Chapter 152
Aisia found it somewhat peculiar on her way back.
‘This might be the first time.’
A man who endured with his bare body, despite not knowing how to wield a knight’s strength.
It wasn’t that he overcame the ‘pressure.’ He simply endured it.
No—after everything was over, he had even managed to step forward, albeit just by the length of a fingertip.
As a junior knight, her sharp gaze captured even the smallest of movements.
He had tried to step forward. He had advanced.
How many soldiers could do that?
Was there even one?
Probably not.
‘If he realizes it… he might turn into a monster.’
But that wasn’t something easily achieved.
‘Forget about it.’
That fool Frok was still around; he’d take care of it.
She had been asked to do a favor, and she had done her part.
So once she returned, it would be over.
Aisia erased Encrid from her mind.
There was no need to remember him.
Though, she had to admit, his determination and steadfastness were quite appealing.
And, well, his face was appealing too.
‘Not like I’ll ever see him again.’
Talent was a cruel thing.
The goddess of fortune had always been unfair.
Clop, clop.
Her horse’s hooves struck the ground as it carried her forward. It was time to return.
—
‘Why?’
Benzense felt anxious and uneasy for no reason.
A knight had come and assessed Encrid. They had evaluated his skills, and even Frok, the so-called talent appraiser, had arrived.
The outcome had been harsh words exchanged.
‘Why go that far?’
Did they want him to lose his motivation? Was his dedication to training that irritating to them?
Benzense couldn’t even begin to guess what was going through Captain Marcus’ mind.
Why poke at Encrid when he was just standing there?
Telling him he couldn’t become a knight, that his limits were set, so he should just quit?
Why? Why bother?
Benzense didn’t know Encrid’s dream. He also wasn’t privy to the conversation between him and Captain Marcus.
So naturally, he was left with questions.
Encrid had never hidden his faded dream, but he wasn’t the type to go around shouting it into people’s ears either.
“That bastard captain has a nasty personality.”
Muttering under his breath, Benzense made his way to Encrid’s quarters.
Knock, knock.
“It’s me, Benzense.”
“Oh? It’s the ugly squad leader. What’s up?”
The door opened, and Rem’s voice immediately got on his nerves.
Benzense ignored him. If he engaged in conversation, it would only lead to a fight.
And the result? If it were Encrid, one well-placed knee to the thigh would settle things. But with Rem? That was an entirely different matter.
In short, picking a fight was a terrible idea.
“Where’s Enki?”
“He’s sleeping.”
Or more like unconscious.
And yet, this bastard was acting so nonchalant.
Benzense had expected him to be ranting about chopping off Marcus’ head with an axe for crushing their squad leader’s spirit.
Then again, if he were the type to rage in the barracks, he would’ve already swung that axe.
Yeah, that’s exactly the kind of guy he was.
Inside, Ragna was sleeping again.
Benzense checked—he was actually asleep. No snoring, just the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Jaxson was off to the side, carefully rolling up a tobacco leaf.
Impressive dedication.
A woman named Finn had apparently joined them, but she wasn’t here.
Krys wasn’t around either.
Only Frok, whom Benzense had seen during the morning watch, remained.
It was nearly midday, meaning lunchtime. Had they decided to camp out here permanently?
They seemed unexpectedly at ease—it was almost unsettling.
Shouldn’t they be comforting Encrid when he wakes up?
Or at the very least, not bringing it up at all?
Did they plan to just gloss over it?
Benzense cleared his throat, trying to gauge the atmosphere, and right on cue, Encrid woke up.
He groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Oh, you’re up.”
Benzense reacted first.
Then—
“They said you can’t be a knight. Not even the slightest chance, not even a ghoul’s brain’s worth of possibility.”
Rem blurted out with urgency.
“Brother, you’re awake. Here, have some of this.”
Audin, sitting beside him, handed him a piece of bread.
Where had he gotten it? It was white and looked soft and moist.
Benzense had heard a good bakery had recently opened in the city—maybe it was from there.
Wait, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.
Ragna continued to sleep.
Jaxson neatly packed his carefully rolled tobacco into a leather pouch.
“Mm, yeah.”
Encrid was calm.
He responded indifferently, biting into the bread as he stood up and walked outside.
Frok, who had been silently watching, finally spoke.
“They said you can’t be a knight. Are you really fine with that?”
Encrid turned his head slightly, gave a small nod, and then straightened up.
“Yeah, well.”
