Chapter 304

Ragna stood alone outside, lost in memory.

“A thousand times. Don’t even think about coming inside until you’ve done them all.”

A thousand downward swings. He never thought it was hard.

But Ragna was always curious.

‘Why must a sword be swung?’

His arms hurt. His body hurt. It wasn’t fun. Was it ever fun when he first picked up a sword?

He couldn’t remember. Not even vaguely.

“Why? Why are you asking why? If you’re born a man of the Jaun family, it’s simply what you do.”

It was called ‘natural.’ But could that ever be a reason?

The same thing repeated again and again.

Why should it be so?

“Elevate the prestige of House Jaun.”

Why should he?

“Become a knight.”

Why become a knight?

“Kill.”

Why kill?

Since childhood, Ragna had never found his path.

For him, finding a path was the hardest thing.

Why was that?

Because he didn’t know what was right. Because he had no destination. Ragna had no purpose.

So he was always curious.

How could someone like Encrid be the way he was?

Shouldn’t everyone, at least once, question the road they walk?

Is this the right path? Is this a worthy reason? A meaningful purpose for life?

Ragna had never once seen confusion or hesitation in Encrid’s eyes.

People lose their way sometimes. But not Encrid.

He always seemed certain. That’s why Ragna wanted to ask:

Why do you want to become a knight?

—

Encrid looked at Ragna and scratched his chin, as he always did.

He already knew the answer.

But whether it was the answer ‘Ragna’ wanted—that was another matter.

‘Honestly, Rem’s easier to deal with.’

Rem was mentally flexible. People didn’t notice it because he acted insane, but his mind bent without breaking.

Audin was resilient. His mental fortitude was beyond comparison—like refined steel.

‘At first, he looked unstable.’

Even now he wavered occasionally, but it was the solid, tempered wavering of someone who would not fall.

Jaxson was steady. So steady, he was cold. He didn’t show passion easily. But even in that coldness, Encrid had seen flashes of searing heat.

That was how Encrid saw his squad.

So what about Ragna?

‘He cuts through anything—but seems like a blade that could break just as easily.’

Unstable. Fragile. The man best suited to the word ‘talent’—yet the most uncertain in how he wielded it.

Encrid didn’t carefully choose his words.

He didn’t have to think hard.

“Right here.”

He tapped his chest as he spoke.

Ragna stopped. He held his breath for a long while—forgot to breathe, maybe.

Encrid watched him silently.

Eventually, Ragna exhaled and spoke.

“That’s the reason you want to be a knight?”

As a child, it was a dream. As an adult, an aspiration. At times, a delusion. Now, it was the path he’d walked and the one he would keep walking.

A knight to bring an end to the war. A knight from the songs of bards—that was his dream.

If he had to put it into words, that was his reason.

But if he dug deeper, all the way down—it was because his heart told him to.

Saving children, protecting the weak, honoring promises—all of it came from there.

There’s no single reason for wanting to be a knight.

So this was his answer:

“Does ‘my’ ‘why’ matter?”

He answered with a question.

Ragna fell into thought again.

He was looking at Encrid, but his mind was drifting elsewhere. Encrid could tell—he had a sense for this sort of thing.

Rem, Audin, Jaxson, Ragna—they all looked to him and found answers. They learned something. Even Esther was similar.

If Encrid didn’t have this awareness, he wouldn’t have even made it to squad leader. He’d have died nameless in some muddy trench, just another crow’s feast.

“I’m heading in first.”

A good question. A good answer. That’s how Encrid saw it.

As he was heading back in—imagining that if he left Krys alone, he and Garrett might cook up an escape plan—Ragna’s voice called out.

“After the battle, let’s have a match.”

“As much as you want.”

“For half a life at stake.”

He was dead serious.

“As much as you want.”

Encrid repeated the same reply and entered the tent.

Left behind, Ragna quietly felt the surge within him.

It was like a volcano erupting.

A heat bubbling from his lower belly slammed into his heart.

‘Why am I even alive?’

When questioning why he swung a sword became a question of why he lived—Ragna lost his drive.

He became lazy. A lost sheep. If he’d never met a shepherd, he might’ve stayed that way forever.

“Let’s fight.”

He spoke to the air. No answer. The one he spoke to had already gone inside.

Ragna focused on the voice inside him.

The voice of his heart. The cry of his inner world.

‘Hey, you finally hearing me now?’

