Chapter 648

Chapter 648

A squire giving a title to their Will and practicing its application comes from the same logic. Once a warrior moves past that phase, they earn the title of intermediate. At that level, knights cultivate sophisticated methods and a sense of personal identity. “Reavart lacked it, but Sir Jamal of Azpen possessed it.” Both served as formidable rivals. That is the reason they remain burned into his mind, regardless of how frequently he revisits the recollections. The distinction between the two, when pulled from the Library of Experience, was undeniable. A clear sense of self. Their combat styles followed a similar pattern. Each prioritized battles of attrition, but Jamal possessed the unique trait of “plundering.” “That is the hallmark of the intermediate rank.” Individuality—a specific divergence in martial technique. Through lived encounters, a person constructs the bedrock of understanding. That starting point matures into a theory. Essentially, it evolves into a structured system. Enkrid was currently in the midst of building that very system. “The advanced rank is defined by not being restricted by techniques.” Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin functioned in that manner. Even though they assigned titles to their maneuvers, they were never slaves to them. “They even attempted to mold me into a specific shape during my instruction.” Take the Giant Grapple passed down by Rem, or the collective wisdom from Audin, Ragna, and Jaxon. Through those forms, they moved a level higher. Enkrid understood this—he had witnessed the process from a front-row seat. “This is why establishing a firm theory and system is vital.” A journey guided only by gut feeling is unreliable. At times, one is required to glance backward to find the way forward. “Actually, even if one travels without ever stumbling, looking back can still provide value.” Even Ragna, labeled a prodigy, only reached new heights after reflecting on the past. Mastery of the blade demands purpose, execution methods, and a regimen of discipline. In a matching way, Enkrid formulated a training structure for achieving knighthood. Once more, he found himself fortunate in various respects. If even a handful of experiences had been omitted from his journey, he would not have reached this realization. Then again, existence was always a blossom growing between the cracks of chance and wonder. Just as visualizing the routes not chosen achieves nothing, there is no point in feeling relief over the paths already traveled. What truly matters is that a person’s core approach to living remains constant. Whether he was a commoner striving for knighthood or the man he was now, Enkrid had not shifted. That steady nature might be exactly what led him to this point. Regardless, he could be deemed lucky again because nothing in this environment obstructed his mental evolution. He drifted further into his own consciousness. The benchmarks Enkrid visualized could easily be dubbed the benchmarks of a knight. Naturally, this framework alone could not define a knight’s total fighting capacity. To be precise, it could not dictate the certainty of triumph or failure. Conflicts where existence is on the line are swayed by a multitude of elements. He had personally defeated Jamal with the help of Urke. “In those days, I was little more than a novice.” Based on the benchmarks he was now establishing. Even if a system reaches its peak, it cannot account for every variable. Back then, Jamal was a fully developed intermediate. The result of their clash was born from the disparity in their Will. “The magnitude of Will.” Beyond individuality, factors like Will, holy power, and magic all weigh upon a fight. But not every element can be forced into a rigid system. Sorting what is achievable from what is impossible—Enkrid had practiced this even during his ascent to knighthood, never falling prey to a delusion of being all-powerful. Even now, his perspective remained identical. He sorted, labeled, and organized components to assemble a system. “Whatever the result, it cannot be flawless.” But it could be finalized. Finalization and advancement carried more weight. It was because he looked toward an imperfect future rather than a perfect present that completion was attainable. And so, that is what he achieved. The boundary between novice, intermediate, and master. “Now it rests upon the management of Will.” The gap in martial power involves physical health, tactical compatibility, and much more. Therefore, the result of a duel should be considered a separate matter. However, to create a universal standard for training and growth, a framework like this is a necessity. Forming a theory paves the road to a system. Enkrid pulled his eyes open. He had spent a full week alternating between the Fairy Spring and basic drills. By the end, he had stayed submerged in the spring for two consecutive days. “I was starting to think you’d drowned at the bottom.” That was the greeting he received upon returning to the world. Lua Gharne said it with her cheeks partially puffed out. Though her expression didn’t truly suggest she was genuinely angry. Enkrid blinked his eyes open slowly. The condensation gathered around his eyelids rolled down like droplets of sweat, tracing the lines of his face. His skin felt significantly smoother than it had been previously. “At least the crowd of fairies isn’t standing in line like they were before.” Enkrid spoke, sensing the shift in his own physical state. He hadn’t lost consciousness; rather, he had entered a state of profound mental immersion. He maintained a faint sense of the ticking clock. “That is a bit of a hasty assumption.” Pell was present as well, speaking while leaning to one side. Still feeling the rush of having unlocked a new perspective, Enkrid made a joke. “Vassal, give me a report on what occurred while I was occupied.” “Who are you calling a vassal?” Pell barked back, though the sting in his voice was missing. Perhaps he accepted the dynamic on some level. He might even prefer the role if it was offered by Enkrid instead of Rophod. As Enkrid stood and dried his skin, he noticed it was entirely wrinkled. His fingertips had puffed up like Frokk’s after being in the water so long. It made sense—he had been underwater for forty-eight hours. “Were you so jealous of my finger shape that you had to copy it?” Lua Gharne teased. Enkrid let out a quiet chuckle, dried himself off, and began to dress. He didn’t reach for his standard attire, but rather a set of fairy clothes that had been left there. It was a tunic and trousers crafted from vibrant green thread. Even undergarments had been provided, and his weapons and protective gear were stacked neatly nearby. Enkrid opted for just the new clothes. They appeared as though they might be coarse, but they hugged his frame with a soft, comforting