“Do you really need to use two swords?”

It was after their sparring session. Rem asked the question, sweat pouring off Enkrid, though Rem himself was perfectly dry.

“Yes,” Enkrid replied, nodding while sitting on the ground.

Rem started to speak but stopped himself.

Specifically, he held back his words after seeing Enkrid’s expression.

If he hadn’t, he might’ve said something like:

“Should I explain how stupid dual wielding is?”

“Did you think having two swords would double your attack power or something?”

“Stop messing around and just use one sword properly. Listen to me before I take my axe and split one of those swords in half.”

Instead, Rem pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and thought.

Well, I did get a nice axe out of it.

The axe that Enkrid had given him was of surprisingly good quality. Its faint bluish hue indicated that it was made from properly forged, high-grade steel—Valerisan steel, to be precise.

Judging by its durability and craftsmanship, this axe would likely serve him well for a long time.

He was quite pleased with it.

And so—

Let it go.

Of course, the axe was just an excuse.

The real reason he didn’t bother criticizing Enkrid was the look on his face.

Sometimes, when Enkrid wore that expression—

Talking about wanting to become a knight, claiming it was a good day to swing a sword, or saying he’d spend his free time training—it was clear that he was utterly unshakable.

No, it wasn’t mere stubbornness.

It was determination.

Though calling it determination felt inadequate, given how calm and matter-of-fact he seemed about it.

Regardless, there was an invisible boundary surrounding Enkrid that no one could cross.

Rem knew that everyone had such boundaries, and Enkrid had always respected his.

If he messes up and ties himself in knots with his own stubbornness, then fine.

He’d stop when the time came.

Recently, people had been talking about Enkrid as some kind of late-blooming genius—a man who had "awakened" at thirty.

Is that thanks to me? Well, maybe I helped a little.

But fundamentally, Rem believed it was all Enkrid’s own doing.

At no point did he ever give up.

He never faltered.

He never allowed despair to take hold.

And if he had to crawl, he still moved forward.

The thought made Rem reflect.

Was this why he found himself watching Enkrid so closely?

Or was it because Enkrid was so unlike himself?

Rem had once abandoned everything, wandering aimlessly.

He had been born with talent and everything else he could ever need.

But I threw it away.

He had turned his back on it all.

In contrast, his platoon leader was different.

All Enkrid had in his hand was a single well-honed sword.

And yet, he walked.

Without knowing what lay at the end of the path.

Without questioning his right to walk that path.

Without complaining about the hardship of the journey.

Since it was a path he had chosen for himself, he found joy in it.

What kind of person could be like that?

Rem’s feelings were complicated.

Learning the Heart of Might in just one day?

Sure, it was surprising, but not impossible.

After all, geniuses existed in the world.

And while it was impressive that his platoon leader had done it,

I taught him every step, demonstrated it, and even monitored his progress.

At that point, anyone should have been able to at least imitate the technique.

But Enkrid’s attitude toward life—now that was hard to emulate.

Lost in thought, Rem finally moved his tongue and spoke:

“I think I like you, Captain.”

“…Did someone drug your food?” Enkrid replied with a raised eyebrow.

“No, it’s just that you’re fun to hit.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Very you.”

Enkrid dismissed the comment casually.

As they talked, a familiar face poked into the conversation—Ragna, wearing his usual smug expression.

“Done sparring?”

“I really hate you,” Rem said, pouring every ounce of sincerity into his words. He even tried to speak the way Enkrid did, to ensure there was no misunderstanding.

“Same,” Ragna replied with a nod and a soft smile, clearly in full agreement.

Ragna’s face, already annoyingly handsome, became even more infuriating with that smile.

“I feel the same way,” a sly voice added from the side.

It belonged to Audin, who rarely spoke yet had chosen this moment to chime in.

“Brothers, all things in the world rest within the embrace of the divine. And surely, the Lord tends even to the hearts of men. As His servant, how could I hide my own feelings? Yes, I hate you too,” Audin said with a grin, peeling off his shirt dramatically.

It was irritating.

