“Really, anytime, anytime you come—or rather, you must come. No, please come. Are you married? No? That’s fine too, wonderful even. Yes, anytime, feel free to settle here. My daughter is quite beautiful; living together would be… well, that sounds good, doesn’t it?”

The village chief, drunk beyond recognition, repeated the same sentiment for what felt like the nineteenth time. He leaned toward a nearby villager, equally intoxicated, who nodded enthusiastically.

With every nod, crumbs of food scattered from his bushy beard.

“Of course, absolutely, yes,” the man agreed, visibly drunk.

Enkrid observed the scene with a calm expression, though he couldn’t help but think that the chief had lost all sense after drinking so much.

He vaguely remembered seeing the chief’s daughter once. She was no older than fifteen—a mere child. While early marriages were a custom in the western regions, they weren’t in the central lands. The chief’s ramblings were clearly the product of drunken nonsense.

“Hahahaha!”

The chief and his bearded companion staggered away, arm in arm.

Enkrid silently watched them go.

When a village overcomes a crisis, a celebration always follows.

Whether the blacksmith of the border guard was a mage or not, when Enkrid killed the cultist, Lua Gharne had only shaken her head.

When Enkrid gave her a questioning look, as if to ask why he shouldn’t be allowed to finish him off, she replied, “He’s already dead. His heart stopped.”

The cultist’s demise had been anticlimactic—a heart attack.

The remaining monsters fled as though waking from a trance.

A few stragglers dared to attack, but Enkrid didn’t even need to intervene.

An arrow whizzed through the air, striking a monster square in the head.

“We’ve won!”

“We defended the village!”

Cheers erupted, blending with jubilant cries of survival. Amidst the noise, one name was called repeatedly:

“Enkrid!”

Everyone in the village seemed to know his name now. The voices of those he had protected and those who had witnessed his bravery carried his name with reverence.

It wasn’t a bad feeling. Wiping his sword clean, Enkrid turned to leave.

Amidst the cheers and through the crowds, it was time to return to the village, now beginning to awaken from its nightmare.

“Long live Enkrid’s Wall!”

The peculiar declaration reached his ears.

The village’s stonemason, the chief, and even Deutsch Pullman—the captain of the guards and a man with aspirations to become the town’s most influential figure—all insisted that the wall be named after him.

“Naming a wall, huh?”

Enkrid found it amusing. It wasn’t a bad idea, though he assumed it was half in jest.

That night, after the monsters and beasts were driven away, the village erupted into a grand feast.

The chief emptied the village’s remaining food stores, ensuring everyone ate and drank to their heart’s content.

Enkrid joined in, drinking and eating alongside them.

“Want a drink?”

Finn handed him a cup of cider, and Enkrid took a sip. It was good—better than good.

The sweet, tangy flavor of the apple cider mingled with the subtle aroma of alcohol, filling his senses.

“Delicious, isn’t it?”

The speaker was a scruffy man with a patchy beard that looked as though rats had chewed on it.

Enkrid nodded. “It is.”

“Made it myself,” the man said, puffing out his chest. He seemed to be the village brewer.

“This was a special batch, but I’m giving it to you.”

His words were gruff, but the gratitude behind them was clear. The man handed Enkrid the cider, saying, “Thanks to you.”

The cider was evidently a prized possession. When Enkrid opened the bottle and took a sip, he immediately noticed the difference.

The flavor was rich and layered, with a depth that deepened with every taste. Sweetness enveloped his tongue, while the faint scent of apples lingered in his nose.

“This is exceptional cider.”

“It was supposed to be saved for my daughter’s wedding day,” the brewer admitted.

It had history, it seemed.

“Are you sure it’s okay to give me this?” Enkrid asked.

“I’ve still got another bottle,” the man replied with a cheerful laugh. Despite his scruffy beard, his smile was pure and genuine—a reflection of unadulterated joy.

The brewer quickly introduced his wife, who turned out to be a beauty.

“So, the saying’s true: talent attracts beauty.”

Enkrid nodded at the introduction and sipped the cider, savoring its flavor.

Throughout the night, many villagers stopped by to sit with Enkrid. The village square had become the site of an impromptu festival.

