Chapter 665

Chapter 665

“It simply began to function as I persisted with the effort.”

Following Rem’s input, Ragna—who was typically a man of few words—continued the conversation. His time spent in this place had provided him with a wealth of instruction, gifts, and sudden clarity. He had developed a particular brand of intuition that went beyond the mindless brute force practiced by certain individuals. Perhaps it was a form of situational awareness.

“Trusting in yourself is the root of it. If you select a path and maintain the conviction that it is correct, then you must tune out the voices of those who claim you are mistaken. If you discover while traveling that your aim is slightly off, you merely pivot to fix the trajectory. Imagine you are attempting to reach Martai from this spot. You should have headed one way, but you find yourself wandering another. Once you realize the error, you just turn like this and keep moving. Eventually, you will arrive at Martai. That is the logic of it. It is the reason why the trail I walk always becomes the legitimate one.”

As Ragna spoke the words “one way,” he gestured toward the north.

When he mentioned “wandering another,” he signaled toward the west.

And as he said “turn like this,” his hand swung to point directly south.

Technically speaking, Martai was located to the east—meaning he had successfully indicated every cardinal direction except the right one. It was a talent quite unique to him.

“That man is truly incredible. How do you even manage to reach Aitri? Honestly, forget that—how do you find the latrine? I am stunned you don’t vanish into the wilderness just trying to get there.”

The restroom was situated less than fifty paces from the living quarters. A deliberate path of flat stones had been constructed to lead the way—a sign of careful planning.

Enkrid found himself wondering,

Who was responsible for laying those stones?

The answer didn’t require much guesswork.

Kraiss, naturally.

They functioned as Ragna’s personal navigational beacons.

Despite his struggles with the bathroom path, Ragna did occasionally venture into the city by himself.

“How do I find my way? Do you realize how many guards I encounter on the road? Kraiss has mandated that an escort be attached to me every single time I attempt to leave the grounds.”

Kraiss offered this explanation while tending to sausages on the grill. Fat bubbled to the surface like beads of perspiration, releasing a scent that stirred the appetite.

Ah, of course. Kraiss was always looking out for them.

Rem gave a small nod. That man would likely prepare for a celestial impact on his own roof without losing his composure.

“There isn’t a single normal person in this vicinity. Not one,” Rem said, dismissing the thought with a shake of her head.

“Stop assigning guards to follow me. It’s irritating,” Ragna complained.

“Get used to it.”

Ragna grumbled at the response, but Kraiss remained adamant. He had grown accustomed to their eccentricities by this point. He was far too occupied to cater to every whim—attempting to do so would turn his daily existence into a constant struggle. Whether they were categorized as knights or something else entirely, these volatile individuals generally cooperated as long as their core boundaries weren’t violated.

Kraiss was well aware that if Ragna were left to his own devices, he would likely wander all the way to the Empire. And he would surely bring a conflict back with him, cutting down anyone who crossed his path.

It wasn’t as if Rem or Audin were any more grounded. If left unsupervised, Rem would probably assault some dignitary who had just pulled into Border Guard. Audin was just as prone to trouble.

Improving your physique is one thing, but why must you be so relentless, Brother Bear?

Kraiss whispered this to himself, his voice devoid of real heat.

Audin had a tendency to seize anyone in his proximity and drag them into a workout. Once he had a grip on you, there was no chance of departure. With his massive frame and a perpetual smile while calling everyone “Brother” or “Sister,” his obsession was evident.

Because of this, the Holy Unit under Audin’s command was the most grueling in terms of physical labor. They spent their days in tears while hauling boulders. Even in the middle of their devotions, they would hold isometric squats as if searching for the heavens through physical pain. Occasionally, Kraiss felt a pang of pity just observing them.

Poor souls.

And yet, he didn’t truly hold a grudge against any of them. The advantages provided by the presence of Audin, Rem, and Ragna far exceeded the headache they caused. Kraiss was the sort of individual who found contentment when the profit outweighed the labor.

Jaxon was present as well. While it didn’t seem like he had any guidance to offer, the group’s attention naturally gravitated toward him. He idly rotated the dagger in his grip, the blade catching the glow from the fires at both ends of the table.

While the dagger continued its spin, Jaxon finally spoke.

“Flawless individuals do not exist in this realm. The distinction lies only in who possesses the sharper edge.”

The advice was brief but held significant weight. Enkrid felt those words strike the very center of the knight system he was currently refining.

What is capable of breaking a perfect circle?

