To endure something akin to death but far easier than true death—to bear it, to persist, to seize the opportunity—that was all that mattered.

Before him stood a living textbook. A guide that demonstrated each and every movement right before his eyes in vivid detail.

This was a blessing in disguise. The cursed sword, the spirit inhabiting it, all of it—at least to Enkrid—was something precious.

"Think about why you move your left foot to the side there."

He even had a teacher who meticulously interpreted the textbook for him.

And so, this became inevitable.

Enkrid absorbed swordsmanship like a dry sponge soaking up water. He engraved the movements into his body first; understanding would come later.

This was a lesson he had learned from mastering the art of evasion.

Do I need to understand?

When understanding failed, his solution was simple: to throw himself into it physically. Repetition burned the movements into his body, leaving comprehension as an afterthought.

“You’re insane in every sense of the word,” Lua Gharne said at one point, a mix of awe and disbelief in her voice. Enkrid barely registered her words.

He was utterly engrossed in the swordsmanship.

Truthfully, it was thrilling.

Why had he sought out the Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship in the first place?

It had stemmed from an inner thirst—a yearning for proper techniques and the foundation to propel himself forward.

"Master the basics!"

That’s what every teacher, every instructor, every trainer he had paid a fortune in silver to learn from, had told him.

He hadn’t disagreed. He hadn’t hated it.

But now?

This is fun.

As any human would, he simply wanted to see what came next.

And so, Enkrid gripped the sword again and again, smiling. A radiant smile, pure and untainted.

“Honestly, you scare me a little,” Lua Gharne admitted.

“I agree. It’s unsettling,” Finn chimed in, nodding in agreement.

Krаiss, surprisingly, remained indifferent.

“Well, that’s just the kind of person he is, but yeah… He’s especially over the top right now.”

Krаiss had seen Enkrid do countless insane things before. In comparison, this was almost comforting.

After all, wasn’t it better for him to smile while gripping the sword rather than swinging it silently until his palms burst open?

Grasping the cursed sword and enduring the pain of near-death was something Krаiss could never even dream of attempting.

But for the Captain… it just feels like he can handle it.

It was an instinctive thought, an interplay of intuition and observation. Krаiss had pinpointed the truth.

As long as the thrill of growth remained, Enkrid could transform the agony of death into a driving force for improvement.

And so, he dove headfirst into it—into the blade and himself, into swordsmanship.

A sword was a tool to kill.
Swordsmanship was the method to achieve that.

"Your stance, your posture, your movements—all of it leads to the next action. Think about that," Lua Gharne instructed.

Enkrid heeded her advice, swinging his sword while pondering her words.

Driven by the desire to meet the ultimate textbook, he didn’t hesitate to grip the cursed blade again and again.

Sometimes, the moment he let go of the sword after dying, he would immediately grab it again.

By the time he had done this hundreds of times, something curious happened.

The spirit within the sword hesitated.

Am I imagining things? Enkrid wondered.

The spirit, which would always rush at him immediately, seemed to pause. This hesitation was unprecedented.

It was something Enkrid truly didn’t want to happen.

“Don’t do this. Let’s both do our best in our roles.”

He pleaded earnestly for the spirit to fulfill its duty. If it was supposed to tear into his mind and break him, then it should do just that.

Hesitation was the last thing he wanted to see.

With his sincere urging, the spirit resumed its role.

It lunged. They fought. Enkrid refined his skills. He learned, memorized, and mastered. He reflected, reviewed, and repeated.

He gripped the sword once more.

This process repeated endlessly.

If you could use your body properly, if you could replicate what you had envisioned, then all that remained was understanding your actions.

Through this, he memorized entire sequences of swordsmanship. And with Lua Gharne’s interpretations, the process became remarkably straightforward.

The one who had created this cursed sword, embedding a spirit within it, would likely have grabbed him by the collar if they saw this. But such was life—things never went as planned.

“You’ve done well.”

The spirit, its chest slashed and its head severed, flickered weakly within the metal shell of the armor. The blue light that had once shone brightly dimmed as if it was trying to speak.

Enkrid stood silently, watching.

Eventually, the spirit spoke.

“Thank you.”

Thank me?

The spirit began to recount its tale, but it was a lengthy one.

“Make it short,” Enkrid interrupted, not particularly interested.

The spirit faltered, its light dimming further, before summarizing:

“I was unjustly trapped. And my swordsmanship—what you’ve learned—is incomplete. I spent my life seeking the other half. That was my sole wish.”

How had a mere swordsman turned into a spirit? It required magic, rituals, and, most importantly, a profound desire to linger.

The spirit’s wish was strikingly similar to Enkrid’s.

One had dreamed of knighthood.
The other sought to restore a lost swordsmanship.

Their desperation was not so different.

Enkrid nodded in acknowledgment—a subtle gesture of agreement to the spirit’s plight. If the opportunity arose, he might look into it. But he had his own dreams to chase and couldn’t shoulder another’s aspirations.

