The hierarchy of the Sacred Order mirrored that of a typical temple.

At the top was the Pope, followed by Cardinals, Bishops, Priests, and finally, the faithful. Occasionally, monks would fill the gap between priests and lay followers.

When someone mentioned a High Priest, it typically referred to someone of Bishop rank or higher.

The golden-haired man in question was one such Bishop.

Externally, he also held another high-ranking position, one that added prestige to his already formidable title. He was a "tree grown tall" from the seeds sown by the Sacred Order—a particularly sturdy product of their cultivation.

"Are you telling me this all failed because of a mere squad leader?"

"Yes," answered the lower-ranking priest.

The Bishop furrowed his brow, his handsome face twisting into a grim scowl.

"What nonsense..."

A squad leader brought down an entire Noll colony?

"Was it knights? Did they interfere?"

"No, sir."

"That would’ve been more plausible."

The Bishop shook his head at his own words.

Would the Kingdom of Naurillia have the resources to deploy knights or troops here?

Not a chance.

The kingdom was inundated with crises. Problems piled high, many unresolved, and there was no end in sight.

Across its lands, the Black Blade Bandits ran rampant.

To the west, raiders from a settlement of pioneers had built an entire city dedicated to plundering.

In the east, the so-called Butcher King of a neighboring kingdom continually provoked them.

And if that weren’t enough, natural disasters seemed endless, spilling over into every corner.

‘Take, for example, the power struggle between nobles and the royal family.’

In truth, almost all the kingdom’s woes could be traced back to this factional conflict.

The power of Naurillia was fractured, and that division invited outside forces to encroach like scavengers circling a wounded animal.

Even after Naurillia repelled the provocations of Azpen in the north with a decisive victory, the toll was high.

‘Wasn’t that move reckless?’

The Bishop thought so. Forces were pulled from the south and west to strike at Azpen. It was necessary—letting Azpen seize the Green Pearl Plains would have been catastrophic—but the strain on the kingdom's resources was immense.

While Azpen had been pushed back, raiders from the west were quick to exploit the gap.

In the southeast, the Butcher King’s kingdom advanced its position, and the Black Blade Bandits continued their assaults unchecked.

To the south, monsters swarmed unchecked, casting an oppressive shadow over the region. Refugees fled north in droves.

And when Azpen finally retreated, what then?

‘The cities left behind will turn on each other.’

With the retreat of Azpen came opportunities—control of the Green Pearl Plains and the trade routes branching out from it. Yet, it would lead to infighting as each city vied for dominance.

The exhausted kingdom wouldn’t be able to mediate effectively.

‘It’s a miracle Naurillia hasn’t collapsed already.’

Such a kingdom was ripe for the Sacred Order’s ambitions.

With its numerous weaknesses and riches waiting to be exploited, Naurillia was a feast too tempting to ignore.

The resources and capital invested by the Sacred Order into this region were enormous.

It had the potential to become a new sanctuary—a demonic haven.

But now, one of their carefully laid plans had been upended.

"Because of one squad leader?"

The Bishop mentally calculated the resources poured into this operation.

It wasn’t a few gold coins. The armaments provided to the Noll creatures alone had been significant.

The fruits of the Sacred Order’s investment had gone directly into the hands of the pioneer settlement.

And the squad leader responsible? That was Enkrid, although technically it had been Kraiss who mediated the rewards.

The Bishop wasn’t aware of such details, nor did they concern him. He was simply irritated.

What should he do now?

After a brief contemplation, he dismissed the thought.

"A mere squad leader, right? Luck, most likely."

There were no witnesses from the Sacred Order to verify Enkrid’s actions. The surviving Noll creatures couldn’t relay anything either.

It had to be luck.

And luck didn’t last forever.

"Send someone skilled in assassination," the Bishop ordered.

For him, it was a simple solution.

However, the Bishop would never hear news of Enkrid’s assassination.

Nor would he bother to follow up.

Instead, he shifted his focus to preparations for the future.

If he were part of the kingdom, what would be its greatest problem?

The Black Blade Bandits? The monster swarms? The opportunistic neighboring states?

None of those.

The kingdom’s greatest problem was the Sacred Order.

And in this region, the one who orchestrated their activities—the one they called "Sacred Order"—was the Bishop himself.

He moved on, preparing for the next phase.

Enkrid’s existence was quickly forgotten.

Such figures sometimes rose to prominence, achieving extraordinary feats. But they were always fleeting.

Surviving a thousand monsters? Luck, perhaps. But when faced with similar trials again, what then? They’d eventually fall.

And so, the Bishop dismissed him.

***

The Border Guard was just as it had always been. Nothing seemed different.

"Welcome back."

Well, something had changed.

It wasn’t the place—it was the attitude.

The soldiers’ demeanor toward Enkrid had completely transformed.

The soldier manning the outer gate saluted him with respect.

Enkrid gave him a nod. As he did, a familiar face appeared.

"Did you come out to greet me?"

It was the Pixie Company Captain, speaking in her usual composed tone. She took Enkrid’s casual remark and doubled down with her response.