His words were polished, but their meaning was no different from simply saying, I hate you.

Why waste time dressing it up?

Despite the unsolicited commentary from these annoying individuals,

Rem couldn’t help but feel inexplicably good.

Looking at Enkrid had that effect on him.

And with that buoyant feeling, Rem decided to extend a bit of grace.

“Andrew!”

Andrew flinched at Rem’s shout but quickly stood tall.

“To view your enemy as greater than they are is to give in before the battle begins. Viewing them as greater is akin to admitting defeat.”

With that resolve in mind, Andrew drew his sword.

Shling.

“Smart enough to know what’s coming,” Rem remarked, stepping forward as his axe swung ominously like a pendulum.

The gleaming blade was unnervingly sharp.

“…I’ll intervene if he asks for mercy,” Mack said from behind, prompting Andrew to nod in acknowledgment.

Mack was a good man. From helping rebuild his family to sparring alongside him against Rem, he had always been there.

But why was Mack backing away while saying this?

Shouldn’t he be staying close enough to help?

Why was he retreating so far?

“Do your best. You are the only hero of House Gardner,” Mack said from a distance.

Why was he calling him Gardner now? He usually just called him Andrew.

Mack stopped only when he reached Enkrid, the safest place in this chaotic platoon.

Andrew had no such retreat.

But he didn’t need one.

Despite the overwhelming odds, fighting Rem always improved his skills.

For tomorrow’s sake, for the future—

He repeated what he’d learned from his captain.

“Come on, you arrogant barbarian!”

“Hmm? So I can take an arm off?” Rem’s dull gray eyes glinted with dangerous intent.

“Shut up.”

Andrew charged. That was the only option.

Seated on the ground, Enkrid watched it all unfold.

He had given his all against Rem, wielding two swords.

The Heart of Might had given his arms incredible strength, a dramatic boost in raw power.

But he still couldn’t overpower Rem with dual swords.

I’m not used to this yet, he thought, looking at his calloused palms.

It wasn’t about talent—it was about time.

So, what next?

“Are you taking a break?”

The answer was right in front of him.

Ragna, unusually motivated, stood with his sword ready.

Enkrid didn’t know why Ragna acted like this, especially toward him.

But it wasn’t a bad thing—not at all.

Placing a hand on his bruised thigh, Enkrid stood.

“No.”

Ragna nodded as if he had expected this, then drew his sword.

“Will you use two swords again?”

“Yes.”

Ragna asked no further questions.

It was strange. Enkrid had expected Rem or Ragna to object when he said he would use two swords. If not them, surely Jaxon or Audin would say something.

Even Andrew, Mack, or Kraiss, who usually had no reservations about speaking their minds, might have pointed out the clumsiness of his dual-wielding attempts.

But no one said a word.

It was peculiar, but Ragna didn’t press the issue. Instead, he focused on the sparring, parrying Enkrid’s strikes with precision.

Using two swords effectively was a complex challenge, and Enkrid had spent considerable time pondering the best approach.

He hadn’t been idle. While honing the Heart of Might, he also trained with dual swords.

Yet his attempts remained awkward.

It felt like sculpting a statue without knowing what it was supposed to look like, carving away aimlessly.

Enkrid’s hands were busy, clumsy, and chaotic.

Ragna, however, effortlessly deflected each strike and ended the spar in much the same way as Rem—by decisively overpowering Enkrid.

“Hmm.”

Ragna looked like he was about to say something but closed his mouth instead.

“Huff… huff…”

Enkrid was gasping for breath, his right hand resting on his thigh and his left-hand sword stabbed into the ground for support. Sweat poured off him, dripping from his forehead onto the dirt below.

His limbs trembled.

The Heart of Might, while powerful, pushed his muscles beyond their limits, leaving him with noticeable aftereffects.

While Ragna remained silent, Audin stepped forward.

“You pushed yourself too hard, Captain,” he said.

Enkrid raised his head slightly to meet Audin’s gaze. The man wore his usual smile—the same unsettling smile he had when using the Isolation Technique.