In its final moments, the faint blue light flickered and faded, leaving behind the vague silhouette of a man.

“And let’s never meet again,” the spirit said with finality.

It was tired, utterly exhausted. It meant every word.

They would never meet again.
One would disappear into the void, while the other remained in the world of the living.

The spirit was content with that.

“Truly, let’s never meet again,” it repeated, its sincerity palpable.

Enkrid tilted his head in puzzlement. It had been the spirit tormenting him, yet it spoke as though it had suffered.

“My family’s name is…”

The final words were lost as its presence dissipated. The surrounding world began to collapse. Beyond the crumbling realm, familiar faces came into view. Enkrid had escaped the spirit’s domain, and the cursed sword was no longer cursed.

“You’ve won,” Lua Gharne said, her voice cutting through the haze.

This was reality. Enkrid nodded in response.

“Was it dangerous?” she asked again.

Enkrid shook his head.

Danger wasn’t the issue. Within that space, all that existed was swordsmanship.

It was a battle of technique, not raw strength.

He had gripped the sword well over a hundred times, though he hadn’t bothered to keep count.

By the time a full day had passed, the gray barrier dissolved soundlessly.

Esther lifted her head and stared at Enkrid.

Her gaze was sharp—unmistakably a glare.

She was shocked. How had he done it?

Banishing spirits through divine power or magic was one thing, but physically purifying and breaking their hold was entirely different.

Even a skilled mage would struggle with that.

Though now a panther, Esther had once been a powerful witch with a deep connection to magic.

From her perspective, what Enkrid had accomplished was incomprehensible.

“How could he do that?”

In truth, the spirit had been cleansed through relentless swordsmanship, and its wish had been fulfilled through their battle.

But Esther couldn’t know that.

She blinked rapidly, struggling to process what she had seen. Enkrid noticed her expression.

“What’s wrong? Hungry?”

Enkrid waved his hand dismissively as he spoke. Esther, offended by the remark, snorted indignantly and lay back down. She chalked it up to a coincidence, deciding not to delve deeper. After all, even if she investigated further, she wouldn’t find any concrete answers.

Watching her, Enkrid couldn’t help but admire her. For a leopard, her range of expressions was remarkably vast. It was genuinely entertaining to observe. Even now, as her startled eyes reflected a mix of disbelief, he couldn’t help but chuckle. When he asked if she was hungry, her eyes flashed briefly with what looked like disdain.

Smiling faintly, Enkrid sat down. Though his legs weren’t trembling, they felt heavy. He had spent the entire day tirelessly swinging his sword, enduring the mental strain of simulated deaths. Saying he wasn’t exhausted would’ve been a lie.

Still, he thought, what of it?

"Kraiss was right after all," he mused. Wasn’t this just like picking up coins off the ground?

This whole ordeal felt precisely like that. Except, instead of mere coins, he had stumbled upon gold. He had learned a new swordsmanship technique, and the thought of how much further he had progressed filled him with quiet satisfaction. It was difficult to gauge exactly how far he had come—it all depended on where one set the standard. What mattered was that instead of arrogance, he had gained a bit of self-assurance.

"Naurillia's soldier rank system doesn’t mean anything," he thought, dismissing it. In the end, what I need is Rem. He pictured his companion’s axe, imagining testing his newfound skills by leaving two clean gashes across Rem’s cheek. A fresh, clear goal.

"Let’s rest before we move on," Enkrid said aloud. It seemed like a sound plan. With the gray veil gone, the area posed no further threats. There were no pests, the temperature was comfortably cool, and the air wasn’t damp. It was an ideal spot for a night's rest.

The group settled down for the evening.

As he drifted into sleep, Enkrid dreamed. In his dream, the specter of the spirit reappeared.

"Let’s have another duel," it said.

Enkrid nodded and, once again, emerged victorious with ease. Understanding the movements at the beginning was one thing, but memorizing them all left no room for defeat. If his opponent repeated the same techniques, there was no chance of Enkrid losing.

This time, a deeper understanding had taken root.

The reason for stepping to the side with the left foot was to prepare for a thrust after cutting at the crown. Twisting the wrist to create an unpredictable path targeted at gaps in the enemy’s defenses. Basics flowed seamlessly into other basics, forming a coherent rhythm—this was the essence of swordsmanship.

As he reflected on these realizations, the dream world began to unravel. Suddenly, the ferryman appeared in the void, standing silently without expressing any intention.

The ferryman simply looked resentful.

"You’re using my curse for something else?"

Enkrid lightly placed a hand on his raised hip and offered a mock salute of apology. When he opened his eyes, he was back inside the cave.

It had all been a ridiculous dream.

“You sleep so peacefully,” came Lua Garlne’s voice as Enkrid awoke.

“Didn’t you sleep?” he asked.

“I did.”

