Chapter 186

After Encrid left, Rem—or rather, everyone including Rem—had been unusually diligent for the first time in a while.

Instead of bothering passing soldiers, Rem spent more time swinging his axe alone.

He made something resembling an effort. He kept sweating.

Ragna was the same.

So was Audin.

Everyone except Jaxson behaved similarly. Jaxson spent more time outside the barracks, so he only occasionally joined in.

And so the sparring sessions, with half a life on the line, continued.

It was truly brutal.

“Goddamn.”

All the soldiers watching clicked their tongues.

The soldiers, having seen Rem, Ragna, Audin, and even the Elf Commander join the fight, felt crushed. Despair patted their shoulders.

Who among them could clench their teeth and swear to catch up with those monsters?

“Are they insane?”

Even Torres of the Border Guards scowled deeply.

“This isn’t just demoralizing.”

His complaint represented the sentiment of the entire barracks.

Could they truly believe that swinging their swords every day would make them like that?

Even the Elf Commander held her ground.

“You’ve got some skill.”

That’s what she said to Rem. But it was more than just some skill. Excluding [Will], she was at a level one could easily mistake for a Junior Knight.

And yet she was just a company commander?

There were some who served as mere platoon members despite having such skill. So being a company commander wasn’t so bad.

That chaos was the reason the battalion commander provided them with a separate training ground.

The Elf Commander had strongly recommended it.

“It seems the atmosphere in the barracks has taken a turn.”

And so, following that brief report, the training ground was established.

It made sense. The wave of training enthusiasm once sparked by Encrid had long since cooled.

It wouldn’t have been easy to deliberately recreate that fire, but a few intense sparring matches brought it back.

There really were monsters in the world.

Because of those monsters, depression rapidly spread throughout the barracks.

Someone who used to laze around on his bunk—he had definitely been like that.

That bastard Ragna was a genius among geniuses.

How could he swing his sword so sharply from such a broken stance?

Torres even tried mimicking the move in secret and fell flat.

That was literally a feat no one could copy just by watching.

And then there was that bastard Rem.

It wasn’t just his personality that was twisted—his axe work was too.

He alternated between both hands, slamming his axes down forcefully. Blocking even the first strike looked nearly impossible.

And what about the brute who blocked them all?

“Brother, may you ascend to heaven!”

He spoke gently, but always had death on his lips. And that wasn’t all.

He was formidable even bare-handed. He sometimes used a club, but generally fought unarmed.

Audin was a master of martial arts.

In past battles, he had snapped enemy soldiers’ necks like breaking corn stalks and cracked limbs like twigs.

“May the Lord receive you!”

He was terrifyingly skilled.

Then there was Jaxson, silently swinging his sword with crazed eyes.

Finally, the Elf Commander brought it all to a close.

The soldiers watching them felt their morale drain completely.

They hadn’t even trained properly before, yet their talent shone. So bright it could blind you.

And in the midst of that, Encrid returned.

Rem had sharpened his senses through those half-life-on-the-line sparring matches. For the next step, for a better tomorrow, he swung his axe again after a long time.

Even before those half-life spars, against someone like Junior Knight Aisia? He was confident he could win. No—kill.

Even if a Junior Knight used [Will], it was still a technique involving the body. At the very least, he wouldn’t go down easily.

Even if one of the rare, truly skilled Junior Knights showed up, he might not win easily—but he wouldn’t be killed in a single swing.

That Rem had honed his senses. He had put in something called effort to improve his skill.

Ragna was the same. The word ‘slacker’ no longer applied to him.

He gripped his sword morning and night, swinging and falling into thought. He wasn’t just asleep—he truly meditated.

And yet—

‘The rhythm’s not breaking?’

Rem was halfway serious. Going any further would mean someone had to die. If it was still a sparring match, this was where it had to end.

And yet—

‘Just a bit more.’

Encrid’s sword dropped straight from above. A slash aimed at the crown of his head. When Rem swung his axe to intercept, the blade bent downward.

This time it wasn’t like a snake—it was like a bird of prey. Like a hawk diving from the sky to strike its prey.

The sword’s swing accelerated, trying to escape Rem’s field of vision.

Barely managing to track its path, he defended again.

Clang!

‘Son of a bitch.’

Rem smiled unconsciously. When had he ever had a spar like this with his squad leader?

Before, sure, it was fun. But that was just the level of enjoying a dance.

Then what about now?

Thrill surged with exhilaration.

He wanted to feel it more.

‘Just a little more.’

At first, he had been gauging Encrid’s skill with casual swings, but the gap slowly closed.

What began as a warm-up with no life on the line, as per the standard Rem and Ragna had set, had evolved into a half-life-on-the-line match.

Slice.

A moment when Rem crossed his axes. He thought he had blocked perfectly, but a stab pierced a tiny opening and grazed his cheek.

A scratch. Just a scratch.

But he failed to block it. Rem’s lips twisted unnaturally. He was so ecstatic he could go mad.

The excitement overwhelmed his brain. He felt something new coursing through his body.

