The Balraf Method of Acupressure—that was the true name of what Audin had called the Blood, Sweat, and Tears Technique.

“Did this Balraf person create anything else besides martial arts and acupressure?”

“He also developed a style of blunt weapon techniques, though it was so poorly received that it’s no longer practiced. However, he compiled many important texts, including interpretations of sacred scriptures,” Audin replied.

Balraf was a significant figure in the faith of Audin’s temple, a legendary individual whose name was known only to those who studied deeply.

For Enkrid, though, the name had quickly become familiar.

Audin’s thick hands pressed into Enkrid’s muscles with surprising precision.

At first, it felt like he was about to cross over to the black river with the ferryman.

But after taking a deep breath and enduring the pain, it became bearable.

“Initially, we target the area of greatest tension,” Audin explained with a serene smile, “and then gradually move to less painful areas. By the end…”

“Hm.”

“…the tension in the muscles is released.”

As Audin’s bear-like hands worked their way over his body, Enkrid felt his muscles relax, loosening strand by strand.

Perhaps this technique was worth learning.

The Heart of Might had left his muscles stiff and quivering, as if gripped by an unbearable cramp. But now, the tension and pain began to fade.

“You should take the rest of the day to recover,” Audin said, his tone firm.

Enkrid nodded. It was sound advice.

The Heart of Might had proven itself as an invaluable skill, but using it recklessly placed significant strain on his body.

For the first time, Enkrid truly admired the knights.

They operated beyond human limits without relying on such techniques.

They might appear human, but their strength rivaled giants, their agility matched that of Frokk, and their sensitivity equaled that of a fairy.

Such were the knights—living legends.

For Enkrid, who once carried a faded dream of becoming a knight, this newfound skill was like a small ray of light piercing through the clouds.

“Why hasn’t anyone objected to me using two swords?”

The question slipped out as he rested, feeling his muscles relax under Audin’s skilled hands.

Surely someone would have pointed out whether this was the right path or a foolish one.

Even Ragna, who had recommended a sword-and-shield approach, hadn’t objected outright.

“Why do you think that is, Captain?” Audin asked, his tone almost teasing.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” Enkrid replied, his voice muffled by the way he was lying down.

Audin chuckled from above. “It’s because you’re so stubborn. Now rest, Captain.”

Stubborn? Him?

Enkrid couldn’t accept that.

He considered himself flexible and accommodating. After all, wasn’t he the one managing this platoon of lunatics?

If he were truly stubborn, wouldn’t this unit have already fallen apart?

Yet as Audin’s hands pressed into the back of his neck, Enkrid felt his thoughts fade into a haze of comfort.

This wasn’t the numbing blackness of death or unconsciousness, but a gradual surrender to relaxation.

There was no point in resisting.

With that, Enkrid allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

Audin watched his captain fall asleep and rose quietly.

“Stubborn people never realize how stubborn they are,” Audin muttered, stepping outside the tent.

“Done watching?” he asked into the quiet morning air.

From just outside, Jaxon’s voice replied, “I was watching the Captain, not you.”

Audin shrugged and walked off.

Jaxon stepped into the tent and stared at Enkrid’s sleeping form.

What a peculiar man.

Something about him made people want to help, to teach, and to guide him, even if it meant revealing their most precious secrets.

“Not that he’ll need my skills,” Jaxon murmured, before quietly leaving.

“Meow.”

A small, dark leopard slipped into Enkrid’s arms.

Esther nestled against him as he stirred slightly in his sleep.

As Enkrid drifted deeper into slumber, dreams began to take shape.

Faceless figures appeared before him, their voices dripping with mockery.

“Do you really think you’re doing the right thing?”

“Is this path worth it?”

“You’re insane, aren’t you?”

“Stubborn fool. What are you even trying to accomplish?”

The questions were endless, but Enkrid dismissed them all with a single answer.

“If I want to, I’ll do it. What’s it to you?”

Instead of doubt, he focused on clarity, seeking the answers he needed.

At the end of his contemplation, he found confidence.

When Enkrid awoke, he mumbled to himself.

“I guess I’ll have to explain why I use two swords.”

He wasn’t stubborn. He simply needed to justify his choices.

Stretching and testing his body, Enkrid felt ready to move again.

Outside, the morning air was cool but carried a hint of warmth that promised a sunny day ahead.

Enkrid began his training routine: the Isolation Technique, swordsmanship drills, the Heart of the Beast, Blade Sensitivity, and Singular Focus.

Now, he incorporated the Heart of Might into his regimen, keeping it active just enough to avoid overloading his body.

As he trained, Audin emerged from his tent.

“Good morning, Captain,” Audin greeted him warmly.

The sunrise painted the sky in hues of blue and gold, and the crisp air carried the chill of dawn.

Enkrid stood alone in the gravel yard before their barracks, his body steaming from the exertion.

A few sentries passed by but said nothing.

Though he was regarded as a war hero, everyone knew better than to interrupt a member of the Mad Platoon during their training.

Respect had its place, but in their case, fear often accompanied it.

“Morning,” Enkrid replied without looking up, focusing entirely on his exercises.

Rem was the next to appear.

“Captain, Captain, I’m here!”

“Good for you,” Enkrid said dryly, not breaking his stride.

Rem squatted nearby, watching with mild amusement.

Jaxon moved in the shadows, already awake and alert.

