Birds chirped.

The wind blew.

The summer sky, ablaze with the dazzling sun, quickly became a furnace of heat.

Enkrid felt heat both inside and out.

For the past three months, while rumors swirled about Azpen stirring for war behind a facade of peace, the kingdom had ultimately stepped back.

No war. No battles.

What was left for the soldiers to do?

Training and rest became their entire world.

Many took on mercenary work through the soldier-for-hire system, but Enkrid was never short on krona.

His two swords were in perfect condition, and Kraiss reliably handed over the krona he earned through guild work.

So, most of Enkrid's time was spent on training.

Despite that, to others, his growth seemed slow. Stagnant, they called it.

"Stagnation" implied stillness—a lack of movement.

Many believed Enkrid had hit a wall, but he thought differently.

How could he not?

"Will."

What had Enkrid's dream been until now?

A phantom he could never catch.

A shadow he could not see.

An unreachable sky.

But now, he saw a staircase leading to that sky.

He could feel it; he could create it.

It was what people called a milestone.

For Enkrid, "Will" was such a milestone. It was a staircase, a guidepost.

The words break your limits resonated similarly.

Stagnation? No.

He was different now than he had been before.

While others saw stagnation, Enkrid could see the fruits of his growth.

And what was the reason for this progress?

It was everything he had hammered into himself until now.

From mastering the Beast’s Heart, sharpening the Sense of the Blade, to practicing One Point Focus and the Isolation Technique—

“If swordsmanship has its fundamentals, could talent also have a foundation?”

He didn’t know. But wasn’t such a thing happening to his body right now?

By using One Point Focus, leveraging the Beast’s Heart, or honing the Sense of the Blade, he constantly revisited and refined his experiences.

That was what Enkrid had been doing for the past three months.

And during that time, soldiers sought him out.

The saying that skill improves through teaching? He could feel its truth.

“Let’s spar,” said a soldier.

The 1st Company and the Border Guard—both groups consisted of skilled fighters among the standing army.

At first, even regular soldiers approached him, but now only those from these elite units sought him out.

Duels were always welcome.

“Sure,” Enkrid replied calmly, meeting their challenge.

Soon, two men would face each other, sweat pouring as they traded blows.

And Enkrid won every time.

The difference now was that he no longer needed to use grappling or dirty tactics.

He set aside the mercenary-style swordsmanship of Valen and focused purely on the basics. That was enough.

While he gave his all when sparring with Rem or his platoon, it wasn’t necessary with these soldiers.

Through these bouts, he gained and refined his understanding.

Sometimes, he saw soldiers who tried to learn and master too many things at once, to the detriment of their fundamentals.

“Isn’t this more efficient?” they would argue when he pointed out the flaws in their approach.

It was a thought he himself had once entertained.

Efficiency and practicality were excellent for battle strategies.

But that wasn’t how one trained.

He’d tried to cram as much as possible into his training, thinking he could master it all quickly.

Had that worked?

Even now, he struggled to use his evasive senses properly, the Beast’s Heart required preparation time, and One Point Focus didn’t activate unless his life was on the line.

Through countless trials and endless contemplation, he had come to realize:

“Start with what you can do now.”

And so, he pressed forward, step by step.

He repeated this endlessly, day after day. Occasionally, a ferryman appeared in his dreams to say cryptic things like, “What kind of person are you, truly?”

But for three months, all he did was train.

Repeating today, the same as yesterday. Repeating this week, the same as last.

Through this repetition, he gained new insights.

"Rhythm."

That was what swordsmanship needed.

For geniuses like Ragna, such revelations came as fleeting moments.

For Enkrid, they were deliberate and hard-won, each step chewed and swallowed.

A realization in the morning would leave him soaring all day.

One at night would carry him happily to bed.

Kyaaa.

Esther, the mystical leopard-like creature, followed him around as if cheering him on.

At first, Esther had only clung to him at night, but now, she stayed by his side even during the day.

“You’re even popular with animals,” Frokk commented once.

Esther responded by baring her claws at Frokk, though no real fights broke out between them.

Every two days, the commander of the Fairy Company visited him.

“Would autumn be a good time? For the engagement?” she joked.

Or, “Let’s spar.”

