“Isn’t this a bit much, Captain? Seriously.”

Kraiss spoke, his eyes swollen and bruised, the dark circles clearly visible. Enkrid answered as he took off his boots.

“Were your eyes always blue? Damn, Rem, you’ve got talent. Your camouflage is impressive. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Kraiss’ eyes were so badly bruised that his eyeballs were hardly visible. It was clear that he had been hit quite hard, with both his cheeks slightly puffed up.

It didn’t look like someone had purposefully beaten him up, though.

It was just a bit overdone.

There was even some blood, as it appeared he had a nosebleed too, with traces of red near his nostrils.

At Enkrid’s words, Kraiss sniffled and then let out a long sigh before speaking.

“Isn’t Rem just a little too much these days?”

If we’re talking about being sensitive, Enkrid had to admit Kraiss was right.

There was definitely something sharper about Rem lately.

Usually, he would let minor things slide, but now he was quick to pick up an axe over trivial matters.

For instance...

“You better open those eyes wide. You really wanna split someone’s skull open with an axe?”

He would suddenly say this to a soldier from another unit.

Or when Ragna got caught in the crossfire.

“Hey, picky eater, do you want your skull cracked open?”

If Rem said something like that out of nowhere.

“Come out. I’ll split your skull open and dip it in honey.”

Ragna would answer in kind, and soon their brutal duel would begin.

Enkrid’s reaction was different this time. Instead of stopping them immediately as he usually did, now he would observe first.

There was a lot to learn from their sparring.

If he paid close attention, they would end their fight on their own.

It was like... they were a bit grown-up, maybe?

No longer acting like children picking fights for no reason?

“Hah, sweating’s great, are you gonna keep pushing?”

After their little bout, it would be Enkrid’s turn. Watching their fight, he’d draw out what he had learned, put it into practice, and train himself. It was always a refreshing time.

Enkrid was fiercer now than before, and Rem seemed quite serious.

“Leg!”

If the footwork was slow, Enkrid would reprimand.

“Where are you looking?”

Sometimes, Rem would vanish like magic. It wasn’t through a spell, but a feat of physical ability.

Though Enkrid might miss it with his eyes, his senses would barely catch up.

Wham.

The blade swung.

Clang!

He blocked the axe.

Seriousness was a good sign, and after their sparring, both felt refreshed.

But... why had Rem become so sensitive lately?

The constant bickering between Rem and Ragna was just part of daily life.

But the worst part was his relationship with Jaxon.

From Enkrid’s perspective, it seemed like utterly unnecessary drama, but maybe it was something different for them.

Rem, about to leave, and Jaxon, trying to enter, stood face to face at the door.

Neither of them moved.

Rem slowly started to stroke his axe’s handle, and Jaxon let his arms fall.

Enkrid couldn’t just stand by and watch.

‘This is tense.’

How did he used to push through between them before?

In that heavy atmosphere, much like the ‘pressure’ Knight Aisia exuded, Enkrid had to step in to stop them.

“Enough.”

And when he spoke.

“Hmph.”

Jaxon let out a small cough, stepped aside, and Rem just walked out, without a smile or a word.

Sensitive. Very sensitive.

Of course, it wasn’t just Rem who was sensitive.

Ragna had a similar energy about him.

Jaxon, too, had that sharp edge.

At least Audin seemed like his usual self.

Rem said he would go patrol, joking about wishing he’d meet a Manticores along the way.

Audin said he’d be giving evening prayers and preaching.

There was a group of devout soldiers, and Audin was highly respected among them.

Jaxon was always off somewhere, and Ragna was sleeping in a corner of his bunk. Same old, same old.

Enkrid surveyed the barracks and then spoke.

“Seems that way.”

This was the answer to Kraiss’ earlier question about Rem’s sensitivity. When he thought about it, Rem’s heightened sensitivity seemed to be true.

“Ah, but what did the commander say when he called you?”

Kraiss, seemingly satisfied with agreeing with him, no longer paid much attention to Rem’s sensitivity.

What was the point of talking about it?

Rem was just that kind of crazy person anyway.

Ignoring it was the right move.

“The Black Blade mercenary delegation’s escort.”

At the straightforward response, Kraiss blinked, his eyes widening. His gaze sharpened through the bruising, revealing his dilated pupils.

Isn’t that painful? It sure looks like it hurts.

But Kraiss didn’t seem to care about the pain.

In fact, only now did he seem to feel the pain and, with a serious expression, he asked.

“You’re doing it, right? Sir Knight?”

Enkrid wasn’t sure why Kraiss asked that question, but he nodded.

He understood the need for such confirmation.

The dream of becoming a knight was truly a foolish one.

Now, it didn’t feel as fragmented as before, no longer like a dream shattered and torn into pieces. But that didn’t mean it was an easy path.

