Chapter 845

Chapter 845

In a flash, the descending pale blade split into fifty distinct streaks. With a relaxed spirit and eyes sharpened by Will, he tracked the count of the incoming strikes.
Should he parry?
Or should he evade?
It was the instant of arriving at a fork in the road and making a choice. He did not hesitate. This entire sequence—the motion and the resolution—unfolded with such velocity that a commoner or a mere apprentice knight would fail to perceive it.
But what was the view from within that silent realm where thought outpaces time?
Temares slipped Baika into a narrow opening visible only to his own perception. The blade that had been falling as a flurry of fifty shadows transformed into a direct lunge.
To describe the mechanic in words: he had been cutting, then halted, shifted his center of gravity to his right leg, locked his elbow, and transitioned into a stabbing stance.
One might say he forced the change of direction through sheer strength. Yet, if one focused only on the vector of that power and the swing of the steel, it remained faithful to the basics.
Enkrid saw a single point expand rapidly before his eyes. He retracted the weapon he had poised to intercept and hoisted it like a barricade. Only his two sapphire eyes remained visible above the metal.
Clink.
For all the speed involved, the impact was quiet. They were not engaging with their full strength, after all.
The nose of Baika tapped the side of Dawn Tempering and immediately pulled back. Had he funneled Will into the strike, it would have been a “severing” blow meant to shatter steel, but for now, he let the tension bleed away.
“Observe. The vulnerability I spoke of.”
Temares retrieved his sword, Baika, as he spoke. Enkrid stared at the tiny white mark left on the azure surface of Dawn Tempering.
“I stopped it, but…”
If the duel had persisted, he would have been trapped in a defensive cycle. Both Enkrid and Temares were knights. It was simple to map out how the ensuing trade would have unfolded.
“To reclaim the momentum—”
—or to break out of a defensive spiral, he would have been forced to overextend. That act alone is a setback. Minor disadvantages pile up, dragging one closer to ruin than to victory.
Of course, it was premature to say the match was settled by this one exchange.
“The opening is certainly there.”
The message Temares conveyed through his steel was unmistakable.
Ponder briefly, act swiftly.
This was a rough edge Enkrid needed to sand down. It was the moment of recognizing his own inadequacy.
“I believed I had mastered instant decision-making by observing Rem before.”
There was still more to refine.
“Ah, damn it.”
Enkrid whispered. Temares read his partner’s spirit. He looked deep into the madman’s heart.
“You are absolutely thriving on this.”
That was precisely the sensation. Enkrid didn’t voice the thought, but the emotion was communicated.
Temares, in this regard, was a master carver. A craftsman who shaped living beings instead of stones.
His intuition was honed specifically to detect the cracks within an opponent.
Enkrid desired for Temares to utilize that unique gift to expose his own flaws.
The current moment was the fruit of that desire. The missing pieces were being laid bare. What followed?
He simply had to work tirelessly to fill those gaps.
Is it a simple task? No. But it is exhilarating. That is why he wore a grin.
“Integrate rapid judgment, instinctive choices, and—beyond that—the cunning to turn every circumstance into an advantage.”
The dragonkin even provided guidance. Enkrid had adopted the humble air of a student. He heard the words, grasped them, and turned them over in his mind repeatedly.
Looking back through his long years, Temares had rarely encountered a gift this refined.
No—was calling him a “talent” quite right?
For a warrior, his learning speed is sluggish. One must explain the same concept multiple times. The distance between him and those around him was obvious.
“In any case, that ridiculous smile.”
It was the same for the man who looked like a silver-haired bandit.
“You flow like water, Scales.”
It was the same for the bear beastman who took pleasure in goading others without a second thought.
“Fascinating.”
It was the same for the man reclining as he ate an apple, and for the crimson-haired man observing the practice in silence.
Their natural abilities were beyond the norm. Merely by watching, they understood their own limits and corrected them. The disparity between them and the human Enkrid was blatant. Yet, the dragonkin felt no pity or impatience.
He was practical. His strength lay in repeating what a distracted mind ought to do. He belonged to a race where a lack of emotion was an asset.
In a sense, he and Enkrid were perfectly suited for one another.
“If it is required, we shall do it again.”
The dragonkin’s logic and Enkrid’s intent were in sync.