He heard it. The wailing he’d ignored, now clear and accusing.

For a long time, not even strong opponents gave him joy.

‘It’s just killing.’

It didn’t feel like duels—it felt like following a script. Not combat, but labor.

Not that he felt guilty about killing.

If you raise a weapon, you must accept death.

The same goes for the opponent—they wield a sword too, so it’s a risk they must bear.

Ragna always thought he’d die nameless in some forgotten field.

But life rarely goes the way you expect.

‘Idiot. Took you long enough to get it.’

He heard the scolding in his head and smiled. A real smile.

“Yeah… I get it now.”

He even spoke out loud.

Through his inner voice, Ragna faced his desire. His craving. He found his path.

He wanted to fight someone who made his heart race.

‘I want to fight someone who’ll push me past my limits.’

Sinar, who had stepped out of the tent much earlier, had heard everything.

The hearing of an elf could ignore distance like a kind of magic.

To her, Ragna’s question was strange. Encrid’s answer was strange.

And now Ragna muttering to himself—strangest of all.

Everything was odd.

And yet, listening to their conversation made her happy for some reason.

It was refreshing. It warmed her heart.

Sinar, without realizing, smiled.

A smile she would never let anyone else see.

—

They studied the map and terrain.

Krys began sorting through dozens of possible future scenarios, weighing the most likely.

‘Still not enough.’

They lacked both the strength and intelligence needed.

‘To win? No—even just holding out would count as a win.’

If the palisades didn’t fall, that’d be enough. So the answer was defense. Not offense—defense.

‘No, wait.’

If they focused only on defense, they’d lose. That is, unless Azpen was a collection of morons.

And if they ‘were’, they’d have attacked from the rear already.

His thoughts started looping, tangling.

“This is why I said it’s no good. Well, yeah, the best option ‘is’ to defend.”

That was what Battalion Commander Garrett said. His guard, Nurat, mumbled something behind him.

Krys couldn’t hear it.

It was the nth time this battle that his mind had spun like this. Running away would be easier.

‘Why do I even have to defend the city?’

Why ‘not’ retreat?

The most important thing in the world was his own life.

Second most important: Krong.

Third? Maybe Encrid.

So yeah, this was all because of their commander.

“Ah, whatever.”

Krys gave up with a sigh. The whole strategy meeting had started so abruptly.

He’d already been sweating and talking for several hours.

When he turned around, Encrid was there. He had come back inside and was listening.

“The best bet is to defend and wait out the winter. But does Azpen ‘not’ know that? Why are they creeping in so slow?”

Garrett asked.

“That’s exactly why we think the slow approach is the problem.”

Krys answered. Repeating the same point, still searching for a solution.

This was the first thing he and Garrett had said to each other:

“Speed?”

“Slow.”

“Not good.”

“Definitely not.”

That exchange.

Garrett said “slow,” and Krys said “not good.”

Why?

Because even though Azpen knew defense favored this side, they were still moving slowly—meaning they were planning something.

Encrid, who had been quietly watching, asked:

“Worst-case scenario?”

“A dragon breathing fire over our heads.”

Krys answered without missing a beat.

“Dragons are too much. That’s not realistic.”

Nurat cut in.

Garrett didn’t stop her. Krys continued.

“Or a sudden emergence of knight-level forces.”

“We’ve already tracked any knight-level movements.”

This time Garrett responded.

“At their pace, they’ll arrive in four or five days at most. In the meantime, we need to form scouts and hold out.”

Encrid looked at the map.

He reviewed the terrain and memorized it roughly. He’d always had decent memory, and he’d worked as a pathfinder—memorizing a few routes was nothing.

“What do we need most right now?”

“A variable.”

The answer came instantly. If you don’t know what’s in the box, shake it. That’s how Krys saw it too.

But what would that variable be?

Do they sacrifice troops to gauge enemy reaction?

That would just be idiotic.

Then what? Strike their supply lines? That wouldn’t work. Azpen was prepared. That’s why their march was slow.

They were literally checking the ground as they walked, analyzing every rock and crevice.

There’s a saying on the continent—if knocking on a stone bridge doesn’t work, walk around it. If it feels wrong, don’t do it—even if it takes time.

Being thorough is more important than being fast.

And Azpen was being thorough.

So the best they could do now was endure. After that—disrupt.

“Sometimes, intent becomes clear when you see how they react.”

“A good tactic, but not so easy to pull off.”

