Enkrid knew a few swings of the sword wouldn't suddenly bring forth divine inspiration. So, he would simply take it one step at a time. For now, that started with a name.
Let's call it Flow.
The foundation would be Oara's connecting blade. From there, it would evolve.
Natural in every moment.
The idea was like a river that never stopped flowing—constantly, effortlessly. The form? Swinging his sword as naturally as breathing.
But how to train it?
That's where Enkrid hit a wall. As always, he came up against the limits of his talent—and that made him happy. This was Enkrid, after all: a madman who found joy even in facing invisible walls, because he knew he could surpass them.
Now, he could see the wall. Reach out and touch it. And this was just the beginning. He had already glimpsed what lay beyond. His entire unit had walked ahead of him.
It wasn't a matter of quantity anymore—but quality.
A sudden thought sparked goosebumps across his skin. A thrill punched his heart, then raced to his brain and burst out as unrestrained euphoria.
Ah.
He was giddy to the point of madness.
Of course, it wasn't like a clear path had just opened up. All he could do now was swing his sword.
So that's exactly what Enkrid did.
Stubborn and mindless, he swung.
He only knew how to do one thing, and he did it with a smile on his face—like a child in love for the first time.
"Is he nuts or what?"
Nearby, the Ragged Saint asked in concern. Why was that man suddenly talking to himself, then going outside to swing a sword and laugh?
It was unnerving. Even terrifying.
No one would fault someone for saying so.
Enkrid didn't hear the Ragged Saint's muttering, but everyone else nodded in agreement.
"Of course he's mad. Always has been."
"He'll snap out of it. Nothing new."
"It'll pass."
Rem, Ragna, and Audin all responded to the Saint's words.
The Ragged Saint scoffed and couldn't resist commenting back.
"You three have no right to talk."
He had met Enkrid late, but he'd seen Rem and Ragna plenty. He'd even seen his adopted son change.
People who once tried to kill each other now aligned like it was nothing.
Why?
Because of that lunatic in the center, swinging a sword with a grin.
Yeah, he's the center of gravity.
Everything revolved around that one man.
The knights, the city, the people.
Impressive? Yes. With a madman like him at the center, even the misfits could gather without issue.
Watching Enkrid stirred up a flood of memories and thoughts in the Ragged Saint's mind.
Regret. Remorse.
What if I'd had someone like that when I was young?
Someone who could pull even Overseer and himself together?
What if that person had become pope, someone everyone could rally behind?
There was one. A friend of immense talent. A man blessed like a Saint, who knew how to command with presence and lead with care.
He could be both younger brother and elder at once. He held charisma, dignity, and leadership.
But he also had ambition.
What if I had protected him when he became pope? Would things have changed?
The Ragged Saint already knew the answer.
Nothing would have changed.
Only bitterness remained.
The one who drove him away was the Legion.
The one who made him a defector was also the Legion.
Their greatest genius lost his family, his love, and walked into the demon lands seeking revenge.
He didn't weep. He didn't scream.
He simply denied everything he once was and left.
"If this is God's will, then I reject it."
Those were his last words.
Fool.
He was too exceptional for the role of pope.
Jealousy was inevitable. Many wanted to bring him down.
After that event, the Holy Knight Overseer silenced his own views and swore to obey whatever the next pope desired.
With regret gnawing at his heart, the Ragged Saint realized something.
It wasn't holiness that was needed. It was someone who could gather others. Someone who could sacrifice.
That was the kind of person everyone could accept.
Holy Knights could fight. The gifted could wield divine power.
But the one who led had to earn respect through character, not strength.
Hah.
The Ragged Saint knew himself well. He wasn't pope material. He couldn't take responsibility. He just wanted to help sick children in front of him.
The holy city needed someone with a different mold.
And this place, Border Guard, needed someone like Enkrid.
He didn't command or rule. He didn't lord over others.
He is not a king.
Just a vessel of a different kind.
"Didn't he say he dreamed of being a Knight?"
He muttered to Audin beside him. He already knew the answer. He'd heard it before.
Specifically, a Knight from a bard's song.
He couldn't scoff at that. Not because of Enkrid's present, but because he himself had lived in a similar way.
Now, watching Enkrid walk the city made it clear.
He wielded his sword to protect those behind him.
That was all. And that one thing brought him here.
Madman, indeed.
"An absurd man."
