Chapter 194
“Isn’t this too much, Captain? Seriously.”
Krys spoke with a black eye and a swollen face. Encrid replied while removing his boots.
“Were your eyes always that blue? Damn, Rem’s got talent. That’s disguise-level work. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
His eye was so badly bruised it looked blue, barely visible beneath the swelling. Both cheeks were puffy too.
He probably hadn’t gone full force, but…
Still, he hit him pretty hard.
There were also traces of red below his nose, as if he’d had a nosebleed.
At Encrid’s comment, Krys snorted and swallowed before letting out a long sigh.
“Rem’s been kind of intense lately, don’t you think?”
Encrid agreed—he’d definitely been on edge.
Sharper than usual, more prone to lashing out.
Things he would’ve let slide before, he now met with an axe.
For example—
“Keep your damn eyes open. Makes me want to split your skull with an axe.”
He said that outright to a soldier from a neighboring unit just for looking at him.
Friction with Ragna was frequent, too.
“Hey, picky eater. You wanna get your head smashed in?”
And when Rem said that—
“Step up. I’ll split your skull and dip it in honey.”
Ragna would answer like that, and the two would immediately engage in a fierce spar.
Encrid’s reaction had changed. In the past, he would’ve jumped in to stop them—but now, he watched first.
There was a lot to learn from their sparring.
And often, they ended the fight on their own after a while.
Maybe it was a sign they’d grown up a bit.
Moved on from the bratty phase of picking fights over everything?
“Whew, working up a sweat feels good. Ready to go a round?”
After their bout, it would be Encrid’s turn. He’d draw on what he observed, recall his own training, and put it to use. It was genuinely enjoyable.
Unlike before, Encrid was more intense now, and Rem took the matches seriously too.
“Footwork!”
He’d scold his foot placement if he was even a moment slow.
“Where are you looking!”
Sometimes Rem vanished like a magic trick. Of course, it wasn’t actual magic—it was pure physical skill.
Encrid couldn’t catch him with his eyes, but he barely kept track using his senses.
Whip.
He swung his blade.
Clang!
It collided with his axe.
That seriousness was a good sign, and sparring always left him feeling refreshed.
But what was making him so touchy?
Rem and Ragna always had their spats—nothing new there.
The worst was his dynamic with Jaxson.
From Encrid’s perspective, it all seemed pointless. But maybe it meant something to them.
One time, Rem was on his way out while Jaxson was coming in, and they met at the doorway.
Neither moved aside.
Rem began running his fingers along his axe handle, and Jaxson let his arms drop to his sides.
Encrid couldn’t just stand by and watch.
‘This is bad.’
He used to wedge himself between them. To break the tension like slicing through the “pressure” that Junior Knight Aisia used to give off.
“Enough.”
And with a word—
“Hmph.”
Jaxson would clear his throat and step aside, while Rem would walk away in silence without a smile.
He was on edge. Definitely.
Not that Rem was the only one.
Ragna gave off a similar vibe.
So did Jaxson.
Only Audin seemed the same as always.
Rem had gone off saying he was going on patrol, muttering that he’d love to run into a manticore or something while he was out.
Audin, meanwhile, said he was giving evening prayer and a sermon to soldiers from another unit.
There was a group of devout believers among the troops, and Audin was held in high regard among them.
As for Jaxson—he was, as usual, nowhere to be seen. And Ragna was sleeping in a corner of his cot, just like always.
Encrid looked around the barracks and finally spoke.
“Seems that way.”
It was his answer to Krys’s earlier question about everyone being on edge. On reflection, Rem really had been extra sensitive lately.
“Ugh, so what did the battalion commander want?”
Satisfied with just getting a confirming nod, Krys didn’t press the topic of Rem’s nerves any further.
Not like complaining would change anything.
He was always nuts.
Ignoring him was the best approach.
“We’re escorting the delegation for a mercenary contract with the Black Sword bandits.”
Krys’s eyes went wide at Encrid’s flat statement. With his eyes open like that, the bruise glowed vividly blue.
Didn’t it hurt? It looked painful.
But Krys didn’t seem bothered by the pain.
Or maybe now he was finally feeling it, because he suddenly asked in a serious tone:
“You’re going through with it, being a Knight?”
Encrid didn’t know why he asked that out of nowhere, but he nodded.
Answers to questions like that were always the same.
He also understood why Krys needed to ask again.
Becoming a knight was a wild, almost laughable dream.
Sure, now it was stitched back together, no longer a shredded and tattered hope like before.
But it still wasn’t an easy path.
Encrid knew that well.
Krys wasn’t mocking his captain or trying to pull him back to reality.
Encrid was insane.
