Encrid filled his stomach with stale bread, watery soup, salted meat, and thin cookies made from grain flour, then proceeded to act as he had resolved.
"Phew! I'm dying!"
Dunbachel resisted, but there was no way out. Encrid dunked her head into the bathtub. Her head resurfaced, sending water droplets flying everywhere.
"No, I washed ten days ago!"
Dunbachel protested.
If a splash of water counted as washing, well, she wasn't entirely wrong.
"I could put Rem in the same tub with you."
"I'll wash alone."
Dunbachel, having given up, washed by herself, while Encrid asked for another tub to be filled with water.
"I'll wash your back."
Luagarne offered kindly.
"No need."
Encrid declined. As he soaked in the warm water, the fatigue from the journey seemed to melt away.
He felt like he had forgotten something, but it wasn't anything important.
As he thought about what he needed to do and remembered the Knight Oara, a wave of drowsiness came over him. There was no reason to fight it, so he closed his eyes.
Encrid fell asleep with his head resting against the wooden tub.
"This place is quite interesting."
Splash.
A purple lamp appeared before his eyes along with the sound of water. The face of a shadow with a black hood became blurry, then slowly, the eyes, nose, and mouth started to come into focus.
Gray, stony skin, unfocused eyes devoid of emotion—it was the ferryman.
"Is there perhaps an omen of misfortune approaching?"
Encrid asked.
The ferryman did not outwardly react.
But if he had been human, perhaps, just perhaps, he would have clenched his teeth and fists right now.
If it had gone further, he might have unconsciously punched that guy in the face.
Purple veins bulged on the hand holding the oar.
"Maybe not."
Encrid tilted his head in curiosity.
The ferryman clung to his sanity.
It was the first time since he began guiding ferry that his emotions had been so stirred.
Until now, he had only felt a vile pleasure, mocking and scorning his passengers.
But now, he felt a different kind of emotion.
In a way, it could be seen as a positive emotional shift.
Hadn't he lived forgetting that he could even get angry?
The ferryman thought rationally and suppressed his emotions.
"If you're unsure, that's fine."
Encrid meant no harm. To him, the ferryman was a divine being.
So he simply expressed his honest feelings.
He had hoped for something, but if there wasn't, so be it.
Because his tone and demeanor made it clear, the ferryman was able to respond calmly.
"Get lost, you crazy bastard."
You've come to the Demon Realm, so I'll bless your day.
Maybe only after you face the most brutal day will you regret it.
The ferryman didn't get to utter a single word of the taunts he had prepared.
* * *
The absence of an impending misfortune changed nothing.
Encrid naturally adapted from the next day.
"Good morning."
When he greeted a soldier, who was either Rowena's boyfriend or a customer cleaning the dining area, the soldier looked up.
Thanks to having washed the day before, Dunbachel, whose fur had changed from gray to white, followed and spoke to the soldier.
"Hello, beggar soldier."
The title was quite unique.
"…Why am I a beggar soldier?"
"I saw you haggling in that alley because you had no Krona."
Dunbachel mimicked swaying her hips.
The soldier blushed. It was indeed a shameful act. He had lost control and raised his hand.
"I'm a squad leader too."
The soldier said. Encrid passed by, acknowledging it, and Dunbachel followed Encrid without a second thought.
"Are there any roasted larvae?"
Frog, who had come down afterward, asked, and the soldier shook his head.
"No, we don't have that."
"Well, keep up the good work, you soldier with healthy lower parts."
After the three left, the soldier muttered as if spitting out the words.
"…I'm a squad leader too, you jerks."
But in reality, if he didn't contribute enough, he had to haul food in the dining hall.
It was because he had strained himself trying to earn Krona.
Still, it wasn't something he regretted.
The soldier kept silent.
Encrid went outside and settled in an open space.
Since the entire city was a massive barracks, there were wooden scarecrows scattered around.
The houses were sparsely built, but there were plenty of open spaces that could be used as training grounds.
Yesterday, he had washed and rested well. The fatigue from the journey was gone.
"You have a strong body. Excellent."
Luagarne praised. Facing the morning sun every day, he repeated the same training tens, hundreds, thousands of times.
The Isolation Technique was a method of training the body to its utmost limits.
Encrid did the same today.
Even if misfortune had been coming, nothing would have changed, but since it wasn't coming, he simply continued as usual.
It was training.
Moving his body, swinging his sword.
Luagarne drew her sword. Tiring, the sound echoed as Frog, wielding the loop sword, stood as an opponent not to be underestimated.
As they loosened up with a simple sparring session, the damp sun broke through the clouds, casting rays of light. Using the light as a focal point, Encrid employed the steps he had learned, drawing lines with his sword, unsettling Luagarne's balance through feints and calculated movements.
