As Aisia made her way back, she found herself dwelling on something peculiar.

This might be the first time.

Someone who didn’t know how to wield a knight’s power yet managed to endure purely with their body.

It wasn’t as if he overcame the pressure. He simply endured it.

No, on reflection, he had even managed to extend his foot forward by the length of a fingertip.

As a squire knight, her sharp gaze caught even the slightest movements of her opponent.

He had attempted to move forward. To advance.

How many soldiers could do such a thing?

Were there any at all?

I doubt it.

Though... if he realizes it, he could become a monster.

But how easy was such a realization?

Forget it.

Frokk had stayed behind; he would handle it.

She had done her part. She had fulfilled the request.

And with that, her role was over.

Aisia decided to forget about Enkrid.

There was no reason to remember him.

Though she did like his spirit and his unyielding determination.

Not to mention, she rather liked his face, too.

But I’ll never see him again.

Talent was cruel.

Lady Luck was always unfair.

Clop-clop.

The hooves of her horse struck the ground rhythmically as it carried her forward.

It was time to return.

***

Why?

Venzance felt restless and uneasy.

A knight had come to evaluate Enkrid, witnessed his skills, and even the so-called Talent Appraiser Frokk had made an appearance.

The result? Harsh words were exchanged.

Why go to such lengths?

To dampen his spirit? To chastise him for being overly focused on training?

Venzance couldn’t even begin to fathom Marcus’s intentions.

Why prod at Enkrid, who was simply minding his own business?

Telling him he couldn’t become a knight, that his limits were clear, so he should give up?

Why? Why go out of the way to say such things?

Venzance didn’t know Enkrid’s dreams. Nor was he privy to the conversations between Enkrid and Marcus.

So naturally, he was left with these questions.

Enkrid had never hidden his faded dream, but neither did he announce it to everyone he met.

“That bastard commander has a rotten personality,” Venzance muttered, cursing Marcus under his breath as he made his way to Enkrid’s quarters.

Knock, knock.

“It’s Venzance.”

“Oh? The ugly squad leader? What’s up?”

Rem opened the door, his words immediately turning Venzance’s mood sour.

Ignore him. Responding would only provoke a fight.

And what would be the result? With Enkrid, the fight would end with a knee to the thigh. But with Rem, it was hard to imagine it ending so simply. The conclusion was obvious: fighting Rem was a terrible idea.

“Where’s Enkrid?”

“He’s asleep.”

Not asleep—unconscious.

And why is this bastard so nonchalant?

Venzance half-expected Rem to storm into Marcus’s office with an axe in hand after what had happened. But here he was, calm as ever.

If he had been the type to lose his temper, he’d have already swung that axe, no doubt about it.

Inside the quarters, Ragna was asleep again.

Curious, Venzance checked to see if he was truly asleep. Sure enough, he was in a deep slumber. His chest rose and fell rhythmically with steady breathing.

Jaxon sat in a corner, meticulously rolling tobacco leaves.

Impressive dedication.

The woman, Finn, who had recently joined, was absent.

Kraiss was also nowhere to be seen.

The only one present from the morning watch was Frokk, who sat quietly.

It was nearing noon, and it seemed Frokk had decided to make himself comfortable here.

The laid-back atmosphere felt oddly out of place.

Shouldn’t they be offering words of encouragement when Enkrid woke up? Or at least pretending nothing had happened?

As Venzance coughed to clear his throat, Enkrid stirred, timing it perfectly.

Enkrid opened his eyes and slowly sat up.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Venzance said, responding first.

And then—

“They said you can’t become a knight. Not even the tiniest chance. Not even as much as a ghoul’s brain.”

Rem fired off the cutting remark with gusto.

“Brother, you’re awake! Here, have this,” Audin interjected, offering a piece of bread.

The bread was soft and white, looking quite fresh. Perhaps it came from the newly opened bakery in town that had been making waves recently.

But isn’t this the wrong time for that?

Ragna continued to sleep.

Jaxon carefully packed his rolled tobacco leaves into a leather pouch.

“Hmm, I see.”

Enkrid’s response was calm, almost indifferent. He took the bread, bit into it, and walked outside.

