After Enkrid left, Rem—and indeed everyone else—had been uncharacteristically diligent.

Instead of harassing passing soldiers, Rem spent more time swinging his axe alone.

He did something resembling effort, continuing until he was drenched in sweat.

Ragna was no different. Neither was Audin.

Everyone, except for Jaxon, followed suit. Jaxon, who often spent more time outside the barracks, only occasionally joined in.

Thus began a series of life-and-death sparring matches.

It was truly brutal.

"Shit."

Every soldier watching clicked their tongues in disbelief.

Seeing Rem, Ragna, Audin, and even the Pixie Captain join the fray, the onlookers were filled with despair. A heavy sense of hopelessness patted them on the shoulders.

Who could grit their teeth and vow to catch up to those monsters after witnessing them?

"Are they insane?"

Even Torоs, a member of the Border Defense Force, frowned deeply.

"This isn’t just demoralizing; it’s absurd."

His complaint echoed the sentiments of the entire barracks.

Would anyone believe that simply swinging their sword every day could lead to that level of skill?

The Pixie Captain wasn’t holding back either.

"Not bad," Rem remarked.

But "not bad" didn’t cut it. The Pixie Captain’s skills were such that, if not for Will, he could have easily been mistaken for a semi-knight.

With skills like his, how was he even commanding a unit?

Still, there were those performing squad duties with comparable skills, so by comparison, the Pixie Captain wasn’t doing too poorly.

It was this chaos that led the battalion commander to assign them a dedicated training ground. The Pixie Captain had strongly recommended it.

"The atmosphere in the barracks is deteriorating."

That simple report quickly resulted in the creation of the training grounds.

And it was justified. The training fever that Enkrid had sparked had long since cooled off.

Even if one tried to recreate such an atmosphere intentionally, it wouldn’t have been easy. Yet, these few intense sparring sessions were enough to reignite it.

There are monsters in this world.

Thanks to those monsters, a sharp depression swept through the barracks.

Some soldiers who used to lounge around aimlessly on their bunks—like Ragna—turned out to be geniuses among geniuses.

How could someone who had completely fallen apart find such precision in their sword swings?

Torоs had secretly tried to mimic the movements but only ended up flat on his back.

Those moves weren’t something one could replicate by simply watching.

And what about Rem?

Not only was his personality foul, but his axe-wielding was just as vicious.

He alternated between axes in both hands, swinging them down with great force. Even blocking the first blow seemed almost impossible.

And then, there was the brute who blocked every single strike.

"Brother, go to heaven!"

His tone might have been soft, but his words were a constant threat of murder. And it didn’t stop there.

Even unarmed, he was unstoppable. Occasionally, he would use a club, but he mostly fought barehanded.

Audin was a master of hand-to-hand combat.

On previous battlefields, he had snapped enemy soldiers’ necks like cornstalks and broken their limbs like twigs.

"May you find peace with the Lord!"

He was a terrifyingly skilled warrior.

Behind him was Jaxon, a silent lunatic who endlessly swung his sword.

Lastly, the Pixie Captain brought it all to a close.

The soldiers watching them had their spirits crushed.

These were men who barely trained properly, yet their talents shone blindingly bright—blinding to the point of disbelief.

It was during this period that Enkrid returned.

Rem had sharpened his skills through these life-and-death sparring sessions. For the first time in a long while, he swung his axe with genuine determination—for the next stage, for a better tomorrow.

Even before these matches, he had been confident that he could take on a semi-knight like Aisia. No, not just fight, but kill.

The Will technique used by semi-knights was still bound to the body, and at the very least, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Even against a particularly skilled semi-knight, he might not win easily, but he wouldn’t fall in a single blow.

Rem had honed his instincts to a razor’s edge. He had worked to improve.

Ragna was the same. The word "slacker" no longer applied to him.

Morning and evening, he gripped his sword, swung it, and meditated—not to sleep but to reflect.

And yet...

‘The flow doesn’t break?’

Rem was half-serious now. Any further intensity would lead to someone’s death. For a sparring match, this was where it should end.

