“What do you think, brother?”

Audin's voice broke the silence, as if offering a question to the void after Ragna, Frokk, and Venzance had left.

Though it was phrased as a question, the tone carried a hint of prayer.

Rem, casually picking at his nose, gave his usual response.

“Hell if I know. He’ll figure it out.”

Even as he spoke, Rem couldn’t help but think about their squad leader—who had once openly stated that his dream was to become a knight—and how he’d been told it was utterly impossible.

Though Venzance had dismissed the need to worry, and Rem agreed for the most part, a tiny fragment of doubt lingered.

What would I have done if I’d heard something like that?

He had no answer.

Back in the western frontier, few could even compare to his level of talent.

He’d always been at the top.

So, such a scenario had never occurred to him.

He’ll manage, Rem decided.

What good would worrying do?

What good would unease bring?

Instead of dwelling on it, Rem turned his thoughts to training techniques, particularly methods for enhancing the Heart of Might.

When he gets back, I’ll run him ragged.

Resolving himself, Rem cast his unease aside. That was how he preferred to deal with things.

Scritch, scritch.

Jaxon was quietly working on a carving, running his knife along the grain of a piece of wood.

His hands moved methodically as he shaped a spiked form.

As he worked, Audin’s earlier question lingered in his mind.

"You’ll never become a knight."

The weight of those words depended entirely on who said them.

And if the speaker was Frokk, the renowned Talent Appraiser?

Would that be a shock?

By any normal standard, it would be. Such a statement could easily alter the course of someone’s life.

If someone told him that his lifelong ambition—something he had poured his heart and soul into—was unattainable?

I’d probably put a knife to their throat.

So, what about Enkrid? What would their squad leader do?

Would he falter?

Scritch.

Jaxon kept carving, his thoughts wandering.

What if the squad leader came back and announced he was leaving?

That might be a relief.

In that case, Jaxon could simply go his own way.

Scritch.

Yet, as he thought about it more, a twinge of disappointment settled in.

He wanted to see it through—the culmination of Enkrid’s efforts.

A spark of curiosity lingered.

Esther, lazily grooming her paws, considered the same hypothetical question.

What if someone told her she could never cast another spell, no matter what?

I’d probably set their mouth on fire.

That’s what she would have done in her younger, wilder days, back when people occasionally whispered "witch" behind her back.

Worry? Anxiety? She had no time for such things.

She’d simply chant another incantation instead.

It was a pointless concern.

Even if Enkrid abandoned everything and walked away, it wouldn’t affect her much.

What she needed wasn’t his sword or his strength, but the peculiar phenomenon of curse-breaking that occurred in his presence.

His dreams meant nothing to her.

Still.

It’d be a shame.

She had never seen anyone burn with such passion. A hint of regret would remain, though she had no intention of influencing his decisions.

She wouldn’t appear in his dreams to persuade him, nor waste her magic to do something drastic.

But maybe...

Tonight, she might appear in his dreams.

She thought of singing a lullaby from her childhood—a melody to bring peace to the heart.

Audin, the bear-like squad member who had posed the question, firmly believed that some kind of change would occur.

Is that not inevitable, Lord?

He thought back to the trials faced by those who aspired to become paladins. He had witnessed such moments before.

The most difficult trials came not at the beginning but when one began to grasp the magnitude of change.

When they felt their growth and realized their potential, only to see others surpass them effortlessly.

How would a slow learner feel when overtaken by a natural genius?

What would it be like to open one’s eyes to the phrase "late-blooming genius"?

Some, consumed by jealousy, let their hearts turn venomous and strayed from the path entirely.

Lord, you say trials are given to those who need them. Then surely, this too is a necessary trial, is it not?

Audin’s silent prayer hung in the air.

The barracks were steeped in an uneasy quiet. No one openly expressed their anxieties.

Perhaps it would have been better if Venzance had stayed to rant. At least then someone could have said, “You don’t know the squad leader like we do.”

