"Should I call you a lord or a Governer...?"
It started with a fruit seller.
"The Governer is Graham. I'm the Knight Order Captain."
Enkrid casually replied to the merchant. His tone was relaxed, familiar.
"Then, Captain, have one of these."
The fruit seller, with a cheeky smile, handed over two plums. Enkrid popped one into his mouth and handed the other to his companion, the Ragged Saint.
The Saint blinked his cataract-clouded eyes, received the plum, and bit down.
Crunch— The juicy flesh split with a tart sweetness that gave way to a rich, fragrant flavor. It was a perfectly ripened plum.
"It's sweet," Enkrid said.
"Indeed," the Ragged Saint agreed. It was a luxury afforded by the large orchard recently established inside Green Pearl. It wasn't excessive to call it a luxury—after all, even near the kingdom's capital, Nauril, nobles maintained private orchards just to enjoy such fruits.
They passed a cluster of traveling vendors, and one merchant with a ground stall called out.
"I'm with the Lockfreed Trading Guild now."
He wasn't just any merchant. This giant who claimed to be a peddler caught Enkrid's attention.
Enkrid showed a cloth wrapped around his hand.
"This stuff's tough."
It was a cloth gauntlet layered with thin leather, made from fabric bought from the giant.
"Of course. I don't sell shoddy goods."
The giant recognized the item and responded, his voice unusually loud. The Ragged Saint stood aside, watching the interaction.
"What are you selling today?"
"This and that."
The giant displayed various items on his mat, including talismans and ominous rings.
"They say this one's cursed. Gives you nightmares every night but wards off one bad event."
The giant's booming voice drew attention from passersby. Enkrid inspected the item.
He felt a faint, previously undetectable aura.
Must be thanks to training with Esther.
Also likely due to experience slicing through walking flames and dealing with spells. Just as the giant claimed, a faint dark mist clung to the ring—only visible to someone like Enkrid.
Traveling the continent, you'd find small frontier villages—some in luckier, monster-free zones, others constantly resisting minor monster incursions. Some of those villages traded with nearby sorcerers or witches. This ring likely came from such a place.
Sure enough, the giant confirmed the ring's origin. But there was something strange—he was oddly verbose today. Usually more curt, this time he explained everything in detail.
"Don't need it," Enkrid replied bluntly. If he did, he'd ask Esther.
"Figured as much."
"Then why explain?"
The giant, seated with his bottom on the ground, still met Enkrid's eye level. Leaning forward, he whispered:
"So others could hear."
Due to his appearance and race, customers rarely approached. Seeing Enkrid, he took the opportunity to boost his sales.
Turned into a proper merchant now, huh.
Still, the giant never compromised his principles. That's just the kind of friend he was.
"Got good business sense now."
Enkrid whispered back. The giant nodded.
"You can go now."
"Yeah, I'm off."
Enkrid met quite a few people afterward. To the Ragged Saint, it seemed he had close ties with the innkeeper at the city center.
"What brings you down here? Haven't eaten? Have a bowl before you go."
The innkeeper, Allen, dreamed of surpassing Vanessa's pumpkin soup. Recently, he'd been selling chicken soup—his grandmother's cure-all—and it was doing well.
Though not quite as popular as Vanessa's pumpkin soup, pie, or juice, he wasn't complaining. Thanks to the Safe Road, Lockfreed's commercial expansion, and agriculture in Green Pearl, Border Guard had become rich in resources.
Allen was one of many reaping the benefits.
And farming in Green Pearl, too.
The Ragged Saint had seen enough to know: even with failing eyesight, staying close to people revealed much.
He often said he preferred seeing small branches over large trunks—caring more for the lives of people in a city than its political status.
Very prosperous. Extremely so.
To the Saint, that's what this city was.
Ending skirmishes with Aspen played a big part. That vast plain now served as farmland without monster incursions. Regular patrols around the Fen-Hanil Mountains helped, and the newly opened Stone Road to the west boosted trade.
All of it returned as prosperity for the city. But where there's light, there's shadow.
The Ragged Saint knew that truth too well.
And now, that shadow was creeping in.
A Froq with a visible scar on his neck approached. Regenerating Froqs rarely bore scars—this one looked dangerous.
Was he picking a fight? Coveting the Saint's jewelry?
A bounty hunter sent by the Holy Nation?
No.
"Been a while."
The Froq greeted Enkrid.
Enkrid studied him for a while before speaking.
"...Melon?"
"It's Maelrun. Already forgot?"
"Oh, right. Maelrun."
Even after his name was butchered, Maelrun showed no irritation. The Ragged Saint was surprised.