Is the ultimate goal to develop one’s skills into a rounded, balanced form?

No. If a needle pricks it, even the most perfect circle will burst.

He had felt the truth of that today. In a formal duel, he could defeat Shinar eight times out of ten. Yet, specifically regarding the wave-blocking sword, her edge had managed to nick his shoulder.

That was the needle.

The wave-blocking sword wasn’t merely a set of movements. It was a process of reaction, steered by intellect. Shinar had successfully navigated the tiny window in that reaction time.

A sharpened blade.

She had concealed a lethal strike within her obvious movements. A hit that landed like a sudden winter gust. Winter winds aren’t supposed to be gentle breezes. If one appears, it is an anomaly.

“Brother, do you believe everything can be foreseen? I find that unlikely. But if your thoughts are moving faster than your foe’s, is there truly a requirement to react instinctively and discover the flawless solution in that split second? Does your skill have to be a blind reflex?”

Audin countered with a query of his own.

Can every variable be predicted?

Hardly. Therefore, one must simply outmatch the opponent standing before them. That meant drawing out exactly what was required in the moment. Sometimes fluid, sometimes crashing. Heavy, deceptive, rapid, or refined.

Now he grasped why Leonecis Oniac, the legendary figure of his age, had categorized swordsmanship into five distinct styles. If the core principles are mastered, everything else is an extension of them.

There was a stark contrast between Enkrid before he mastered the wave-blocking sword and the man he was now. Similarly, there was a shift between his life before and after attaining knighthood. Certain traits of a person remain fixed, but others evolve.

From Audin’s inquiry, Enkrid harvested a piece of the puzzle.

“So, in the end, it all comes down to the way of the blade, doesn’t it?”

When stripped to its essence, that was the conclusion.

“What are you implying?” Teresa inquired, having been a quiet observer until now.

Audin provided the answer.

“Ultimately, you strike with the fist, slash with the edge, or thrust with the point. That is the reality, Sister. Therefore, the only thing that truly counts is the refinement of the basics.”

Focus on the foundation. Practice every day. Search for the resolution through physical exertion rather than mental gymnastics. Audin reiterated his philosophy.

Each person held their own set of principles and certainties. Enkrid took in their words like parched earth drinking in a storm.

Predicting everything—that was essentially Rem’s methodology. Rem had an innate ability to perceive the whole situation and provide the most logical, deadly response. It was like watching an opponent’s hand shift in the middle of a game and knowing the result instantly. Her sharpness and speed were uncanny.

Like a beastkin.

If a beastkin possessed a strategic mind, they would fight exactly like Rem. Their natural physical command was peerless. Rem simply filled that gap with her own raw talent.

Ragna’s explanation had been clumsy, but the heart of it was transparent:

It is acceptable to take a long, winding route—just never harbor regret for the path you have already trodden. If you have committed to a strike, possess the resolve to transform a mistaken path into the correct one.

Conviction.

A knight wielding divine energy could lose their gift if they began to second-guess themselves. Particularly when oaths were violated, they would be swallowed by their own doubt. Intent without conviction is merely a hollow gesture.

Ragna was a prodigy. That was the only reason he could articulate such things. But the lesson wasn’t lost on Enkrid. He listened, reflected, and integrated the thought into his being.

Jaxon’s contribution was a warning against placing others on a pedestal. Audin insisted that relentless labor was the secret. Different phrasing, but the same core truth. And it wasn’t just useful for Enkrid—it resonated with Lua Gharne, Rophod, Pell, and Teresa as well.

“Carving out your own trajectory—that is a hallmark of the higher knight,” Lua Gharne remarked, speaking from her perspective as a scholar.

“True.”

Enkrid agreed casually and took a bite of food. It was a skewer of pork belly, the fat rendering and dropping into the coals with a sharp hiss. He cooled it with a breath before eating. It dissolved almost instantly. The seasoning and salt merged perfectly with the richness of the fat. The slow-cooked meat yielded easily to his teeth, coating his palate in savory warmth.

Mmm.

An excellent meal. Truly.

Shinar sat quietly, eating a selection of ripe fruit. Even in such a simple act, she looked like a celestial being.

“If things fall apart, we ought to establish a Shinar Knight Order. Finding recruits would be effortless. But beyond that, Shinar—have you ever encountered a salon? I’ve been considering that it might be beneficial for fairies to find employment in one to gain global experience. Eventually, we could launch a venue managed entirely by your kind.”

Kraiss spoke with eyes that glowed more intensely than the cooking fire.

