Looking at Enkrid, one couldn’t help but clench their fists.

Most soldiers who watched Enkrid felt the same way.

They had seen him claw his way up from the bottom, step by grueling step.

They had witnessed his efforts being rewarded, right in front of their eyes.

Watching Enkrid, the soldiers—including Venzance—found themselves balling their fists. Then those hands gripped spears, swords, and maces.

The soldiers banded together. They swung their weapons.

A surge of heat reignited the barracks, a fire unlike anything before.

“Lately, the soldiers seem to be working harder than ever. What’s gotten into them?”

Enkrid commented, noticing the change in the air.

The atmosphere was noticeably different.

Hearing this, Kraiss scoffed.

“Are you asking because you don’t know?”

Did Enkrid really expect an answer if he already knew?

“I’m heading to the market. Things don’t feel right there; I’ll take a look.”

Without waiting for a response, Kraiss left. Heat and passion—those were things Enkrid appreciated. The reasons behind them mattered little to him.

In the end, if they trained hard, it would help them save their lives someday.

And so—

“Let’s have a match!”

More challengers came to find him. This wasn’t new; similar things had happened before. Enkrid welcomed them warmly.

The only difference now was—

Clack. Smack.

Every fight ended within a couple of moves.

How could one fight when there wasn’t even a contest?

Their flaws were far too obvious, and Enkrid’s body reacted automatically.

Incoming sword strikes didn’t even require counterattacks. A simple shove with the training blade was enough.

The swordsmanship he had learned recently was based on precision movements.

Shift to the left, swing the blade to the right, creating a blind spot in the opponent’s field of vision.

Humans naturally felt uneasy when they couldn’t see something and would instinctively turn to eliminate the blind spot.

At that moment, a counterthrust could be delivered.

It was a simple two-step maneuver, but it worked like a charm, even against the Border Guard soldiers.

“You’re different now.”

Even with a blunt practice sword, a solid hit left Torоs clutching his stomach, murmuring as he rubbed his sore abdomen.

No, it wasn’t just “different.”

To Torоs, Enkrid seemed to have reached the level of a semi-knight.

How had his skills improved so drastically?

The Border Guard soldiers were known for testing the limits of human potential. They were a gathering of individuals trained in various techniques and swordsmanship.

Torоs, as one of their own, had observed Enkrid closely from the start.

“This guy… he might actually become a knight.”

There had been a time when the idea of Enkrid becoming a knight was nothing more than a faded dream, something to mock.

But now, even in the eyes of others, that dream no longer seemed so far-fetched.

“Should I start calling you ‘Commander’? Or maybe ‘Sir Torоs’?”

“Huh?”

“I’m a company commander now, even if it’s temporary,” Enkrid said, pointing to himself with his thumb.

“...Commander.”

“Just kidding.”

“Bastard,” Torоs said with a laugh.

Rank was rank, and relationships were relationships.

There was no need for Enkrid to enforce a rigid hierarchy with Torоs or Venzance. After all, he wasn’t their direct superior.

The Border Guard’s standing army was known for its loose approach to rank. In the capital’s garrison, failing to respect someone’s insignia might earn you a beating, but that was the capital. This was here.

“You’re starting to sound like the Pixie Captain,” Torоs said, leaving Enkrid lost in thought.

That elven humor?

“Well, anyway, I’m off.”

Torоs left, and more Border Guard soldiers came to challenge Enkrid. He saw no reason to refuse them.

Mornings began with practicing the Isolation Technique and refining his swordsmanship.

After lunch—

“Ready for a match?”

Rem would challenge him. He was as formidable as ever. When the Heart of Might activated, he could even keep up with Enkrid for a while.

‘If I overdo it, I won’t be able to train in the afternoon.’

Enkrid had already paid the price for getting carried away several times.

He held himself back. This was training, not a real battle.

Rem also held back. He had no intention of splitting anyone’s head open in a fit of excitement.

After their sparring sessions, familiar faces would start to appear.

“Could you take a look at my skills?”

Even Venzance occasionally dropped by, asking for guidance. Enkrid believed in the idea of teaching as a way of learning and never turned him away.