He feigned a strike to the right, then aimed a thrust at her left shoulder.
He used a step he had learned from Luagarne.
Placing his weight on his left foot, he executed a thrust with the sword in his left hand.
It was similar to what a tense soldier might do—a move called the Frog Step.
It was a technique inspired by the stiff movement where the legs and arms move together.
Thanks to his continuous practice of writing with his left hand and using it in various tasks, his actions had become more precise than before.
All of these factors combined made such a move possible.
"Good!"
Luagarne exclaimed excitedly. Though she wasn't naturally inclined toward fighting, sparring with Encrid often brought out an unintentional thrill in her.
After sweating profusely from the sparring session, a gray-haired barbarian approached the open space.
"Shouldn't we be looking for someone if they've gone missing?"
"…Oh."
Encrid suddenly remembered what he had forgotten in the bathtub the previous day. It was Rem.
"Where have you been?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Not really."
He assumed he had gone off hunting on his own. The traces of grass and dirt on him made it clear he had been wandering around. There was also a faint smell of charcoal.
It seemed he had been burning something all night.
A heavy pouch hung by his side, with a few stones visible at its opening.
Rem had spent the night exploring the city and found a decent sharpening stone. Since he couldn't acquire one without contributing, he decided to find one himself—a natural whetstone.
It was the kind that became harder when fired. Such a stone was necessary to sharpen the Lewis Mountain steel axe.
After gathering a few whetstones and taking a look around, he went back to the forge to fire them, staying up all night in the process.
"Anyway, let's get some rest."
Fatigue accumulates, so rest was necessary when it was possible.
Whether it was in Thousand Bricks or the heart of the Demon Realm, Rem was not someone who was easily influenced by his surroundings.
He just did things his way.
Encrid accepted this and simply focused on his training.
As he continued swinging his sword for some time, a voice interrupted.
"You said you wanted to become a Knight?"
When had she arrived? It was Knight Oara.
She was sitting on a tree stump next to the open space, elbows resting on her knees, her arms dangling.
Oara held a plum in her hand, chewing it slowly.
As she chewed, purple juice stained her lips, and a drop of juice ran down her chin.
Under the sunlight, her brown hair was clearly visible.
Her moderately curled hair formed natural waves, making it look quite nice, and she had a neat cloth tied around her forehead.
Her eyes were round, and her gaze was sharp.
It seemed she had already sobered up. Oara chewed a bit more and then spat out the pit. The pit embedded itself in the ground, which was the same color as her hair.
"Yes, that's my intention."
Encrid replied.
"Hmm."
Oara nodded and said nothing more. She just continued watching.
Encrid resumed what he was doing.
Oara watched for a moment, then stood up, walked over to a tree between the houses, and broke off a branch.
She casually trimmed the branch with her hand, knocking off the leaves.
Then she pulled out a knife and began to carve the branch into shape.
"We should stay alert."
Luagarne, who had been watching, spoke.
It was the moment Oara, who had been showing her back, turned around holding the trimmed branch.
Thwack!
Dunbachel sprang back more than five steps, kicking off the ground. She had transformed into a white lion, baring her fangs and lowering her stance.
She crouched low, almost touching the ground with her chin while keeping her head up.
It was a sign of wariness.
A raw, overwhelming sense of intimidation filled the air.
The usual Intimidation of a Knight felt like a large stone pressing down on one's shoulders, but Oara's was beyond that.
Her presence was like iron shackles—no, it was more like being struck by a lump of iron.
It wasn't so much 'If you move, I'll cut you down', but rather 'Let's start by hitting you before you even move'.
"Ah, it's been a while since I've done this on a person, so my control isn't great."
She said, taking a step forward. Holding the branch, she stood opposite Encrid.
Encrid raised Aker.
Normally, moving would have been difficult.
Oara's presence extended in a specific range—exactly about five steps in a radial direction from where she was looking. Within this space, the pressure was different from ordinary Intimidation.
For a Junior-Knight, it would have been natural to stumble under it.
However, not only did Encrid raise his sword and assume a stance, but he also released his fighting spirit.
The moment he felt the invisible iron mass striking at him, the Will of Rejection within Encrid's body activated.
Will negated Will.
Thus, the Intimidation held no meaning.
Encrid hadn't intended it, but Oara became intrigued.
'He's not even a Knight, yet he shrugs off my Intimidation?'
Was it fair to say he possessed an abnormal defensive measure?
It was like watching a seven-year-old child wielding a shield made of black gold.