As per their habit, they could not fight with lethal intent. Techniques like Wavebreaker or Killing Embers, traditional fencing, the Sword of Flash, the Sword of Chance, and the addition of Vortex.
Enkrid was currently honing five distinct styles, and if he unleashed them fully, even a friendly match would turn into a bloodbath.
Alongside these five styles were ten martial arts.
This was Enkrid’s primary focus at the moment.
The dragonkin’s presence served to further sharpen the tools he had been tempering. He couldn’t help but feel grateful.
“Did you follow that?”
Rem chimed in from the sidelines. For those at the apprentice level, the sequence of movements had been far too quick.
They could witness the outcome, but the process remained a blur. Consequently, the three recruits from Azpen could not bring themselves to nod in agreement.
“What? You’d rather perish than seek guidance from a knight of a rival nation?”
As Rem finished his taunt, one of the Azpen trio spoke up quickly.
“When did we ever claim that…?”
Naturally, they hadn’t. Rem was simply being Rem.
“You did. I heard it. I can read your thoughts.”
Rem pulled one corner of his mouth into a predatory smirk. He chose one individual to torment. Having recovered from a battle and rested for a few days, he finally had a new plaything. Out of respect for the sender’s kindness, it was only right to enjoy the gift.
In the West, ignoring a present was considered a terrible insult. Rem was a product of that culture.
“Well then, shall we have you die?”
The aura of death, laced with genuine intent, crushed the spirits of the three from Azpen. Out of the trio, only one ground his teeth and unsheathed his blade.
Sreung.
“Is this why you summoned us? Because you fear the fallout? Because you’re terrified of our progress?”
“Oh, I was so petrified I couldn’t close my eyes last night. Fine, what did you say your name was?”
Rem’s sarcasm was thick. No one loses sleep over a nameless rival. The mock was as sharp as a punch to the gut.
“The name is Greenhorn. I began in Gray Dog and fought my way to quasi-knight.”
Rem enjoyed that sort of soft, inexperienced beginner. They were the most satisfying to break.
The anticipation was visible on his face. He shouldered his axe, letting out a bizarre, high-pitched laugh. Greenhorn turned ghost-white at the sound.
This lunatic just wants to commit murder. Learn fencing at the Border Guard? Has my homeland abandoned me?
A whirlwind of panic spun through his mind. Greenhorn forced the useless thoughts aside instantly.
“Ah, to hell with it.”
When the time comes to fight, you fight. He wasn’t a man of intellect to begin with. Faced with that axe-bearing killer, he only knew how to swing.
Greenhorn’s temperament was reflected in his steel. Unlike the others, he had scraped together his skills from various places to reach his current rank. He was a creature of raw, violent energy.
Greenhorn struck. It was his absolute best effort. His quickest and most powerful move.
“Oh.”
Rem twitched his lips. At least one of them was worth something.
Of course, the gap in skill was vast. The moment the axe met the blade, Rem subtly adjusted his strength, catching the edges together and pulling sharply. Greenhorn’s sword was pinned against the axe.
“Why won’t it come loose?”
Shock. Confusion.
But if he hesitated, he would be crushed. If the opponent pulls, you push. Greenhorn gripped the handle with both hands and shoved with all his strength. Naturally, it was futile.
Kararararang! Thwack!
With the axe held in his right hand, Rem slid along the blade and drove his left fist into Greenhorn’s chin. The timing and speed were unavoidable.
Greenhorn’s frame collapsed like a doll with severed cords. Catching the man’s head on his foot to lower him gently to the ground, Rem spoke.
“The two of you should leave.”
Among the three, the one he had just knocked out had the lowest current skill. It was obvious. But spirit? This was the only one worth training.
“This one stays.”
No one paid much attention to Rem’s antics.
The dragonkin, in particular, didn’t give them a second look. Lacking interest, he didn’t even process their talking. His focus was on two specific things.
One was the obstacle to his duty, and the other—
“What is our destination today?”
The dragonkin inquired. He was speaking to Enkrid.
“Into the city.”
Whether it was for an inspection or a patrol, the dragonkin wasn’t curious. He would simply follow. He sheathed Baika and looked at him.
The presence of this dragonkin who trailed him everywhere did not feel like a burden. And even if it did, compared to how much it benefited Enkrid’s growth—
“It is well worth the trouble.”
