Chapter 335
Whether they were nobles, merchants, or city officials, visitors still came looking for Encrid—but he no longer cared.
That was fine.
Krys handled them all perfectly.
He had told the man to “find a way,” and he truly had.
“You mean to tell me I came all this way and can’t even meet a mere city soldier?”
When a sly noble demanded an audience—
“No, you cannot,” Krys replied like a puppet.
Some tried to use threats or force.
“Wanna fight?”
But with Frok Maellun serving as Krys’s bodyguard, few dared to test their luck.
It wasn’t that Krys’s side was strange—it was that everyone else was sane.
Still, he didn’t use brute force or rudeness to drive people off.
“The Captain is preparing for an important duel,” he’d say, with the perfect excuse.
Then he’d add, “It’s a matter directly handled by the royal court,” using the capital’s name as his shield.
That alone stopped most nobles. Merchants, of course, didn’t even try.
“If you have business, take it up with the Rockfreed Company. They have an exclusive contract with the lord.”
Passing the problem along was enough.
And Leona Rockfreed handled it masterfully.
She managed the mid-sized companies effortlessly, cooking and sorting them as she pleased.
“Did you think the name Rockfreed was something to take lightly?”
Just invoking her company’s name solved half the issues.
Even if other noble-backed companies came, it didn’t matter.
All they wanted was trade routes and profit through Encrid.
Leona promised them that.
“The trade routes will expand. Our company alone can’t manage all the opportunities anyway.”
Naturally, merchants who once tried to curry favor with Encrid now crowded around Leona instead.
She carefully picked out the capable ones.
Judging the value of goods and people alike was her specialty.
Watching all that, Krys was thoroughly satisfied.
‘To think a single appearance from the Captain could simplify everything this much.’
Without Encrid, he’d probably still be buried in endless negotiations with Leona.
He couldn’t deny that the reason she was handling it now was because of Encrid’s involvement.
A truly valuable face.
Indeed, the perfect poster boy of the “salon.”
But even with Krys managing everything, Encrid was anything but idle.
He was busy doing exactly what he wanted.
“Come at me!”
He was addicted to sparring.
“Try not to die,” he said, occasionally sharpening even Rem’s wit as they fought.
The duels were brutal—half-suicidal, really—but for both Encrid and Rem, they were invaluable training.
Naturally, Dunbakel and Teresa joined in, and Audin assisted as well.
Only Ragna was absent—sometimes seen swinging his sword at empty air or lost in a meditative daze.
Everyone else was stunned by Encrid’s progress.
‘When did he get this far?’
Dunbakel felt the gap widen painfully.
Teresa saw a wall she couldn’t yet climb, even using her hybrid giant strength and every trick she knew.
Still, neither of them gave up.
Before them stood a man who had crawled up from nothing.
You couldn’t speak of surrender in front of someone like that—not morally, not physically.
“Give up? Tired? Oh, our poor beastkin’s tired, huh? Fine then, just die. If it’s too hard, you die. Simple.”
If Dunbakel even hinted at quitting, Rem was on her immediately.
And Teresa?
“Sister, the Scripture says sometimes a new shock can make you forget your pain.”
Audin wouldn’t hesitate to deliver that “new shock” himself.
Neither said those words aloud, but both knew the intent.
‘I won’t fall behind.’
That was Teresa’s vow.
Dunbakel’s too.
They had learned the habit of constantly striving upward.
Their mindset had transformed.
They had heard the stories—what kind of man Encrid was and how he had climbed this far.
According to Rem and the other soldiers, his beginnings had been meager—pathetic, even.
“One time, he served under me. And honestly, I was better-looking too.”
That joke came from Benzense, but everyone else said the same.
A low-level mercenary at best—that was Encrid’s past.
And now?
He was a hero of the city and the battlefield—a man whose name inspired even the children of the Border Guards to swing wooden swords in imitation.
From humble beginnings to greatness—just like the holy verse said.
Teresa found herself believing it.
And Dunbakel—
‘I won’t fall behind.’
She clenched her teeth and pushed harder.
Without realizing it, her desperation mirrored Encrid’s.
Of course, Encrid had no idea how those two viewed him.
He was too busy—training, sparring, visiting the forge.
He had to make good use of his time.
He wasn’t impatient, but he couldn’t afford to waste even a day.
He had crossed swords with a knight.
He had seen a knight’s blade, felt its weight.
He had even seen how that knight blocked—by striking first.
That single clash had broadened his entire world; the stars above his path now shone brighter than ever.
The grim dream that once haunted him now seemed distant, like a star fading beyond reach—but its lingering light still guided his steps.
No wonder his drive had only grown stronger.
Training that others would call torture was pure joy to him.
“What is this thing?”
The so-called greatest blacksmith of Border Guard examined the sword a former enemy knight had gifted Encrid.
The silver blade, its polish, the monster-leather grip, the rounded pommel—
“This is no ordinary craftsmanship.”
When Encrid showed him the [Gladius] and [Blazeblade] too, the man nearly lost his mind.
“Completely different techniques. These aren’t even human weapons.”
He could tell their value instantly.
“You’re using all three?”
They had known each other for a long time, so the blacksmith spoke casually.
He cared more for his craft than for rank.