warmth. It felt as if he were wrapped in leaves warmed by the sun. He felt neither a deep thirst nor a pressing hunger. “The gathering of fairies grew slowly at first, but today they are everywhere.” As Lua Gharne spoke, Enkrid left the spring and walked along the fairies’ sacred path—the one that, to someone like Ragna, would appear as a confusing labyrinth. Just as she had described, hundreds of fairies were waiting further ahead. Why? He guessed they might have congregated out of anxiety since he hadn’t surfaced for two days. Still, it didn’t seem like the sort of event that required such a massive turnout. In truth, they seemed more focused and eager than when they set out to navigate the labyrinth known as the demonic realm. Even so, the excitement of a fairy rarely shows on their face. “He is here.” A dryad with striking green eyes spoke while shielding her mouth with a broad leaf. Some dryads, who were timid even among their own people, had a habit of hiding their faces when they spoke. Fairies of that sort usually shunned all social interaction unless it was unavoidable. The fact that they were here meant they had come specifically to verify Enkrid’s health. A fairy who usually left her dwelling only five times a year had been waiting for Enkrid for two days. “Shouldn’t we have a healer examine your condition?” “Perhaps I should do it?” “Would I not be sufficient?” “I just came out of the spring. My body is in perfect health.” Fairies do not create scenes. They manage their feelings and uphold a standard of rational, quiet conduct. Even now, the area wasn’t loud. It simply felt a bit like a crowded market. Most were gathered in small, loose clusters. A fairy with short hair took a step forward. Since Ermen and Shinar were not present and no one moved to obstruct her, she was clearly someone with authority. “If your health is sound, would you be willing to accompany me?” She was the only one there with a specific purpose. The rest had come simply out of concern. Enkrid could sense it now—it was instinctive. “If you so much as broke a fingernail, there would be a line of hundreds waiting to mend it.” The words of Lua Gharne were a bit dramatic, but they weren’t wrong. Enkrid was the savior of their people. That carried a very heavy weight. He had become a figure of worship for the entire fairy population. “This is a bit much.” Enkrid whispered to himself. There is nothing wrong with being appreciated for his actions, but… Too much is still too much. Even now, the second he spoke, the hundreds of fairies went silent, watching him with eyes like polished glass. All noise evaporated, leaving only their stares. In this moment, it felt like the gaze of Argos, the beast from the demonic realm who was said to be the source of all Evil Eyes. Argos was a horror classified as a demon god, possessing a massive frame covered in a hundred eyes. “To where?” Enkrid asked, choosing to ignore the weight of all those stares. The fairy in front of him was tall, possessing short hair the color of rust and soft, amber-colored eyes. Her palms and fingers were marked with scars. And she carried a scent distinct from her kin. Rather than the smell of meadows and timber, she smelled of cinders and heat. It was the same aroma Aitri carried. With that one observation, Enkrid knew her profession. Having refined the Wavebreaker Sword and categorized the levels of knighthood, his perception had become incredibly sharp. “I was told there was a tribe of fairies that worked with fire.” “Indeed, my lineage crafts Naidels and the armaments of the fairies. I saw you once before. I am Lephratio.” The leader of a clan takes the clan’s name as their own. Just like Ermen. This fairy standing before Enkrid was, to put it simply, the finest smith among her people. “Fairies fashion weapons that share a bond. These can act in a manner similar to engraved weapons.” Fairies only speak the truth. They have no motive to deceive or distort their meaning. “I wish to forge a blade for you, Sir Demon Slayer.” In other words, she wanted to create an engraved weapon for him. Rather than displaying joy or thanks, Enkrid rubbed his chin, looking troubled. “That is unfortunate.” He spoke plainly, keeping nothing back. “I have already given my word to another who promised to craft me one.” Engraved weapons are generally unique. Because they are made by carving one’s own Will into the metal, they are naturally one-of-a-kind. “Then at the very least, allow me to present you with a gift.” Lephratio spoke without any hint of being offended. Enkrid gave a nod. There was no point in turning down a gift. He had already been given so much, but… A gift from a master fairy blacksmith? That was a different category altogether. Armor and blades—Enkrid felt a spark of desire when it came to those things. He never argued with the logic that a superior tool leads to superior performance. It might sound like the outlook of a mercenary, but the truth was undeniable. A knight with a masterwork sword. If that knight faced one who was unarmed—who held the upper hand? If he could gain an advantage, he would seize it. Enkrid hadn’t changed. Regardless of his spiritual growth, his essence remained the same. His outlook on life had never faltered. So, he walked through the gathered throng of fairies and followed her toward the workshop. TANG! It was once the place that Shinar had become captivated by—the world of flame and ore. Located in a corner of the fairy city, it sat opposite the territory of the Woodguards, who stayed away from fire. There, fairies were striking iron near massive forges, each lost in their labor. In an open space, black pits and bellows built into hollowed stumps using strange methods were visible. Fairies didn’t weave weapons from moonbeams or foliage. To work metal, fire was required. That was a fundamental law. They were all working hard, covered in sweat, to create their designs. Naturally, his thoughts turned to Aitri. The man who was supposed to forge his engraved weapon was likely waiting for him. “Will he be upset that I shattered the True Silver Sword?” No, he wouldn’t be. That blade had been handed to him with the expectation it would break. Even if Aitri hadn’t voiced it, Enkrid knew. And because of that blade, he had survived a brush with death. When they crossed paths again, he wanted to tell him, “Your ‘luck’ truly saved me.” So, in this place, Enkrid would not be making an engraved weapon. “It is named Penna.” But then— “Hmph.” Enkrid pressed his lips together. His refined senses now allowed him to evaluate weaponry on sight. He could judge it without even picking it up. It was the gift presented by Lephratio. A sword that deserved to be called a masterpiece—one that stood on equal footing with an engraved weapon. It was so exceptional that Enkrid now wondered if Aitri could actually produce something superior.