Her fairy blade was sharp and light, and even through those duels, Enkrid learned something.

Teaching and learning. Sparring and gaining.

“Here, block this,” Rem said during one of their sessions.

Rem’s axe strikes were as fierce and rough as ever, yet something had changed.

Rem now smiled—grinned, even—during these exchanges.

“Yikes!” Enkrid exclaimed when the axe came crashing in an unexpected rhythm.

An upward slash of the sword paired with a thrust from the left hand created a dissonance in timing.

The Crossed Blades of Valen, a technique notorious for being underhanded, proved to be a rare skill that even resembled actual swordsmanship.

The swords in each hand moved as if they were entirely independent.

“That was pretty good,” Rem admitted with a rare smile.

Recognition, too, was a joy.

“Neglect your martial arts, and the gods will be angry,” Audin chimed in, jokingly.

There was no god to be angered over training, but Enkrid merely joined Audin without comment.

The Balrafian Martial Arts, combining strikes and joint locks, had once been used in conjunction with the mercenary techniques of Valen to defeat Michi Hurrier, the legendary archer.

He learned.

And learning brought joy.

Recognition brought joy.

Teaching, sparring, and being taught again—all of it fueled his growth.

The exhilaration of improvement drove him forward.

"One step at a time, even if I have to crawl."

It was a return to his beginnings, a renewal of his initial resolve.

For Enkrid, this was simple.

For others, it was a marvel.

Especially for Frokk, who watched him with wide eyes.

Of course, Enkrid paid no mind to others’ gazes, focused instead on observing himself day by day.

Between everything, he also trained his reflexes and senses, making sure to miss nothing.

Only a few of the soldiers who initially followed Enkrid’s rigorous training regimen remained steadfast.

Perhaps it was the loosened discipline after the battle, or maybe it was simply human nature.

As more soldiers slacked off, fewer dedicated themselves to training.

Still, some stood out.

Beyond them, his best sparring partners were from the Border Guard.

Sometimes, he even sought them out himself for duels.

“You’re always welcome here,” the Border Guard captain said with a smile.

Enkrid sparred with the captain and others, though one familiar face, Torres, shook his head.

“I’m not fighting you anymore.”

“Why not?” Enkrid asked.

"Hey, you don't fight battles you know you'll lose."

The soldier ranking system.

This was the sentiment among those discussing elite soldiers.

While some rekindled their competitive spirit, Enkrid had already taken another step forward.

Three months had passed. Time was like an arrow in flight, yet for Enkrid, it was simply a day. Today. A process of moving toward tomorrow.

"Rhythm isn’t singular. Didn’t you already know that?"

Perhaps they thought it wasn’t enough to simply watch and understand.

Or maybe they were just bored staying in the same place.

Frokk and Lua Gharne began teaching Enkrid.

“I was just about to say that,” muttered Ragna, who had been watching. Still, it was advice that came at the perfect time.

Rhythm. Timing.

Right. There was no need for it to be singular.

Hadn’t he already learned this through Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship?

The Crossed Blades technique was an overlapping, dual-strike attack exploiting asynchronous rhythms.

There were long, drawn-out rhythms in a single breath.

Short and precise beats.

Rhythms that relied on bracing your core and holding your ground.

And so, he learned.

“If you disrupt the main beat and shift it, you can align it with your step. No, right now, take your left foot half a step further. From there, you can execute a mid-blade rotational slash,” Lua Gharne explained with enthusiasm.

Why was Frokk lingering near him?

Why eat, sleep, and stay in this place?

Why teach him?

All these questions were set aside—or rather, deliberately forgotten.

When someone teaches, he learns. Always craving knowledge, Enkrid did just that.

“What if I move my right foot back instead?”

“That makes it harder to recover your blade. Instead, do this.”

Ragna also chimed in.

For some reason, everyone seemed more engaged and enthusiastic than before.

“No, you can do it like this too,” added Rem.

Rem demonstrated a step where you balance on your toes while twisting your body.

Basic footwork intertwined with movements of the sword tailored to various situations. Reacting eyes, responsive steps, a swinging blade.

“Expand your awareness. You’ve already learned this, haven’t you?”

Jaxon’s advice slipped into the mix.

Indeed, he had learned it before.