And yet...

‘Just a little more.’

Enkrid’s sword descended from above in a clean strike aimed at Rem’s crown. The axe swung to meet it, but the blade bent mid-swing.

It wasn’t a snake this time. It resembled a bird of prey, soaring through the air and plunging toward its target like a hawk.

The speeding sword almost slipped out of Rem’s sight.

With split-second precision, he caught its trace and defended once more.

Clang!

‘Damn it.’

Without realizing it, Rem smiled. When was the last time he felt this while sparring with his platoon leader?

Before, it had been enjoyable, sure. But it was the kind of enjoyment you felt from a cheerful dance.

Now?

Excitement mixed with exhilaration surged within him.

He wanted more of this.

‘Just a little more.’

What had started as testing each other’s skills had become a life-and-death duel.

A shallow cut grazed his cheek.

It was barely a scratch.

But he hadn’t blocked it.

Rem’s lips curled into a grotesque grin. He felt like he might go mad from the sheer joy of it.

The excitement coursed through his brain, stirring something new within his body.

The Heart of Might activated on its own, heating his entire being.

His heart pounded, and his axes swung with renewed force.

What had been a half-hearted duel turned into a full-fledged fight for survival in an instant.

At that moment, Enkrid’s eyes glazed over, and his sword dropped to the ground as if his strings had been cut.

Rem was stunned.

‘Shit!’

He didn’t have time to pull back his axe. If it continued, his platoon leader’s head would split open, revealing his brains.

In the blink of an eye...

Clang!

One sword intercepted the axe’s path.

Two hands grabbed his burly arm.

Lastly, a thick hand caught his left wrist just as it reflexively moved.

It was Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin, in that order.

“Planning to kill him as soon as he gets back?”

“...Damn it. I was going to stop myself—cleanly, precisely, and with finesse. Why’d you interfere?”

Bluff. Everyone knew it. And yet, they understood. Ragna, Audin, and Jaxon had all seen it.

Their platoon leader had changed.

In ways they hadn’t expected or anticipated.

Flawless strikes, precise mind games, and seamless bodily coordination. Even Enkrid's reaction speed and physical agility had undergone dramatic changes.

Jaxon, with his sharp observational skills, was quick to identify the source of these improvements.

“The Sense of Evasion.”

He found it deeply satisfying, particularly because Enkrid had truly mastered it.

Jaxon gave a small nod of approval.

Ragna, on the other hand, noticed something different.

“A Refined Blade.”

If one could call it swordsmanship, it was at an entirely different level now. The way Enkrid swung his sword, the way he thought about his strikes—it wasn’t just different. It was something else entirely.

“He’s combined his strengths with his swordsmanship.”

It wasn’t mindless execution, nor was it blindly following instructions. He had truly internalized and understood the essence of swordsmanship.

And all of this… in just two months?

Even if Frokk had poured his heart and soul into training Enkrid during their journey, could this level of improvement really be possible?

Ragna knew better than anyone that their platoon leader had changed—and that he would continue to change.

The talent needed to control one’s body had finally taken root in him.

Ragna wasn’t blind to potential.

But this…

Among them, the only one who fully grasped the transformation of Enkrid’s body was Audin.

“I can’t help but smile, Platoon Leader.”

Audin’s expression was one of pride. Enkrid’s physical state was remarkable—the level of training, the enhanced motor skills.

And what lay beneath it all?

The foundation that allowed him to master the Sense of Evasion, a technique Jaxon referred to as belonging to a wildcat. What made it possible?

“The Isolation Technique.”

Among monks who specialized in physical training, the Isolation Technique was a stripped-down version of their methods, focusing purely on bodily discipline.

Enkrid’s body had been shaped by this method.

“And his regeneration must have developed as well.”

The remarkable recovery ability Enkrid possessed had played a key role in reconstructing his physical form.

Audin found himself smiling again, content with the results.

Finally, it was Rem’s turn to be astonished—more so than anyone else.

“How did it come to this?”

He found himself wondering, as if for the first time.

