Chapter 187

When watching a man like Encrid, one couldn’t help but clench their fists.

Most of the soldiers felt the same way when they looked at Encrid.

Because they knew he had clawed his way up from the very bottom.

Because they had seen firsthand how effort was rewarded.

Looking at Encrid, soldiers—including Benzense—clenched their fists. In those fists were spears, swords, and maces.

The soldiers rallied. They swung their weapons.

An unexpected wave of fervor reignited the barracks.

“Seems like the soldiers are working harder than before. What’s gotten into them all of a sudden?”

It was a different atmosphere than before.

Feeling it in his bones, Encrid commented.

Krys, who heard him nearby, snorted.

“You’re seriously asking that?”

Would he have asked if he knew?

“I’ll head over to the market to check things out. The mood’s off over there.”

Instead of answering, Krys left. Well, zeal and fervor—Encrid liked those words too. The reason didn’t matter.

If they trained hard, it would help them survive someday.

Thanks to that—

“Let me have a round with you!”

More people began seeking him out. It had happened before too, and Encrid welcomed them gladly.

The difference from before?

Thud. Smack.

Every fight ended in one or two moves.

How could you call it a fight if there wasn’t even a challenge?

Their openings were so obvious, his body moved reflexively.

When their blades came down, there was no need to strike with the training sword—just a push was enough.

His new swordsmanship was based on formal fencing.

He would shift his body to the left while swinging his sword from the right, creating a blind spot in the opponent’s view.

Humans feel uneasy when they can’t see something, so they instinctively turn their bodies to eliminate that blind spot.

That was when he’d counter with a thrust.

Just two simple moves, but even among the Border Guards, they were consistently effective.

“You’re different now.”

Even with a blunt practice sword, getting hit properly left the solar plexus sore. Torres muttered while clutching his stomach.

No—it wasn’t just different.

A Junior Knight level strenght? He could pass for one of those.

How had he improved this much?

The Border Guards were those who tested the limits of human capability.

A collective of warriors equipped with various skills and techniques.

Torres had been one of them and someone who’d watched Encrid up close.

‘This bastard might actually become a knight.’

There was a time when saying you wanted to become a knight was mocked, a faded and foolish dream.

Now, even others no longer saw Encrid’s dream as something delusional.

“Should I start calling you ‘Sir Company Commander’? Or just ‘Torres’ the soldier?”

“Huh?”

“I’m company commander. Temporarily.”

Encrid pointed at himself with his thumb.

“…Company Commander, sir.”

“Just kidding.”

“You bastard.”

Torres laughed as he said it.

Rank was rank. Relationships were relationships.

With people like Torres or Benzense, there was no need to stick to hierarchy. They weren’t his direct subordinates anyway.

In the Border Guard standing forces, the chain of command was pretty loose.

He’d heard that in the Capital Garrison, messing up someone’s rank insignia could get you beaten to death—but that was there. This was here.

“You’re starting to sound like the 4th Company Commander.”

Torres’s words gave Encrid a lot to think about.

Those elf-style jokes?

“Hmph, whatever. I’m off.”

After Torres left, a few more Border Guards came to request spars. Encrid had absolutely no reason to refuse.

In the morning, he would get up and train with the [Isolation Technique] and swordsmanship.

After lunch—

“Let’s spar!”

Rem would challenge him. Still overwhelming as ever. If he properly activated the [Heart of Monstrous Strength]… well, maybe it’d get close.

‘If I push it, I won’t be able to finish the afternoon training.’

He’d already paid the price for getting too fired up more than a few times.

Encrid kept himself in check. This was training, not a real battle.

Rem held back too.

Getting overexcited and cracking a skull—that wasn’t what he wanted either.

After their lunchtime spar, familiar faces would start to pop in one by one.

“Take a look at my form too.”

Even Benzense showed up from time to time, outright asking to be taught. Encrid agreed—he believed in learning through teaching.

“But what should I call you?”

Still, he didn’t forget to joke.

“You’re starting to sound like the Elf Commander.”

It was the same thing Torres had said to him earlier.

Honestly, it was… slightly annoying.

The sun had been shining for days. Except for a brief rain shower on the third day after his return, it had been nothing but bright, sunny days.

