"It just happens once you keep at it."
After Rem, it was Ragna who spoke. Rarely for him, he paused, mulled it over a few times, then continued at length.
He too had been listening, learning, and realizing things during his time here.
He now had the common sense not to simply end matters by hacking away with force—unlike a certain someone. Or maybe he had grown a sense of consideration.
"If you believe in yourself, that's enough. You chose a path, and if you believe that path is right, then no matter how loudly others say you're wrong, you ignore them. And even if you stray a little, you just adjust the path until it's right. For example, say we want to get to Martai, so we should go this way. But if we make a mistake and head this way instead, once we realize it, we turn like this, and we'll still get to Martai. That's all it is. That's why the path I take will always be the right one."
When Ragna first said this way, he pointed north. Then, for the wrong way, he pointed west. And finally, when he said turn like this, his finger was pointing south.
Martai, of course, actually lay to the east. So apart from the exact direction, he had nailed everything else.
"That bastard's unbelievable. Hey, how do you even manage to visit Aetri and come back? Hell, how do you even get to the latrine without losing your way?"
The latrine was less than fifty paces from their quarters, with a stone path laid out to it. A thoughtful touch.
Enkrid suddenly wondered:
Wait, when was that stone path laid?
No need to think about it.
Krais.
Like a signpost built specifically to counter Ragna.
Still, Ragna sometimes went alone into the city.
"How? Do you know how many soldiers he bumps into on the way? I gave orders—whenever Ragna heads out, they're to stick with him."
Krais spoke while roasting sausages, juices beading like sweat on the surface, the savory scent wafting.
Ah, yes. Krais.
Rem nodded. That lunatic would even prepare for a meteor striking the Border Guard out of nowhere tomorrow.
Not a single normal one among them.
Rem shook his head.
"Don't assign soldiers to me. It's bothersome."
"Endure it."
This time, it was Ragna who protested, but Krais was firm. He had grown used to them.
He was too busy to pamper every whim, and if he tried, every day would turn into a war of moods.
Still, as long as these lunatics didn't cross certain lines, they generally listened to him.
But if left to his own devices, Ragna might wander as far as the Empire—and come back trailing sparks of war. After all, he'd cut down anything he saw along the way.
Not that Rem or Audin were any saner. Leave Rem alone, and he'd probably beat some noble who had just arrived at the Border Guard. Audin was no different.
Training the body is all well and good, Brother Bear, but why must you push it on everyone else?
Krais muttered silently.
Audin forced training on anyone he saw. And when he grabbed you, you had no chance to run.
With that hulking frame, grinning as he called everyone Brother or Sister—madness shone clear.
Small wonder his holy unit was the most physically trained of all.
They wept daily as they lifted stones. They even prayed sitting in invisible chairs, thighs trembling. Sometimes, Krais felt moved to tears just watching them.
Pitiful.
Still, Krais wasn't truly dissatisfied. The gains outweighed the costs. With Audin, Rem, and Ragna, he benefited far more than he lost.
And Krais was a man who cared only about net profit.
Jaxen was there too. He hadn't seemed about to speak, but suddenly drew everyone's eyes.
He spun his dagger, the blade catching firelight from the torches on either side of the table.
Then Jaxen spoke:
"There's no such thing as a perfect person. It's only a matter of who's sharper."
Short, but piercing words. Enkrid felt they struck at the core of the very system he had devised.
What can defeat a completed circle?
Was becoming well-rounded, a versatile type, truly the ultimate? But a sharp needle could still pierce a circle, leaving a hole.
Hadn't he just experienced it today? Against Shinar, he could win eight out of ten duels.
But with the Wave-Blocking Sword alone, her strike had landed on his shoulder. That was her needlepoint.
The Wave-Blocking Sword wasn't about form. It was about thought and reaction. Shinar had exploited the gap in his reaction.
A phantom blade.
Between the perceivable blades, she had hidden one unseen.
The Winter Breeze.
In winter, the wind is harsh—a gale, not a breeze. A breeze that shouldn't exist in winter had come.
"Brother, can you truly calculate everything? Of course not. Then, if you calculate just one step ahead of your foe, why must you rely on reflex to find the answer? Why must the technique come out naturally?"
Audin answered with a question.
Calculate everything?
Impossible. So the answer was simpler: just be superior to the opponent.
And his words meant this—bring out what you need, when you need it.
Sometimes soft, sometimes fierce.
Precise, heavy, deceptive, swift, soft.
Now Enkrid understood why the genius Leonecis Oniac had divided swordsmanship into five categories.
If you master the basics, everything else can be caught up.
The Enkrid before and after training the Wave-Blocking Sword were entirely different.
Just as he had been different before and after becoming a Knight.
Some things in people never change. But others do.
From Audin's question, Enkrid had drawn part of an answer.
"So in the end, it's all about cutting."
That was the simple way of putting it.
"What do you mean?"
Teresa, listening from the side, asked.
Audin answered for him:
"In the end, you strike with the fist, cut with the sword, thrust with the spear. Sister, that's all it is. Which means all you need is to polish the basics."
Stay true to fundamentals. Train every day. Seek answers not with your head, but with your body.
Audin explained once again, in simpler words.
Everyone had their ideals, their convictions. Enkrid absorbed them all like dry cotton soaking up water.
Calculating everything—that's the same as what Rem does, only by a different process.
Rem instantly grasped everything, and chose the most rational, deadly move.
Like in rock-paper-scissors, predicting your opponent's change and countering in the same instant.
That was how sharp his eyes and how fast his reactions were.
