Chapter 333
“Are you sure it’s fine to just leave him there?”
Lord Graham’s adjutant asked, uncertain.
He had just left Encrid to deal with some noble—or perhaps a merchant lord—by himself.
It felt wrong. Maybe it made sense, since the visitor had come for Encrid, but still—shouldn’t this be something the lord himself could handle?
He kept most of those thoughts to himself and simply asked the question.
Graham, gripping his sword, answered flatly,
“If I hadn’t left him there, what then? I’m still the lord. If he doesn’t like it, he can come and take my head.”
The adjutant thought his lord had been a little too eager to gamble with his own neck lately, but said nothing.
To be fair, it wasn’t wrong—if Encrid ever decided to take the title of lord, it wouldn’t be difficult.
And Graham looked almost willing to hand it over himself.
“Yes, my lord.”
That was all he said.
But his eyes lingered on his superior.
For the first time in a long while, Graham looked deeply focused.
Half-lidded eyes, sword in hand—he slowly brought it down.
‘A crushing strike?’
Was Esther the only one affected by Encrid’s swordsmanship?
Hardly.
Graham’s heart pounded for the first time in ages.
His chest burned.
Uncontrollable desire and drive spiraled up like a flame.
Emotion became fuel; it moved his body.
‘Ah.’
As he kept swinging, a small realization struck him.
He thought back to his recent training—yesterday, the day before, the entire week.
He hadn’t been neglecting it.
But had he truly given it his all?
No.
He’d just gone through the motions.
He’d let complacency take root.
Being lord had become an excuse.
Had he thought there was nowhere left to climb?
What happened to the fire he’d had when he first picked up a sword?
Could he look that man in the eye now?
That man—Encrid.
The one who once dreamed of knighthood.
Now, the one walking that path.
When he first joined the unit, all anyone did was laugh at him.
Rumors had spread—disgusting ones—about him selling his body to his subordinates.
He’d been little more than a lowly soldier.
Graham had seen the man’s transformation firsthand, and the impact was undeniable.
A lesson learned through the sword had forced him to reflect on his entire life.
‘There’s no law that says a lord must lay down his sword.’
Graham knew he wasn’t a clever man.
That was why he delegated most of his work to his adjutant.
And lately, he’d been giving some to that sharp-eyed lunatic from the Madman Company—the one everyone called “Big Eyes.”
He’d even reduced social dealings to the bare minimum.
Right now, all he wanted was to swing his sword again.
The adjutant couldn’t stop him.
He felt the same.
“Would you like to spar, my lord?”
He himself was from the 1st Heavy Infantry Company—a veteran, an elite.
Now the lord’s aide and bodyguard.
He too had seen Encrid—seen his growth, his battles.
If he said he wasn’t moved, it would be a lie.
“Let’s go a round, then. I’ll show you the difference between us.”
The lord nodded.
They weren’t the only ones feeling it.
The effect had rippled through the entire unit.
Even the Elf Commander wasn’t immune.
Sinar repeated the same precise movement over and over, polishing her technique.
Delicacy and precision—she honed both.
What inspired her was Encrid’s back when he’d faced the knight.
‘Block.’
A single, vivid word, like a blade carved from emotion—that was what she saw.
Sensitivity could become a way to sense emotion, to glimpse another’s heart.
Not all feelings could be read—but powerful intent, that was easy.
The stronger the will, the clearer it felt.
And Sinar had felt it then—when Encrid blocked the knight’s strike.
‘Even if I die. Even if my heart splits open. I’ll block it.’
What kind of man could think that way?
A man who forgot everything else to focus entirely on one thing.
And what were those flickers of emotion that bled between?
Pure exhilaration, stripped of fear.
Not that he lacked fear or pain—he simply wrapped it in the joy of the moment.
He embraced it.
He lived entirely in the present.
‘He’s insane.’
Sinar thought that without hesitation.
Mad. His mind broken.
Yet even thinking of him made her pulse quicken—and that, too, was madness.
Elves weren’t supposed to feel such thrill. They were meant to control emotion.
