Chapter 160

“That. About a dozen more times.”

Rem spoke indifferently.

At those words, Encrid stared at him in silence.

“If you keep doing that, your hand will touch the wall, and you’ll climb over it.”

He was still sulking about something.

Encrid picked up on it but was too busy reflecting on what had just happened.

A single exchange of blows.

There was so much to gain from it. He knew it instinctively.

“You worked hard.”

Encrid spoke and turned away. He wanted to review and analyze it. That one spar, that brief clash—what was contained within it?

“Brother, you took a hit, didn’t you?”

Behind him, Audin teased Rem.

“How about we have lunch with the Lord today, you crazy brute?”

Rem and Audin bickered.

Encrid ignored them. Lately, even when they fought, they stopped at the right time. Their relationship hadn’t improved, but they had found a strange balance.

‘How did I cut him?’

He had grazed Rem’s cheek.

The fact itself was surprising, but he was more drawn to analyzing the process.

It wasn’t his first time experiencing something like this, and he knew how to reflect and dissect his thoughts.

So—

It was like a frog trapped in a well, jumping high enough to glimpse the world outside.

What could he gain from this?

A frog that leaps high once can leap again.

Beyond the well, Encrid wanted to see a new world.

Even though his mission departure was two days away, his training remained unchanged.

Aside from his basic drills, he spent all his time in contemplation.

The saying “you see as much as you know” proved true. The more he followed it, the more he felt his own shortcomings.

‘A precise strike leads to a swift recovery.’

Among the five swords, the core technique was the Medium Sword Style.

Was this enough?

Whenever he used dual-sword techniques in the past, the same thought always crept in.

He wanted to try wielding other weapons.

Knights were said to master ten different weapons.

But that was beyond him.

To wield something skillfully meant mastering one to understand ten.

That required talent.

For him, it was impossibly difficult.

Then, what was the solution?

‘If I can’t learn one to understand ten—’

Why not learn them all, one by one?

Repeating the same daily training was necessary, but if there was a way to walk forward instead of crawling—

“I have to do it.”

The resolve escaped his lips.

It was an obvious truth.

He was so immersed that he lost track of time. Even during meals, his mind replayed and analyzed everything.

From the moment he grazed Rem’s cheek—

Rather than satisfaction, he felt hunger.

He searched for the path forward.

And that was his answer.

Muttering to himself, Encrid rose from his bed.

The lodging wasn’t large.

Everyone turned to look at him.

Encrid stopped in front of Frok and Ruagarne’s bunks.

Frok, who had been preparing for sleep, lifted his gaze. Still lying down, he looked at Encrid.

“Do you know Proper Sword Style?”

Tomorrow was the day of departure.

The lantern cast long shadows behind him.

Everyone had returned from washing up.

Finn was the last to bathe, her wet hair dripping.

Esther, who had been grooming her claws in Encrid’s seat, paused and lifted her head.

Her deep blue panther eyes locked onto Encrid’s back.

“It’s my specialty.”

Still lying down, Ruagarne answered.

“Teach me.”

Encrid hungered for knowledge. He never waited for others to offer it.

In his eyes, Frok was an excellent instructor.

Beyond her skill with the whip, she handled other weapons proficiently.

Her specialty—Proper Sword Style.

From the occasional lessons and spars, Encrid already knew his worth.

Learning by watching, mimicking from the sidelines—those were not enough anymore.

Ragna’s Northern Medium Sword Style was remarkable. The other sword techniques he had taught weren’t bad either.

But Ragna had learned by observation, too.

“I’m just mimicking what I’ve seen.”

He often said things like that.

Genius-level learning wasn’t sufficient.

What he felt was thirst.

Something the other squad members couldn’t teach him—Frok had it.

Rem? His combat style wasn’t structured. It was pure instinct, an axe swing guided by raw intuition.

In their spar, Encrid had grazed Rem’s cheek.

A thrilling sensation surged through him.

He had seen something.

That ghostly figure in the moment of battle.

Was that Rem’s true nature? Or was it a trick of his own mind and eyes?

He didn’t know.

But if he could wish for something—

‘To see it again.’

He wanted to drive Rem into that situation once more.

He longed for it.

He didn’t aim to shatter his limits or awaken Will just yet.

That wasn’t his goal.

A life built on collecting fragments of dreams.

If he had learned anything, it was this—

Take one step at a time. Even if crawling, move forward.

Even if the progress was slow, each step revealed new things, brought new sensations, and led to new discoveries.

One step forward, and he set a small goal.

To see the ‘truth’ in Rem’s face—whether it was a ghost or something else.

And if possible, to see it in Audin, Ragna, and Jaxson as well.

“Alright.”