"My beloved has returned; of course, I had to come. If my fiancé came back missing any essential parts—especially the important ones—I’d have to give up one of life’s greatest pleasures."

That joke felt a bit… intense, didn’t it?

Before Enkrid could process it, the Pixie Captain continued without a hint of humor.

"If you’d lost an arm, you couldn’t embrace me, but it looks like both arms are intact, so I suppose it’s fine."

Her sharp eyes scanned Enkrid from head to toe.

Something about him felt different.

Pixies had a keen sense for such things.

"I need to report to the Battalion Commander."

"Go ahead."

At Enkrid’s words, the Pixie Captain nodded and resumed her path. It appeared she was on her way out for other business, so this wasn’t a greeting after all—just a coincidence.

Enkrid saluted her back, watching her vanish in the distance.

‘It really was a coincidence.’

No way she had come out just to meet him.

She wasn’t the type to waste time like that.

Once inside the city, Esther disappeared, slipping away unnoticed.

"Do I need to go with you?" asked Kraiss.

"No."

Enkrid dismissed him, leaving only Finn to accompany him.

As they walked in silence, Finn suddenly broke the quiet, her tone uncharacteristically firm.

"I’ve made a decision."

"…What decision?"

"I’m giving up on taking you down."

…Was she still thinking about that?

"Instead, I’m setting my sights on Audin."

Finn’s eyes sparkled with determination. Enkrid shook his head internally.

Him, sure, but Audin?

Audin was more than just religious; he wielded holy powers. The man was a priest, for heaven’s sake.

Priests didn’t abstain from marriage or intimacy, but…

‘That Audin?’

That gentle, bear-like man embracing a woman? Highly unlikely.

Enkrid silently nodded, letting Finn have her moment.

"The squad leader with a devilish charm is out of my league," she said, spitting nonsense before marching off on her own.

"Wait, weren’t you coming with me to report?"

Apparently not. Left alone, Enkrid headed to Marcus’s office.

Upon entering, he saluted. Marcus studied him silently before speaking.

"I’ve already received the report. However, there are conflicting accounts."

Conflicting?

"I don’t follow."

If he didn’t understand, there was no point in guessing. Speculation would only lead to unnecessary words.

He knew the Pioneer Village had likely sent word, but what could they have said?

Marcus rested his chin on his hand.

"The Pioneer Village suggested naming their fortress walls after you. They claim you slew a thousand Nolls, or something like that."

They were seriously considering naming a wall after him?

It sounded absurd, yet knowing the village chief, Doitch Fulman, and that eccentric artisan, it wasn’t far-fetched.

The fact that it was part of an official report confirmed it.

A village of lunatics.

"Then there’s the commander of Baron Ventra’s forces. He claims you probably took down around fifty Nolls and advises caution against inflating your achievements. Now, tell me, Squad Leader, which account is true?"

Without hesitation, Enkrid replied.

"Believe whatever you prefer."

No matter what he said, Marcus would decide for himself.

Did his words carry enough weight to sway Marcus’s opinion? Likely not.

As Marcus was both the Battalion Commander and the de facto representative of the city, he probably already knew the answer.

Moreover, his expression revealed his thoughts—a mix of exhaustion and subtle amusement despite his haggard appearance.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

Marcus observed Enkrid with interest.

"Still aiming to become a knight?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

What was Marcus getting at?

"There were reports of the Sacred Order."

Enkrid nodded. That was the core of what needed to be discussed. The Sacred Order’s presence was a sensitive matter, especially so close to Border Guard.

"Bastards," Marcus muttered.

After expressing his disdain, Marcus sipped his now-cold tea, allowing it to slide down his throat.

‘A thousand Nolls,’ he thought.

It wasn’t as if Enkrid had single-handedly dealt with them all in one blow. Not even a junior knight could pull off such a feat.

Though unsure of the exact details, Marcus concluded that Enkrid’s actions had been nothing short of extraordinary.

The accounts from Baron Ventra’s forces? Dismissed as irrelevant noise.

Marcus knew Enkrid better.

While slicing through an entire colony of Nolls seemed improbable, it wasn’t completely beyond the realm of possibility.

The townsfolk had likely exaggerated their stories, drunk on the euphoria of survival.

After some thought, Marcus asked,

"Do you love this city?"

"I don’t dislike it."

"Do you have a lover?"

"No."

"Interested?"

"I like women, yes."

Conversations with sharp individuals were efficient. Marcus nodded and declared,

"Effective immediately, your independent squad is promoted to company status. You’re now a Company Captain."

"…Is that even allowed?"

Upon returning from an external mission, Enkrid had managed to achieve something that, if properly acknowledged, would not be a minor feat. That much was true.

However, as Marcus had mentioned earlier, there were conflicting reports.

And now, a company captain?

"My squad doesn't even have ten members," Enkrid pointed out.

"It's a company now," Marcus replied matter-of-factly.

What kind of company has fewer than ten soldiers?

"Does that even make sense?"

"I’m the one in charge of this city. If I say it makes sense, it makes sense."

It still felt forced.

