Chapter 242

               

‘Why isn’t he leaving?’

Edin Molsen wasn’t a burden. At first, Encrid wondered if it was okay to beat him like this, but repetition dulls things, doesn’t it?

In other words, rather than being the son of Count Molsen, he chose to respect Edin as a challenger, someone who didn’t know how to give up.

That meant he ended up focusing on beating him up.

“Take it easy, will you? Just a little.”

Even Krys said that, unable to watch any longer.

“He keeps challenging me.”

It wasn’t just blind violence. Edin was an opponent who never stopped challenging him.

How could Encrid treat someone like that half-heartedly?

He simply couldn’t. That’s not the path he walked. If he treated someone half-heartedly, that would only become poison. That’d be even more unpleasant.

For Encrid, respecting his opponent was the easier, more comfortable path. Of course, it was his own perspective and method.

“Here.”

Again. Edin Molsen came with a wooden sword. He wasn’t charging in out of stupidity.

At least now, he didn’t draw a real sword. At first, Encrid hadn’t even bothered to draw his blade, just knocking him down, but now it was different.

Of course, now they were swinging, slashing, stabbing.

Encrid never lost his manners.

His courtesy was not ignoring the sincerity shown by his opponent.

His courtesy was—

Whack!

—smacking him on the head without holding back.

“Gah!”

A sharp cry and a blow to the pit of the stomach hard enough to knock him out.

“Brother!”

Edin Molsen’s younger brother, watching, was startled at first.

But again, repetition dulls things, doesn’t it?

“Are you all right?”

Now, even when Edin went down, his brother was unphased.

If Encrid had intended to kill him, he would’ve done so already, and if he’d wanted to cripple him, he’d have done that too.

They’d already sparred over twenty times by now.

“Is he back again? The guy’s got a tough body.”

If anything, Rem should be Edin’s mortal enemy, since he’d killed his brother.

But Rem didn’t care at all.

He really does have nerves of steel. Are all barbarians like this?

It’s a pointless question. Not important. Thick-skinned or not, Rem was Rem.

A monster who handled two axes flawlessly.

Encrid was thoroughly satisfied with the monster’s skill.

“I’ve warmed up.”

At Encrid’s words, a smile spread over Rem’s face.

“Just saying again…”

“You might die, right?”

Even as he was interrupted, Rem kept smiling. Encrid answered his beaming face.

“You could, too.”

“Shit, I hardly ever swear, but you know what? Nothing makes me happier than socking the captain in the jaw.”

Encrid agreed, both in spirit and in practice.

He genuinely empathized.

“We’re the same, then.”

“You got a habit of punching yourself in the face?”

Encrid’s gaze locked on Rem.

Those gray eyes met Encrid’s blue ones.

Rem hadn’t been slacking off, either.

If Encrid had learned [Heart of the Beast] from Rem, Rem had learned something, too.

He’d picked up a new skill—a tongue that could twist people’s moods and get them riled up.

“That’s right. I’ve got that habit.”

When Encrid admitted it outright, Rem frowned.

“You’re admitting it here?”

There’s always someone better. The core of a war of words is to ignore the psychological blow and respond in a way the other didn’t expect.

“Are you just going to talk?”

With that, Rem’s axes slashed through the air. Both of them again.

The Madman Platoon had done their work. Requesting an axe from the armory was nothing.

If anything had changed, it was that Rem now paid attention to the weapon’s balance, weight, everything.

“I can’t make it that precise, though.”

“Then, oh well.”

He didn’t argue with the blacksmith’s answer—he didn’t seem to care.

Either way, what mattered was what he could do with the changed axe.

Ting.

Encrid tapped the axe blade with his sword.

“Stop breaking my axes, would you.”

Rem grumbled and charged in. For a moment, he looked like he’d grown bigger. That’s how fast and bold he was.

It struck Encrid anew.

Whose [Heart of the Beast] was it originally?

If it’s about boldness, Rem was second to none.

Encrid slashed down with his sword, perfectly perpendicular to the ground.

Another lightning-fast cut.

Slash.

The sword sliced the air.

Rem’s body blurred. The axes came in like streaks of light—one from above, one from below.

