It was an arm-wrestling match.
"Reuben, Reuben! You bastard, Reuben, you son of a bitch!"
A man named Reuben lost. With a thud, his wrist was forced back.
Some of the group, who had placed bets, shouted Reuben's name as if coughing up blood.
The arm-wrestling was taking place outdoors. Several tables had been set up in front of a tavern, and the owner, whose nose was red, shouted out.
"James wins!"
Someone else shouted amidst the growing commotion.
"Hey, let me join in!"
Oara pushed her way through the crowd without hesitation. Encrid stood idly by, turning his head to look at Asia.
"She's always like that. Get used to it."
With that, Asia also moved toward the group.
It didn't seem like Encrid minded moving along with them.
He, too, began walking towards the front of the tavern.
The tavern owner, drunk to the point where it was hard to tell if his goal was to sell drinks or to drink them himself, still recognized Oara.
"You can't do that! That's cheating, Oara!"
Knights are respected by everyone, but they don't force that respect on their friends.
Does a Knight not have friends?
The tavern owner seemed to be exactly that—a friend, an acquaintance, someone who knew Oara.
He snorted and spoke, and Oara protested.
"Ah, why not?"
Judging by her whining, she might have looked like a mercenary who had some experience with swordplay, but that woman could kill everyone here with just a few swings of her sword.
"Oh, come on, how could it be fair? It's not a proper bet."
The victorious James spoke, rubbing his reddened head. He looked like an angry octopus, with no clear boundary between his forehead and the top of his head.
"Hey, do you really say that after looking at this delicate wrist?"
Oara kicked James, who was sitting in front of her, then stood up on the chair.
The man who got kicked rolled off the chair and onto the ground but quickly got back up.
"Ah, why did you kick me?"
"Because you're annoying!"
Her decisive reply made the man nod.
Did he understand?
Encrid questioned inwardly and just watched.
The tavern, no longer under prohibition, had transformed into the opposite of what it had been the first time he saw it.
It wasn't quite a festival, but people were enjoying themselves and having fun.
"Come on, tell me, do you really think no one would dare challenge this wrist? Really?"
"No, no one would!"
"Oara, you're a Knight. Did you forget that?"
The tavern owner chimed in. Oara turned her gaze, her eyes searching like a hunter looking for someone to say what she wanted to hear.
Among them was a soldier carrying a drink.
It was the same friend who had been complaining about the lack of Krona. He had been working at the inn but seemed to have come here on a business trip.
"Hey, what about you? Do you think so too?"
Oara pointed directly at the soldier. The soldier rolled his eyes a few times before replying.
"No, I believe we should respect Sir Oara's wishes."
He displayed a cunning attitude. From the outside, it looked like he was making a sincere pledge of loyalty.
Oara smiled as she spoke.
"Drag that guy over here and sit him down."
With that, Oara lightly jumped up from her spot and landed with a thump on the chair.
At her words, those around them grabbed the soldier.
"W-Why, why are you doing this?"
"Shut up and sit down, you bastard."
Oara said with a smile, and soon the soldier was seated across from her.
"It's a bet! If you don't like it, don't do it. If the person I pick wins, I'll give you three gold coins. If I win, you'll be leading the next wave."
"…What?"
Leading the wave of monsters from the Demon Realm could sound like a death sentence.
Everyone laughed at her words.
The soldier regretted not joining Jack the Knife when he suggested they go out together before.
Of course, even if he got the offer again, he wouldn't go.
He was in love with a woman who worked part-time in the alleyways, and he had a dream of marrying her and taking her away from here.
So what if she sold her body?
He knew that she only allowed him to be by her side now.
"Hey, what's the big deal? You only die once, right? And you said you wanted to marry Rowena, didn't you? But you're struggling because you don't have any Krona, right?"
Oara said.
"Hey, just do it."
"You coward, if you're that scared, give up on Rowena!"
The shouts from the crowd made the soldier flare up.
"Shut up, will you?"
He shouted and then asked cautiously.
"Are you going to put someone from the Knight Order against me?"
"No."
Oara shook her head.
"And you're not going to compete yourself, Sir Oara?"
The soldier asked again.
"Absolutely not."
Oara nodded this time.
The soldier was cautious. No, he pretended to be cautious. Encrid knew that the soldier had already made up his mind.
Yet, he acted hesitant, as if he had been deeply considering his options. Some people were naturally like that.
It didn't make him look bad, though.
He was, in a way, a very transparent guy. His thoughts were clearly visible on his face.
Oara folded her arms and waited with a sly grin.
"I'll ask Sir Oliver."
At those words, a few soldiers let out jeers.
Encrid noticed a man among the soldiers who had arms twice as thick as the others.