“What’s with the title?” Venzance asked with a grin.

“Are you turning into the Pixie Captain?”

Hearing the same comment Torоs had made earlier left Enkrid feeling oddly annoyed.

For days, the weather was sunny. After a brief drizzle on the third day of his return, the skies had been clear.

“It’s a great day for training,” Enkrid muttered, enjoying the warmth.

“You said the same thing on a rainy day. Is there ever a bad day for training in your book?” Rem asked from behind.

Enkrid thought for a moment before answering.

“No.”

“If you get hit on the head hard enough, you might turn normal again,” Rem said passionately. “Don’t give up, Commander. You can still become a sane man!”

Enkrid, unimpressed, told him to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Another day continued as usual.

The next day it rained, but the routine remained unchanged.

It was as if the day was a copy-paste of the previous one.

Many eyes in the barracks watched him.

By now, they weren’t even bored of it. Rain or shine, Enkrid was always the same.

His skills had improved, and his position had changed, but he hadn’t.

Enkrid was still Enkrid.

Two weeks after his return.

On a sunny day, after their usual sparring session, Rem wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and sat down.

“The cider was good,” Rem said casually, but the words caught Enkrid’s attention.

Instinct, or perhaps intuition, told him that Rem had something else on his mind.

Since when did Rem beat around the bush?

Enkrid decided to wait silently for him to speak.

“If there’s any left, could you sneak me some?”

There wasn’t. What little remained was reserved for emergencies.

Rem had guzzled it all before. Even Ragna had spoken well of the cider, which was rare. Everyone had enjoyed it.

Even Jaxon had taken a couple of sips, and Audin had five.

The fact that Rem was circling the point twice made Enkrid suspect something was up.

“Did you kill someone?”

The most likely question popped out.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you killed someone from another unit while I was gone.”

If so, could the matter be covered up? If it hadn’t been discovered yet, then at least it was well-hidden.

Cleanup would be the issue.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

So he didn’t kill anyone?

“Did you beat someone up? Cripple them?”

This was also bad. But at least it wasn’t as bad as murder. Enkrid could only hope it wasn’t permanent damage.

“Not someone from the First Company, right?”

Rem frowned.

“...You know, sometimes I wonder what you take me for.”

A rabid dog that snaps at anything.

A lunatic who punches out superiors when annoyed.

A maniac who torments soldiers for fun and doubles down on his favorites.

“Your eyes, damn it. I feel like I just suffered a grave wound. I’ve never seen a look like that before.”

Never? That was surprising.

Enkrid had been joking—mostly.

After a few more quips, they moved on to lunch as usual. But in that brief pause, Rem opened his mouth again.

“Well, as long as you didn’t kill anyone or beat them senseless.”

Enkrid’s words prompted a sigh from Rem, who looked up at the sky and began to speak.

“When I was a kid, my father taught me how to use a spear. It was fun.”

What was he trying to say?

For some reason, Enkrid thought of the cursed sword’s spirit, which had rambled about lineage, swordsmanship, and unfulfilled desires.

Did Rem have his own chains?

Humans, after all, are always bound to something—dreams, status, power, krona.

“I learned to hunt. That was fun too.”

This guy…

“I learned swordsmanship as well. That was fun.”

Did he need lessons on how to speak properly? When mocking or teasing others, Rem was eloquent. But now, he stumbled awkwardly over his words.

At times like this, he seemed more vulnerable than Ragna.

Then again, every member of the platoon was similar when talking about themselves. Awkward, hesitant, their words clearest only when they were teaching someone how to wield a sword.

There were things people didn’t entirely know but had pieced together through bits and pieces of stories.

For example, that Rem was from the West, and Ragna from the North.

Still, Rem’s story today was different.

His delivery was awkward, but the content was worth hearing.

“That’s about when the Western War broke out. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but what could we do? When someone comes to kill you, you can’t just offer them your neck.”

Wars on the continent were still as numerous as ever. Even Naurillia had expanded the scale of its war against Azpen to claim the Green Pearl Plains.

Eventually, people would likely call that conflict the Green Pearl War or something of the sort.