But to Maelrun, it was expected. One swing from Enkrid could end him—what did a name matter?
Next came a bald man, looking like a back-alley thug. He stepped from a dark alley between houses, sunlight glinting off his shiny head.
"Captain."
He addressed Enkrid.
"Gilpin."
Enkrid recognized him immediately.
"Why remember him but not me?"
The Froq muttered. Nobody paid it any mind.
"Looking for something?" Gilpin asked.
"No. Just out for a walk."
Gilpin's eyes brushed past the Ragged Saint. His outfit was enough to tempt any pickpocket, but no greed flickered in his gaze.
Though the Saint's eyes were weak, his ears were sharp. Not quite echolocation-level, but good enough to hear whispered words from afar. His intuition had grown sharp, and he felt no malice or greed from Gilpin.
Outwardly, Gilpin seemed part of a criminal guild. The Saint's years of wandering told him so. But Gilpin had no interest in him.
"All quiet?"
"With Vengeance as Head of Security, nothing gets out of hand."
Still, Gilpin did a lot for the city. He oversaw Krais' intelligence guild and ensured internal peace.
The job thinned his cheeks from stress, but the rewards were worth it. Gilpin was content.
To the Saint, much of this was incomprehensible. The situation itself was strange.
Strange. Very strange.
After a long walk through the city, Enkrid headed to the tented barracks. The Ragged Saint followed quietly.
Then, suddenly, he asked:
"I care for war orphans. Would it be alright to build a monastery for them in the city?"
A difficult request, perhaps. But for Enkrid—who recently oversaw the migration of the Fairy Tribe—it was hardly troublesome.
"Go ahead."
No hesitation.
"It'll cost money."
"Weren't you selling all that bling you're wearing?"
"How about you fund it instead?"
"Fine. Go to Krais. Big-eyed guy, gets pouty when you ask for coins. He'll handle it."
"What if I were someone who buys and sells kids for gold?"
"Then why build a monastery for them? You'd just sell them off. Plenty of lunatic cults already trying to turn kids into saints or whatever."
What's with this guy? The Ragged Saint blinked rapidly.
He had brains—and a sharp tongue, too.
"A lot of people have been hurt by bastards like that."
"Then do something about it."
"It's beyond me."
"Sure. Build your monastery."
Their conversation bounced back and forth, but everything they needed to say was clear.
What is this?
The Ragged Saint had come to see the nest Audin had chosen. He knew Audin's path was a thorny one, knew he wouldn't be easily swayed, and knew he bore inner wounds.
If he weren't proud of his son for overcoming all that, he'd be lying.
There was only one thing that bothered him.
Why hadn't Audin returned to the temple? Why stay here?
Enkrid.
He was the answer.
The Saint had heard many stories since arriving.
From Seiki, about the man who saved him.
From others, about someone who never wasted a single day.
From more still, about a Knight who opposed Demons and pushed for peace.
Knowing only Enkrid's present, not his past, the Saint believed him to be a man of great ambition. But seeing him in person proved that wrong.
He wasn't like anyone the Saint had ever met.
What's different about him?
His thoughts, his will, his very gait—they were all different.
"What do you want?"
All his questions condensed into one. Enkrid didn't even need to think.
"For now? To wield my sword like flowing water."
"What?"
The Saint blinked, baffled.
"I've built a system. Only recently did I gain my first specialty. I want to push further, but I have no talent—so I go one step at a time. Right now, I want to move from Wave-Blocking Sword to Flowing Sword. Not 'flowing' as in mystical elegance, but like a steady stream—more creek than endless well."
It made no sense to the Saint. In his youth, he'd trained, but never at this level. He couldn't understand a word.
"Huh?"
"This helped a lot. Audin said you might help if I had worries—and he was right."
Enkrid spoke like a man possessed.
"Huh?"
"Maybe there was a reason you were teaching Seiki."
"Huh?"
They'd reached the barracks. Enkrid immediately began swinging his sword.
It was too late to interrupt—he was fully immersed.
The so-called Ragged Saint, clad in donation-worthy riches and planning a monastery for orphans, simply stood and watched Enkrid train.
After a while, Audin approached.
"Did your trip go well?"
The Saint paused.
"What's wrong with that kid?"
"Did something happen?"
"Started mumbling about streams and swords, then just started swinging."
"Ah. That's normal."
"That's normal?"
"Yes, perfectly."
The Saint, a man who had wandered the world, suffered from people, saved them, and endured hardship, finally understood a small truth.
Madman.
Now he understood why the knight order was called that.