He was short, but his body was solid and his chin was thick. He was shorter than Oara, but in terms of strength, he was said to be the best in Thousand Bricks—a Squire of the Knight order, Oliver.
"Is that not allowed?"
The soldier asked, glancing around. He had chosen a Squire despite the agreement not to use anyone from the Knight order, so it made sense for him to ask.
Oara shook her head.
"I accept the challenge. Now, who should I choose?"
Oara pretended to ponder the decision, much like the soldier had.
The Squire named Oliver patted the poor soldier on the shoulder. The soldier stood up, and Oliver took his place.
He seemed to have been born with a naturally powerful body.
Oara propped her chin in her hand, pretending to think, then looked at Oliver and asked,
"Oliver, is it okay if you lose?"
"I won't lose."
Oliver replied immediately, and Oara nodded as if she had made a decision.
"I've chosen you as my champion. Come on!"
She pointed her finger next to Asia—at Encrid.
"You mean me?"
Encrid, who had been watching, paused for a moment and then asked.
Oara, undeterred by his response that seemed to disrupt the flow, continued.
"Shall I send Asia instead? Can't you see her delicate wrist?"
Mentioning a delicate wrist seemed to be a habit of hers.
"If you're scared, you can back out. You might get hurt."
Oliver said. His opponent was famous for being a Demon Slayer, but Oliver was confident he wouldn't lose in strength.
His eyes were full of such thoughts.
Encrid looked at him for a moment and then stepped forward.
Oara moved aside with a grin.
Encrid, now seated, looked at Oliver.
"You probably don't need to worry. No one's going to get hurt. Oh, I mean you. I'm going to go easy."
"Go easy?"
Oliver's expression hardened at Encrid's light provocation.
"I meant I'll make sure you don't get hurt."
Encrid added.
"Is that so?"
Oliver, without a hint of a smile, furrowed his brow. His veins were thick—a friend with very thick veins.
And just as thick were his arms.
Encrid rolled up his sleeves. The muscles hidden under his thin shirt were revealed.
His arms, trained with the Isolation Technique, were not thin, but they appeared slimmer than Oliver's.
However, they were muscles of a different quality, compressed and tightened under Audin's teachings.
"Place your bets!"
Oara shouted. It was time for the wager. The spectators had doubled in number since earlier. Those who had been training nearby, those who had been idling about, even those rolling dice on one side, had all gathered.
"Still, it's right to bet on Sir Oliver, isn't it?"
"His opponent is a Junior-Knight. He's the Demon Slayer, though."
"You don't know what you're talking about. Even Sir Oara said she couldn't beat Sir Oliver in terms of strength!"
"So what? Sir Oliver can crush a demon's hand in arm-wrestling! Don't you know Oliver the Giant Arm?"
Most of the bets were placed on Oliver. Encrid didn't mind.
Someone placed a beer mug beside them. The pewter mug was filled with golden liquid, topped with foam.
Oliver drank it down in one gulp, then exhaled loudly and placed his elbow on the table.
Thud.
Just by appearances, he looked like some crazy wizard had turned a stone golem into a human form.
Encrid also picked up the mug beside him. The beer was bitter but had a rich, nutty flavor. It was fresh, too.
After drinking the beer, Encrid placed his hand on the table, clasping it with Oliver's.
As he had felt, it was like gripping the arm of a stone golem—brutally hard and heavy.
Oliver met his gaze, while Encrid lowered his.
He quietly observed his inner self and focused.
Was it because he didn't have a competitive spirit that he didn't care about losing? Because he wasn't ambitious and was easygoing?
Quite the opposite.
Encrid was the kind of person who would hold on and keep fighting until he won.
In other words, he absolutely hated losing.
But he channeled all that strength and willpower into winning the next time instead.
So if he could win right now, there was no thought of losing in his mind.
As the noise around them began to quiet down, Oara spoke.
"Begin."
Both Oliver and Encrid applied their strength simultaneously.
Crack.
The table groaned in protest but didn't break.
Oliver used strength that could truly be called monstrous.
It was no wonder he had the reputation of being able to crush a demon's hand.
However, the man sitting across from him was someone who had learned the Isolation Technique from a monster even stronger than Oliver, and had practiced it countless times.
Encrid unleashed the power of the Heart of Great Strength and even called upon his Will.
It was as if his entire body's muscles surged with explosive force.
There hadn't been many times in his life where he had exerted this much strength.
'Giant's Strike.'
He even incorporated a technique he had learned through swordsmanship.
As Rem would say, it was the strength of a Giant giving everything it had.
"Grrrrr!"
A sound like a groan escaped from Oliver's mouth.
Crrrrrreeak.
The table trembled. Despite being made from solid wood, cracks began to form.
Oliver's arm started to tilt slightly to the side.
Snap!