Hadn’t he expanded his senses while fighting Lycans?

Not just looking forward, but perceiving everything around him. Spreading his awareness outward from his center.

“Brother Platoon Leader, every movement has a center. It’s the same for martial arts and swordsmanship. Maintaining your centerline and connecting it to your opponent is key,” added Audin.

Everyone was more passionate than ever, and to Enkrid, it was pure joy.

“There’s one clear advantage,” Frokk finally remarked after observing everything.

“What advantage?” Rem asked, standing beside him.

Still on the training ground. Still under the blazing sun. Still drenched in sweat on this unchanging, stifling day.

“Once he learns something, he never lets it go.”

Rem nodded in agreement. It was true. Enkrid was slow to learn.

Some whispered about him being a “late-blooming genius,” but—

“Who knows about that?”

One thing was certain.

He never forgot what he learned. He pondered endlessly. He craved knowledge.

How to apply what he learned?

How to execute it?

How to make it work in practice?

He thought about it relentlessly. It was evident.

And that, too, was an advantage.

Rem considered this, while Frokk, at long last, reflected on what he was doing.

"Am I enchanted by his face?"

Or was it his nature?

Teaching someone with no visible talent, guiding them toward a path of growth—it was an inefficient endeavor, wasn’t it?

Not that Frokk cared. Frokk was a creature driven by desire and impulse.

Lua Gharne knew she wasn’t above such things either.

But beyond mere desire, there was something more. A promise, a covenant made to live without being swayed entirely by desire.

For Frokk, a promise was a promise.

"I’ll leave eventually."

Even as Frokk thought this, they continued teaching Enkrid.

Three months of learning and training had produced slow results—or so Frokk thought.

Between Frokk’s watchful gaze and the platoon’s teachings, Enkrid revisited rhythms, reattached techniques to his body, and pressed forward.

A sense of maturity. A step closer to the limits—or at least the feeling of it. In truth, he was nowhere near, but when you don’t even know where the limits lie, such progress feels monumental.

It was during this time that a summons came.

“The captain’s calling for you,” said the Fairy Company commander.

“Yes.”

Drenched in sweat, Enkrid followed her.

Sweat also dripped from her forehead—it was that hot and humid.

Rain would surely come in a day or two. Enkrid knew this from experience.

“You’re here,” greeted the battalion commander.

The captain had summoned him to the battalion office.

“There’s a request. What do you think?”

Although the mercenary system allowed soldiers to take jobs voluntarily, sometimes orders came from above.

It was rare, but when regular soldiers couldn’t handle a situation, entire squads or companies were mobilized.

According to Kraiss, there had been recent trouble with monsters and beasts wreaking havoc within the kingdom.

It was common for such activity to increase during summer, but this year had been particularly severe.

"The heat of summer breeds monsters and beasts."

A famous adage across the continent. This incident seemed to fit the saying.

“We’ll grant you temporary command over a nearby frontier village. It’d be great if you could handle the situation there,” the commander explained.

Since the spring campaigns had ended early, this summer was an unusual one spent in the city instead of the battlefield.

Until now, Enkrid had confined himself to the training grounds and barracks.

He hadn’t even visited the market once.

He’d been too immersed in the joy of wielding his sword and moving forward.

“If you don’t want to go, you can stay. Take your time to think about it if needed.”

The commander looked fatigued, likely overworked or sleep-deprived.

The stack of documents surrounding him suggested the former.

“Yes,” Enkrid saluted and left.

Outside, the Fairy Company commander gave him a peculiar look.

“What is it?” Enkrid asked, bracing himself for another one of her frivolous remarks.

“I must’ve chosen the right man,” she said, smirking.

Of course, another fairy-style joke.

“Is that so?”

After dismissing her lighthearted jest, Enkrid returned to the barracks, where he found Kraiss—who had been unusually busy lately—waiting for him.

When Enkrid roughly explained the orders, Kraiss’s eyes lit up.

“We’re going, right? Let’s go! We have to! It’s an order, after all!” Kraiss exclaimed.

His enthusiasm meant only one thing: this was a job involving krona.

The command document outlined the village’s location and the colony size. The problem was a monster horde.

When Kraiss spotted the location on the map, his eyes gleamed even brighter.