Ragna had likely followed Enkrid out of a similar sense of unease.

As the spring sunlight streaming through the square windows began to fade, motes of dust danced in the air.

If Kraiss were here, he’d probably complain about the mess and start cleaning.

By the time the dust disappeared with the dimming sunlight, the squad members began to feel a pang of hunger.

Silence prevailed as each person occupied themselves.

Rem threw his axe into the air and caught it again.

Whoosh. Thunk.

The sound of the spinning axe and its dull impact punctuated the quiet.

Audin knelt in prayer, completely still.

Jaxon continued carving, the scritch, scritch of his knife filling the air, while Esther licked her paw.

Then, at just the right moment, the door creaked open.

Thunk. Creak.

Everyone’s gaze turned toward the entrance.

The spinning axe and scraping knife both fell silent, leaving the room in perfect stillness.

“What’s with this vibe? Were you waiting for me?”

Finn stopped halfway inside, one foot over the threshold, and blinked at the group.

She stared at the strange atmosphere, unsure of what to make of it.

“Stop blocking the door and let me in,” came Enkrid’s voice from behind her.

Finn stepped inside, clearing the way.

All eyes naturally shifted to Enkrid as he entered.

***

Sword, Knight, Dream

The experience with Aisia burned brightly in Enkrid’s mind, reigniting his resolve.

That fire and fervor radiated from him, reaching even Ragna, who could feel the heat just by being near.

As expected.

If Enkrid were the type to waver or give up, Ragna thought, he wouldn’t have been able to inspire such motivation in others.

“A knight cannot draw light from their sword or cut down hundreds in a single blow. But someone who has received the ‘Will’ of a knight, or has attained a similar enlightenment, can cut down hundreds one by one, regardless of the weapon they wield,” Ragna said, surprised by how smoothly the words came out of his mouth.

It made sense—he had prepared them long ago, knowing the day might come when Enkrid would need to hear them.

Once, Ragna had told him to wait, that the time wasn’t right.

It was after witnessing a squire knight’s performance on the battlefield.

Now was the time to keep that promise.

It was time to give an answer, or at least something resembling one, to the man who had waited.

“How is that possible?”

The question had once been Ragna’s own. He had found his answer quickly, of course—his path had been clear, needing only to walk it.

But for others, it was a journey that required blood, sweat, and tears.

That disparity—the chasm that drove others to burn with such determination—always reignited a fire within Ragna as well.

“To become a knight, one must refine talent from a pool of thousands. From those thousands, only hundreds are chosen. Of those hundreds, only ten may emerge. Many people wield swords well. Many surpass their limits. But few understand the concept of ‘Will.’”

This, Ragna explained, was why the knight orders numbered so few.

“Isn’t that even more discouraging?” Frokk’s voice chimed in from behind.

At some point, he had seated himself on the ground, arms resting on his knees, watching with casual interest.

Both Ragna and Enkrid ignored him.

Enkrid focused solely on Ragna’s words, listening intently, carving them into his mind.

This moment was a new milestone on his path.

“‘Will’ is the force that elevates a knight beyond human strength. Will is intent, intent is Will. The first step to understanding Will is to reach the limits of human ability.”

Few people, even among the most gifted, ever truly experienced surpassing their limits.

Even fewer of those who reached that threshold went on to understand Will.

Sometimes, no one in a generation managed to achieve it.

Will, as some called it, was a form of willpower. Others described it as an intangible force.

It was the power knights acquired after transcending human boundaries.

In essence, without Will, one could not become a knight.

That was the core of Ragna’s message.

“What happens when you reach the limit?”

Ambition and yearning compelled Enkrid to ask, his voice steady despite his burning curiosity.

“That’s when it begins,” Ragna replied. “After that, the process of understanding Will...”

He trailed off, swallowing his words.

Was his method the right one? He didn’t know. Should he explain everything he knew?

Doubt crept in, silencing him.