He wasn’t sure about Frok’s status, but if he had come with a junior knight, he was likely at least a knight’s apprentice.
And if Frok had been the one assessing talent, he probably held a noble-equivalent rank.
Encrid thought for a moment before speaking.
His expression showed not a hint of shock.
By coincidence, Benzense had been blocking the barracks’ entrance. He blinked as he looked at Encrid.
“Are you thinking about settling the score from last night’s spar?”
Encrid asked.
“No, that’s not it…”
Benzense couldn’t bring himself to say he was worried.
“What, ugly squad leader, are you here to exact revenge? Go on, give it a shot.”
Rem taunted, but Benzense didn’t take the bait.
They had already fought before.
His thigh was still bruised from it.
Encrid stepped outside.
Benzense watched his back in a daze before finally turning around.
“Uh… shouldn’t someone comfort him?”
Benzense asked while staring at Encrid’s retreating figure.
If not comfort, shouldn’t they at least show some concern?
What if he suddenly gave up on the sword?
What if he decided to quit?
What if he just… stopped?
Had the knights poking at his lack of talent crushed his spirit?
Benzense knew this was ridiculous.
Why was he even getting involved?
What did it matter to him if Encrid quit or not?
He just couldn’t shake off the way things had unfolded.
No one had asked him to care. He wasn’t doing it out of some logical reason.
It just didn’t sit right with him. (T/N: I just love the character development of Benzense. Good job Author-nim)
He couldn’t bring himself to ignore it.
Hearing him, Rem let out a chuckle.
That laugh—it was the same as always. Not forced, not an act.
“Who exactly are we supposed to comfort? The squad leader?”
Rem and—
“Haha, brother, you don’t know our squad leader very well.”
Audin chuckled.
“The squad leader is the squad leader.”
Even Jaxson added his thoughts.
“Hmm, the squad leader?”
Ragna, having just woken up, asked casually. Benzense instinctively pointed outside.
“Gone. Training?”
How should he know?
Ragna didn’t even wait for an answer. He cracked his neck from side to side, picked up his sword, and left.
Benzense stepped aside again. Ragna walked past without even a greeting.
What was this?
He couldn’t help but feel a little ignored.
“The squad leader will be fine.”
Rem concluded.
Hearing that, Frok finally reacted.
“And how can you be so sure?”
“Experience.”
A short exchange, then Frok dusted himself off and stood.
Experience—meaning one only understands after going through it themselves.
So he would just have to go see for himself.
See how that guy Encrid actually handled things.
Ragna had already gone, and now Frok followed him outside.
Benzense’s head was a mess.
Was it really okay to leave things like this?
“Our squad leader’s skills… were they always like this? Does his current level even make sense? What do you think, ugly squad leader?”
Rem kept talking, rolling around on his bed. Then he reached out, trying to poke Esther.
Esther bared her nails and swiped at him.
Rem swiftly pulled back his finger, dodging the scratch.
Her blue eyes locked onto him.
Rem grinned and raised his palm.
It seemed to mean, Okay, I’ll stop messing around.
Benzense stared at them blankly before muttering a response and turning away.
“Must be nice being handsome, bastard.”
Or something like that.
Why did they keep calling him ugly anyway?
Just looking at Rem made his temper flare.
How could someone be so skilled and also have a face like that?
Well, at least there was one relief—
That guy had a downright crazy personality. It wasn’t for nothing their squad was called the Mad Squad.
At least when it came to temperament, Benzense had the upper hand.
Not that the world seemed to recognize it.
Benzense walked back to his quarters, deep in thought.
Especially about Rem’s last words.
“Our squad leader’s skills… were they always like this? Does his current level even make sense? What do you think, ugly squad leader?”
Step, step.
It didn’t make sense.
No matter how he thought about it, it just didn’t.
Especially his rate of growth.
The Encrid he once knew—no matter how much he swung his sword, he had been a hopeless fool, desperately struggling in place.
“If it were me, I would’ve quit a long time ago.”
Some soldiers used to say that while watching.
Benzense remembered hearing those words himself.
Back then, plenty of people had no hesitation in criticizing Encrid.
“There’s no way that idiot became a squad leader through skill. Guess the system’s got holes, huh?”
Some even spewed out that kind of disgust.
Benzense hadn’t liked Encrid back then either.
“But you don’t even have the guts to swing a sword every day, and yet you’re mocking someone who does? You crazy bastard.”
And what had he done to that guy?
Right—he had completely beaten him down.