The Western War that Rem spoke of was particularly brutal.

Dozens of frontier villages declared themselves independent kingdoms.

Some even called it not the Western War, but the War for the Throne.

In the end, one tribe emerged victorious, but it was a pyrrhic victory.

That tribe had left the West devastated and barren, forcing them to become subjugates of the Empire.

“I used a sword back then, and that was fun too. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Damn genius.

Apparently, every weapon that fell into his hands was “fun.”

From what Enkrid could gather, Rem had played an active role in the Western War.

Given Rem’s age now...

“That would have made you, what, fifteen?”

“Yeah, around then.”

Fifteen. Barely fifteen.

What was I doing at fifteen?

Had he been throwing tantrums about leaving the village?

Was that when he still believed he had talent?

Was it when he thought time was fair to everyone and that effort alone would suffice?

Time, it turned out, was not fair.

Even listening to Rem’s story made that clear.

For those with talent, time moved far more fruitfully than for those without.

“So, I have something I want to ask.”

It came without context, completely out of the blue. It was mixed with unintentional self-praise and random anecdotes about killing some bear-like brute from a neighboring tribe.

Whoever that was didn’t matter.

At the end of all this, Rem asked his question.

“Are you really going to become a knight?”

The question was so sudden that it could have been jarring, but Enkrid wasn’t fazed in the slightest.

Perhaps it was because this was a question he had always thought about.

Hadn’t Enkrid asked himself this countless times?

“Can I do it? Is it possible? What does it even mean to be a knight?”

The repeated question held no answers. And so, he took one step forward each day. There was no other path. That was all he could do.

Whether it rained or snowed.

Whether the sun blazed relentlessly.

Whether he was on a mission.

Even knowing a day might end in death.

His persistence was beyond mere stubbornness.

“Yes.”

Enkrid answered without the slightest hesitation. He was calm, as if it were any other day, any other question.

That calmness struck Rem as surprisingly refreshing.

“You think you can do it?”

“I don’t know.”

It was an honest answer. The future was uncertain, and even the words of prophets were unreliable.

“Fair enough.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine, then.”

“It is.”

A few trivial words were exchanged.

What followed was ordinary. Eating, resting, training.

Rem didn’t ask the same question again. He seemed composed, though what lay beneath that calm was anyone’s guess.

Rem was deep in thought.

If that man truly became a knight—if that day ever came—should he go back to retrieve what he had left behind?

It was a serious question. When Rem had left his homeland, he had abandoned something. If he went back for it, he might not become what they called a knight, but he could still reach the level of one.

The continent’s scheming nobles narrowed the path to knighthood to one single road, but Rem thought differently.

In truth, he wasn’t wrong. In the West, they used the term hero instead of knight. The term came from old legends about heroes who forged paths through the continent.

Rem had once been the foremost candidate to become the next hero. Once.

After a short deliberation and a few fleeting thoughts, Rem made up his mind while watching Enkrid wield his sword day and night.

“Then I’ll become a knight too.”

Rem threw the words out casually, almost as if in passing. Ordinarily, Enkrid would have teased or mocked him for something like that.

For example:

“Why bother?”

“You can’t become a knight just by knocking out your superiors.”

“Did you hit your head or something?”

That’s what Rem had expected to hear.

“Really?”

Instead, Enkrid’s response was nonchalant. What followed was the most natural thing.

“Spar?”

For some reason, that made Rem strangely happy.

It was truly remarkable how consistent Enkrid was as a person.

In his words, in his tone, there was something that resembled respect, and Rem found himself liking it.

***

At the moment when Rem shared his resolve with Enkrid, outside the city walls, a figure with their face concealed beneath a black hood stood gazing at the fortifications of Border Guard.

“They’re high.”

The walls were formidable—more than enough to deter most monsters from leaping over them.

However…

What about a high-class beast?

And then...

“A temporary alliance, that’s all.”

The words came from the black blade the figure held, a cold and sinister presence emanating from it like a dense fog.

The gathering of rogue energy around the blade’s edge—enough to disrupt and create chaos.

Enough to spark a storm within those towering walls.