In the end, the table couldn't withstand the pressure. The part supporting Oliver's elbow sank down.
Even as the table broke, Oliver tried to hold on.
"Is it a draw?"
One of the soldiers murmured.
Encrid stopped, holding his position.
Oliver caught his breath. After a moment of holding on, Oliver finally released his grip.
Encrid also let go of his hand, with the soldiers watching intently.
"I've lost."
Oliver declared.
"No way!"
One of the soldiers, the friend of Rowena's man, cried out in despair.
Those who had lost the bet, however, burst into laughter. They cheered.
"Wow, you're really strong."
"Hey, are you strong at night too?"
A few soldiers made playful jabs.
"What's the point of asking?"
Someone else chimed in.
"Soldier, I'll give you another chance. How about trying to win with a drinking contest?"
Oara extended a hand of salvation to the dejected soldier. The poor soldier couldn't tell whether that hand was from a devil or an angel.
"Let's do it."
The soldier, filled with determination, looked at Encrid, who nodded in return.
Since he had decided to join in, it wouldn't be bad to see it through to the end.
Strong liquor was brought out.
Encrid drank the unknown liquor.
By the fourth glass, the soldier's eyes had glazed over, and he passed out, shouting,
"I love you, Rowena."
The other soldiers laughed at the sight.
Encrid chuckled, put down his glass, and said,
"Next."
He had no intention of losing, even in drinking.
"I'm in."
Oliver stepped forward again. He passed out after just one glass. Strong in strength, weak in alcohol.
Oara also downed her drink, and Asia sipped a light fruit wine.
Nearby, someone was playing dice games, while another started telling dirty jokes.
Overhearing a conversation between two women, Encrid silently marveled at the boldness of their jokes.
At some point, Rem joined in.
"Why is everyone having fun without me?"
He mingled with the soldiers. Before long, Luagarne and Dunbachel had also joined in.
The area in front of the tavern turned into a festive scene as if a celebration had broken out.
"Isn't this fun?"
Oara asked.
Encrid, now half-drunk, replied,
"It's heartwarming."
He spoke exactly what he felt.
As the sun set, the twilight bathed the city in its light. The soldiers chatted in the fading sunlight.
Some soldiers on duty shouted,
"Damn it, why is everyone having fun today?"
"Unlucky bastards!"
A soldier teased the others after seeing this.
A Commander, who was supposed to lead a hundred men, ended up complaining and lamenting in front of Oara.
One squad leader expressed his admiration for Encrid, only for Oara to chide him, saying,
"So, you don't respect me?"
Which left him feeling awkward.
There was even a guy who confessed he fell in love with Asia at first sight and ended up getting beaten up.
It was all genuinely heartwarming.
The sunset, the city, the soldiers—everything.
Oara walked around, drinking and listening to their grievances.
At one point, she went outside the city to get a replacement for the broken table, returning with a large piece of wood she had chopped down.
"Bring me a planer!"
She started to plane the table herself, but her skills were far from impressive.
Then, a small-statured female Junior-Knight, whom they had seen at the log house before, came out and took over the planing. She was much more skilled.
Everyone enjoyed themselves and drank to their heart's content.
"I love this town."
Oara said drunkenly. Encrid, who had stayed for a few days, agreed with her sentiment.
This was a place where deserters were common, but those who truly loved the city remained.
"The last bastion protecting against the Demon Realm, isn't it magnificent?"
They had pride in what they did.
"If we fall, everyone in the towns behind us will die. Do you understand that? If the Demon Realm expands, this whole area will be doomed."
They had a sense of duty.
"This is my job, so I do it. Is there a problem with that?"
They had a sense of responsibility.
The borderlands near the Demon Realm were always under threat, and if you weren't strong, you couldn't survive.
That strength wasn't just physical, it included mental resilience too.
"Ah, this is great!"
Oara shouted, and Encrid, now tipsy, clinked his glass with hers.
Thus, the night passed in a drunken haze.
Encrid returned to his lodging and slept. Rem had joined them for drinks halfway through the night and was already asleep.
Luagarne had also enjoyed a special meal made from insects and drank.
"It was an amazing taste."
She was satisfied, and Dunbachel was already curled up in a corner, snoring softly.
Encrid closed his eyes as well.
In his dream, the ferryman asked him,
"Are you having fun?"
It was a much more unsettling question than the usual forewarnings of doom.
Just as he was about to open his mouth to answer, he woke up.
Waking up at the same time every day had become a habit.
He went outside to warm up and sweat a bit, and soon Luagarne followed, with Dunbachel coming out even later.
"Don't you ever sleep?"
Around noon, Oara showed up again.
She was dressed similarly to the day before but now carried a long, thin sword.
"Sabbath's over."
She announced. It was welcome news.
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