The lunatic who had impulsively challenged him to a sparring match the first time they met was now a lunatic with skill to match.

He had evolved into a perfect madman.

It was surprising. No, it was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

And yet, Rem found himself delighted.

Did it matter how Enkrid had improved?

“No.”

It didn’t.

All that mattered was that things were about to get far more interesting.

The creation of the dedicated training grounds didn’t mean they were fully enclosed.

The fencing was riddled with gaps, barely reaching the chest of an average adult, offering no real cover.

At best, it served as a boundary.

And beyond that boundary were those watching the sparring matches.

These were soldiers who had once lost their drive and spirit.

Among them stood Venzance.

“Monstrous bastards.”

The Mad Platoon, led by Rem, was undeniably a collection of monsters.

Watching Enkrid, the one leading this monstrous group, Venzance couldn’t understand how he had claimed such a position.

But Enkrid had returned.

And Venzance saw it clearly.

Enkrid didn’t retreat even a single step from Rem.

He knew where Enkrid had started. He could claim to know better than anyone, perhaps because of how much he had once hated him.

Enkrid had once been nothing more than an insignificant soldier. A bottom-tier grunt—that was the title most fitting for him.

“Old and talentless.”

That was how he was described.

And yet, what about now?

Venzance didn’t know the specifics of how this sparring match differed from others. But he could feel it in his bones—the atmosphere was completely different.

Rem, Enkrid, the rest of the Mad Platoon—they all exuded a new energy.

Most of all, Venzance himself felt it.

Everything was different. Too different.

Even the way the sparring ended.

Venzance realized that his broken spirit had been nothing more than a campfire whose embers had briefly died down.

“I can do it too.”

It was strange. When Venzance looked at Rem, Ragna, or Audin, they seemed like untouchable monsters. But when he looked at Enkrid, he felt a desire to emulate him.

He wanted to stand on the same ground, to fight by his side.

Was it because he had witnessed Enkrid’s efforts over time? Or was it simply a difference in how approachable Enkrid seemed?

Venzance didn’t know. He didn’t waste time pondering.

All that remained within him was desire.

“Today is special training.”

“Yes, sir!”

Venzance’s squad responded in unison.

But it wasn’t just Venzance.

Every soldier felt the same. The fire that had ignited in their hearts after watching Enkrid fight burned brightly.

It was perhaps inevitable that the next day brought a sudden surge of training fervor.

The day Enkrid returned, he sparred with Rem.

“I think I overdid it. I’m still not completely used to this yet.”

His spinning head and drained strength were side effects of overusing the Heart of Might.

Well, it wasn’t surprising—Rem had come at him with everything he had.

“You’ll get used to it with practice, right?”

Rem’s words were spoken with a touch of doubt. After all, how many people other than himself had truly mastered this technique?

He couldn’t think of anyone. The only one to not just mimic it but actually use it to this extent was Enkrid.

The following day, Enkrid sparred with Ragna.

“Where did you learn that sword form?”

“From a passing phantom.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie.

Later, Jaxon surprisingly joined a sparring session.

Audin even demonstrated a new joint lock technique.

Enkrid was genuinely delighted by how readily his comrades engaged with him upon his return.

How wonderful it was to keep swinging his sword, to keep moving his body without pause.

To strive forward toward his new self.

Even without repeating the same routines, he was gaining something each day.

“Fiancé?”

The Pixie Captain showed up as well. Naturally, it led to a sparring match.

Only then did Enkrid realize that when the Pixie Captain picked up a sword, he was no less formidable than Rem.

“Now that we’re equals in rank, when’s the wedding?”

Pixie humor. Would it ever stop?

Not that Enkrid had any intention of objecting. He didn’t even have a reason to.

It was just part of daily life now.

Esther, who used to sleep in his arms every night, had cut back to once every two days.

Enkrid wasn’t sure what had changed.

Meanwhile, Kraiss had managed to sell some ancient coins they’d obtained and made a decent profit. On top of that, the weapons they’d brought from a recent expedition fetched a good price in a nearby settlement.

