Chapter 153
“What do you think, brother?”
After Ragna, Frok, and Benzense left, Audin spoke toward the empty air. Though it was a question, his tone and posture made it feel more like a prayer.
Rem picked his nose and answered,
“Who cares, he’ll handle it.”
Even as he said it, Rem thought about it. Their squad leader, who had always spoken of becoming a knight, had just been told that such a thing was impossible.
Benzense had insisted that there was no need to worry and that he truly believed it—but even so, some uncertainty remained.
What if it had been him who received such words?
‘I have no idea.’
It had never happened to him.
Back when he was in the western region, there were few who could even compare to his talent.
And among them, he was always the best.
So it was a meaningless hypothetical.
‘He’ll be fine.’
What good was worrying?
What good was feeling anxious?
Instead of uncertainty, Rem decided to think about ways to train Heart of Monstrous Strength more effectively.
‘I’ll push him harder when he gets back.’
With that renewed resolve, he let go of his worries. That was more comfortable.
* * *
Scrape, scrape.
Jaxson idly ran his dagger along the grain of a piece of wood. He was carving something, slowly shaping it into a sharp, protruding form.
As he worked, he repeated Audin’s question in his mind.
“You will never become a knight.”
Depending on who said it, those words carried different weight.
And if the one speaking was Frok, the talent appraiser?
‘Would it be a shock?’
By normal standards, it would be. A single phrase capable of reshaping a person’s life.
What if someone told him that the thing he had worked toward with all his might, the thing he had spent his life chasing, was forever beyond his reach?
“I’d probably cut their throat.”
Then what about Encrid? Their squad leader?
“Would he waver?”
Scrape.
Jaxson continued carving as his thoughts unfolded.
What if Encrid came back and said he was leaving?
“That might be a relief.”
If that happened, he could just follow his own path.
Scrape. He focused on his carving, steadying his mind. It would be a relief, but… there would be some regret.
Could Encrid really become a knight?
He was curious to see the answer. To witness the result of all that effort.
* * *
Lick.
Esther licked her paw, grooming herself, as she imagined someone telling her she would never be able to cast spells again.
“I’d set that bastard’s mouth on fire.”
Her younger self would have done exactly that.
She had lived with people calling her a witch in hushed whispers.
Worry? Anxiety?
Instead of wasting time on those, she’d rather recite another spell.
It was a trivial concern.
If Encrid chose to leave everything behind, it wouldn’t matter much to her.
The only thing that interested her was the strange curse-breaking effect that happened when she was near him.
Not his sword. Not his strength.
His dream didn’t concern her.
But.
‘It would be a little disappointing.’
She had never met anyone who burned with such passion before. There was a trace of regret in that thought, though it wouldn’t change her actions.
She had no intention of appearing in his dreams to persuade him.
No plan to burn up her mana to intervene.
Still—
‘Maybe I’ll visit his dream tonight.’
Just once.
Maybe she would hum an old lullaby from her childhood.
A melody to bring peace to his heart.
* * *
The bear-like squadmate who had asked the question—
Audin was fairly certain something within their squad leader would change.
“Is this truly inevitable, Lord?”
Perhaps things would have been easier when Encrid was still swinging his sword mindlessly, knowing nothing.
Even those who aspired to become Holy Knights faced trials like this. Audin had seen it happen before.
It happened when they started to understand things.
When they could feel their own growth.
That was when the most terrifying trials began.
What did it feel like to be someone of ordinary talent watching others surpass them?
To be labeled a late-blooming genius, only to wake up and realize how far behind they still were?
He had seen people consumed by jealousy and bitterness, abandoning their faith.
“Lord, you said you grant trials to those who need them. Then this too must be a necessary trial, mustn’t it?”
It was a silent prayer.
A strange stillness filled the barracks.
No one showed any overt signs of unease.
Perhaps if someone like Benzense had been around, loudly ranting about nonsense, they could have at least dismissed it with “You don’t know our squad leader.”
Even Ragna must have followed Encrid out because he felt uneasy.
* * *
Through the square window, the warm spring sunlight streamed in.