At first, he’d gotten hit by the axe as it whipped around like a chain.

After enduring that, he’d been struck by a slash as fast as light.

What about now?

Clang! Clang!

Encrid swung his sword up and down. The blade rippled like a wave, deflecting both strikes.

[Fluid Sword Technique – Wave Overturning]

He’d observed it from the rapier swordsman, refined it through Pell the shepherd, and perfected it against Rem.

Rem didn’t care that he was blocked. He instantly tossed one axe into the air, then charged with just one.

Unpredictable, bold.

Strange, yet daring.

That was Rem. In the end, Encrid lost.

“That was close.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Should he be satisfied with that? Is that enough?

No, it doesn’t matter. Encrid learned something new again today.

More precisely, he realized what he was lacking.

From [Blade Awareness] to [Gate of the Sixth Sense] to [Perception of Evasion]—

Jaxson called it [Sensory Art].

He’d trained that hard, but it turned out that was his downfall.

‘I was too sensitive.’

He’d paid too much attention to the axe Rem threw overhead. Should he have ignored it?

In the end, even when Rem kicked the falling axe to accelerate it and smash it into his shoulder?

‘Focus and selection.’

Reflection. Recalling and realizing.

It was a familiar process—Encrid’s daily life. The difference was his ability to acquire new things had changed.

It was similar to when he’d awakened his talent before: [Heart of the Beast], [Sensory Art], [One-Point Focus], [Isolation Technique].

This time was the same.

[Rejection].

It was just rejection, but he experienced [Will]. That gave Encrid a new perspective.

What is a genius? It can’t be explained. For them, everything is natural. He felt like he’d gained a piece of that naturalness.

Even now, the way he reflected and realized what he needed after a defeat was faster than before.

Encrid wasn’t even conscious of it.

He just kept doing what he always did.

But everyone else, including Rem, could see it.

‘Will, huh.’

For the captain, of all people, to have [Will].

‘Man, really…’

The chick who could’ve died on the battlefield now had a beak of steel.

No, you couldn’t call him a chick anymore.

He could be called a beast now.

Rem, hiding his admiration, spoke.

“That damn count’s son—he must have some scheme, acting like this all the time.”

“Right.”

Encrid, who was already lost in his thoughts, didn’t care.

Even if he heard it, he would’ve ignored it.

Not just Rem—everyone had said something.

“That brother is hiding something.”

Audin said so.

Jaxson gave a look, saying he found it suspicious, and Krys even made several theories.

“If you look at it broadly, there are two reasons he’s here. One, maybe the count wants the captain for himself. Two, he’s trying to find the captain’s weakness.”

Krys said he saw something similar in Edin Molsen’s gaze—a look of observation or investigation.

Encrid agreed, at least in part.

Even Edin’s bodyguard had a similar air, but what mattered to Encrid wasn’t his gaze.

‘Should I draw him out?’

The bodyguard had never revealed his full skill. Sometimes, his eyes glinted dangerously, which Encrid found intriguing, but—

He held back. He never revealed everything. He never pushed his presence to a dangerous level.

“That bastard knows what he’s doing.”

Rem said the bodyguard had also stepped into [Will].

So, at least he was on Rem’s level.

Anyway, after that, the bodyguard even refused to spar.

“I’m just Edin Molsen’s bodyguard.”

Then why had he challenged before?

It was a test, a check, a measurement.

‘For what?’

Encrid wondered if he needed to know.

Probably not.

So he ignored it. Even if Edin Molsen stared at him weirdly, he ignored it.

If the younger brother stared at him, ignored.

If the bodyguard hovered nearby, ignored.

Jaxson suggested just getting rid of him if he was bothersome, but Encrid ignored that too.

But if Edin wanted to spar, he’d face him properly.

And so, months passed with Edin Molsen staying in the territory, until the weather turned cold enough for them to remark on it.

Soon, the first snow would fall.

There had been several changes.

“I am Teresa the Wanderer.”

The half-blood giant would often mutter to herself.

It was fine during the day.

It was like a vow, a reminder.

But when she said it in her sleep, she’d sweat buckets in a nightmare.

