Ragna's hand twitched toward his sword hilt at Rem's sermon, but he didn't draw. Cutting him down now would mean killing an injured man. That wasn't victory—it was defeat.
Not now.
He could kill him once he recovered. Ragna waited.
Jaxen considered whether to slit that bastard's throat before night fell, not dawn. Maybe stab his solar plexus with Carmen's stiletto. Or slice an ankle. Of course, he only thought about it. He wouldn't actually do it. Perhaps a little something in his food? There was a drug that caused endless diarrhea.
No, that bastard's gut wouldn't even react.
Westerners had steel stomachs, and Rem was worse than most. He'd detect it by smell. And creating an odorless drug? Too much effort. A waste on a barbarian.
"Lord."
Audin invoked the Lord without a trace of mirth. This "Lord" was packed with pure fury. The god of war might descend any moment.
Golden light rippled like waves from his ankles to his chest.
The scripture says: forgive those who, though sinners, have received just punishment. Forgive the foolish who err from lack, not malice.
Rem was firmly in the latter category. Audin chose to forgive him.
Rem looked satisfied, his purpose fulfilled. After the sermon, he resumed his usual tone.
"Captain's finally showing some fun. Hey, Path-loser, call me Vice-Captain from now on. Big guy, just call me 'brother.' And you, Wildcat, don't let me see your face."
"There is no Vice-Captain."
Enkrid denied the most problematic part first.
"Ah, is that so? Let's say that then."
Rem nodded with a laugh, like it didn't matter. The trio ignored him, having already endured once. They'd seen what Rem had done. He started it. Everyone else had something hidden up their sleeve.
"Looks like you'll end up using all that Druid's medicine yourself," Anne said, approaching now that the duel, battle, or natural disaster was over. She applied various salves to Enkrid.
Jaxen asked questions beside her—surprisingly, he knew quite a bit about medicine. They hit it off more than expected.
Watching the friendly exchange, Enkrid asked Jaxen, "Won't your girlfriend get mad?"
It was an out-of-nowhere joke—a side effect of spending too much time around fairies. But Jaxen just stared and replied flatly:
"One poisoned dagger is all it takes. Approach before swordplay even starts."
Enkrid paused. He recalled Jaxen standing behind him two days ago.
He hadn't let his guard down. If a dagger or arrow had flown, he would have reacted. He'd even heard that one-eyed bastard muttering from far away.
Still, Jaxen had slipped through all those sensory webs and tapped his back.
He got behind me.
What if Jaxen had held a poisoned blade?
"That time, huh."
"That time."
Only they knew what it meant.
"What are you talking about?" Anne asked, but neither answered. There was too much to explain—non-lethal strikes, invading perception zones.
She didn't press. She wouldn't get it anyway. Her interests were medicine and Ragna.
Enkrid fell deep into thought again.
Rem used slings and prepared explosives. Jaxen said he could get behind me.
This wasn't like the duel with Rem. But it was still fun. Like tag with cloth tails tied to their backs.
Don't get caught from behind.
With Jaxen, a duel meant nothing. Victory came from sensory dominance.
With Rem, it was enduring his barrage.
Different words. Same message.
He hadn't been caught yet.
Even without saying it aloud, their intent was clear.
Both had crossed a line and surged forward. How long had it been since he passed them? Now they were ahead again.
Rem started it. Next came Ragna. As soon as Enkrid recovered, he dueled Ragna.
In short, Ragna was dead serious about breaking Enkrid's swordsmanship.
Whoosh.
The duel with Ragna was the opposite of Rem's. No clashing blades. No noise.
"How was that?" Ragna asked, frozen mid-swing. His red eyes glinted with uncharacteristic joy.
He was excited.
"How did you do that?"
"With force."
Hearing that made Enkrid feel sorry for fairy Ermen. Was that an explanation?
"Just force makes that happen?"
"Yes."
Ragna spoke with conviction. And Enkrid silently agreed. If brute force was all you had, then use it.
Ragna had momentarily doubled his sword's size, coating it with something like fairy spirit. Enkrid, sensing death if he blocked, had barely dodged.
This wasn't a training move.
"Is this a duel?" Enkrid asked.
"So you didn't like it?"
Ragna asked back.
Just like Rem and the Path-loser, he brought madness, not sparring. They came not to play by the rules but to win.
No standards. No limits. Just desire to grow.
How could it not be fun?
"No."
Enkrid replied simply. A smile crept onto his face.
Of course he didn't hate it. Ragna's sword couldn't be blocked or dodged easily. It cut through even wave-blocking swords.
I need to figure out what's coating that blade to block it.
Ragna himself probably didn't know. He'd have to dig, ask, probe.