Time passed. The light faded, and dust floated in the dim glow.
If Krys had been here, he would have grumbled about how they should clean the place up.
The dust, visible in the fading sunlight, slowly disappeared as evening approached.
And just as hunger started to set in, just as thoughts of dinner began to stir—
The squad members and Esther remained silent, each occupied with their own tasks.
Rem idly tossed and caught his axe.
Whoosh. Thud.
The sound filled the silence. The axe spun through the air before landing in his hand.
Audin remained kneeling, unmoving.
Jaxson continued his carving, the scraping sounds blending into the quiet.
Esther licked her paw.
Then—
Since training or not, eating was still important, and since it was about time for their squad leader to return—
Thunk. Creak.
The door opened.
All eyes turned toward it.
The sound of the spinning axe ceased.
The carving knife stopped.
A perfect silence settled over the room.
“…What the hell? Were you all waiting for me?”
Finn had half-stepped inside, looking puzzled.
The atmosphere was too strange.
As she stood there blankly—
“Quit blocking the way and move.”
A voice came from behind her—Encrid’s voice.
Finn stepped aside.
And naturally, all eyes turned toward Encrid.
* * *
Sword. Knight. Dream.
What he had seen and experienced with Aisia—
Once again, a fire of longing burned within Encrid’s eyes.
That same heat, that same determination—
Ragna could feel it just by looking at him.
It radiated from him, undeniable.
“As expected.”
If he were the kind of man who would waver and give up—
He would never have had the power to ignite his own resolve.
“A sword that radiates light and cuts down hundreds in a single strike—that is something not even a knight can do. But one who has received the will of a knight, or one who has attained a comparable enlightenment, can cut and pierce through hundreds in succession, no matter what weapon they wield.”
Ragna was surprised by the smoothness of his own words.
It made sense.
He had expected to say this one day.
He had prepared these words for a long time.
Once, he had told someone to wait, saying the time was not yet right.
It had been after witnessing a junior knight’s exploits on the battlefield.
Now, the time had come to fulfill those words.
To give some form of an answer to the one who had waited.
“How is that possible?”
Once upon a time, Ragna himself had that very question.
Of course, he had found the answer rather quickly.
There was no need for hesitation.
A set path existed—one simply had to walk it to reach the destination.
For him, it had been easy.
But for others, that same path required blood, sweat, and relentless struggle.
That difference—that burning desire born from disparity—
Ragna had always found it exhilarating.
“As they say, to become a knight, you must first filter out a thousand from ten thousand, then a hundred from those thousand, and finally, ten from those hundred. There are many who are skilled with the sword. Many who surpass their limits. But few who grasp Will.”
That was why only a few dozen knights existed within the order.
“Pfft. Doesn’t knowing that make it even more discouraging?”
Frok interjected from behind.
At some point, he had sat down on the ground, resting his arms on his knees, watching like an amused spectator.
Ragna ignored him.
Encrid ignored him.
Encrid was focused solely on Ragna’s words, listening intently and etching them into his mind.
At this moment, a new milestone was being carved into his path.
“Will is what allows a knight to display power beyond human limits. Simply put, Will is intent, and intent is Will. The first step to grasping Will is reaching the limit of human capability.”
Gather talent upon talent—
And among them, only a small fraction experience the sensation of surpassing their own limits.
Even fewer, from that select few, go on to comprehend Will.
For some, it was one in ten thousand.
For others, it was not even that.
Will—some called it sheer determination, others described it as an unknown force.
It was the power gained after transcending human limits.
In short, without Will, one could not become a knight.
That was the essence of Ragna’s words.
“And what happens when you reach that limit?”
Greed and ambition intertwined, compelling Encrid’s voice forward.
“That’s when it begins. And from there, awakening Will is…”
Ragna paused mid-sentence.
Was his explanation correct?
He wasn’t sure.
Should he say everything he knew?
Ragna considered his own knowledge to be limited.
Was this enough?
Doubt crept in, and his words faltered.
Surprisingly, it was Frok who filled in the gap.