The [Heart of Monstrous Strength] activated on its own, heating up his entire body.

His heart pounded—at the same time, he swung his axe with fierce power.

Crossing from a half-life match into a full-life-or-death duel happened in an instant.

In that moment, Encrid’s eyes lost focus, and like a cut string, his sword fell to the ground with a thud.

Rem was stunned.

‘Son of a bitch!’

He had no time to retrieve his axe. As it stood, he was about to split open his squad leader’s skull and see his brains.

Between openings—it’s time to call it a split-second.

Clang!

A sword came in and blocked the trajectory of the axe.

Smack—two hands grabbed his bulky forearms.

Lastly, a thick hand caught his left wrist, which had reflexively begun to lash out.

In order: Ragna, Jaxson, Audin.

“Planning to kill him the moment you see him?”

“…Goddamn it, kill who? I was going to stop cleanly and stylishly with perfect timing. Why the hell are you interfering?”

Bluster. They all knew. And they understood. Ragna, Audin, and Jaxson had seen it too.

Their squad leader had changed.

He’d returned at a level completely beyond expectations.

Decisive strikes, tactical exchanges, and even physical coordination. His reaction speed and athleticism—how much had those changed?

Jaxson understood immediately what made it possible.

‘Perception of Evasion.’

It was deeply satisfying. Especially because Encrid had properly mastered it.

Jaxson nodded.

Ragna saw something else.

‘Refined swordsmanship.’

Call it technique, or swordsmanship—its caliber had changed. The way he swung, the structure of his thought—it hadn’t just changed.

‘He’s combined his strengths with his swordsmanship.’

He hadn’t just followed instructions blindly. He understood what he was learning and internalized it.

And in just two months?

Even if the Frok had given her all during their travels, could that really be enough?

Ragna knew better than anyone that their squad leader had changed—and would continue to.

What he needed was the talent to control his body. And now, those pieces were in place.

Ragna had a good eye.

But even so—

Of them all, only Audin fully understood the state of Encrid’s body.

‘It makes me smile, Brother Squad Leader.’

It was a body to be proud of. The level of training, the improved athletic performance.

What lay at the foundation of all this?

The technique of that feral cat brother—Perception of Evasion—that was the result. But what made it possible?

‘Isolation Technique.’

Among the clergy, those who focused on physical training were called monks. The Isolation Technique was a distilled version of their conditioning methods.

That was how Encrid’s body had been rebuilt.

‘And probably regeneration too.’

Drastic recovery ability was one reason to reconstruct a body.

It was a moment of quiet satisfaction again.

Finally, Rem was stunned. More than ever.

‘When did he get this far?’

He truly found himself thinking that.

The lunatic who once asked for a duel out of nowhere was now a lunatic with skill.

A fully evolved, certifiable madman.

He was nothing but impressed.

Did it matter how he improved?

‘No.’

It didn’t.

It just seemed fun. Going forward too.

Even though a separate training ground had been provided, it wasn’t fully enclosed.

A fence full of holes, barely reaching an adult’s chest—what could that block?

At most, it just marked the boundary.

Beyond that line, some had gathered to watch the spar.

Soldiers who had once lost their motivation, whose spirits had been broken.

Among them was Benzense.

‘Monstrous bastards.’

Rem and his deranged squad were nothing less than a band of monsters.

Watching Encrid at the forefront of such a group, he couldn’t understand how that man had reached that position.

So Encrid had returned.

And Benzense saw it.

Encrid didn’t retreat even a single step from Rem.

He knew where it began. He could say he knew Encrid better because he disliked him.

Encrid had been nothing special. A bottom-tier soldier—that was the best way to describe him.

‘Old and talentless.’

But now?

Benzense didn’t know the technical difference from previous duels. He just felt it—his whole body felt the change in atmosphere.

Rem and Encrid.

The mad squad members surrounding them.

Most of all, Benzense’s own feelings.

They had all changed.

Even the collapse at the end.

Benzense realized that the breaking of his spirit had only been like the embers dying out on a campfire.

‘I’ll do it too.’

It was strange. When he looked at Rem, Ragna, or Audin, they just seemed like monsters. But when he looked at Encrid, he wanted to emulate that effort.

He wanted to stand beside him, to be on the same level.

Maybe it was because he had seen that effort. Or maybe it was just familiarity.

He didn’t know. Benzense didn’t have time to ponder it.

Only desire remained.

“Today’s special training.”

“Yes, sir!”

The squad watching answered in unison.

And it wasn’t just Benzense.

All the soldiers were the same. Watching Encrid fight had ignited a flame of determination in their hearts.

It was perhaps inevitable that a strange fever of training surged from the next day onward.

The day Encrid returned, he sparred with Rem.

“I think I overdid it. Probably because I haven’t fully adapted yet.”

His eyes going wild and his strength draining had been due to overusing the [Heart of Monstrous Strength].

Well, Rem had come at him with full intent to kill.

“You’ll probably get used to it the more you use it, right?”