Simply because he hadn’t liked him.
That guy, his words, and Encrid himself—the way he stubbornly swung his sword every day.
Back then, many had insulted Encrid.
And now, one of them was right in front of him.
“You there.”
Benzense called out.
“Yes, squad leader?”
A soldier approached.
“Do you think Squad Leader Encrid’s skills make sense now?”
“…What?”
“I asked about his skills.”
“Uh, well… he’s improved.”
The soldier, who once mocked Encrid, now had different emotions in his eyes.
Admiration. And resolve.
“And why do you think he improved?”
“Huh?”
‘What’s with this guy?’
Benzense could read those thoughts on the soldier’s face. He shook his head.
“Never mind.”
He let the soldier go and reflected.
There was only one reason.
That unwavering determination.
What allowed him to persist in it?
He doesn’t know how to quit.
He didn’t understand despair or giving up.
Perhaps that was why, even while disliking Encrid, Benzense could never truly hate him.
The reason he irritated him was the same reason he fascinated him.
Encrid didn’t turn back. He didn’t retreat. He pressed forward, envisioning a future.
He dreamed.
A man who moved forward for the sake of his own life.
And so, he shone.
And because he shone, he drew others toward him.
“Damn it.”
Benzense suddenly wanted to swing his sword.
Next time they sparred, he wanted to hold out a little longer.
He decided to make that his goal.
Pushing aside all concerns, Benzense picked up his sword.
It was time to train.
Within the unit, the fever of training had spread, and he, too, would add to it.
—
The first thought Encrid had when he woke up was this:
Training.
He had missed his morning training.
And today, of all days, he had a lot to do.
Starting with Isolation Technique, Perception of Evasion, Heart of the Beast, Single Point Focus, Heart of Monstrous Strength, Perception of the Blade, Valaf Style Combat, and fundamental sword drills.
Since I missed the morning session, I’ll have to push everything to the afternoon.
He would cut down on his break time.
He knew how important rest was, but—
This was a special situation.
He had lost time after passing out in the morning.
Whatever Aisia, that junior knight, had done—he would push those thoughts aside for now.
He had things to do first.
The daily repetition.
The training that must never be neglected.
Then, just as he was about to get up, he heard something strange.
They were saying something about him not being able to become a knight.
Why had Benzense come?
Encrid simply chewed on the bread Audin handed him, then headed to the training ground and began his drills.
Hoo.
Sweat quickly drenched him. His undergarments soaked through in no time.
Surprisingly, despite having fainted earlier, his head wasn’t heavy, and nothing hurt.
At that moment, he had felt like he was about to die.
Even as he focused on training, his thoughts continued.
Handling two swords had accustomed him to multitasking.
What was that, anyway?
He now knew how to generate momentum.
Once, he had paralyzed a cat just by glaring at it.
But making someone see an illusion they shouldn’t have been able to perceive?
That was impossible.
And yet, he had seen one himself.
Blades—an overwhelming storm of blades.
A storm so fierce he couldn’t take a single step forward.
A storm of blades that made it clear—if he didn’t retreat, he would die.
It was both an urging and a command.
As if Aisia’s blade itself had spoken those words.
Had his opponent even drawn their sword back then?
Probably not.
Hoo.
Exhaling deeply, he steadied his breathing.
Then, once again—training, training, and more training.
By the time he finished making up for his missed morning drills—
“You were told you can’t become a knight. Are you really not shaken?”
It was Frok. He approached with long strides and asked directly.
“Shaken?”
Shaken? What did he mean?
With that exact thought, Encrid asked back.
“This guy, seriously.”
Frok scratched his nose with a thick finger.
“You’re an interesting one.”
And with that remark—
Ragna approached from behind.
“What did you see?”
Encrid turned his gaze toward Ragna.
Ragna walked up, raising his sword, holding it vertically to partially cover his face.
The blade split his reflection, showing only half of his face.
It wasn’t quite evening yet. The sunlight cast a tranquil glow over the surroundings, the day slowly fading into dusk.
Standing amidst the dimming light was Ragna.
Encrid halted his swinging sword and focused on him.
Then Ragna spoke again.
“What makes a knight different?”
His words did not sound like a question.
Encrid listened attentively.
Whether Frok was listening or not, it didn’t matter.
What had the knight shown him?
What Ragna spoke of—it was something he had wanted to understand as well.
He had intended to ask after finishing training.
But since Ragna had brought it up first—
It was time to listen.