“Nice weather. Perfect for training.”

“Didn’t you say that even when it rained? Is there such a thing as a bad training day for you, Commander?”

Rem asked from behind when Encrid mumbled about the good weather under the blazing morning sun.

Encrid thought for a moment and answered.

“Nope.”

“…One more hit to the head and you’ll go back to normal. Don’t give up, Commander. You can still be a normal person!”

Rem shouted with conviction. Encrid told him to wipe the gunk from his eyes and carried on with his usual routine.

It rained the next day too, but the schedule stayed exactly the same.

It was like someone had copied and pasted the previous day.

Many eyes in the barracks were watching all of this.

At this point, they didn’t even get sick of it anymore.

Rain or snow, this was just how that man was.

Even though his skills had improved, even though he’d changed, even though he’d become a company commander—nothing else had.

That’s why Encrid was still Encrid.

Two weeks had passed since his return.

One day, after finishing their lunch spar, Rem wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and sat on the ground.

“The apple cider was good.”

Rem said it casually, but the words snagged in Encrid’s ear. It was a hunch—or instinct.

He had something to say, but he was beating around the bush.

Rem? Beating around the bush?

Encrid found it so rare, he simply waited in silence for Rem to speak.

“If you’ve got any left, sneak me some.”

There wasn’t any. All that remained was a small emergency stash for himself.

He’d told them to sip it, but Rem had gulped it down like water—there was none left for that guy’s mouth.

Even Ragna had unusually praised that drink.

Everyone had clearly enjoyed it.

Jaxson had taken a couple of sips, and Audin had drunk about five.

Still, that bastard Rem had circled around the point twice.

Encrid figured something was up.

“Did you kill someone?”

He asked the most suspicious question first.

“Huh?”

“I’m asking if you killed some officer from another unit while I was gone.”

If it was something that could still be covered up? Well, if it hadn’t been discovered yet, he must’ve hidden it well.

The real problem would be cleaning it up afterward.

“What are you talking about?”

So he hadn’t killed anyone?

“Did you beat someone? Maim them?”

That was still serious. But better than killing. He just hoped he hadn’t gone as far as crippling someone.

“It wasn’t First Company, was it?”

When he asked again—

“…Can I ask something? Just what kind of person do you think I am?”

A mad dog that flies into a rage if you poke it.

A lunatic who beats anyone he doesn’t like, superior or not.

A pervert who bullies nearby soldiers when bored and bullies them twice as much when he likes them.

“Your eyes—shit, I think I just got emotionally scarred. I saw a look I’ve never seen before in my life.”

First time, huh? That was surprising in itself.

He had suspected it just a little—just barely—but it was mostly a joke.

And like always, that light joke turned into a few deep breaths, and they made their way to lunch. It was during that breathing room that Rem finally spoke.

“Well, as long as you didn’t kill or beat anyone.”

Encrid said. Rem sighed deeply, glanced up at the sky, and then began.

He sat under a tree about five paces away from Encrid, gaze off to the side.

That tree next to the training ground—wasn’t it planted by Battalion Commander Marcus?

“Because a training field without shade feels too barren.”

Surprisingly meticulous for someone like him.

Sitting on either side of the tree, Rem finally spoke.

“When I was young, my father first taught me how to use a spear. You know, it was fun.”

What was he trying to say?

For some reason, the words of the cursed sword’s wraith echoed in Encrid’s mind—bloodlines, swordsmanship, unfulfilled desires, things that had bound him to the earth.

Did Rem have something like that too?

Aren’t all people bound to something?

Whether it’s dreams, status, power, or Krong.

“I learned how to hunt. That was fun too.”

But this bastard…

“I also learned how to use a sword. That was fun as well.”

Should someone teach him how to talk? He had no problem speaking sharply when mocking others, but now he was awkward and stumbling.

At times like this, he seemed even more full of holes than Ragna.

Well, every remaining squadmate was like this when talking about themselves. Awkward, clumsy. The clearest they ever got was when teaching swordsmanship.

Even without knowing everything, he’d heard enough pieces here and there to get a sense.

Rem was from the West. Ragna was from the North. That kind of thing.