If he said he’d do it, he’d do it.
If he said he’d save someone, he’d save them.
If he said he’d fight, he’d fight.
‘Guy’s not normal.’
Living like that, he should’ve died young. Surviving past twenty should’ve been impossible—wasn’t he thirty-one now?
It was a miracle he’d lived this long.
That was just the kind of person he was.
And that kind of person now said he’d become a knight. He wasn’t the type to quit, so Krys had looked into what it took to become a Royal Knight.
What kind of people usually got into knight orders?
What kind of people could become squires before becoming Junior Knights?
Most were sons of nobles. Or relatives of major merchants. Those with power, wealth—or even distant royal blood.
So what if you weren’t a noble? Not from a notable family?
Still, sometimes—very rarely—people were born with unbelievable talent.
Such geniuses could gain the kingdom’s recognition and become knights purely by merit. With a bit of luck, of course.
‘But how often does that happen?’
Almost never. Even among the ones they called prodigies…
When they faced nobles from prestigious families who had trained systematically from a young age, they got beaten up constantly.
The central region was always more favorable for learning swordsmanship and awakening talent.
Everything—the instruction, the ambition, the sparring partners—was better at the center than it ever was on the frontier.
The capital drew in those with real skill, and the gifted gathered naturally at the heart of the palace. Among them, talent sharpened itself even further.
A true genius.
Unless one stood purely on their own skill, becoming a knight was no easy feat.
For those without noble birth or a notable background, the path to knighthood was grueling, difficult, and filled with hardship.
So then, if we assume a genius exists, what else does it take to become a knight?
Skill? Of course. That’s a given.
“You didn’t refuse, right?”
“Hmm?”
“The mission. You didn’t turn it down, right? Right? You’re going, right? You have to. No matter what.”
Beyond skill, what one needed was achievement.
Tangible contributions made for the good of the nation.
Achievements became honor, and honor became proof of one’s worth.
To Krys, for someone like Encrid—a mercenary, an outsider—the first requirement for entering the knight order wasn’t skill, but achievement.
So if he truly wanted to become a knight—
“Tell me. You didn’t refuse, did you?”
The mission assigned by the battalion commander might not have seemed appealing to Encrid.
Krys thought so too.
Escort a diplomatic delegation?
And to whom?
With his sharp intuition, Krys read between the lines of Encrid’s brief statement.
It was obvious who’d be going. That halfwit noble and his shady-eyed bodyguard.
They’d form the core.
And instead of assigning a whole squad for protection, Encrid was being used as a replacement for their entire escort.
Why? Why put Encrid at that noble’s side?
‘Because they’re aiming for something.’
That aim was obvious. Control. Either kill him, or create a situation where he might die.
The risk was if the noble caught on and backed off.
‘So that’s why.’
Marcus was sly. War Maniac, my ass.
To Krys, the battalion commander was the craftiest of foxes.
Even though he looked like he belonged drinking with bandits.
The Azpen front, the Battle of Green Pearl. After his performance there, Encrid had slain a thousand gnolls. He killed the colony’s leader, took down cultists too.
Just last night, he beat ten elite fighters from the Black Sword.
Audin had killed a manticore.
Krys had swallowed the manticore corpse himself, and the higher-ups hadn’t said a word.
He’d expected them to demand payment or something.
But Marcus buried it all. No official recognition, just let it slide quietly.
He let the right people believe, and allowed rumors to spread unchecked.
Why?
Did he hate Encrid? No way.
‘You kneel and crouch down low—’
To leap higher later.
He concealed and deceived. But what he hid was only one thing: Encrid and his mad company’s true strength.
By keeping that secret, what did he gain?
Krys’s mind was racing. Others might have given up by now, but for him, it was simple.
Why not? He’d stayed alive by thinking about far more complicated things.
Compared to back then, this was easy. All he had to do was sit and think.
As he tied all the threads together, the answer emerged.
What drives battle in the modern continent?
‘Knights’—those monsters who shatter tactics and strategy alike.
Even among mercenaries, some are considered ‘knight-level.’
The term came about because even other races had warriors likened to knights.
In short: elite soldiers in small numbers.
They’d long been the core force behind modern military strategy.
Of course, no commander trusted a single knight to carry an entire battlefield.
But still, in the previous Azpen conflict, didn’t the whole momentum of the battlefield shift after the Border Guard’s standing forces won the peripheral fight?
‘This is war.’
All of this was preparation for war. By hiding their strength, they dealt a critical blow to the enemy.
‘And this mission is the opening move.’
To Encrid, Krys’s eyes looked like the swelling had gone down.
‘They’re shining for no reason.’
They sparkled even more than Marcus’s had earlier.