At the end of that thought, the Ragged Saint knelt and began to pray.
Repenting for past sins. Hoping for light on the lunatic's path.
Hands clasped, he sought his Lord.
"Prayer doesn't erase words, you know. I don't care if you're a noble or not."
Rem casually placed a hand on his axe. Hadn't the old man just called him and Enkrid the same?
Technically, he'd said, "You're in no position to speak," but Rem knew what that meant.
It was practically a fight invitation.
In the West, they respect the elderly, but this geezer wasn't from the West.
"It wasn't wrong, Brother Barbarian."
Audin tried to mediate.
"Stray cats always back the wildcats."
Rem moved from miming to actually gripping his axe.
The descending weapon responded to his warmth.
He didn't really intend to strike, but the threat was more than clear.
"He's not wrong, though."
Ragna chimed in, breaking the tension. The fact that he left himself out of the comment only escalated things.
"You clueless bastard. You too, lazy ass."
Rem growled, drawing his axe and swinging.
A powerful downward strike, arm and weapon moving as one.
Ragna casually drew his greatsword—like unsheathing a dagger—and blocked with the half-exposed blade.
Clang!
Sparks flew. The eyes of two beasts burned hotter.
"Such mad brothers you are."
Audin stepped in, worried his adoptive father might get hurt. His fist, wrapped in divine power, glowed like golden sand.
Rem dodged to the side.
Ragna raised his sword vertically, shielding himself.
The three clashed and whirled atop the cracked training ground.
Meanwhile, Enkrid continued muttering and swinging.
Lawford and Pel, watching him, shook their heads—then locked eyes.
And started brawling.
"What are you looking at?"
"Wasn't your rotten eyeballs."
"You only need one, so let's pop one today."
That was their idea of a friendly chat.
Luagarne, seeing this from afar, brightened and grabbed Teresa.
"Half-giant, if your skills are up, let's play."
"Not a bad offer, sister."
Teresa's deep-toned voice had grown even more resonant.
The kind that stirred the soul.
Nearby, the jewel-covered Ragged Saint knelt in prayer.
Just another day.
A few days passed like that.
It was the day after Lawford handed basic training duties to a Squire named Clemen, who had taken a tumble.
"You sure you want me to do it?"
"Yeah. You do it."
Clemen was officially a Squire of the Mad Knights.
Enkrid had trained her a few times and knew how fierce she was.
He liked that fire.
Anyway, Lawford and Pel canceled all other plans.
All at Enkrid's request.
You could call it a promised day.
Enkrid woke early and warmed up with care.
Good.
Spring was here, but early mornings were still chilly.
He liked that. Moving a bit made him sweat. His body warmed. It felt right.
Audin came out before dawn and trained using the Isolation Method.
Not long after sunrise, Lawford and Pel joined.
Enkrid didn't believe in brute-forcing progress.
He trained steadily and handled everything else methodically.
He'd defined a system. Categorized traits in his head.
And now, in front of him stood two with perfectly opposite temperaments: Lawford and Pel.
Perfect test subjects.
"Don't you want to become knights?"
He asked. It hardly needed an answer.
Both trained relentlessly, day after day.
Why else?
"What's there to say?"
Pel answered first. Lawford gave a firm nod.
"Yes."
Enkrid had thought about this countless times.
Could a structured system pave the way to knighthood?
Now was the time to find out.
He didn't know it, but other militant groups had walked this path.
Given what a disaster Knights could be on the battlefield, it was odd not to try.
Even Naurilia wanted to do something similar, but they got tangled with Count Molsen, cultists, and bandits—so they couldn't even start.
These days, though, it felt like peace had finally settled in.
"Seems like the cult really is gone. The stragglers disappeared. Even the monsters and beasts are fewer."
Krais, surveying the continent, made his report.
And added:
"If life could stay like this, I wouldn't ask for more."
Krais was from a generation born into battle and demon lands.
Peace like this felt alien.
Even if it was forged by the sword—even if he had helped build it himself.
In times like this, training new blood was the right move.
Krais had seen this coming and invested in unit development.
He hadn't expected the cult to be wiped out so cleanly, though.
Now that quality, not quantity, determined battles, Knight development was every faction's priority.
Lawford and Pel, slightly tense, stood surrounded by Enkrid, Rem, Audin, and others.
From a distance, it looked like they were being enclosed—held in place.