Ruagarne nodded without hesitation.

Encrid bowed his head in gratitude and went to bed.

Tomorrow, as promised, they would head to the pioneer village to fulfill their mission.

They had to set out on a journey.

Leaving behind fatigue wouldn’t do any good, so he needed to sleep early.

“…You know, it’s eerie how someone can be so blunt that they end up looking insane.”

From his bed, Rem muttered. Encrid didn’t reply. If he responded, it would just drag out the conversation.

Fortunately, Rem shut his mouth. It was just an idle remark.

“Haha, brother, may the Lord’s grace be upon you. Please, keep that mind of yours intact.”

It sounded like he was calling him a lunatic, but a prayer was a prayer, and a blessing was a blessing.

The others remained silent.

The night passed.

Morning came.

Encrid set out with the same composed demeanor.

As he stepped beyond the city, Ruagarne and Krys trailed behind him.

Finn walked ahead.

In his arms, he carried Esther.

Even when he tried to shake her off, she dug her claws into his chest as if declaring she would never let go.

What choice did he have? He had to take her along.

“We’re going.”

Following Finn’s lead, the group set off.

* * *

As they traveled along the road, they encountered ghouls.

“Already?”

It was an early encounter. Given the known monster territories, they were surprisingly close to the city.

Of course, that wasn’t the real problem.

Two ghouls. Gray-skinned monsters.

Creatures that craved human flesh and blood.

Encrid drew his sword.

His strikes were as composed as they had been when they first set out in the morning.

Thud. Squelch.

Medium Sword Style relied on raw strength.

With a single strike, he severed a head. Another swing split open a skull.

Black blood and gray brain matter splattered across the ground.

A few droplets of ghoul blood landed on Encrid.

“The foundation of Proper Sword Style is patience.”

Ruagarne spoke from behind.

A journey was also a path of training, a constant cycle of discipline.

And so, the lesson began.

—

A scab had formed on his cheek.

As Rem absentmindedly touched it, he recalled the first day he had met Encrid.

Or rather, the first day he had mocked him.

“You want to spar? With me?”

Who did this guy think he was?

The new squad leader swung his sword like a madman every day, and now he wanted to fight.

At first glance, he was third-rate. Or, if he was being generous, maybe second-rate?

By military ranking standards, somewhere between lower and mid-tier.

A man utterly lacking in talent.

“I feel like I can learn something.”

Back then, what weapon had Encrid used?

He usually grabbed whatever was available, but that day, he had wielded swords.

Dual swords, swinging them with the same habits he had with his axe.

An easy fight.

Thud.

Encrid tripped over Rem’s foot and tumbled across the ground.

He fell poorly and ended up with a cut on his face.

Part of it was intentional.

‘And this is our new squad leader? Some pretty-faced noble?’

If his face got messed up, maybe he’d show some kind of reaction.

Rem was curious.

A noble? Some general’s bastard? A military connection?

No, there was nothing like that.

Encrid, with a scratched-up face, didn’t even tend to his wound. He simply got up and asked—

“Can we go again?”

“You want to fight again?”

A nod.

Was this guy half-insane?

To be honest, Rem had never met anyone more reckless than himself.

He beat him down. Cut him. Left marks on his neck, wounds that would instill fear. Even sliced his forehead so blood would flow.

Anyone who hadn’t experienced it wouldn’t understand—blood streaming down, turning your vision red. A special kind of fear.

But the new squad leader never backed down.

Even as his face was covered in blood, making him look like a damn blood ghoul.

“I have a question. What if you die doing this?”

They were mid-spar. Rem had leeway; Encrid did not.

For an entire season, this lunatic had kept charging at him.

Encrid, catching his breath, answered.

“Then that would be the end.”

Was this guy completely insane?

That would be the end?

It wasn’t supposed to end like that.

“You’re in bad shape.”

And so, that day, Rem taught him Heart of the Beast.

If he was willing to risk his life—well, maybe he could gain something.

It was a mistake.

He didn’t have the temperament for Heart of the Beast. He flinched at the crucial moment, hesitated when things got rough.

Even when his eyes were open, he didn’t see clearly. His body froze in dangerous moments.

“Seriously, no talent.”

The words came out naturally.

And yet, the squad leader position, which had always been replaced, never changed hands.

He survived. Stubbornly.

Was sparring with him enjoyable?

Not really. It was just something to do.

It wasn’t like Encrid was some profound figure in his life.

And it wasn’t as if Rem had any odd feelings toward him—he liked women.

But watching him felt… strangely satisfying.

Like gazing at the bright sun, or a beast running across dry plains. Just a sight that was pleasant in itself.

‘He’s going to die like that.’

Watching him struggle on the battlefield, Rem found himself stepping in.

