Chapter 325
Only after Krys left did Encrid collapse onto the floor.
His legs had no strength left to support him.
Thud—his hips hit the ground first, a dull shock rippling up through his spine.
‘Feels harder than being surrounded by a thousand soldiers.’
He had strained his body worse than on any day of fighting against countless enemies.
Naturally so—this time, he had only swung his sword once.
But the exhaustion from that single moment was immense.
His head spun, his mouth was dry, and his muscles felt hollowed out.
The pain from his dislocated shoulders was just an afterthought.
Compared to any of the previous todays, the difference was staggering.
The Ferryman hadn’t sung of despair for nothing.
Sometimes the way he went on about it, it almost sounded like he was composing poetry.
Still, Encrid had endured.
No—he hadn’t merely endured.
He had taken control of the situation and turned it around.
He reversed the concept of defense itself—
By striking first, he had survived the “one blow.”
In the end, that was no different from blocking the knight’s sword.
Now, his dislocated shoulders and trembling body were living proof that he had endured and survived.
‘Luck.’
Luck had played its part—but what truly mattered was thought and effort.
Encrid tried to lean back but was stopped by another’s hand.
“The brazier’s behind you.”
It was Sinar’s voice.
Had he leaned back, he would have burned his back again.
Her soft palm supported his head.
Though not completely singed, his scorched hair crumbled into black dust on the floor.
“What a day.”
Sinar’s gaze lingered on the place where the knight had vanished.
“Yes, quite a day.”
Encrid replied, staring at the same spot.
“Monstrous.”
Ragna muttered under his breath.
Coming from him, that word said everything—how unreal, how inhuman that knight’s power had been.
If even Ragna called it monstrous, that said it all.
Ragna, having faced the knight’s blade, had seen his path more clearly than ever.
The way forward had opened.
His purpose sharpened.
And so, he only needed to hold on to this momentum.
Fortunately, he didn’t need to force himself to stay motivated.
“Next time…”
Encrid was already muttering it to himself.
He was already looking toward the next battle—against a knight’s blade, again speaking of honor.
Ragna felt a sudden urge not to fall behind.
That feeling thrilled him.
He laughed.
“Got hit once, and you’re laughing?”
His commander scolded him idly.
“Then why are ‘you’ smiling, Captain?”
Encrid, smiling faintly himself, didn’t answer.
Despite the burns on his back, despite being slumped on the floor, he laughed.
“If you want to laugh, laugh. Ha ha ha!”
Dunbakel chimed in from the side.
No one bothered to answer her.
—
Knight Jamal departed under Krys’s escort.
No one dared stop him.
“Orders from Captain Encrid! Let him through! Don’t block the path!”
Krys shouted as he led the way.
Within the camp, Encrid’s name now carried the weight of a sacred blade—none would challenge it.
Even Major Garrett wouldn’t dare interfere.
Encrid held power built not on rank, but on respect.
Even so, a few soldiers cast dangerous looks at the knight as he passed.
His calm stride must have irked them.
There were always those who couldn’t hide their temper.
“Move along,” Krys barked, glaring fiercely.
Jamal ignored it all.
Why would he care?
If anyone attacked, he could cut them down with ease.
He wouldn’t draw first—that would be dishonorable—but if provoked, he wouldn’t hesitate to stab or slice.
Fortunately, no one attacked.
As they walked, Jamal asked casually,
“Does he always do things that insane?”
He didn’t name names—he didn’t have to.
Krys understood immediately.
Jamal had realized it: Encrid must have recognized what he was.
The man hadn’t known his name or rank, but he had gauged his power.
That was why he’d attacked with a sword infused with [Will].
The oppressive strike had forced him to respond.
It had been a long time since Jamal was ‘compelled’ to draw his sword.
It was a refreshing experience—though Avnaier would be scandalized if he knew.
And so Jamal asked, almost amused, whether that man was always that mad.
‘If his strike had been even slightly off…’
Encrid would have died.
He had bet his life on that swing.
Honor aside, it was an act of madness—to step into a storm of blades for the smallest opening.
A moment’s hesitation, a slightly different angle—he’d be dead.
‘And yet, did he ever flinch?’
No.
Even as he risked death, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation.
That strike had lived up to its name—The Pressing Blade.
It had pressed him down.
It had forced him to react.
How could anyone like that be called normal?
Knights were still human—they knew fear, instinct.
But Encrid seemed to have broken away from that.
Truly, Jamal’s eye for people was sharp.
He’d seen everything he needed in that one exchange.
Krys chose his words carefully.
“You’ve got good eyes, sir. Yes, he’s insane.”
He couldn’t help admiring the knight’s intuition.
To recognize his commander’s madness at a glance—impressive.
“I see.”
Jamal nodded, saying nothing more.
He had no reason to ask further.
His duty was done; it was time to return to his post.
Would this spark something larger?
Would Naurilia take this as cause for war?
A knight had drawn his sword—its echo would spread far.
—
Garrett burst into the wrecked tent moments later.
Of course he only came once it was safe—his survival instincts rivaled Krys’s.
“What in the world happened?”
He looked shocked, at least.
Encrid explained everything.
Garrett said nothing to the troops.