“For some, it comes after swinging their sword ten thousand times alone. For others, after countless sessions of meditation. And for a rare few, Will simply awakens in the moment they receive it. So, how was it? Aisia’s pressure?”
Frok explained before asking.
Encrid turned his gaze toward him.
Straight at those bulging, frog-like eyes.
“I saw an illusion—blades raining down on me.”
How was he supposed to describe it?
It sounded ridiculous when put into words.
A storm of blades? A tidal wave of swords?
“You’ve got a good sense.”
Frok chuckled, his throat letting out a low gurgle.
“Regardless, my opinion remains the same. You won’t make it.”
Propping his chin on his palm, Frok spoke flatly.
A talent appraiser’s assessment—had Frok ever been wrong?
Yes.
Nothing in this world was absolute.
Frok, too, was not infallible.
Neither he nor the knights were perfect or omniscient.
But even so, some things were clear.
Potential—if someone had even the slightest glimpse of it, they had a chance.
And Encrid… showed none.
Not even a fraction.
The fact that he had reached his current skill level was already astonishing.
“He must have survived countless life-or-death situations.”
Frok’s instincts whispered.
Encrid’s skills were likely forged through sheer survival—he had probably faced death at least hundreds of times.
And yet—
The dark-haired, blue-eyed man before him, striking in his unique and handsome features, showed no sign of doubt.
How was that possible?
Gulp.
Frok’s cheeks puffed out for a moment before deflating.
This time, it was admiration.
His emotions always showed on his face.
Of course, to others, it was impossible to tell whether it was anger, joy, amazement, or sorrow.
Encrid recalled something from his past.
All the people who had told him no.
It had always been the same.
That the path he walked was wrong. That the world itself denied him.
Yes, it had always been this way.
So this time was no different.
“I see.”
A simple, indifferent response, spoken with polite respect.
And that was all.
Whatever Frok’s intentions were, Encrid would continue on his path.
That was his purpose.
That was the journey toward the dream he could not forget.
He was a wanderer, a traveler in search of his dream.
One who found signposts along the road and kept walking.
“Then, can I ask the next question?”
Encrid turned back to Ragna.
“How do you reach that limit?”
Ragna was once again struck by his unwavering nature.
He knew it, yet he was still impressed.
He admired it because he already understood.
“You refine all the skills you have. Only you can recognize your own limits. And once you reach the edge of human capability…”
Ragna’s words began to stumble.
As always.
Encrid nodded, cutting him off.
“Ah, I get it.”
Do as he had always done.
That was what he understood.
Ragna had dressed it up in fancy words, but in the end, it was just another way of saying: keep going.
Why make it sound so complicated?
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be collapsing to your knees, lamenting your lack of talent right about now?”
Frok asked, rolling his bulging eyes.
“And why’s that?”
“I don’t have time for that,” Encrid replied plainly, swinging his sword.
Reflecting on what he had, reviewing, and moving forward.
It was what he had always done.
And so, he did it as he always had.
“That guy is definitely insane.”
Frok’s cheeks puffed up even more. Gurgle! A louder sound escaped—it was the expression of intense curiosity this time.
Ragna simply watched Encrid.
Frok, on the other hand, kept his gaze fixed on the man who was the real reason he had stayed behind.
The dark-haired, blue-eyed man—his goal had never been Ragna.
From the very beginning, it had been Encrid.
This wasn’t an evaluation of talent.
It was a gut feeling, born purely from experience.
“Guys like that tend to make trouble.”
He would never become a knight.
Then, what would he become?
That was what piqued Frok’s curiosity.
“I’ll stick around a little longer.”
With that, Frok decided to stay.
Encrid swung his sword.
Again.
And again.
As always, repeating the motions.
Whether Frok was watching, whether Ragna was watching—none of it mattered.
He refined the fundamentals.
A new milestone had come into view.
His faded dream was beginning to take on color.
While everyone else worried about failure and despair—
Encrid alone saw hope.
They called it Will.
Some described it as sheer determination, others as something mystical.
All he had to do was master it.
Reach the limit. Surpass it.
Was that really such a big deal?
He had already done it, countless times.
That was all there was to it.