Lua Garlne, observing him silently for a moment, finally asked, “You’re serious about becoming a knight, aren’t you?”

There was no need for words; Enkrid simply nodded.

“Good,” she replied with a neutral tone before adding, “Though, it doesn’t necessarily have to be in this country, does it?”

Her words carried a meaningful weight, but Enkrid didn’t pursue the subject. She turned her back to him, signaling that no further discussion would be entertained.

What she had said wasn’t a question but advice. Recognizing this, Enkrid saw no need to delve deeper.

“This country…”

When he was young, he hadn’t understood the concept of a nation. As he grew older, he realized that being a knight bound by an oath of loyalty to a specific country was far from the ideal he had once envisioned.

Could there be another way forward?

It wasn’t something he needed to decide just yet.

“When the time comes, in that moment…”

He resolved to follow his heart and take the right path, as he always had. Whether it was called conviction or stubbornness, it was the way he lived.

“Let’s move out,” Enkrid said, just as Kraiss’s startled voice rang out.

“Wait! There’s a hidden compartment under the chest!” Kraiss looked up, meeting Enkrid’s gaze with wide eyes.

Whatever Dolphe’s intentions were, it was clear he enjoyed toying with people. Emptying the chest, drawing attention to a letter, trapping adventurers with a cursed sword, and then rewarding only the sharp-eyed with hidden treasure? It was all a game to him.

“Ancient gold coins!” Kraiss exclaimed.

The treasure was valuable. Modern currency had long since standardized into the Empire’s system—bronze, silver, and gold coins collectively referred to as krona. This system had been in place for over a century.

The coins they’d found, however, predated that era, existing somewhere between legend and history. While not priceless, the right buyer would pay ten times their weight in gold for such relics.

There were over ten of them, each as large as a palm and considerably heavy. The pouch was satisfyingly weighty.

“Split it,” Enkrid ordered.

Kraiss looked crestfallen but quickly nodded, begrudgingly distributing the coins even to Lua Garlne, who had initially refused them.

“You’re taking this, right?” Kraiss asked, pointing to the sword still embedded in the ground.

Enkrid was already stepping toward it before Kraiss finished speaking. The spirit-bound lunatic of a swordsman was gone, liberated to another world. All that remained was the sword itself.

“Just look at it. That’s definitely worth something,” Kraiss muttered.

Grasping the hilt with one hand, Enkrid pulled it free in a single motion. His strength felt even greater than before—perhaps due to his frequent use of the Heart of Might.

The sword, though filthy, retained its core integrity. With a proper polish and sharpening, it could still serve well. Swinging it a few times to test the balance, Enkrid found it serviceable, though the grip and pommel would need significant adjustments.

“That’s strength worthy of an honorary Frok,” Lua Garlne said, her tone dry but laced with genuine approval.

“You’re not selling it, are you?” Kraiss asked.

“No.”

With two of his swords in poor condition, the timing couldn’t have been better.

The group packed up their belongings and began their return journey. The wilderness remained oddly quiet. Perhaps due to the aftermath of the massive colony, even common bandits were nowhere to be found.

Pin, demonstrating her remarkable resilience, occasionally challenged Enkrid to sparring matches along the way. Though they couldn’t fully engage in combat, their slow-paced practice sessions of tactical maneuvers ended the same way every time—Pin never won. Enkrid’s newfound mastery of swordsmanship left her with no chance.

Lua Garlne eventually parted ways with them.

“Well, I’m off,” she said.

“See you again,” Enkrid replied simply.

Kraiss waved enthusiastically, and Pin gave a casual nod. Esther, unsurprisingly, didn’t acknowledge her departure. Lua Garlne, in turn, showed no particular sentiment as she walked away.

Watching her retreating figure, Enkrid didn’t dwell on any lingering emotions and turned back to the road.

“She left just like that, huh?” Kraiss muttered.

“It’s unusual she stayed as long as she did,” Enkrid replied.

“That’s because of you, isn’t it?” Kraiss said bluntly.

“Don’t start.”

It was a nickname Enkrid despised: The Siren. Kraiss smirked and said it again, “The Siren.”

Enkrid didn’t let it slide this time. “This is the Eilcaraz Wrist Lock. You’d do well to remember it.”

Before Kraiss could react, Enkrid twisted his wrist with practiced precision.

“AAARGH!” Kraiss’s scream echoed through the summer air.

With that, the group returned safely to Border Guard.

***

"Failed?"

The question came from a bishop responsible for overseeing the diocese, the immediate superior to the priests.

A striking man with thick golden eyebrows, he was undeniably handsome, even at a glance. Clad in a white robe adorned with intricate golden embroidery, his appearance exuded refinement and grace.

Yet his face now bore an expression of utter disbelief as he repeated the news.

"Did the knights intervene?"

The answer was no.

"What? A squad leader? A leopard?"

Hearing about the individuals involved only left him more bewildered.