Enkrid was well aware of that.

Kraiss wasn’t mocking him or trying to make him realize the harshness of the situation.

Enkrid was a madman.

When he decided something, he followed through.

If he wanted something, he’d get it.

If he fought, he fought.

‘It’s not normal, though.’

Living like that would mean a short life. It’s not strange to think he wouldn’t make it past twenty. How had he managed to survive this long? Was the captain already thirty-one?

It was a mystery.

Anyway, that was the kind of person he was.

And now, this person wanted to become a knight. Since he wasn’t one to give up, Kraiss had looked up the general process of becoming a knight.

How does one join the knight order?

What kind of people are squires, before they become knights?

Most of them were nobles' children, or acquaintances of those in power. If not those, then there were even royal relatives from the cadet branches.

But what if someone wasn’t a noble, or from a prestigious family?

Sometimes, just sometimes, a genius with absurd talent would emerge.

These people earned the kingdom’s recognition through pure skill, becoming knights on their own. Of course, a bit of luck was necessary too.

‘Is that really common?’

No, absolutely not. The so-called geniuses? Most of them were from prestigious families and trained properly since childhood.

In the central regions, where the standards were higher, it was far easier to learn the martial arts and awaken talent. The competition was fierce, but those who had it naturally gathered around the royal palace, refining their abilities even further.

True geniuses.

So unless someone could stand on their own merit, it was almost impossible for ordinary folk to become knights.

So, if a genius existed and wanted to become a knight, what did they need?

Skill? Well, of course, skill was fundamental.

“Did you refuse?”

“Hmm?”

“The mission. You didn’t refuse it, did you? You wouldn’t, right? You must do it. You have to.”

Besides skill, the other thing you needed was merit.

Deeds done for the country.

Merit turned into honor, and honor proved the worth of its bearer.

For an outsider—especially a mercenary like Enkrid—becoming a member of the knights required more than just skill. The first task was to establish merit.

So, if you really wanted to become a knight...

“Tell me. You didn’t refuse, did you?”

The mission the captain had spoken about wasn’t something Enkrid was fond of.

Even Kraiss thought so.

Guarding the Black Blade mercenary delegation?

Who were these envoys?

Kraiss’ sharp mind quickly pieced together the situation from Enkrid’s indifferent words.

It was obvious. The nobles would be at the center of it all.

And the task was to send Enkrid to guard them?

Why? Why specifically Enkrid?

‘They must have something planned.’

It was clear what they were after: control. Either kill him or force a similar outcome.

The real problem was if the noble realized this and acted accordingly.

‘So that was it.’

Marcus was a fox. A war-hungry one, no less.

To Kraiss, the captain was a fox among foxes.

He looked like a bandit, but...

The battles with Azpen and the Green Pearl—after those exploits, Enkrid was tasked with killing all of their leaders. He had wiped out the leaders of the colony and killed some of their clergy.

Just last night, he had defeated ten powerful fighters from the Black Blade.

Audin had also killed a Manticore.

Despite all this, the higher-ups said nothing.

If they wanted a price, they had to pay something.

The captain, however, had swept it all under the rug. He avoided making any official announcements about it.

Let people believe what they wanted, even if false rumors spread everywhere.

Why?

Was it because Enkrid hated it? That didn’t make sense.

‘The reason for kneeling and crouching down...’

It was to jump higher.

Hiding and deceiving. The one thing being concealed was the true strength of Enkrid and the Mad Platoon.

The benefits of hiding that power were becoming clearer in Kraiss' mind. For someone else, this might be a confusing task, but for him, it was simple.

Why wouldn't it be?

He had moved with even more things in mind to survive.

Compared to those times, it was safer now. All he had to do was think in his seat.

As he kept tying together the threads of his thoughts, the answer became clear.

What leads the battlefield in the present continent?

Breaking strategies and tactics were done by “knights.”

Even among mercenaries, those “knight-level” fighters were the ones who shaped the battlefield.

In the non-human races, there were beings called knights, and that’s how the term “knight level” came about.

Thus, a small, elite group of strong warriors.

For a long time, they had become the core driving force behind strategies.

Of course, no commander would be foolish enough to rely on just a single knight in large-scale battles.

After all, in the past battle with Azpen, it was the victory of the Border Guard regulars in the outer skirmishes that ultimately changed the course of the entire battlefield.

‘War, huh.’

All of this was preparation for war. Hiding the strength of your forces meant you could deliver a fatal blow to the enemy when the time was right.

‘This is the first move for that.’

Kraiss’ eyes looked less swollen, his gaze now more focused.

That’s how it appeared to Enkrid.

‘Shining unnecessarily.’