But now she forgot all restraint.
The blades in her hands began to dance.
Precision melted into instinct, form dissolved into flow.
The long-stilled mana in her body stirred freely.
She let it.
She didn’t stop it.
She just wanted to swing her blades.
Encrid’s back had made her feel that way.
—
“It’s not like I can’t do it too, right?”
It was only natural that Encrid’s feats had sparked a fire among the soldiers—especially those who wielded blades.
Some had even followed him here from Greenfell after seeing him fight on the battlefield.
After joining the Border Guards, they started boasting openly, claiming they’d join the Madman Company because they were “good enough to fight there.”
That got attention fast.
One of the original Border Guards approached one of the loudmouths.
“You any good? You talk big.”
The Greenfell soldier didn’t back down.
He was the same one who’d been mouthing off about Encrid.
His name was Janson.
He turned his head slightly and said,
“I can handle myself.”
He had fought on the front lines in the last battle.
He had trained daily after seeing Encrid’s example.
Harder than ever before.
Confidence suited him.
“Vell, go easy on him,” one of his companions muttered.
That jab stung his pride.
Vell, the other soldier, nodded and stepped forward.
His stance said enough—he was ready to fight.
“You’ll get hurt,” Janson warned.
“Then let’s both get hurt.”
Vell grinned.
He’d trained under the Madman Company—occasionally even joined their focused drills.
The Greenfell soldier saw stars in broad daylight.
His forehead took Vell’s punch head-on; his counterpunch landed weakly against Vell’s temple before he dropped.
The difference wasn’t just in skill—it was in mindset.
“Hurts, huh? You’ll find plenty like me here.”
Vell brushed his forehead and spoke.
The fallen soldier looked up.
“Janson.”
“Welcome, Janson.”
And just like that, Janson joined Vell’s squad.
He wasn’t the only one.
Everyone who’d seen Encrid fight threw themselves into training.
They poured sweat like madmen.
Even without official drills, they trained on their own.
The entire barracks seemed possessed.
Of course, a few still rested or slacked off.
No one forced them. It was voluntary.
But they all knew instinctively—
‘If everyone’s training and I’m not…’
Then of course they’d fall behind in battle.
And so the spark spread further.
Even Rem wasn’t an exception.
He had started swinging his axe again.
Late winter or not, seeing Rem train shirtless was a rare sight.
“You sick or something?”
Krys asked as he passed by, concerned.
“If you don’t want an axe in your skull, get lost.”
Krys disappeared instantly.
Behind Rem, Dunbakel trained like someone being chased.
Rem wasn’t tormenting her like before—but he still sparred, coached, and hit her whenever needed.
“Are all beastfolk this stupid?”
“That’s a racist remark.”
“So what? You want to die?”
Sometimes it looked like he was just venting frustration—but even that was fine.
Dunbakel learned plenty, even through the beatings.
Audin, too, sensed the change.
Ragna had changed. Their captain had changed.
And what did he feel from it?
A lot.
He even found himself thinking more deeply than usual.
Thank the Lord it was Ragna who’d changed—if it had been Rem, things might’ve gone very differently.
‘If Rem had changed like that…’
The barbarian would’ve challenged everyone to duels, asserting dominance and reveling in it.
But Ragna wasn’t like that.
He was still lazy.
He’d started wielding his sword more often and sparring with the captain, but he never provoked Rem just to prove himself.
Now, he mostly stared blankly into the distance, rarely leaving his tent.
Still, it was unsettling.
‘He’s gone ahead of us,’ Audin thought.
‘Is it time to break the seal?’
If Rem had been the one to change, he might have seriously considered it. But not now.
He had found something like an answer—but he knew those who bound him wouldn’t accept it.
So—
“As the scripture says: retrace the path you’ve walked, for within it lies the answer to what blocks your way.”
Audin prayed.
And when he wasn’t praying, he trained.
Piece by piece, step by step—stacking strength upon strength.
He reviewed everything from the beginning, every stage of his body’s evolution.
And so he trained again.