“What’s with that look? It’s like you’re hiding something devilish behind that grin,” Enkrid muttered.

“You need to rest,” Audin replied.

“Rest?”

“And no Isolation Technique either, Captain.”

That was unexpected. Usually, Audin seemed disappointed when training sessions ended, as though eager to push Enkrid even harder.

“Let’s discuss this later,” Ragna murmured, deep in thought.

Enkrid tried to stand but collapsed to the side, only for Audin to catch him with surprising gentleness.

“Let’s get you inside,” Audin said.

“Do we have any duties or missions today?” Enkrid asked.

“Even if we did, you wouldn’t be fit to join them,” Audin replied with a smile.

He wasn’t wrong.

Enkrid knew the Heart of Might was an exceptional weapon, a powerful technique.

The ability to temporarily surpass one’s physical limits could be a game-changer, enabling even someone like Enkrid to exchange blows with monsters like Frokk.

If mastered, it could even allow him to block the devastating strikes of giants, just as Rem had done.

The image of Rem standing fearlessly against a giant was burned into Enkrid’s mind.

He couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy.

Having witnessed such a feat, giving up on the Heart of Might wasn’t an option.

Audin helped Enkrid up, steadying him as he buckled under the strain.

“Go wash up,” Audin suggested.

Despite his trembling limbs, Enkrid meticulously secured his gear before heading off.

“Why do you fight so much every day?” Kraiss quipped from nearby, his tone teasing.

Yet even as he spoke, Kraiss busied himself helping Enkrid with his equipment.

“Go on, wash up. I’ll take care of your gear,” Kraiss said.

“My gear?”

“Do you know how many years I’ve been eating army rations? Do you know how much Krona I’ve made from maintaining gear? I’m probably better at it than most blacksmiths.”

Now that he thought about it, Kraiss had always been industrious.

When there were no women, cigarettes, or other goods to barter, Kraiss would often visit other platoons’ barracks to offer his services.

For soldiers who didn’t treat their weapons like cherished companions, maintaining gear was a tedious task—one they were happy to outsource.

Enkrid valued his weapons and armor but trusted Kraiss to handle them.

Sure enough, by the time Enkrid returned, freshly washed, Kraiss had polished his sword to a mirror shine.

“If I draw this on a moonlit night, it’ll practically act as a beacon,” Enkrid remarked dryly.

“That’s a compliment, right?” Kraiss grinned.

“Sure.”

“You’ve got such a unique way of giving compliments, Captain,” Kraiss chuckled.

Before Enkrid could respond, Audin approached, casting a large shadow over them.

“What now, Audin?” Kraiss asked, startled as he instinctively stepped back.

“I have business with the Captain,” Audin replied with a smile—a bear-like, predatory smile that resembled a scheming demon.

That can’t be good, Enkrid thought.

Audin placed a massive hand on Enkrid’s shoulder.

“Overworking your muscles causes them to seize up. There’s a method to release the tension, and I’m going to teach you that technique now.”

The mention of “teaching” and “learning” piqued Enkrid’s interest, making him lower his guard.

“What kind of technique?” he asked.

Audin’s answer was another unsettling smile.

That smile spelled trouble, and Enkrid was right to be wary.

“Ungh! Ahhh! Ghhhk!”

Audin’s fingers pressed into Enkrid’s muscles, twisting and kneading them with ruthless precision.

The pain was excruciating.

Enkrid’s vision darkened, and for a moment, he thought he saw the ferryman of the black river again.

It felt as though he had dipped his foot into death’s river and returned.

The agony coursing through his body was beyond anything he had ever experienced.

“This is how you release tension in overworked muscles. When I learned it, they called it ‘Blood, Sweat, and Tears,’” Audin explained with a calm smile.

Was that the name of the technique? It didn’t sound official.

Not that Enkrid had the presence of mind to care.

The jolts of pain racing through his body left him unable to think, let alone speak.

The sheer intensity of the moment silenced even his screams.

Still, the pain wasn’t the kind that caused permanent damage—it was the kind that could be endured.

And endure he must.