Kraiss was next, yawning and stretching as he emerged.

“Doesn’t look like we’re moving out today, huh? That’s a shame,” Kraiss muttered to himself.

Finally, Ragna approached.

“Captain,” Ragna called out.

With everyone present, Enkrid paused his training and turned to face them.

It was time to speak his mind.

“I have to ask—why do you insist on using two swords?” Ragna said.

Enkrid nodded and replied, “I believe it’s the right choice.”

He waited for Ragna to press further, ready to explain his reasoning.

But Ragna said nothing.

When the silence stretched on, Enkrid took it upon himself to answer.

“Using two swords feels… better.”

Why did he want to become a knight? Because he admired them.

Why did he like swords? Because he felt drawn to them the moment he held one.

It was as simple as that.

The moment Enkrid held two swords, he experienced a revelation.

The day he began training his left hand, realizing he could wield a blade in each hand, felt like a small bolt of lightning striking his mind.

A moment of clarity.

"If I can use two swords…"

The thought resonated with him, as if the very idea fit perfectly into place.

“I didn’t ask,” Ragna commented dryly.

Right, no one had asked.

“Who’s asking anyway?” Rem chuckled from nearby.

Lately, that barbarian seemed to be in an unusually cheerful mood.

Sure, no one had asked, but still…

“Understood,” Kraiss muttered absently, nodding as if agreeing with some distant thought.

This guy doesn’t even know what I just said, Enkrid thought.

Audin chimed in with a polite “Yes, Brother,” and Jaxon didn’t even bother to acknowledge the conversation, engrossed in sharpening his dagger on a whetstone he’d somehow acquired.

The rhythmic scrrkk, ting of blade against stone blended with the faint morning breeze.

“Hah!”

“Haaa!”

Because of their mad captain, more and more soldiers seemed to gather in the mornings for training, filling the air with a cacophony of grunts and the hum of steel.

In the midst of this, Enkrid muttered to himself again.

“Using two swords feels better.”

“I said I didn’t ask,” Rem quipped, his grin growing wider.

Enkrid wanted to clarify that this wasn’t stubbornness, but every time he tried, he felt as if admitting it would somehow make him more stubborn.

So, what’s the solution?

“The real issue is figuring out how to integrate two swords into your combat style, isn’t it?” Ragna asked.

Enkrid paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Fine. If they thought he was stubborn, he’d embrace it.

“Yes,” he finally said.

“Then think of it this way,” Ragna said, a strange light in his eyes. “From now on, Captain, you have two lovers.”

What kind of explanation was that?

The squad had the worst knack for conveying ideas. They weren’t inarticulate, but when it came to explaining something they knew, they struggled to make it comprehensible.

And yet, Enkrid thought back to the previous night, picturing Ragna sitting in deep thought in the barracks.

So this is what he was contemplating all that time?

Enkrid decided to accept it. “Alright.”

Two lovers, huh?

“You hold them close at all times—when you eat, sleep, even when you answer nature’s call. They’re always with you, in your arms, moving with you.”

What kind of training was this supposed to be?

Enkrid didn’t question it. Ragna had spent an entire night pondering it, and Enkrid chose to trust him.

“Alright,” he repeated.

The answer came twice, and Ragna’s face flushed slightly. His cheeks looked strangely boyish.

“Good.”

That was the end of the conversation.

From then on, Enkrid followed Ragna’s advice to the letter.

He honed his Isolation Technique, endured the agony of the Balraf Acupressure Method, and trained relentlessly with his swords.

He treated his blades as if they were inseparable lovers, holding them close at all times.

Whether he was eating, sleeping, or doing anything else, the swords were with him.

“Meow.”

Esther, evidently displeased by the arrangement, occasionally whined as she curled up nearby.

Still, Enkrid persisted, faithfully adhering to the bizarre training regimen.

Seven days passed this way.

Though there were no battles, occasional news trickled in from the main army.

On the fifth day, Kraiss voiced his concerns with a grim expression.

“This isn’t looking good.”

“Why not?”

“The main force’s battle is dragging on,” Kraiss replied.

“And that’s a problem because…?”

Azerpen’s forces weren’t to be underestimated. Even if Nawrylia was unable to fully deploy its strength due to internal issues, it was still a major power. Holding off Nawrylia’s offensive was no small feat.

Kraiss, relying on his past experiences, explained succinctly.

“If you manage to get your hand around the enemy’s throat right at the start but can’t choke them out, you’re in trouble. And Nawrylia’s supposed to be on the back foot here.”

“So?”

Kraiss’s large eyes narrowed.

“Seriously, Captain?” his gaze seemed to say.

Why does it feel like I can hear him speaking with his eyes?

Enkrid remained unfazed. Stubbornness was a virtue, after all.

Kraiss sighed and continued.

“Well, the only option left is to really hit the enemy where it hurts. A swift, decisive blow to the back of the head. Something quick and brutal.”

This, Enkrid understood.

The fourth battalion of the 4th Regiment of the Cypress Division wasn’t done yet.

The border guard’s work wasn’t finished, meaning another battle was inevitable.

Enkrid casually swung one of his swords and replied, “I see.”

Expectations stirred within him.

What kind of defenses had Azerpen left in its rear?

That was on the fifth day.

On the morning of the eighth day…

“Ambush!”

The enemy struck first.