audin caught it with his palm, but Enkrid had already slipped back and reclaimed Penna.
The entire sequence flowed seamlessly. Even discarding and reclaiming his sword seemed preordained.
In battle, chance was inevitable— yet Enkrid turned even chance into certainty.
Even errors looked as though they were within his calculations.
His thoughts split and accelerated, computing everything in the blink of an eye.
Can't win.
Rem glimpsed the future again. Audin surely saw it too.
Even with his solid divinity, limits remained.
Watching from the side, Rem felt his axe tremble. His living weapon spoke to him.
I know. But he's not trying to kill. This is just… play.
The axe claimed it could kill, but Rem had no such will.
Victory was not the same as killing.
If he unleashed the axe's curse power, perhaps he could win— but he didn't want to.
Though defeated, Rem felt no bitterness. Only clarity, exhilaration.
Audin too, it seemed.
"I lost."
Of the three, Audin alone admitted defeat aloud. Sweat streamed down his face as he asked:
"How do you feel?"
Now that he looked closely, Enkrid was drenched in sweat as well.
So were Ragna and Rem.
Audin's question carried many meanings.
And in that moment, all of them remembered the day Enkrid had first arrived as their squad leader.