“Let’s celebrate this day every year,” someone suggested. “We’ll call it Enkrid’s Day!”

“Do they name everything after someone?”

“Does the name matter?” another chimed in. The group collectively nodded in agreement.

The villagers decided to commemorate the day every summer.

Would they actually go through with it? Enkrid idly wondered as he sipped his cider.

The chief, drunk out of his mind, repeated the same nonsensical statements.

His wife boasted that their daughter would become a city-famous beauty in just two years.

“Unlikely,” Enkrid thought. The girl seemed ordinary and was too shy even to speak to him.

Instead, a bold little boy approached, demanding to join Enkrid’s ranks.

“Take down five of Deutsch Pullman’s guards and then we’ll talk,” Enkrid replied.

The boy was determined. “I’ll do it!”

He promptly picked a fight with a drunk guard, received a hard knock on the head, and burst into tears.

The sight of the child trying to imitate adults but running off crying was both amusing and endearing.

“At least he dreams,” Enkrid thought. It was a harsh world, and having aspirations, no matter how naive, was something to be admired.

Deutsch Pullman, whose tolerance for alcohol seemed formidable, eventually approached.

Though his nose was slightly red, his words were steady.

“Thanks to you, we’ve survived.”

Pullman raised his glass, adding, “If you ever need a glaive, call for me. I swear on the blade to answer your call.”

It was a mercenary’s oath—a solemn vow to assist no matter the circumstances.

“On the blade, we dance,” Enkrid replied, offering the traditional mercenary’s farewell.

“Until next time,” Pullman said before leaving.

Enkrid poured himself another glass of cider.

He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t about to pick up his sword and start swinging it again.

The battle was over, and the memories of it had been thoroughly reviewed.

“Resting is important, brother,” Audin’s words echoed in his mind.

Enkrid agreed. Rest was always important.

Today, a rare day of reprieve, seemed like the perfect occasion to do just that.

With that thought, Enkrid ate, drank, and enjoyed the festivities.

A skilled hunter among the guards had brought back a deer, which was roasted whole. The meat was tender, expertly seasoned, and devoid of any gamey smell.

“Will anyone believe me when I tell them this?” Finn asked, his face flushed from drink.

“Believe what?”

“The monster slayer, the madman with twin blades,” Finn said with a drunken chuckle before wandering off to join another group.

Kraiss, equally tipsy, approached and poked Enkrid in the side.

Enkrid knew he was coming and allowed it.

“Let’s go treasure hunting,” Kraiss suggested.

“Sure,” Enkrid replied.

“No, I mean it! I won’t take it all for myself, I swear. Come on!” Kraiss pleaded.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“It's only half a day from here, not even that,” Finn insisted. “I’ve already mapped out the way in. Traps? Don’t worry, I’ve got it all figured out.”

“Sounds good,” Enkrid replied.

“Don’t you think it’s time to make a decision?” Finn’s eyes burned with excitement, perhaps fueled by one too many drinks.

As Enkrid sipped his apple cider and gazed at the moon, Finn blinked his large eyes a few times and asked, “By the way, what did you just say earlier?”

“Ask your sober self tomorrow,” Enkrid replied.

“What?”

“It means get lost.”

Initially, everyone had been crowded around Enkrid, but one by one, they dispersed, forming their own little groups. Watching them, Enkrid thought it was a pleasant sight.

The moonlight bathed the scene.

The temperature was cool, without being stifling.

And thankfully, it wasn’t yet the season for pesky insects to swarm.

The northern continent wasn’t known for being overly infested with bugs, but tonight felt particularly peaceful.

Delicious apple cider, roasted venison, and secret family recipes emerged as each household brought out their best provisions.

Cheese, smoked meats, and other delicacies filled the tables.

It felt like a small indulgence, spending their food stores like this, but under the circumstances, who could complain?

With the colony threat eliminated, why not celebrate?

The cultist’s corpse and the remains of the monsters had been laid outside the village.

The equipment scavenged from the gnolls was fairly valued and traded for krona by the villagers.

Tomorrow would be a busy day.

The dead needed to be buried, the damaged barriers repaired, and quarry stones hauled in. The villagers would likely begin recruiting people to expand their settlement.