He's practically beastkin.
If beastkin learned to use their minds well, they could fight like Rem. Their innate control over their bodies was that remarkable.
Rem had simply substituted that with his own natural talent.
Ragna's explanation had been messy, but the core had landed.
It's fine to take the long way around. Just don't leave regret behind on the path you've already chosen.
Once you've started swinging the sword, you must have the stubbornness to make even the wrong path the right one.
Faith.
A Knight who gained omnipotence could also gather disbelief with defeat. Especially if his oath were broken—then all that remained would be distrust.
A Will without faith is only half a Will.
Ragna was a genius. Such words could only come from a genius of his caliber.That didn't mean they weren't useful to Enkrid.
He listened, pondered, and etched them in. That was how Enkrid learned.
Jaxen's words had been: Don't overestimate the enemy.Audin's were: The answer lies in steady training.
Different words, but the same meaning. Useful not only to Enkrid, but to Luagarne, Lawford, Pel, and Teresa as well.
"Carving out one's own path—that may well be the condition for a higher knight."
Luagarne, the researcher, added.
"True enough."
Enkrid agreed simply, popping a piece of roasted pork belly into his mouth. Fat sizzled, dripping from the skewer, and melted on his tongue. The salt and spices mixed with the juices for a sharp, satisfying taste.
Mmm.
It was an excellent dish.
Shinar munched on a few ripe berries, and even in such a simple act, she looked every bit a goddess.
"If it comes to it, we should form the Shinar Knights. Gathering people would be no trouble. But more than that—Shinar, have you heard of a salon? When I saw the fairies recently, I thought they could learn a few things from the continent. They could work in a salon. Later, we could open one just for fairies—it'd be the perfect way for them to adapt."
Krais spoke, eyes gleaming brighter than the firelight.
"There is one among my kin who'd be interested. From the Ermen family—you must have met him already."
Shinar replied. He was a representative of hIS people in trade. Naturally, Krais had met him. He frowned, showing rare displeasure.
Why the reaction?
"He talks too much."
Ah—self-loathing of his own kind. Enkrid thought, and so did the others.
"I don't represent the will of my people. I guard them. Let each follow their own will."
As Shinar spoke, she turned her gaze on Enkrid.
Meanwhile, Lawford muttered:
"So the natural, unconscious strike is always the right answer."
That was the condition for a higher Knight. Pel responded, brows furrowed deeply.
"How can that be?"
Even he had glimpses of that talent—but that only made it harder to accept. How could every strike always be the right one?
Swinging a sword involved chance. Which meant luck. Could you always keep luck on your side? What about variables?
So the answer is: make every path the right one?
Could that be done? Was it just a matter of talent? Pel's mind was racing with questions.
It was Shinar who answered.
"How? With the power of love, of course."
Enkrid wondered if the fairy had taken some strange drug today. Or perhaps she was drunk.
But no—her appearance was as immaculate as ever. She had helped with her people's final migration, so she was weary, yes—but not intoxicated.
Then why was she acting like this today?
"You're excited."
Luagarne, with a woman's intuition, said. And she was right.
Shinar had been bound by duty, unable to leave her city of Kirheis. So she had brought the whole city with her. Had she not, she would have pressed to change its name to Ermen.
Her oath had kept her away from the Border Guard far too long.
And though she had broken free of demonic chains, though the man who had saved her stood here—she could not be at his side.
It hadn't been grief, but it was suffocating. Suffocating enough to make her restless.
The fairies already knew all of this. That was why, over the past month, more and more of them had climbed walls by night to sneak after Enkrid.
The chances were simply better if they struck before Shinar returned.
Not that they succeeded. Esther's presence alone was deterrent enough.
Among the fairies, the oldest—those who would be called elders in human society—still called magicians servants of demons.
That prejudice came from old days, when some witches and mages had sided with demons in war.
To the cloistered Fairyfolk, Witches were dangerous beings.
Not that Esther had ever thought of stringing up fairy bones on poles as trophies. Even if she had killed them, she'd never have wasted her time like that.
Still—here, in this moment, facing Enkrid again, Shinar was brimming with delight.
Finally able to tease him again, her joy spilled over. Not that she had taken anything—she was simply high on excitement.
Of course, from the outside, she did look like she was drunk.
"If you really want to know, then come to my quarters tonight. I'll tell you everything. All of it. By the power of love."
To say such words with a calm, serious face—that was true terror. A goddess' face, and such madness on her lips.
Enkrid felt chills, unlike the thrill of battle.
"Should I knock her out?"
He asked seriously. It was the only sure way to silence her.
"Do you really have to go that far?"
Rem quipped.
And of course, Ragna added:
"Go get some air. Don't lose your way."
To Shinar.
"May the Sister's god watch over you."
Audin offered.
Meanwhile, Jaxen spun his dagger, then suddenly asked:
"Are you really going to keep using that ugly, hideous knife?"
The words wouldn't have left his lips unless something about it bothered him.
"It's a Horn-Trumpet Dagger. Not hideous. It just fits my hand better than throwing silently."
Enkrid answered plainly. Jaxen gave no reply, simply ignoring him. He didn't like it, but he wouldn't press.
"Spells carry intent. Without intent, they're garbage. But the more familiar you grow, the more you cast them with only a gesture. Then it's not intent first—it's reaction first. A spell that bursts out in any moment. We call it a Glint."
The word meant flash.
It was Esther who spoke, slipping into the conversation. Today she appeared in human form, flaunting her black hair.
She too had answered Enkrid's question.
But… why were her cheeks red?