When Audin heard her mutterings, he would quietly place a hand on her forehead.

“May you sleep as calmly as settled ash.”

A follower of the God of War, who embodies the ashes of the burnt.

He would pray.

Praying over the cultist’s forehead—it didn’t quite fit, but Teresa never complained when she woke.

When she woke, she’d just blink, glance at Encrid, then fall asleep again.

It had become routine.

Other parts of life had changed as well.

Dunbakel stopped getting beaten by Rem and focused on something else, because Rem had forced her.

“You should pay a tuition fee.”

Rem claimed that since he’d trained Dunbakel, she should pay him.

Dunbakel didn’t argue about how she never wanted any of it.

She told Encrid herself:

“What’s with that barbarian?”

A tough question to answer.

‘Madman? Broken-brained fool? Noble-killer? Axe maniac? Crazed axeman?’

Too many things came to mind.

Thankfully, Dunbakel didn’t wait for an answer.

“I’ve improved.”

Encrid tested her himself and found it was true. Dunbakel wasn’t insulting Rem; she was genuinely curious.

“You have.”

When she took a hard hit to the thigh and whimpered, she’d nod with teary eyes.

“Yes.”

She really had improved. Was this typical for all beastfolk?

Or was it because of some legend about golden eyes?

Who knew? Encrid didn’t care.

He felt Dunbakel’s gaze and looked over. Her golden eyes met his.

Right now, she was thinking Encrid was a monster.

After enduring Rem’s violence, she felt confident she could beat two of her old selves.

But in the meantime, Encrid had gone even further.

‘A genius.’

She was mistaken, but you couldn’t blame her—anyone would have thought so.

Above all, [Will], even if only a little—she’d realized it.

That knightly power, the domain of those with knight-level strength.

That change had come to Encrid.

Ragna, seeing Encrid, realized it was time to make up for his own shortcomings.

He’d realized it before, but hadn’t felt motivated.

Now he did.

“Krys, I want a sword like this—double-layered.”

“Do I look like someone who’ll fetch you whatever you want? If you think so, you’re right.”

When Ragna handed over a pouch of Krong, Krys, counting the silver coins, acted very loyal to the money.

Ragna got his sword.

It wasn’t sharpened, and its size and shape resembled a bastard sword, but it was several times heavier than a regular sword.

Ragna gripped the sword and slowly began to swing it.

No speed. Just slow, thorough movements. He spent over half his waking hours that way.

A huge improvement. Anyone who knew Ragna would be shocked.

Encrid spent almost all his waking hours training, but this was Ragna—the epitome of laziness.

It hadn’t even been half a day, but to see him train like that was remarkable.

Back to the present, Rem was demanding Krong from Dunbakel.

Dunbakel complied without complaint.

“Go earn some Krong.”

Lately, monster and beast packs had been swarming like never before.

It was winter. Of course.

When food gets scarce, they become more aggressive.

“Looks like it’s going to snow.”

Krys said, cutting Ragna’s hair.

Encrid silently gazed at the sky. Gloomy clouds creeping in, covering the sky.

A little colder, and the devil’s droppings would fall.

Last year, he’d had a hard time shoveling snow, but now—

“Platoon, assemble for training!”

One sentence was enough.

Even after the rapier swordsman left, life went on.

Daily life hadn’t changed, but the things inside it had.

Edin Molsen became a long-term guest, and in the meantime, his bodyguard left, claiming he had business.

No formal farewell.

Soon, the first snow would fall—early winter.

Dunbakel went out on a beast extermination request.

Finn, who’d been wandering outside lately, moved from the Independent Platoon to serve under the Elf Commander.

“Can I go?”

She looked livelier leaving than she had coming in—shouldn’t that be a relief?

“Do as you like.”

Encrid said it like it was nothing.

No reason or need to stop her.

Teresa joined, Finn left.

But daily life itself didn’t change.

“Independent Platoon Commander, you’re being summoned!”

Late in the afternoon, even in winter, Encrid was sweating as he swung his sword when a messenger arrived.

“It’s urgent.”

At those words, Encrid went straight to the commander’s office.