At the very least, he didn’t want to see him die right in front of him.

Sparring continued.

Time passed.

“How did you do that?”

Encrid had latched onto Heart of the Beast.

That day, he began to change.

His skills improved.

Sometimes noticeably.

Sometimes so gradually it was frustrating.

Had Encrid changed through it all?

No.

He remained the same.

“Sparring?”

His words had grown shorter since their first meeting.

By now, Rem fully understood how exasperatingly irritating he could be.

Yet, they kept sparring.

A wound on his cheek. A dried scab.

Hah.

From Encrid? From that squad leader?

Rem almost revealed his true skill. Almost pulled out a technique he had buried away.

No. Not yet.

It was a personal preference.

For now, he had to keep playing above Encrid.

He wanted to have a bit more fun.

At this rate, it wouldn’t be enough.

If he let himself be caught up to, if they fought as equals, it wouldn’t be fun anymore.

To keep toying with him, he couldn’t afford to fall behind.

Not even for a moment.

The strike that left a cut on his cheek—

That instant, even if only for a fraction—

He had been caught.

And he didn’t like it.

It even made him feel uneasy.

Especially after Krys had asked him that question on the battlefield.

“Can you handle a junior knight?”

“If they come at me, I can kill them.”

It was a serious question. He had given a serious answer.

And that wide-eyed bastard—there was a strange intensity in him, too.

A curious one.

That freakishly smart bastard nodded.

He had understood the meaning.

Yes, he could kill them. But if he had to consider the aftermath? If he had to think ahead? Maybe a fifty-fifty chance.

Honestly, the odds were probably around thirty to forty percent.

After that question, Krys seemed to have decided to avoid fighting the enemy head-on.

The battlefield had flowed that way, so it was the right call. Probably.

Still, it pricked at his pride.

“You lazy glutton.”

That’s why. He hadn’t followed them.

He had something left to do.

That idiot probably felt the same way.

At Rem’s remark, Ragna raised his head slightly.

He was leaning halfway against the dormitory wall.

“How about we fight with half a life on the line?”

Though spoken in his usual playful tone, there was a hint of seriousness in his voice.

“…Let’s do it.”

Ragna stood up. Even the lazy one had changed. Even without Encrid present, something like fire had begun to flicker in his eyes.

Rem stepped onto the training grounds, his expression devoid of amusement.

“Big guy, you can come too.”

On the way, he called out to Audin.

“Haha, the Lord calls upon me.”

Audin stood up with a grin.

The sly alley cat was left alone.

That bastard wasn’t suited for direct combat to begin with.

‘He’ll come if he feels like it.’

He wasn’t the type to show up just because someone called for him.

More than anything, he was truly a cunning one.

Rem—he was a hunter by nature.

And that guy? He was a relentless predator of the night, a hunter of men.

On one side of the training grounds, Rem gripped his axes.

Ping. He clashed the twin blades together, adjusting his stance.

“Don’t hold a grudge if you die.”

Facing him, Ragna spoke.

“Look who’s talking.”

Soon, both of them moved their feet.

The soldiers training nearby all halted, forming a crowd of spectators.

Clang! Thud! Crack!

The weight of each clash sent deep echoes through the air.

It was a three-way duel, with each fighter taking turns in the exchange.

The sheer brutality of it left the onlookers speechless.

“I want in.”

The Elf Commander stepped in.

“We’re putting half a life on the line here.”

Rem raised an eyebrow.

Smiling, the commander unsheathed her sword.

The blades, shaped like leaves, gleamed under the light.

A declaration of intent.

Soon after, she proved her skill was on par with theirs.

Without needing to say a word, they all understood—they shared the same purpose.

By crossing swords and exchanging blows, they could see it.

‘Not yet.’

Not truly yet.

Even if it was just the childish stubbornness of an eight-year-old who refused to be overtaken by Encrid, he wanted to keep his position above him for now.

He would stay focused on the present.

Fighting with half a life at stake—that was both the beginning of change and the acceleration of it.

All four of them were called geniuses.

Each of them was sharpening their skills.

But this wasn’t just training.

Rem pushed Ragna, Ragna pushed Rem, Audin joined in between, and sometimes even Jaxson jumped in.

The Elf Commander rotated through, matching their pace.

Whenever the battle became too serious, the others would charge in, maintaining balance and breaking the tension—over and over again.

Talent had begun to ignite.

By the time Encrid returned, there would be far more to show him.

—

Meanwhile, Encrid found himself on a far rougher journey than expected.

“Kraaah!”

Beasts kept leaping out at them in waves.

Well, it was fun in its own way.

For Encrid, it was both an opportunity to train and a trial to overcome.