Chapter 155
Frok, Ruagarne silently observed the man swinging his sword.
The blade came down in a clean arc.
From above to below.
Whoosh.
The air split with a sharp sound, and the scent of metal tickled Frok’s nose.
With the Eye of Talent Perception, Ruagarne scrutinized the man’s swordsmanship.
Utterly focused.
Utterly meticulous.
How could someone put forth their best effort every single day, every single hour, every single moment despite swinging that sword endlessly?
The man would eat breakfast, then train. When he put his sword down, he would push his body to its limits—lifting heavy stones, squatting, standing, repeating.
After eating lunch, he would train again. Even when heading out to take care of business, he carried his sword.
Sometimes, he incorporated dodging drills, evading thrown stones. Sparring was frequent, his opponents always his fellow squad members—
And every single one of them was far superior to him.
‘Have they already surpassed their limits?’
How did the Eye of Talent Perception work?
Observation and insight. Posture and attitude. The rate of improvement.
It all came down to instinct.
Sixth sense, intuition—an ability honed through experience.
Ruagarne was particularly gifted among Frok when it came to this perception.
In other words, she had seen a lot.
She had witnessed countless warriors swing their swords and break past their limits.
After seeing it happen enough times, she could simply tell at a glance.
And her instincts, sharpened through years of experience, repeated one undeniable truth—
‘That man can never become a knight.’
To define the qualifications for knighthood—first, one had to reach the limits of human capability.
Even that required rare talent, the kind found in perhaps one in a hundred.
Next, one had to break past those limits.
A feat achieved by maybe one in thousands.
Once one encountered and surpassed their limits—
‘They must awaken to Will.’
Most failed at this stage. Talent alone was not enough to cross that threshold.
The irony was that those with exceptional talent often underestimated their own limits.
Did they ever truly push themselves to their absolute best?
In short—
‘Few are truly diligent.’
That was why Ruagarne judged talent through two criteria.
First—did they have the physical aptitude, whether it be for swordplay or unarmed combat?
Second—did they have the will to keep going?
And what was will?
It was the strength to persevere through grueling, tedious hardship without arrogance, even if one had talent.
The second criterion could not be judged through intuition alone. It required time and observation.
However, if the first was lacking, there was no need to check the second.
‘Yet…’
Ruagarne found herself continuously drawn to this man who swung his sword morning and night, endured beatings in sparring matches, and relentlessly honed his body.
Of course, his appearance played a part as well.
Frok had a unique sense of aesthetics. Human standards of beauty and ugliness meant little to her.
By those standards, Encrid and his squad were all passable.
‘Of course.’
It made sense.
Encrid, with his black hair, blue eyes, and upright demeanor—his broad back was particularly impressive.
And Rem?
If judged purely by talent, he and the others all met the qualifications—except for Will.
Will was subject to fate.
That was beyond her control. The Eye of Talent Perception could see potential, but it was not the vision of a prophet.
Still, putting aside talent, there was something worth watching.
Rem’s gray hair and unpredictable nature were like a blade without a handle.
If she had to introduce him to another Frok, she would describe him as—
A man with dangerous allure.
Jaxson was similar, yet different.
His dull red hair and dreary eyes—
‘Like a venomous flower best left untouched.’
Beautiful to behold, yet deadly upon contact.
A Poison Flower, as they were called.
And Audin?
Regardless of his skill—
“I should call him sister”, Audin says.
Despite his size and build, his senses were surprisingly delicate.
A gentle bear—that was how she saw him.
The entire squad seemed to have already picked up on the fact that Ruagarne was a female Frok.
But this big warrior had figured it out at a glance.
Their perceptions were sharp.
‘Golden hair and red eyes are nice, too.’
Ragna—a northerner, like a lazy afternoon sun.
Sometimes, he flared up, but mostly, he remained steady.
Among them, Ruagarne judged him the most naturally gifted.
Yet talent did not always equate to skill.
She knew this from experience.
How had these people all gathered in one place?
‘A few have even brushed against the edges of Will.’
But brushing against it was not the same as attaining it.
The path of a knight was steep and treacherous.
Many warriors plateaued and stagnated at this very point.
Even so, Ruagarne’s gaze remained fixed on Encrid.
Her eyes traced his every movement.
As she reflected on all this, her thoughts circled back to the same question—
How could this man be so consistent?
“Hup.”
Encrid exhaled sharply and moved. His sweat scattered through the air.
A Midstance Horizontal Cut, sometimes called a Spinning Slash.
Pivoting on his left foot, he struck with full force while maintaining his centerline.
‘Where did he learn this?’
He had been taught properly. His fundamentals were solid.
And—
‘He doesn’t know how to quit.’
It had only been a few days, yet he hadn’t wavered. He remained the same.
Geniuses often showed absurd growth within days.
From that perspective, how had Encrid managed to reach this level?
It was difficult to keep pushing oneself when progress wasn’t visible.
That alone was admirable.
For Frok, indulging in one’s desires was life itself.
And Ruagarne was nothing if not true to her desires.
Every Frok had their own unique craving.
Some Frok dedicated their entire existence to spiritual love.
Others staked their hearts on achieving perfection through relentless training.
As for Ruagarne—she was weak to the unknown.
Despite living for a long time, she had now encountered something unfamiliar for the first time.
“Aren’t you bored just watching?”
The unknown asked.
Ruagarne let out a low chuckle.
Her cheeks puffed slightly.
“Are you saying you want to see my weapon?”
“More like I want to face it.”