As Encrid advanced, everyone around him did too.
The ripple spread through the entire camp—quiet but burning, hot yet steady.
Change swept through the barracks.
Before, there had been sparks like this—but now, even the lord was affected. The entire city’s spirit was shifting.
—
“Can there be a better offer than this, Sir Encrid?”
Encrid had already forgotten the man’s name.
He’d tried glancing toward Graham, but the lord was nowhere to be seen.
When it was someone important—like Count Molsen—the lord had shown up in person. But for this toad-faced noble? He dumped it all on Encrid.
‘So this is how you treat a war hero?’
Even if he hated calling himself one, still—wasn’t this ridiculous?
The thought made him want to spar with Graham again.
The man had plenty to teach him—like how to fall properly, how to take a hit, and how to pass out painlessly.
“My daughter here is the most beautiful woman in the entire domain!”
The toad of a noble and merchant lord boasted, while a woman who was slightly more human than amphibian smiled shyly and glanced his way.
Should he just kill them both?
No, that’d be bad.
Beat them instead?
“Rem? You’re talking about the captain Rem?!”
Krys’s voice seemed to echo faintly in his head.
Of course, Sinar was busy today too.
Esther had shut herself away again, saying she needed to meditate.
Should he have brought Rem along?
If he had, the berserker would’ve caused a scene and ended it quickly.
He was supposed to spar with Rem this morning.
Even that delay annoyed him.
But he couldn’t vent his frustration here.
So while he kept up the polite conversation, his mind wandered to an imaginary duel.
In his head, he was already dodging Rem’s light-speed axe.
‘He used the sling, didn’t he?’
How should he counter that?
He didn’t know—he’d just have to figure it out through experience.
That was the process he lived for.
He could barely contain himself.
This meeting was torture.
He’d already spent more than enough time here—long enough to drink a cup of tea.
Not that he’d sipped it—he’d downed it in one gulp.
“So? What do you think?”
Whatever proposal the noble made didn’t matter.
“I’ll take my leave.”
Encrid stood up with a curt farewell.
“Wha—wait! I’m a nobleman and the head of this region’s trade guild!”
The man listed his titles.
Encrid didn’t even give him a glance that said, “So what?”
All he wanted was to find Rem and cross blades.
Trade? Guilds? That was the lord’s problem.
If the man were truly important, Graham would have been here.
So none of this was his responsibility.
A ridiculous bit of self-justification—but not entirely wrong.
As Encrid walked off, the noble-merchant was left fuming.
No, more than fuming—he was trembling with rage.
He wasn’t the first.
Encrid had brushed off plenty of people before.
Many.
Some even held grudges.
“You bastard.”
The noble ground his teeth, his jaw muscles bulging.
His daughter’s eyes welled with tears.
The man hadn’t even looked at her once.
At the door, Krys had been watching the whole thing.
“Let’s go!”
The unwanted guest stormed off.
Krys knew what would come next.
It was obvious.
Too obvious.
And yet, the ones who should deal with it were all lunatics.
He could’ve been angry—but instead, he was amused.
And for him, amusement meant one thing: money.
There was a profit in this.
“We’ll see about this!”
The noble-merchant shouted as he left.
Krys wasn’t worried.
A woman peeked out from behind and asked,
“So they want you to shield the other merchants, is that it?”
At that, Krys blinked his big round eyes.
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
“Playing dumb, huh.”
She didn’t say the words, but her tone implied them.
Krys ignored her.
She was right, of course.
The surrounding merchants were all after the Border Guard’s trade rights.
If that post was vacant, it was natural for them to fight over it.
But there was a simple solution—give it to someone else.
And as it happened, the perfect candidate had just arrived in the city.
News traveled fast—faster than the guards, courtesy of the Gilpin Guild.
“My apologies for the late greeting, Guildmaster Leona Rockfreed.”
“Quite the prompt apology,” she replied with a sly smile.
Both had plenty of cards hidden behind their smiles.
Negotiations wouldn’t end easily.
Still, Krys had no intention of wasting too much time on it.