As a result, they had a surplus of krona for the first time in a while.

During a break between training, Enkrid visited the blacksmith.

“Broken? What about the armor?”

His armor was torn, dented, and riddled with damage. Even the chainmail inside had several snapped links. In other words, it was completely ruined.

As for his sword—it was broken. The core had been damaged beyond repair. Though he had brought it along, hoping it could be melted down and reused.

“Two swords?”

“It just happened.”

After cutting down hundreds of gnolls, it was a miracle this was the extent of the damage.

“Got any spare chainmail lying around?”

Enkrid asked. The blacksmith sighed but nodded.

“Not at the moment, but I’ll make you one. I recently got my hands on some good steel.”

Enkrid nodded at the blacksmith’s words and handed over his sword.

It was a weapon once called a cursed blade.

“Can you sharpen this?”

The blacksmith inspected it carefully before replying.

“This isn’t your run-of-the-mill sword, is it? Just the blade?”

“No, replace the pommel and grip as well. The balance feels slightly off.”

The blacksmith nodded.

The blade itself was excellent, but the fittings were a mess.

“I’ve got some good deer hide. I’ll wrap the grip with it for you.”

He agreed to do the work. After paying a fair price, Enkrid left and stopped by a dried meat shop for a quick snack. By the time he finished eating, it was already evening.

“Aren’t you eating more?”

“I’ve got to head back.”

Since he couldn’t ask the blacksmith to replace all his weapons, Enkrid planned to acquire additional gear from incoming merchants.

For now, though, he was unarmed.

Even with a short sword, a guard sword, and a knife strapped to him, he felt oddly empty.

“The weather’s nice.”

But the city’s atmosphere was far from it. When Enkrid asked a few passing merchants what was going on, he quickly got an answer.

“There’s talk of a bandit group targeting the city, rumors of monsters approaching from the south, and apparently, a messenger from the eastern city made some threats as well.”

Border Guard was a military city, located right on the border with Azpen.

Would a bandit group really target a place like this? It would take more than a typical band of fools to even come close.

Then again, lunatic bandits always existed. They’d caused trouble during Azpen skirmishes as well.

As for the monster issue, that was always a constant.

And the east? If they were talking about the City of Blades, causing trouble was practically a tradition there.

Still, these rumors could pose a problem.

When unsettling rumors spread, there were always consequences: prices rose, goods became scarce, and people stayed inside, causing trade to dry up.

It was similar to what happened when monster numbers surged. The Border Guard had to send out troops back then.

Enkrid had even taken part in one of those missions. That was when he fought harpies—an experience he remembered fondly, thanks to the satisfying feel of slicing them down.

For now, though, these were just rumors. No official orders had been issued yet.

“They’ll handle it.”

Commanders had their roles to play.

Even though he’d been named a company commander, his position was still unofficial—more of a battalion commander’s personal decision.

Behind that decision were the nobles.

They were like snakes, with their cold demeanor and veins seemingly filled with blue blood. There were plenty of them in this city.

Not that Enkrid liked them, but he couldn’t go around stabbing every one of them either.

“I’m not Rem.”

That kind of behavior wasn’t an option.

Back at the barracks, Enkrid saw Rem.

“Right, I can’t live like him.”

“What’s with your eyes?”

Rem’s knack for reading people rivaled Kraiss’s, especially when it came to catching someone badmouthing him.

“Were you cursing me in the market? No, you probably cursed me in your head.”

Sometimes, Rem’s overly sharp instincts made Enkrid wonder if the man was truly human.

Enkrid, true to his own principles, acted with conviction.

If a lie could bring comfort to someone, it could be considered a white lie.

“No.”

He shook his head.

“Then why do I feel pissed off?”

‘Because your personality is twisted, that’s why.’

“You cursed me again, didn’t you?”

“No.”

Sharp instincts clashed with innocent lies.

Enkrid now felt like this place was home.

The battalion commander had once said he hoped Enkrid would come to love the city.

It might not have been an ardent love, but he didn’t hate it. Not at all.