Unexpectedly, Frokk filled the gap.

“Some realize it after swinging their sword ten thousand times. Others, through countless meditative sessions. Some awaken to it in an instant, as though struck by lightning. Speaking of which, how about that pressure Aisia used on you?”

Frokk’s question snapped Enkrid’s attention toward him, his gaze locking onto the frog-like eyes.

“I saw a vision of blades. A storm of blades bearing down on me,” Enkrid said.

How else could he describe it?

A tempest of blades? A tidal wave of steel?

“Not bad instincts,” Frokk said with a chuckle that sounded like a low croak.

“Call it what you want, but my opinion doesn’t change. You’re not knight material.”

Leaning his head on his hand, Frokk delivered the verdict with a bluntness only he could manage.

Could Frokk’s appraisals be wrong?

Of course. Nothing in this world was flawless.

Even Frokk, with all his skill, was no god.

But some things were obvious.

Potential, even a glimmer of it, had to be visible.

In Enkrid, Frokk saw nothing. Not a spark.

That Enkrid had reached his current level was a surprise in itself.

He must have survived countless brushes with death, Frokk thought, his sharp instincts telling him that Enkrid had likely faced hundreds of life-threatening moments.

Yet despite the odds, Enkrid stood before him—dark-haired, blue-eyed, with an unusual but striking appearance—and without a hint of doubt in his gaze.

How was this possible?

Frokk’s cheeks puffed briefly before deflating—a physical sign of his unspoken admiration.

Enkrid, meanwhile, found himself recalling the many people who had told him "no."

They had always been the same.

They told him his path was wrong, that he should stop.

The world had always said no.

So this time, too, was no different.

“Is that so?”

Enkrid’s response was polite, respecting Frokk’s status, but no more than that.

Regardless of Frokk’s intent, Enkrid would continue down his path.

That was his purpose, the journey toward a dream he could never abandon.

A wanderer in pursuit of his dream.

A traveler carving new milestones on the road ahead.

“Then, may I ask one more thing? How does one reach their limit?”

Enkrid turned back to Ragna, ready for his next lesson.

Ragna couldn’t help but marvel.

Unchanging. As always.

Knowing and yet still impressed, he admired what remained constant in Enkrid.

“You refine every skill you have. Only you can recognize your limits. Once you reach the limits of human potential, at that moment...”

Ragna’s words began to falter, and Enkrid cut him off with a nod.

“I get it.”

In other words, keep doing what I’ve been doing.

That’s how Enkrid interpreted it. Ragna’s explanation had sounded grand, but in the end, it came down to continuing as he always had.

“Isn’t this the part where you kneel and bemoan your lack of talent?” Frokk asked, his bulging eyes rolling slightly as he spoke.

“I don’t have time for that,” Enkrid replied plainly, resuming his sword drills.

Reflecting on what he had, reviewing, and moving forward—this was what he had always done.

That guy’s definitely insane, Frokk thought, his cheeks puffing again, this time with intrigue.

The croaking sound grew louder, a sign of his growing interest.

As Ragna watched, Frokk realized why he had stayed.

It wasn’t for Ragna. It had always been Enkrid.

This wasn’t about appraising talent—it was a hunch born from experience.

People like him cause a stir.

No, Enkrid wouldn’t become a knight.

But what else could he become?

That question gripped Frokk, sparking his curiosity even further.

I’ll watch for a while longer.

With that decision, Frokk remained where he was.

Meanwhile, Enkrid continued swinging his sword.

As always, repeating the basics, refining his form.

As Frokk and Ragna watched, Enkrid focused solely on his training, following his unchanging routine.

A new milestone had appeared.

His faded dream began to regain its color.

While others worried about despair and failure, Enkrid saw only hope.

This mysterious force called Will—something akin to willpower or a divine spark—was what he needed to grasp.

Reach the limit. Surpass it.

How difficult could that be?

After all, he had done it countless times before.

That was all there was to it.