“There is a specific clan interested in such ventures. Members of the Ermen family. You’ve likely crossed paths with them,” Shinar answered, referring to the fairy tasked with tribal commerce.

Kraiss had indeed met them. For once, he didn’t hide his irritation. So that was the source of the friction.

“That particular fairy is far too talkative.”

Ah, internal fairy politics, Enkrid thought. The others were reaching the same conclusion.

“I do not represent the clan’s voice. I am their protector. Therefore, everyone must act on their own volition.”

Shinar shifted her gaze toward Enkrid as she spoke.

In that moment, Rophod whispered to himself.

“A natural blade—the one that strikes without thought—that is always the correct one, then.”

“That is the mark of a higher knight,” Pell replied, his brow deeply knotted. “How is such a thing even possible?”

Even though he possessed a spark of that very talent, he struggled to wrap his head around it. How could every single action always be the right one? Swinging a sword involves variables and probability. That implied a need for fortune. Could one truly command luck at all times? What about the unexpected?

To make every path the right one? Could that be achieved? Was it merely a matter of being gifted? Pell was caught in a whirlwind of internal questions. He couldn’t grasp the solution yet.

Then Shinar offered an answer.

“How does it work? Through the strength of love.”

Enkrid started to wonder if the fairy had consumed something questionable or was perhaps intoxicated. Yet, she appeared as composed as ever. She had just overseen the final relocation of her people; she was likely just drained. So what was causing this behavior?

“She is simply thrilled,” Lua Gharne said, utilizing her intuition. And she was correct.

Shinar had been bound to her city of Kirheis by her obligations. Consequently, she had brought the city with her. Had she not, she would have insisted on renaming the place Ermen. Her vow to safeguard her people had kept her away from Border Guard for far too long. She had escaped the clutches of demonic influence, and the man who had rescued her was right here—yet she hadn’t been able to stand by him. She wasn’t resentful, but she was restless.

Restless enough to lose her patience.

Among the fairies, the rumors were already circulating. This was also the reason a growing number of fairies had been caught scaling the walls at night just to catch a glimpse of Enkrid over the last month. They calculated their chances were better before Shinar arrived.

Even while she was away, they couldn’t get close to Enkrid. And the presence of the “Black Flower” witch only increased the tension.

Among the elder fairies—those who served as the community’s leaders—there was a lingering suspicion that witches were acolytes of demons. This prejudice stemmed from an era when some magic users had indeed allied with the demonic forces. To fairies who grew up in a secluded culture, a witch was seen as a dangerous wildcard.

Of course, Esther had no desire to pull their bodies apart and display them as trophies. Even if she were to kill a fairy, she wouldn’t waste time on such a pointless task.

Nevertheless, as Shinar sat across from Enkrid, her joy was palpable. It had been quite some time since she’d had the opportunity to provoke him. Her mood was buoyant. So no, she wasn’t drunk or under the influence of anything. She was merely happy.

Though, to an outsider, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think she was high on something.

“If you truly wish to understand, visit my quarters this evening. I will explain everything. Every detail. Through the strength of love.”

Delivering a line like that with a completely straight face was unsettling. She possessed the face of a divine sister—and yet, here she was. Enkrid felt a shiver—not one of excitement, but of genuine concern.

“Should I just knock her unconscious?” he asked in all seriousness. That seemed to be the only reliable way to quiet her.

“Is that really called for?” Rem joined in, predictably.

Ragna didn’t pass up his chance. “Go outside and get some air. Try not to wander off.” He directed that at Shinar.

“May the deity look over you, Sister,” Audin added.

Jaxon stopped spinning his blade and suddenly inquired, “Are you seriously going to continue utilizing that hideous weapon?”

A remark like that usually meant he had a genuine grievance.

“It is a horn-trumpet dagger, not an eyesore. I feel more at home throwing this than sitting in silence,” Enkrid replied smoothly. Jaxon chose to ignore the comment. He clearly didn’t care for it, but he wouldn’t press the issue.

“Incantations hold intent. An incantation devoid of intent is worthless. However, as you gain proficiency, you find yourself casting with a mere movement. The intent follows the action; it doesn’t lead it. That which erupts through pure instinct—that is what we term a Glint.”

Esther contributed to the discussion.

Glint—a sudden burst of radiance.

Today, Esther had taken her human form, showing off her dark, midnight hair. She was addressing a point Enkrid had brought up previously.

But why were her cheeks flushed so red?