"Are you glaring at your superior?" Marcus asked with a sharp look.

"No, sir."

Even so, it seemed a bit unreasonable.

"It’s not unreasonable," Marcus insisted.

He was the battalion commander, after all. What could Enkrid do but nod in agreement?

With a salute, Enkrid concluded his report and turned to leave.

"I’d like it if you came to love this city," Marcus said as Enkrid reached the door.

"I’ll do my best," Enkrid replied, the perfect soldier’s response.

With that, he left and made his way back to the barracks.

"You're back?"

The greeting felt oddly familiar.

‘Even if I returned to the village where I was born, it wouldn’t feel quite like this,’ Enkrid thought.

It was almost like coming home.

As always, Rem was standing there with his axe in hand, watching him. There was a subtle expectation in his eyes that spurred Enkrid forward.

The kind of look that didn’t allow for even a moment’s rest.

Not that he had expected to rest upon arriving.

The journey back had been calm, providing enough time to recover.

Enkrid’s gaze fell on Rem’s face. The scratches he had left before were entirely gone. Seeing that only made his goal more vivid in his mind.

"Sparring?"

The words left Enkrid’s mouth involuntarily, accompanied by the quickened beat of his heart.

Rem’s lips curled into a wide grin.

"Have you improved? They say you took down hundreds of Nolls. I even heard you were practically flying. Let’s see how much fun you had out there."

With those words, Rem gripped his axe in both hands and stepped forward.

For a moment, Enkrid felt a strange sensation.

Before, he wouldn’t have understood the meaning behind that single step. No, he couldn’t have understood.

But now he knew.

The right foot shifted half a step forward. The first swing of the axe would come from the left.

The balance, the follow-through—all of it was natural and unhidden.

Whether or not Rem knew Enkrid was observing him, his narrowed eyes remained locked on Enkrid.

"This feels strange," Rem muttered.

Enkrid realized the barracks in front of him weren’t quite the same as before.

Before Rem could answer, Ragna and the others began emerging one by one.

There wasn’t a single other soldier in sight.

And… a training yard?

A new one had appeared right in front of the barracks, surrounded by a low fence.

"The company captain said this was for us," Kraiss explained. Ever perceptive, he seemed to have already guessed Enkrid’s thoughts.

"Really?"

"I gave a few of them a beating, and the captain said we were disrupting the other soldiers’ training," Rem said in a calm tone, gesturing behind him with his thumb. He spoke as if it were no big deal.

"Even a barbarian knows not to kill allies inside the barracks. He told us to settle things here," Ragna added from behind him.

"It’s probably because of the noise. These guys were causing a ruckus. Not me," Jaxon interjected, gesturing vaguely at the group.

"Haha, I imagine the good captain was just concerned that your camaraderie might distract the other soldiers," Audin added with a chuckle.

Their chatter made it seem as though they were welcoming Enkrid back.

As for the training yard’s real purpose? There was no way it was what they claimed.

This was all just their sense of humor. From their beginnings as a ragtag squad to their evolution into the "mad squad," they’d reached a point where they could joke about these things.

"You beat them up?" Enkrid asked.

Rem frowned.

"Do I look like the kind of person who goes around beating up anyone nearby for fun?"

"…You’re the first person to leave me speechless, Rem," Enkrid replied dryly.

Considering how often he had seen Rem do exactly that, it was hard to take him seriously.

Rem looked half-offended.

"I didn’t beat anyone. I was just clearing the area while sparring. That’s it."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"…Right."

Rem smirked. That smirk was the signal.

The weight shifted onto his lead foot, telegraphing his intent.

The axe swung down with a resounding clang as it met Enkrid’s sword.

The clash of steel rang out across the training yard.

Even though the blade lacked a proper edge, its sturdiness surpassed any sword Enkrid had previously wielded.

Though it had once been called a cursed sword, it was now simply a robust blade—almost a masterpiece in its own right.

Enkrid had already grown accustomed to the weapon.

Why?

Because the moment he returned, this was the opponent he had been preparing to face.

The axe and sword crossed paths, their users locked in a battle of wits and reflexes.

Enkrid’s movements, quicker and more precise than ever, allowed his blade to twist like a snake.

This was one of the secret techniques of swordsmanship, utilizing a wrist snap for unpredictable strikes.

With a metallic ping, the blade deflected off the axe head, spiraling upward.

Rem tilted his head back, narrowly avoiding the strike.

In response, he raised the axe and countered with a short, chopping motion.

Enkrid twisted his head to the side, and both fighters emerged with fresh scratches on their cheeks.

Rem narrowed his eyes, exhaling sharply.

Though surprised, he prioritized maintaining his fighting spirit.

His eyes gleamed with excitement, and he licked the drop of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"Shit, that caught me off guard," he admitted, his tone sincere.

The onlookers’ eyes widened.

Enkrid and Rem exchanged blows, and Enkrid wasn’t easily pushed back.

The rapid improvement in Enkrid’s skills was shocking—almost unbelievable.

The others could only watch in awe, their expressions silently saying the same thing:

How had someone with so little talent changed so drastically?