But today’s story from Rem felt different.

His delivery was rough, but the content was worth hearing.

“That’s around when the Western War broke out. It wasn’t pretty, but what could you do? When they come to kill you, you can’t exactly offer up your neck.”

Wars never stopped across the continent. Even Naurilia had expanded its war with Azpen to seize the Greenper Plains.

In time, they’d probably call it the Greenper Plains War.

The Western War Rem spoke of was especially horrific.

Dozens of pioneer villages declared themselves kingdoms.

Some even called it not the Western War but the War for the Throne.

In the end, one tribe emerged victorious, but it was a hollow victory.

Afterward, they had to submit to the Empire under the pretext of having ravaged and ruined the West.

“I used a sword back then too. That was fun. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Fucking prodigy.

Apparently, every weapon that landed in his hand was “fun.”

From the sounds of it, Rem had been active during the Western War.

At his current age—

“You must’ve been about fifteen?”

“Yeah, around that.”

Just fifteen.

‘What was I doing at that age?’

Trying to leave the village, maybe?

Still believing he had talent?

Still thinking time was fair, and that with enough effort, anything was possible?

Time wasn’t fair.

Even just from hearing Rem’s story—it was clear.

For those with talent, time passed far more productively than for others.

“So, I’ve got a question.”

No context, no logical transition. Unintentional, but it still reeked of humblebrag.

Somewhere in there, he also mentioned killing some bear-like bastard from a neighboring tribe during the war.

No idea who that was. Not that it mattered.

Then came the question.

“Do you really want to become a knight?”

A completely random question, but Encrid wasn’t fazed at all.

Maybe it was something he thought about constantly.

Hadn’t he asked himself the same thing?

‘Can I? Is it possible? What does it mean to be a knight?’

No matter how many times he asked, there was never an answer. So he just kept walking forward, one step at a time. That was the only path.

Even if it rained, even if it snowed.

Even when the sun beat down mercilessly.

Even while out on a mission.

Even knowing that today could end in death.

Calling him persistent wouldn’t begin to cover it.

“Yeah.”

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in the answer. Encrid was calm. No different from any other day. Just another answer, like always.

To Rem, that felt unexpectedly refreshing.

“You think you can?”

“No idea.”

A sincere truth. No one knows the future. He didn’t even believe in fortune tellers.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Got it.”

Pointless words exchanged.

Everything afterward was ordinary. Eat, rest, spar.

Rem didn’t bring up the same question again. He acted as usual. No one could tell what was really going on inside.

Rem was thinking.

If that guy actually became a knight—if he really did.

‘Should I go back to retrieve what I left behind?’

It was a serious thought. Something he’d left behind when he abandoned his homeland. If he went back for that, even if he couldn’t be what people called a knight, he’d at least reach knight-level.

On the continent, those uptight bastards always saw knighthood as a single narrow path, but Rem thought differently.

And it was true. In the West, they used the term “hero” instead of “knight.” A hero to pioneer the continent—a title born from old legends.

And Rem had once been the top candidate among the next generation of heroes. Once.

After a brief inner debate, and a few thoughts flashing through his mind—

Watching Encrid swing his sword day and night, Rem made up his mind.

“Then I’ll become a knight too.”

Rem said it casually, like it was nothing. Normally, Encrid would’ve teased him or twisted it into a joke.

Like:

“Why bother?”

“You don’t become a knight by punching your commanding officers.”

“Is your head broken?”

That’s what Rem expected to hear.

“Yeah?”

But Encrid responded calmly. Then followed with something that felt perfectly natural.

“Spar?”

And somehow, that made Rem oddly happy.

Wasn’t he an astoundingly consistent person?

From his tone and expression, something like respect faintly peeked through. And Rem liked that.

—

At the same time Rem and Encrid were having their little exchange—

Outside the city, a figure with a black hood wrapped around his face stared up at Border Guard’s fortress walls.

‘Tall.’

No ordinary monster would be able to scale that.

But what if—

What if it were a high-grade beast?

And—

“This is a temporary alliance.”

Spoke the bandit heat rising off a black blade.

At this level, wouldn’t it be enough to stir up a proper ruckus?