A child shouldn't be able to lift such a heavy shield unless they were a Giant, yet Encrid somehow managed to lift and block with the shield. It was impressive.
A faint smile curved Oara's lips as she spoke.
"A fine sword you have there."
"It's a royal treasure."
"A hero of the civil war, I hear. They should have given me one too, but they were stingy."
"Do you know His Majesty?"
"No. I've never even seen him."
Oara had never involved herself in anything, whether it was the civil war or royal affairs.
Her job was to protect this place.
That was the promise she had made to herself.
"Wanna play?"
She asked, her voice laced with temptation. She appeared as alluring as an attractive person inviting someone to bed at night.
Encrid succumbed to the temptation.
He stepped forward without a word. There were no tricks involved.
He focused solely on the straight line, connecting point to point.
A probing move to gauge the opponent's skill? There was no need for that. The opponent was a Knight.
Therefore, he had to show his best move.
The Heart of Great Strength pounded.
Focus Point made time seem to stretch.
It felt as if his entire body was being pressed down, as if he were sinking into a swamp.
Overcoming that pressure, Encrid swung his sword.
Dunbachel, watching from the side, widened her eyes. Unconsciously, she dug her claws into the ground, splitting a stone lodged there.
She had seen this technique before. She had even been on the receiving end of it.
Was it called the Giant's Strike?
But what he was showing now was something she had neither experienced nor seen before.
Encrid threw his entire body into the technique, into that one sword strike.
Every muscle, honed through the Isolation Technique, was pushed to its limits.
It felt as if someone had grabbed time and stretched it from side to side.
Within that timeline, Encrid alone moved forward and swung his sword.
A ray of light, splitting the sunlight, descended upon the Knight's head.
Thwack.
And then, a hollow sound rang out.
"You put too much strength into it."
Encrid froze in the posture of swinging his sword. Oara's branch was resting on his wrist.
Encrid moved, rotating his left foot to the side.
The blade traced a new arc.
Oara lifted and then lowered the branch, striking his wrist again.
She was a Knight, and she assumed that with this, Encrid would lose his grip on the sword.
But even Knights can't be perfect in everything.
Crack!
The force behind the branch was enough to break an ordinary person's wrist, but Encrid endured it.
The muscles he had trained for so long now possessed a different kind of solidity, and thanks to the countless times he had practiced with Audin, he instinctively knew how to absorb the impact, pulling his hand back slightly to disrupt the strike's accuracy.
He then completed his swing, following through with the sword.
Using his right foot as a pivot, Encrid channeled the power from his muscles into the blade. The sword extended forward, gleaming like a white lightning bolt.
Oara dropped the branch. Realizing her failure, she quickly grasped and drew her secondary weapon.
Clang!
Aker's blade was blocked.
Oara looked at Encrid over the angled short sword.
Between her brown eyes and dark hair, her bright blue eyes met his.
Despite the clash of blades, neither side was pushed back nor gave ground.
This was because they had both exerted just the right amount of force at the exact point of impact, halting the strike.
It was a skill of Oara's. She applied just enough strength to stop Encrid's sword. This technique was known as 'Blade Catch'.
"You've got some skill."
Oara remarked.
She meant it.
At this level, he was on par with the two Junior Knights she had personally trained.
Or perhaps, in terms of fighting spirit, he might even surpass them.
She couldn't be sure. Every battle's outcome is uncertain until it happens.
But right now, she could tell without needing to see more.
She had intended to end this with just a branch but ended up drawing her sword.
Was it because she hadn't accurately gauged her opponent's abilities?
Oara realized she had made two mistakes, and she recognized them now.
'It has been a while since I last faced a human.'
Sparring was a rare occurrence for her.
That was the first mistake.
The second was—
'I didn't underestimate him.'
Encrid was, how could she put it, resilient.
If a typical Junior-Knight was like a well-crafted steel sword, Encrid was like a blade forged from scrap metal, melted down and painstakingly reforged with an absurd level of dedication.
Thus, her misjudgment.
He wasn't a clean-cut, well-trained fighter but a tenacious survivor who had clawed his way up from the bottom.
Now that she understood, it was only natural to adjust her approach.
"If you don't block this, it'll hurt."
Oara said as she pushed Encrid's sword away.
Encrid, pulling back his blocked sword and attempting to engage in close combat, was pushed back. The force she exerted was immense.
"What is a Knight?"
Oara asked as she lowered the arm holding the short sword.
Instead of answering, Encrid assumed his stance again.
"They are those who manifest the intangible force of Will into reality."
It was an exceptionally grounded definition.
It might not sound romantic, but it was accurate.
You can't talk about Knights without mentioning Will.
And Oara demonstrated the very definition of a Knight she had just given.
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