He said that, but even Rem had his doubts. Honestly, who besides him had mastered it properly?

No one came to mind. To have absorbed it beyond mimicry—Encrid was the first.

The next day, he sparred with Ragna.

“Where’d you learn that form of swordsmanship?”

“From a passing wraith.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Then even Jaxson, rarely seen in sparring, joined in.

Audin taught him a new joint technique.

Encrid was happy. Because they welcomed him the moment he returned.

How enjoyable it was—to swing a sword without pause, to move his body freely.

To keep moving forward for the sake of his new self.

Even without repeating yesterday, he could still gain something.

“Fiancé?”

The Elf Commander came too. Naturally, they sparred.

Only then did he realize—when she held a sword, she was no less than Rem.

“Now that our ranks are the same, when’s the wedding?”

When would she stop with the elf-style jokes?

Still, he had no intention of calling her out on it. No reason to.

It was just part of daily life now.

Esther, who had been sleeping constantly, now climbed into his arms only once every two days.

He didn’t know if that was a sign of change.

Krys had successfully sold a few of the ancient gold coins they’d obtained this time.

He also sold some of the unused weapons he had brought for play to the pioneer village at a good price.

Because of this and that, they had become quite wealthy with Krongs.

During the sparring, Encrid stopped by the forge.

“It’s broken? What about the armor?”

The outer layer of the armor was torn and dented, and many links in the inner chainmail were snapped. In short, it was thoroughly damaged.

The sword had broken. The core was compromised. It couldn’t be salvaged. Still, he brought it anyway, thinking it might be melted down for reuse.

“Two swords?”

“It just happened.”

He had cut through hundreds of beasts. It was a miracle things ended with just this.

“Any spare chainmail around?”

Encrid asked. The blacksmith let out a sigh and nodded.

“Not right now, but I’ll make one. We recently received some fine iron.”

Encrid nodded at the blacksmith’s words and held out a sword.

It was the one known as a cursed sword.

“Can you sharpen the blade on this?”

The blacksmith examined the sword and replied.

“Doesn’t look like an ordinary piece. Just the blade?”

“No. Replace the pommel and grip too. I think the balance is slightly off.”

The blacksmith nodded.

The blade itself was excellent, but the fittings were a mess.

“I just got some good stag leather. I’ll wrap the grip with that.”

He was agreeing to the work. Encrid nodded, paid a fair price, and after stopping by the jerky shop to grab a few bites, it was already evening.

“Not eating more?”

“It’s time to head out.”

He couldn’t ask the blacksmith to provide him with a weapon, so he planned to purchase one from a merchant passing through.

Somehow, he ended up barehanded.

Encrid felt the emptiness at his waist. Though he still had a shortsword, a guard sword, and a knife sheathed, the absence was palpable.

‘Nice weather.’

But the city’s atmosphere didn’t feel as pleasant. He asked a few passing merchants and got an immediate answer.

“There’s a rumor that a bandit gang is targeting the city. Also, monsters are said to be swarming from the south, and apparently, a messenger from the eastern city came making threats.”

Border Guard was a military city. More precisely, it bordered Azpen.

A bandit gang targeting a place like this? Not something amateurs could pull off.

Still, there were always crazy bandit groups. They caused problems even during wars with Azpen.

The monster issue was always present.

As for the east? That meant the City of Swords. Picking fights from there was practically routine.

But the very fact that these kinds of rumors were spreading was a problem.

There’s a saying: when bad rumors spread, children increase, and goods decrease.

City dwellers stop going outside and stay indoors, while visiting merchants stop coming.

They had a similar problem when monster numbers surged before, prompting Border Guard to dispatch troops.

Encrid had taken one of those missions.

That was when he slashed a harpy. It had been satisfying—a perfect hit.

Anyway, despite the grim rumors, no orders had come from above yet.

‘They’ll handle it.’

Commanders have their responsibilities.

Though he’d been appointed as a company commander, it was still unofficial.

It was the battalion commander’s personal decision.

Behind that—nobles.

Honestly, there were far too many snake-like bastards in this city who really seemed like they had blue blood in their veins.

It didn’t sit right with him, but that didn’t mean he could go around stabbing everyone he didn’t like.

‘I’m not Rem.’

Of course, that was impossible.

When he returned to the barracks, he saw Rem.

‘Yeah, I can’t live like him.’

“Your eyes look weird.”

Rem’s intuition rivaled Krys. Especially when it came to insults directed at him.

“Talking shit about me again? While strolling through the market? Nah, you cursed me in your head.”

Sometimes, his instincts were so sharp it was disturbing.

Encrid acted according to his beliefs.

If a lie could ease someone’s heart, then that lie was white.

“No.”

He shook his head.

“Then why do I feel pissed off?”

‘Because you’ve got a twisted personality.’

“Felt like you just insulted me again.”

“No.”

Where sharp intuition and pure white lies crossed—

Encrid now felt this place was home.

The battalion commander once said he hoped Encrid would love the city.

Maybe it wasn’t a desperate kind of love—but he didn’t hate it. Truly.