In his past, he had gambled his life and spent every hard-earned coin just to acquire a single technique. Now, all he had to do was tolerate being followed. It was much simpler. It didn’t bother his conscience, either.
“Besides me, has your collection of followers grown?”
Lua Gharne asked this. Unless she had urgent business, she remained at Enkrid’s side.
“They are a shifting race.”
A golden-haired fairy was also in their company. In the city, she was known as the Golden-Haired Witch, and she was beginning to live up to the title.
“Give me a light.”
Bran, who had come to linger due to a lack of chores, held out his tobacco, and Shinar clicked her fingers beside him.
Tock.
With a single snap, a small flame sparked at the tip of the smoke.
Shinar had forged a contract with the Salamander. Because of that, she now controlled fire. The fairy who once trembled at a flicker due to her history with demons was gone.
“Now, even if a blaze breaks out, I can extinguish it.”
While she no longer panicked, she still seemed to harbor a slight dislike for the flames themselves.
“I shall accompany you as well.”
Jaxon joined the group. He had matters to attend to in the city as well.
“Very well.”
To Enkrid, this was all normal. Just the rhythm of his daily life. It was the same for Rem, Ragna, and Jaxon.
But it was a different story for those seeing it for the first time—the pair from Azpen. Greenhorn was unconscious, but the eyes of the remaining two were wide with shock.
Were they “madmen” in name only?
Are they actually just completely insane?
Is that a dragonkin? A creature of legend?
Why is a fairy using magic just to light a smoke?
Their reality was a different world from the one these two understood, a chasm made obvious. The two recruits exchanged glances and reached a conclusion. Let’s go back. This isn’t where we belong.
Greenhorn, being out cold, had no opportunity to object.
“Don’t kill them.”
Enkrid remembered Abnaier’s plea and spoke up. Rem tilted his head.
“Do I look like the type to murder people at a whim?”
Ragna joined the conversation.
“Weren’t you?”
Rem smirked and replied.
“I’ll point out your flaw since the lizard won’t. Your head is your weakness. You’d be a better fighter without it.”
When those two spoke with such casual familiarity, the result was predictable.
Boom!
A massive crack echoed as Ragna’s Sunrise collided with Rem’s falling axe. A gust of wind exploded from the impact, and ripples of shock spread outward from the center of the two.
These were weapons wielded with the true intent of knights. Get too close, and muscle would be shredded.
“Emergency. Clear out. No one enters this area for a while.”
The sentries guarding the Mad Order’s training ground barked orders and moved. As regular soldiers, their primary task was less about stopping invaders and more about preventing bystanders from getting caught in the crossfire when internal chaos erupted.
“Thank you for your diligence.”
Enkrid tapped one of the soldiers on the shoulder. The man was visibly moved. It was a word of praise from the commander himself.
Those who might have been Astrail agents or third-rate mages had struck, and the city’s people once again saw who truly stood watch.
There were many who had witnessed Audin and Ragna in combat.
Among them were bards, who wrote and performed tales.
A ballad titled “The Madmen of the Border Guard.” That song was now traveling beyond the city walls, reaching every corner of the continent.
“Astrail is more talkative than I anticipated. Now that we’ve dealt with them, several factions are reaching out with offers of friendship.”
That was Jaxon speaking. Things that happen in the darkness pass through him. The Dagger of Geor was an organization with significant reach.
“Is that so?”
Enkrid didn’t much care.
Exiting the barracks and walking through the streets, a few familiar faces passed by.
“Have you seen my library yet?”
At the question from Vanessa the innkeeper, Enkrid shook his head.
“You should visit sometime.”
A warm greeting.
“You constructed a library?”
Alec, the rival innkeeper, overheard her. He had competed with her his entire life.
When she took in three kids, he had funded the House of Angels to help orphans of the war.
Alec’s competitive spirit was ignited once more. A library? I’ll build something even better.
The thought was written clearly on his face. Enkrid gave a small smile.
“You’re enjoying yourself?”
The dragonkin watching Enkrid asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“The simple comfort of the people standing at my back.”
It was a feeling the dragonkin couldn’t comprehend. As Enkrid passed his neighbors, he mentally reviewed and organized the lessons he had practiced with Temares.
“The ferryman, and the dragonkin.”
The wisdom he gained from those two intertwined in his mind.
Particularly the things the ferryman had told him in the previous night’s dream—were they not truly remarkable?