Garrett said from the other side, arms crossed. Nurat added,

“They’re coming slowly, but with zero openings. We sent ranger squads to disrupt their supply lines—none came back.”

Encrid nodded. He didn’t have any better ideas either.

“We’ll rest and prepare, then.”

That was the conclusion. Garrett nodded in agreement.

“Once this is over, would you share some of your stories with me?”

Garrett approached and asked after the meeting.

Who ‘was’ this guy? Definitely not an ordinary person.

He was the one who built Green Pearl’s base and reorganized the army when Azpen appeared. That kind of readiness was impressive.

“What kind of stories?”

“Stories of your battles. That crazy squad of yours. How you became a company commander. All of it—past fights and all.”

Garrett’s eyes sparkled with excitement. He looked like a man eager for tales. Encrid scratched his chin.

There’d be a lot to do after the war.

Surviving came first.

Still, Encrid had something to think about.

If Azpen was approaching like that, what would drive their commander up the wall?

“Sure, later.”

He gave a half-hearted reply while distracted. Garrett nodded, satisfied.

Was it a good thing Garrett wasn’t a traitor?

Encrid figured his ‘best’ move would’ve been defection. If he’d sided with Azpen and pointed his sword here, things would’ve been simpler.

Encrid asked bluntly, hiding nothing.

“If retreat leads to betrayal charges and punishment, why didn’t you switch sides? Azpen must’ve made an offer.”

It could’ve been a touchy question, but Garrett didn’t mind.

“Romance.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Romance is here.”

What did he mean?

Garrett’s dream was to be a poet. He had a real talent for rhythm and verse.

To him, everything happening at the Border Guards was material. Stories. Romance. His dream.

Especially Encrid—he was like the hero of a stage play.

Garrett was a lover of heroes. That’s why he liked Encrid, even without him doing anything.

And the more he learned about him, the more unbelievable he became.

“If I die living like this, it’ll be ten times more fun.”

Garrett laughed. In a way, he was just as crazy as Encrid.

So if he found inspiration for a poem today, he didn’t care if he died tomorrow.

Encrid didn’t know everything, but his gut told him this man wouldn’t betray them.

If betrayal had been in his heart, this meeting would’ve never happened.

“You’re like the commander.”

“In what way?”

“Here.”

Krys tapped his own head with his finger.

It irritated Encrid for some reason, so he elbowed Krys in the head.

“Argh!”

Krys rolled around, clutching his skull. Nurat rushed over to check on him.

“I’m okay. Hey, you’re Nurat, right? Want to chat over tea?”

Even now, he flirted with women. Yep—that was Krys. At least he wasn’t spiraling in panic.

Whether he’d given up or thought he had a shot, Encrid wasn’t sure.

He left the barracks—he wanted to check out Garrett’s base camp.

While walking around, he saw a group of soldiers gathered.

They were roasting something over a fire, and the smell was incredible.

As he got closer, he saw large chunks of meat skewered on long sticks.

One side applied marinade while the other grilled.

It was a perfect division of labor, and the skill showed.

“Mind if I join?”

Encrid slid in among them.

“Who are you? Never seen you before.”

“Joined today.”

Most of them didn’t recognize his face.

This was a support battalion. All of them were busy with skilled hands.

That was Garrett’s specialty—logistics, not battle.

“Here, take one.”

There was a female soldier among them. She looked straight at Encrid’s face.

Her friendly tone made sense—his face could be a weapon in itself.

“Quit staring, you’ll wear him out.”

One soldier teasingly called out while marinating.

“Hey, they’re my eyes. Let me enjoy. After seeing you lot every day, I’m rotting from the inside.”

“Ugh, gross.”

The back-and-forth was affectionate. And the fact they worked in sync proved they were close.

Encrid slipped right into the group.

Even with a thick blanket on the ground, the cold seeped up.

He took a bite of the roasted meat.

Thinking it was snake meat, he took a cautious chew—but it melted in his mouth.

“What is this?”

He asked, and the soldier tending the fire grinned.

“Good for men.”

Encrid judged this was better than Martai’s bread-baking unit.

It was ‘that’ good.

And there was one more thing he learned—

Garrett knew how to manage a unit ‘extremely’ well.

‘They say combat’s not his strength.’

But his soldiers were relaxed. Well managed.

Encrid grabbed a few more pieces of meat.

“You eat well.”

The female soldier said.

Encrid simply nodded—his mouth too full to speak.