Systematization.
That work wasn't done. No, it was just beginning. So much to do.
Finally, even Audin brought forth a method. He copied Enkrid outright.
"A method to block a downpour."
Maybe a different approach, but he used the same wave-blocking endurance. Even when outplayed, he tanked it. His divinely clad armor was tough enough to stop Penna.
And Audin, too, used divinity similarly. Golden light condensed into thick leather.
Condensed overlay.
Will is formless. Can it be shaped?
Doubt crept in. But the thought changed.
If I think I can't, I won't. If I believe I can, I will.
Aker, a former knight, once imbued Will into his blade. It became semi-sentient, expressing intent from within. A product of specialty.
Will, magic, divinity—they can all change.
Endure becomes iron skin. Transformed Will protecting the body.
"An unending stage is called Uské. Another stage, Indulesse, is when one has a different kind of power. It's an ancient tongue."
Luagarne had said that once. Passed down generations. Enkrid now recalled and redefined it.
Uské is the well that never dries—quantity of Will. Indulesse is…
Not quantity. Quality. A different form of Will.
How do you unlock it? Learn it?
A voice mocked him.
"When will you learn that? After dying thousands of times again? Wear down and break. Rot in the day called today."
That boatman's taunt meant nothing. Enkrid was only thrilled.
Indulesse.
He had Uské. Mastered it with swordplay. But Indulesse—he knew nothing.
Thump.
His heart raced. He wanted to sprint. Emotions surged like a flood.
Excitement. Anticipation.
"...You really planning to stargaze out here? Why'd you break the dorm, anyway? I don't get it. Well, I don't need to. We'll rebuild it. Bigger this time. Until then, sleep in tents. Works better, right?"
Krais was babbling beside him, but Enkrid barely heard.
"You listening? No? He's not. Why is he crazy again?"
Krais left. He had permissions to request, errands to run. No point talking to a madman.
Enkrid did 300 downward cuts on the spot. An old habit—repetition as reflection.
He pondered, planned. Dreamed of the next destination. That alone brought joy.
By nightfall, he calmed slightly and looked at his squad.
"Seriously, you guys are all insane."
He meant it, like the old knight Crang would.
And everyone took offense.
"...Really, coming from you, that's too much. Honestly," Rem replied seriously.
"Begone, demon. Lord, banish the devil within his mind," Audin prayed.
He even summoned Teresa to sing hymns. She nodded and helped.
"Who are you calling crazy? Did Anne poison the medicine?" Jaxen asked, seeing the zeal in Enkrid's eyes.
If he wasn't drugged, what was this?
But then again, Enkrid was always like this. Suddenly stronger. Suddenly insane.
He just didn't like being lumped in with barbarians.
Jaxen quietly sidestepped and pushed Lawford forward.
"Not me. I'm fine."
Lawford denied it. Pel mumbled, "Is madness a kind of talent, too?"
Lawford replied, "If so, you're a genius. Already nuts."
Their glares clashed.
Esther, in panther form, watched from a rooftop, chin on paws. Luagarne roasted caterpillars beside the ruined barracks, smiling.
"Did you have to say it?"
Truth hurts. But if unspoken, it can be hidden.
"Are you calling me crazy? That's not it. Well, with these lunatics, maybe it is."
Ragna's final comment stirred another ruckus.
"Wanna die? The captain's arm, but your head. Path-loser."
"I'll cut before the signal."
"Wanna try?"
"Go ahead."
Rem and Ragna clashed.
"Stop with the talent BS. If you set limits, that's as far as you'll go."
"I don't have limits. You do. That's why you're mad. It's fine. I get it. I'll pretend I didn't hear. Won't tell your trainees."
Pel mimed zipping his lips. Lawford flinched. That guy's trash talk had improved.
"Wanna die?"
"Most people don't want to die. But you're one of them, huh?"
Pel parried smoothly.
He had improved. Likely thanks to his journey with Enkrid.
Lawford had once resented Pel's private training. Now he realized—so what?
He just had to catch up.
Luagarne ate all her caterpillars. Jaxen whittled wood.
Thin bark curled to the ground.
Enkrid watched it all and chuckled.
And thought:
He really liked this place. These people.
No one mocked another's dream. If weak, they trained. That was normal.
No jealousy. No cheating.
To them, it was natural.
Was it, really? How long had he wandered to find this?
So much envy. So much scorn.
But now, Enkrid had found the knight order he dreamed of.
So when asked the next day:
"How about the path of a holy knight? Believe in the Lord."
He could firmly shake his head.
"And you are?"
"You could say I'm your foster father, brother."
A guest who arrived while Enkrid was in the Fairy City.