Frokk, observing silently, finally spoke up.

“They said you can’t become a knight. Does it not bother you?”

Enkrid turned his head slightly, nodded once, and replied.

“No, not really.”

Although Frokk’s status was unclear, being with Aisia meant he was at least affiliated with a knightly order.

Moreover, Frokk’s position as a Talent Appraiser likely granted him a rank equivalent to nobility.

Enkrid had weighed all this and answered without a trace of shock.

At the entrance, Venzance found himself blocking the doorway, blinking as he watched Enkrid.

“Looking to settle the score from last night’s spar?”

Enkrid asked him.

“No, it’s not that.”

The words I was worried about you wouldn’t come out easily.

“What’s this? The ugly squad leader sharpening his blade for revenge? Go on, have at it,” Rem taunted.

But Venzance didn’t take the bait. He had already tried fighting once—and still bore a bruise on his thigh to prove it.

As Enkrid stepped outside, Venzance stared blankly at his back before turning to leave.

“Aren’t you going to offer him some encouragement?” Venzance asked, his voice trailing after Enkrid.

If not encouragement, then at least some concern?

What if he abandoned his sword?

What if he gave up entirely?

What if he walked away from it all?

Venzance knew how absurd it was to be fretting over this.

Why did he care whether Enkrid quit or not?

It wasn’t like anyone had asked him to step in, nor had he calculated any benefit from doing so.

It was just how he felt.

He couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

Rem laughed at Venzance’s question.

That laugh—it was the same as always. Not forced or insincere.

“Who are you trying to comfort? The squad leader?”

Rem’s comment was followed by Audin’s.

“Brother, you really don’t understand our squad leader.”

Even Jaxon chimed in.

“The squad leader is the squad leader.”

Finally, Ragna woke up, rubbing his eyes.

“Huh? The squad leader?”

Venzance instinctively pointed outside.

“He went out. Training?”

How should I know? Venzance thought, but Ragna didn’t wait for a response. Stretching his neck from side to side, he grabbed his sword and headed outside.

Venzance stepped aside, letting him pass.

Ragna didn’t bother with pleasantries.

What is this?

Venzance felt slightly overlooked.

“The squad leader will be fine,” Rem added.

Frokk raised an eyebrow at the confidence.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Experience.”

The short exchange ended there, and Frokk stood up, brushing himself off.

Experience. It was a simple answer, meaning one would understand after seeing for themselves.

So Frokk decided to do just that—observe how Enkrid acted firsthand.

As Ragna left, Frokk followed closely behind.

Venzance’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.

Does it really not bother him?

“By the way, what do you think of our squad leader’s skills? Is his current level even possible? What do you say, ugly squad leader?” Rem’s teasing voice rang out.

He lounged on his cot, poking at Esther with a finger.

The leopard-like creature swiped back with its claws, forcing Rem to withdraw his hand just in time.

Esther’s blue eyes glared at him, and Rem laughed, holding up both palms as if to say he’d stop messing around.

Venzance watched the scene, muttering a response as he turned away.

“Lucky to be handsome, aren’t you, bastard?”

That’s probably what he said.

Why does he always harp on me for being ugly?

Looking at Rem, Venzance felt a sudden surge of annoyance.

How is it that someone so skilled can also look that good?

Well, at least he had one consolation.

His personality is a wreck. That much was undeniable. No wonder they were called the Mad Platoon.

At least my personality is better, Venzance thought.

It’s just the world that doesn’t recognize it.

As Venzance walked back to his quarters, Rem’s earlier words lingered in his mind.

“What do you think of our squad leader’s skills? Is his current level even possible?”

Step, step.

It doesn’t make sense.

No matter how much he thought about it, it didn’t.

Especially the pace of Enkrid’s growth.

The old Enkrid had been a pitiful figure, desperately swinging his sword every day yet going nowhere.

“If it were me, I’d have quit ages ago.”

Some soldiers used to say things like that while watching.

Venzance remembered those words clearly.

Back then, plenty of people mocked Enkrid.

One particularly hateful voice stood out.

“How the hell did that idiot become a squad leader? What, does the system have a glitch or something?”