A man who didn’t know how to give up, constantly challenging his limits.
Such people weren’t rare.
Ruagarne had seen plenty of them.
But—
‘This one is truly fascinating.’
She had never seen someone crawl forward without even the slightest hesitation. No faltering, no despair—he completely erased those concepts from his mind. He simply accepted what he had, acknowledged it, and focused on what he could do.
People talked about this kind of mindset, but how many actually lived by it?
‘Probably just him.’
Regardless of his raw talent, his sheer willpower shone brilliantly.
So brightly that it was almost blinding.
‘If the coin tossed by the goddess of fortune didn’t land on heads or tails—but somehow stood upright on its edge…’
The goddess of fortune always flipped a coin, its fate predetermined to land on either side.
But what if, by some absurd miracle, it stood on its edge instead?
Luck was, as always, unpredictable.
‘If—if such a thing were to happen.’
If the man before her truly awakened to Will—
The thought sent a thrill down her spine. The fulfillment of encountering the unknown set Ruagarne’s heart ablaze.
She stood up.
“Shall we play?”
Her interest was inevitable.
Most assumed she had stayed because of Ragna.
‘But I’ve seen plenty like him before.’
Ragna was not an unknown to her.
Only the man before her was.
Only Encrid was a mystery—his name now etched into her mind.
‘It’s been a while.’
For the first time in a long time, Ruagarne found herself wanting something akin to spiritual love.
—
Becoming a knight.
The path was now clearer in his mind. A milestone had been set.
Facing his limits.
He had done it countless times before.
“What do people do when they don’t know their own limits?”
Ragna had once posed that question.
The answer was in the question itself.
“You keep walking.”
Even if you had to crawl, you kept moving forward.
Which meant—he only had to do what he had always done.
Face his limits. Break through them. Move forward.
And once past those limits, he would need to awaken the unknown power called Will.
It was that simple.
Encrid knew his own talent well.
He always accepted, acknowledged, and embraced reality.
He simply never let himself despair afterward.
“A whip, huh.”
Lying on his back, staring at the sky, Encrid muttered.
There was a common assumption that Frok only used bladed weapons. A stereotype, really.
But the Frok before him wielded a whip.
The handle formed a loop, the weapon coiling into a circular shape.
It was about one and a half times the length of a spear.
It slithered like a snake, wrapped around his ankle, and yanked.
Strike, parry, dodge—
After ten exchanges, he failed to read her intentions and was sent tumbling backward.
‘Why didn’t it work?’
A question worth pondering.
If he could figure it out, it would fuel his next step forward.
“You’re an interesting human.”
The Frok spoke.
“What’s your name?”
Only then did Encrid ask for hers.
“Ruagarne. You can call me Rua.”
“You can call me Enki.”
It wasn’t a formal introduction—just an acknowledgment of names, a small step toward easing the time they would spend together, however long that might be.
Encrid got up.
Lying down to rest would have been a waste.
He had started training at dawn, and now that noon had passed, there was still plenty of time left to move.
“One more round?”
As he stood, he asked, and Ruagarne chuckled.
“Of course.”
Once more, he gripped his sword. Once more, they clashed. Once more, he searched for a new path.
He pondered the nature of Will, sought the method to surpass his limits.
That was his task.
Encrid continued to swing his sword.
He took breaks only to watch Finn and Audin spar.
A duel between Aile Carraz and Valaf martial arts.
Less intense than he had expected, but still worth observing.
Jaxson remained absent more often than not.
Krys had found a map from somewhere and was poring over it in frustration.
A month passed after the battle ended, and the weather grew steadily warmer.
Sweat trickled down even when standing still.
“This recent victory has expanded the kingdom’s territory. And to celebrate this triumph—!”
A grand festival was held—not a mere gathering like before, but a true citywide feast, with food and drink freely distributed.
Even then, Encrid kept swinging his sword.
“You really are a dull human.”
Frok loved festivals.
To them, revelry and pleasure were life itself.
Yet Ruagarne still found herself watching Encrid train.
There was no way that watching someone swing a sword every day could be more entertaining than a festival—
And yet.
‘Why is this so fascinating to watch?’
She didn’t know.
It was an unknown.
And that made it exhilarating.
Time passed.
Azpen surrendered.
Three months passed.
—
Now, even standing still made sweat pour down in streams.
“This summer feels longer than usual.”
Rem muttered.
Encrid ignored him and kept swinging his sword.
Three months had passed, yet Frok, Ruagarne was still here.
Finn hadn’t left, either.
She had been a scout.
By now, she should have been reassigned to a new squad.
“Nobody’s said anything yet.”
Had the battalion commander forgotten about her?
Or had they decided she fit in here?
Not his concern.
He kept swinging. Again and again.
That was how the past three months had gone.
“Hey, Rem, Rem.”
Over the past three months, Frok had finally grown accustomed to conversing with the squad.
“What?”
“How the hell did you teach him that?”
Frok flicked out her long tongue in amazement.
“Heh, if you saw what he was like before, you’d be even more shocked.”
Rem grinned as he answered.
Indeed—
Even Frok was impressed.
Despite all his training, Encrid wasn’t improving.
He swung his sword every day, trained tirelessly—yet he remained stagnant.
At least, that’s how Frok saw it.
Which only made her admiration grow.
Effort itself was a talent.
One could only keep training and pushing forward if they could see their own growth.
‘What the hell is going through his head?’
That was all Frok wanted to know.
For three whole months, Encrid had been stuck in a plateau.
At least, from her perspective.
Encrid thought differently.