“If you’d refused…”
Refuse? As if.
“I accepted.”
“Oh wow, thank god. That’s seriously important right now. Because—”
“I know.”
“No, it’s more than what it seems. This mission isn’t just escort duty—”
“They want me to kill that bastard. Or set up the chance for it.”
At Encrid’s words, Krys blinked. His bruised blue eyes seemed to say—
Ah, right. You’re not an idiot.
“Your eyes are getting disrespectful.”
“Sorry?”
“Never mind.”
He couldn’t punch someone who’d already been beaten up. Encrid let it go.
“Achievements. It’s all a step toward becoming a knight. I know.”
That’s what made it important.
Marcus had a wider reach and higher position than expected.
Though the delegation assignment wasn’t directly tied to honor—
Encrid knew it wouldn’t end so simply.
Not because of any reasoning or guesses.
It was just a gut feeling.
Intuition and instinct.
Ever since his senses sharpened, he occasionally got this sharp jolt in his mind.
It happened now, too.
This wasn’t something he could brush off.
So of course, there was no reason to say no.
“For a second, I thought you might refuse because it’d mess with your training. But yeah, achievements—those matter more than anything right now. More than skill. Honestly, there are probably even some guys in the knight order who just got in on achievements alone. Even the Red Cloak Order can’t be entirely free of politics.”
Cynical words—but Encrid actually agreed deep down.
“That’s why I’m taking those two.”
Would he kill them, if the chance arose?
Or move according to the situation?
How far had Marcus thought this through?
So then, what would Encrid choose?
He had accepted the mission.
What came next would depend on his choices—and those choices could change everything.
“Who are the two?”
Krys asked.
“Not you.”
Encrid gave frog-eyes a light smack on the head and turned away.
Esther would probably come without needing to be asked.
“I’m out. Busy.”
Finn rejected him before he could even finish thinking.
Would a ranger be necessary for this mission?
Probably not. Good rangers were always excellent allies, but this time, there didn’t seem to be a need for someone to guide the way.
“I’ll be taking Rem and Ragna.”
Their heightened tension had been on his mind. Separating Jaxson and Rem—
Keeping Rem and Ragna close would probably prevent any serious incidents.
Jaxson and Audin, at least, could keep to themselves without causing trouble.
Krys nodded, recognizing the tactical thinking behind the selection.
“So we’re just killing them all.”
“…Hm?”
That wasn’t Encrid’s plan. This was a mission. Outwardly, he intended to fulfill the escort role properly.
“Rem, though… Whew. At least until you’re outside the base and away from prying eyes, keep him in check. Once the bodies pile up, bury them. You’ll need a foldable shovel in your pack.”
Hmm.
Encrid was about to deny it—but then remembered thinking just a few days ago that Rem and that noble should never meet.
Well, he could manage it somehow.
Rem wasn’t completely beyond reason.
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
Fweeeep.
Krys tried to whistle, but his swollen lips made it a failure.
“In a hurry, huh?”
He added words instead and then muttered to himself that it made sense.
Meanwhile, Encrid was considering whether to take the prisoner along as a guide.
With Rem and Ragna, there would be no lack of strength.
More than anything—
Encrid looked down at his own hand.
Calluses covered his palm. A twisted mess from countless swings of his sword—wounds that had torn and healed over and over again.
His fingertips had worn down so much that some fingerprints had vanished completely.
He had used his fingertips often during [Hidden Knife Technique] training.
Wanting something in return for all that effort, for all that endurance—
That was only natural. Anyone would.
If, after holding on and pushing through, he could finally just graze a reward with his fingertips—what then?
‘Not bad.’
Encrid murmured the words out of habit.
He’d gained a bit of confidence from everything he’d built up so far.
And because he no longer relied solely on repeating the same day.
There was no longer a ferryman in his mind.
He was simply gauging tomorrow once more.
The road ahead—the walk forward.
Now there were signposts. He could see the destination more clearly than before.
He had no intention of ignoring achievements just because he trained constantly.
He wouldn’t hesitate to stand at the forefront of battle either.
He was no longer living in a time when survival meant constant scheming.
Not when charging at gnolls.
Not when standing before the Black Sword.
Thump.
It was exhilarating. Honestly, it was incredibly fun.
That moment of stepping forward, instead of hiding behind others.
– “I want to become a knight.”
When he first expressed his dream as a child, Encrid dreamed—
Of standing in front of others.
Of standing at the forefront of battle.
To be the one at the vanguard and prove his strength—that was a different kind of proof.
At the source of his dream to become a knight was a little boy who envisioned himself standing and fighting on the battlefield.
The boy who was born in a countryside village had finally touched a piece of that dream—and was still walking forward.