The disdain in those words had filled Venzance with sudden rage.

Though he didn’t like Enkrid back then, hearing such nonsense made him act.

“What’s the point of criticizing someone for swinging their sword every day when you can’t even do it yourself, you lunatic?”

He couldn’t remember exactly what he did, but he had utterly destroyed the soldier who said it.

Perhaps it was because, deep down, Enkrid’s dogged perseverance had always struck a chord with him.

Even now, Venzance knew why he both disliked and respected Enkrid.

Enkrid didn’t know how to give up.

He didn’t understand despair. He didn’t back down.

He forged ahead, drawing his future and chasing his dreams.

A man who lived to advance.

A man who shone because of it.

And a man who naturally drew others to his light.

“Damn it.”

Venzance felt the sudden urge to swing his sword.

Next time they sparred, he wanted to endure just a little longer.

That would be his goal.

Casting aside his worries, Venzance headed to the training grounds and joined in the fervent drills sweeping through the unit.

***

The first thought Enkrid had upon waking was simple:

Training.

He had skipped all of his morning training.

This was especially frustrating since today’s schedule had been packed.

From refining the Isolation Technique to practicing Evasion Sense, Beast’s Heart, Single Point Focus, Heart of Might, Blade Sense, Balraf-Style Martial Arts, and basic swordsmanship drills—it was a long list.

Since I missed my morning training, I’ll have to shift everything to the afternoon, he resolved.

He decided to cut down on his breaks. Rest was important, he knew that, but this was an exceptional situation.

Passing out in the morning had cost him precious time.

Questions about what Junior Knight Aisia had done to him, or how she had pulled off that display of pressure, were pushed aside.

First, he had to focus on his tasks.

The daily grind.

The training he must never neglect.

Upon waking, however, he was met with strange words—something about being unable to become a knight.

He wondered why Venzance was even there.

He took the bread Audin handed him, chewing as he made his way to the training grounds and began repeating his drills.

“Whew.”

It didn’t take long for sweat to drench his body. His undershirt was soon soaked as well.

For someone who had just passed out, his head felt clear, and there was no pain anywhere in his body.

At the time, it had felt like he was going to die.

As he focused on his training, his thoughts wandered.

Using dual swords had taught him to multitask naturally, balancing several thoughts and actions at once.

What was that?

He understood how to generate presence now.

He’d once immobilized a cat with nothing but a glare.

But creating illusions visible only to one’s opponent? That was beyond him.

And yet, Enkrid had seen an illusion.

A storm of blades, countless blades swirling in a tempest.

Blades that made advancing impossible.

The kind of storm that demanded surrender, declaring that retreat was the only option to avoid death.

It was as though Aisia’s blade itself had spoken to him.

But did she even draw her sword?

He didn’t think so.

“Phew.”

He exhaled deeply, calming his breath, and returned to his training.

Drill after drill, focus on the fundamentals.

It was only as he neared the end of his postponed morning drills that Frokk approached, striding confidently toward him.

“They said you can’t become a knight. Does that not bother you?” Frokk asked.

“Bother me?”

Does it bother me? Enkrid genuinely wondered, tilting his head as he repeated the question.

“This is ridiculous.”

Frokk scratched his nose with a thick finger and chuckled.

“You’re an interesting one.”

As Frokk spoke, Ragna approached from behind.

“What did you see?”

Enkrid turned to face him, his gaze locking on Ragna.

Ragna stepped forward, lifting his sword and holding it vertically, partially obscuring his face.

The polished blade reflected half of his features, the other half obscured by shadow.

It wasn’t late enough in the day to call it evening, but the sunlight was soft, casting a serene glow over the scene.

Standing amidst the fading daylight, Ragna spoke again.

“What sets a knight apart?”

The words didn’t sound like a question.

Enkrid lowered his sword and looked at Ragna, ready to listen.

Frokk, standing nearby, seemed equally attentive.

Whatever Ragna was about to say, Enkrid was already curious.

It was the very question he’d been pondering.

He had intended to ask about it after training, but now Ragna was the one initiating the conversation.

It was time to listen.