There was no benefit in spreading word that a knight had come.
What good would it do to tell exhausted soldiers that a knight had just passed through and could have cut them down?
Even if he promised the knight wouldn’t return, their morale would shatter.
And besides, Garrett had another reason to stay silent.
“I’ll report this to Central.”
That was his only comment.
Krys, having just returned from seeing Jamal off, narrowed his eyes.
“Couldn’t we just… let it fade quietly?”
“That’s not for us to decide.”
Krys frowned.
Politics—he could already smell the rot.
Would this incident stir trouble?
Of course it would.
‘Political leverage.’
Azpen had broken the pact first.
Not a full truce, but they’d agreed to avoid crossing the border for a time.
They ignored it—and lost.
And now they’d sent a knight?
No one would let that go quietly.
Naurilia would seize this chance for political gain.
In exchange for concealing the knight’s intervention, they’d likely secure a temporary peace—and far more.
Krys could already see the maneuvering ahead.
He wasn’t deeply involved in politics, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t profit from it.
‘From the Border Guards’ standpoint,’ he thought, ‘this could be huge.’
If he played it right, there’d be Krongs to earn.
“Anyway, get treated first.”
Garrett clapped his hands, drawing attention.
He barked a few quick orders outside, and soldiers came in to tidy the wrecked tent.
Two medics reset Encrid’s dislocated shoulders.
The pain was brutal, but Encrid didn’t even flinch.
Crack—
The sound of the joint snapping back made Dunbakel grimace.
Even hearing it was unpleasant.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
One of the medics asked before realizing it.
He’d heard of people born without the ability to feel pain.
Was Encrid one of them?
“It hurts.”
“Then why didn’t you make a sound?”
“Groaning doesn’t make it hurt less.”
True enough—but not something most could manage.
“When it comes to pain tolerance, you’re something else, Captain.”
Encrid didn’t answer.
He lacked the energy.
Though he hadn’t groaned or screamed, he burned with fever for two days.
During that time, Azpen’s forces retreated.
Encrid heard the news faintly, half-asleep.
He’d truly pushed his body to the limit this time.
But it wasn’t all bad.
In his fever, he saw the Ferryman again.
“Don’t get cocky.”
The Ferryman said.
Encrid felt wronged.
He hadn’t even spoken—just sat on the boat, gazing at the dark river.
He’d merely thought the black water, though featureless, had a kind of beauty.
That even darkness could be scenery, depending on one’s mindset.
“Arrogant.”
The Ferryman repeated.
There was no further exchange.
Nothing more to say.
“The wall will always stand before you.”
The Ferryman spoke a third time.
Encrid nodded.
As always, it would.
It was a curse, he had said.
But Encrid didn’t see it that way.
To him, it was an opportunity.
A chance for those without talent to bridge the gap to those who had it.
A chance that had brought him here—
To face a knight’s blade.
He didn’t know why, but Encrid said,
“Gratitude.”
As always, he meant it sincerely.
The Ferryman was unlike anyone else.
He didn’t seem surprised.
That was the end of it.
Encrid awoke from the dream.
When his fever finally broke, the first thing he saw was Dunbakel, dozing off beside him.
Why was she there again?
Something cool rested on his forehead—a damp cloth.
It was pleasantly cool.
She must have been changing it regularly.
“Hey. Go sleep properly.”
“Ah—just dozed off.”
Dunbakel wiped her mouth, blinking sleepily.
She yawned, scratching her cheek with a clawed hand.
Then, in a strangely shy tone—though, being a beastkin, it was hard to tell—she scratched her neck and said,
“Felt like taking care of a sick little brother.”
“I’m probably older than you.”
“Maybe, but I’ll get stronger. Strong enough to stab through bastards like that. So don’t die.”
For a moment, Dunbakel had seen death in Encrid’s fight.
Her instincts had screamed it—charging that man meant certain death.
And yet, Encrid had done it.
Just seeing him fight had stirred her self-reflection.
‘I haven’t changed at all.’
It was a terrible thought.
She had joined this unit to live differently—to escape the life of a thief.
But fear still ruled her.
What path could she take?
‘Get stronger. Ridiculously strong.’
That was her conclusion.
Brooding was for the past. Forward was the only way.
That’s what she’d learned from her insane commander.
“Don’t you die either.”
Encrid said reflexively.
He remembered how Dunbakel had charged at the knight after him, her face twisted with resolve.
Even knowing she’d die, she’d gone anyway.
What had driven her to that?
“Too reckless…”
“I’ll get strong. Hmph. And if you ever need a woman’s warmth, just say so. I’ll lie with you.”
She stuck out her tongue before he could respond.
Maybe she’d learned shamelessness from Rem.
Or maybe it was just contagious.
“Esther’s enough.”
The panther was already curled up beside him.
Eyes the color of a blue lake glared at Dunbakel.
Dunbakel met her gaze, golden eyes narrowing.
“No monopolizing.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“Grr.”
Esther snorted, as if saying, ‘Try it if you dare.’
Dunbakel gave up there.
After another nap, Encrid awoke to noise outside.
Azpen had retreated.
They’d won.
And that meant only one thing—
The celebration had begun.
(T/N: What a perfect way to end this arc. 5/5)