Would they absorb nearby smaller villages?

It seemed likely. That was how frontier towns grew.

Skilled craftsmen would be invited with promises of payment.

Eventually, this village would evolve into a fortress.

They would build proper walls and perhaps even an inner keep. How long would it take?

Without the aid of a mage and relying solely on the artisan guild, it might take years.

And that’s assuming no setbacks.

‘Even longer if you count the time needed to build a proper manor,’ Enkrid mused.

But with the mayor’s enthusiasm, they would find a way to make it work.

In a land where monsters roamed, they would need to act swiftly and decisively.

‘Short and impactful decisions would be the key,’ Enkrid thought.

He snapped out of his musings and looked up.

The village square was alive with noise.

Someone was singing.

Another had brought out a lute and strummed it.

Whoever was playing knew their craft.

Enkrid listened intently, his eyes wandering up to the sky filled with stars. They looked like someone swinging a sword in the heavens.

“Curious about how to obtain Will?”

It was Frokk. She settled beside him, her presence calm yet deliberate.

Enkrid didn’t turn to face her.

Nor did he answer.

Frokk’s gaze lingered on him as she spoke again.

“Why don’t you ask?”

Enkrid finally opened his mouth, his words slow and deliberate.

“When the time comes, I’ll know.”

Was it indifference? Hardly. From what she had seen of this man, indifference didn’t suit him.

Frokk couldn’t understand why she felt a sense of urgency, a need to share something with him.

The feeling had been growing, bubbling beneath the surface.

When he reacted so nonchalantly, it only made her want to provoke him.

“Do you think you can become a knight?”

“Who knows?”

Another vague response.

It didn’t match the man she had come to know.

As Enkrid sipped his drink, he looked up at the moon and said, “A dream. Just a dream.”

Short, but like a blade to the chest, his words cut through.

Frokk placed her hand over her armored chest.

Her left arm, still regenerating, hung limp.

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed.

“A squire uses Will by channeling it into one or two actions. Even that is no easy feat, but it’s the bare minimum required to step into the realm of the extraordinary. It’s the land beyond mastery.”

Why was Frokk suddenly explaining all this?

Was it the moonlight? Or perhaps the cider?

“Do Frokk ever get drunk?” Enkrid asked.

“Sometimes, but not now.”

Frokk was direct, her words flowing without hesitation.

“Right now, I think I’m drunk on a man.”

There was no need to ask who she meant. Frokk didn’t expect an answer anyway.

“Squire Aisia was obsessed with cultivating Will through sheer force of will.”

Knights were those who mastered Will.

Squires were those who touched it, even partially.

“Many squires who partially understand Will never become knights. In fact, most don’t. Do you still want to be one?”

Was that what this explanation was leading to?

Regardless, it was helpful.

Enkrid simply nodded.

“Then you’ll make it. A knight.”

A dream once shattered and torn apart, Enkrid had stitched it back together. It was almost within his grasp again.

Frokk stared at him, captivated.

Outwardly, he appeared calm, devoid of passion. But Frokk had seen enough of Enkrid to understand.

‘What a tenacious man.’

He burned with an inner fire, one he rarely let others see.

And that made him beautiful. It made him remarkable.

“If you do become a knight, I’ll fall in love with you.”

For Frokk, love and reproduction were entirely separate.

Her kind could love humans, but it wasn’t the same as human love.

There was no concept of exclusivity or physical ownership.

If her chosen man loved another woman, she would simply introduce herself to the woman and seek her understanding.

Receiving Frokk’s love was rare for a human.

It was an honor, an extraordinary event.

Enkrid seemed puzzled by her words but nodded.

“Do as you like.”

A casual response, a testament to his character. Frokk liked that about him.

The two shared a drink under the moonlight.

Then, with a soft sound, a leopard sauntered over and sat between them.

The animal looked at them as if it, too, wanted to join in.

“Want some?” Enkrid asked.

The leopard opened its mouth. To Frokk’s astonishment, Enkrid offered it the precious apple cider.

The leopard took a sip, swallowing audibly, and let out a low rumble.

“Good?”

The leopard simply opened its mouth again in response.