Kraiss’ eyes sparkled even more than the captain’s did earlier.

“If you refused…”

Refused? Of course not.

“I said I’d do it.”

“Ah, that’s a relief. That’s important right now. Because…”

“I know.”

“No, it’s not just about what you see. This envoy mission is more than just an escort.”

“Probably asking us to kill someone, that bastard.”

At Enkrid’s words, Kraiss blinked, his eyes still swollen and bruised.

Ah, he wasn’t an idiot.

“Your eyes are disrespectful, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

After being hit like that, Enkrid couldn’t keep hitting him again. He let it go.

“It’s for merit, a step toward becoming a knight. I know.”

That was what mattered.

Marcus was far more connected and influential than he let on.

The mission he’d assigned, though not directly related to earning merit, would not end as simply as it seemed.

He knew this, not by reason or guesswork, but by instinct.

Intuition. A feeling deep inside.

After becoming more sensitive and sharp, sometimes a gut feeling would pierce through his mind.

This was one of those moments.

This mission? He couldn’t just leave it alone.

So, there was no reason to refuse it.

“I thought maybe you’d refuse because it would interfere with your training. Right. Merit, that’s what matters more than anything else right now. Merit is more important than skill. Actually, there are probably knights like that in the order, right? Those who make it by merit alone, even if they aren’t the best fighters? Even the Red Cloak Knights, as famous as they are, can’t be free from politics.”

It was a cynical statement, but Enkrid secretly agreed with it.

“That’s why I decided to take them with me.”

Would he have the chance to kill them?

Or would he move according to the situation?

How far had Marcus thought ahead?

What would Enkrid choose?

The mission was accepted.

From here on, there were things that would change depending on his choice.

“Who, the two?”

Kraiss asked.

“Not you.”

Enkrid gave Kraiss a light tap on the head and then turned away.

He expected Esther to follow without needing to say anything.

“Oh, I can’t. I’m busy.”

Finn rejected immediately.

Would a ranger even be necessary for this task?

He didn’t think so. A good ranger was always a great companion, but for this, there was no need for guidance or navigation.

“I’ll take Rem and Ragna.”

The two’s sensitivity bothered him. Separating Jaxon from Rem was important.

Having Rem and Ragna by his side would avoid major issues.

At least Jaxon and Audin were easy-going.

Kraiss nodded, understanding the pragmatic selection.

“So, you’ve decided to kill them all, then.”

“…Hmm?”

Enkrid didn’t mean it that way. The mission was a mission. Officially, he would focus on the escort.

“If it’s Rem, then you’ll have to stop him properly before leaving the camp. Until you’re out of sight, keep him in check. As for the bodies, yeah, bury them. Make sure you pack a foldable shovel in your bag.”

Hmm.

Enkrid was about to deny it, but then he remembered thinking just days ago that Rem and that noble should never meet.

Well, he could probably stop it somehow.

Rem wasn’t one to ignore advice completely.

“So when are we leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

Whoosh.

Kraiss tried to whistle but failed, his lips too swollen to manage it properly.

“Urgent, huh?”

Instead of whistling, Kraiss muttered to himself, acknowledging it was expected.

Enkrid was considering taking a prisoner along as a guide.

If he brought Rem and Ragna, there wouldn’t be any issues with strength.

Above all,

Enkrid glanced down at his hand.

The calluses were visible. His palm was scarred, the skin cracked from constantly wielding swords, repeatedly breaking and healing, leaving a grotesque mark.

The fingerprints on his fingers had worn away, some almost gone.

He’d used his fingertips a lot during training with the sword.

It was only natural to want something in return for that hard work, some form of compensation.

It was human nature. After enduring and enduring, if you finally reached the reward with your own hands, how would it feel?

‘Not bad.’

Enkrid muttered to himself as a habit.

His confidence had grown a little with all he had built so far.

And because he no longer relied on repeating the same day over and over,

His mind wasn’t concerned with the ferryman anymore.

He was just calculating tomorrow once again.

A path forward.

A road with clearer landmarks than before, where the destination was visible.

He wouldn’t ignore merit, separate from the training.

He would gladly stand at the front of the battlefield.

Now, he wasn’t the one who only thought with his head in order to survive.

When facing the Nol or standing in front of the Black Blades,

Thump.

It was enjoyable. Honestly, it was far too enjoyable.

Not hiding behind, but stepping forward in those moments.

“I want to be a knight.”

When he first voiced his dream as a child, Enkrid dreamed.

Of standing before someone.

Of standing at the forefront of the battlefield.

To stand at the front of the battlefield and prove his skills, it was no longer a mere demonstration of strength.

The origin of his dream to become a knight was the child who imagined himself fighting at the forefront.

Born in a rural village, that boy had reached part of his dream and was still moving forward.