There were blacksmith guilds across the realm, but not in Border Guard.
Most smiths here were military workers, not farmers making tools.
He was one of the rare ones who’d come to challenge himself instead of living comfortably under a guild.
Encrid respected that.
This man was chasing his own dream, in his own way.
“It’s just work,” the smith would probably say if asked.
But Encrid knew pride when he saw it.
Looking at the man, he recalled his own dream.
Maybe his recent surge of motivation was contagious.
“What do you need done?” the smith asked, eyes still on the swords.
“They’re worn down a bit. Sharpen them, balance them again. Also, fifty thin throwing knives—well-balanced ones. Iron plates for greaves, and I’ll need new gauntlets too; mine are finished.”
Good gear was life itself for a mercenary.
Even now, as a semi-knight able to wield [Will], that truth hadn’t changed.
‘If I’d faced that knight while holding some cheap sword…?’
The thought annoyed him.
A weapon that fit perfectly in his hand brought joy—that, too, was part of one’s skill.
In contrast, that knight’s mistake had been arrogance—coming without his own sword.
Confidence was fine; overconfidence was fatal.
Encrid took the opposite lesson.
He invested his Krong wisely into gear.
“The payment?”
“Charge it to the fortress.”
“Fair enough.”
The smith repaired all three blades, polished them with whetstone, and inspected every detail.
No issues found.
Encrid knew weapon care, but a craftsman’s touch was different.
Still, he couldn’t afford to skip training to learn it himself.
“Oh, and I’d like to see any maces, hammers, or axes you’ve forged lately,” he added.
That wasn’t “a few weapons”—that was a list.
The smith finally looked him in the eye.
“You plan to use all those yourself?”
“Yes.”
That was all that needed saying.
The man knew the rumors.
How could the tales of the Border Guard’s hero not reach a smith’s ears?
Even if the request was strange, he’d fulfill it.
After admiring the three swords again, the blacksmith wondered—
Could he make something even better someday?
He would try.
And the first person to see it would be this man before him.
If Encrid liked it, then they’d talk about payment.
“I’ll send over the rest of your gear when it’s done.”
“Got it.”
Then came more training.
“By tightening your muscles and maintaining tension, you’ll forge a body as hard as steel.”
It was dawn.
At Audin’s instruction, Encrid didn’t tilt his head but did ask,
“You mean a body that won’t get hurt even when struck by a blade?”
“Exactly, Brother. You understand perfectly.”
It made no sense.
But he didn’t say that aloud.
“It works,” Audin said first, before he could question further.
“You already know the principle. Asking questions isn’t bad—but sometimes, realization comes best through experience.”
That was his answer.
Encrid nodded.
Then came the part that made all past training seem like child’s play.
Audin picked up a hammer wrapped thickly in cloth.
“What’s that for?” Dunbakel asked nervously.
“Training, Sister. You can line up if you wish.”
She did not.
Not yet. This wasn’t the time.
But Encrid stood firm, ready to follow.
Thud!
Simple.
Tense and take the hit.
That was all.
Audin’s padded hammer slammed into Encrid’s ribs.
Not hard—but hard enough to break an ordinary man’s bones.
“Excellent!” Audin said cheerfully.
He adjusted the force precisely, gauging Encrid’s physical endurance by sight alone.
And Encrid endured it.
“Isn’t that just torture?” Krys muttered as he passed by.
Even in a rush, he couldn’t look away from the scene.
“It’s all training, turning pain to strength. Would you like to line up, Brother?”
“If you hit me, that’s murder, Audin,” Krys replied flatly—then sprinted off.
Good. Run.
Encrid inhaled deeply.
“Breathe.”
“Tighten your core. Lose focus for a moment, and something’s going to snap. Again.”
Audin’s voice came, and the padded hammer struck his ribs once more.
Smack.
The shock rippled through his entire body, lightning sparking in his mind.
‘Is he enjoying this?’ Encrid thought.
Was Audin ‘enjoying’ hitting him?
His faint smile looked wider than usual.
Gentle, almost holy—but deceiving.
‘The devil comes with the face of an angel.’
He recalled that verse automatically.
“I look forward to the day we can remove the padding, Brother.”
Even wrapping the hammer had been excessive, and now Audin wanted to skip it?
Encrid smiled faintly.
“So do I.”
If it had been meaningless, it would’ve been pointless—but it wasn’t.
‘Will.’
His [Will] responded.
Something branched from his [Will of Rejection]—a power that refused pain.
Not avoiding the impact—enduring it.
Knights had standardized arts, and this was one of them.
[Endure].
Originally a holy knight’s art, now spread to all knightly orders.
Its purpose: to ignore the body’s instinctive recoil against pain.
Armor for the spirit.
Mastering it made one’s body like steel—resistant even to blades.
‘Ah.’
That was why the brown-haired knight had been shocked when Ragna’s blade cut him.
And now Encrid understood.
‘Will.’
No amount of muscle alone could resist steel—but a will wrapped around the flesh could.
Another milestone revealed itself.
Maybe this brutal training had awakened it.
Encrid and Rem’s duels became even fiercer.
“No more holding back,” Rem said. “You’ve really improved.”
He wielded twin axes. After sixteen exchanges, Encrid’s blade grazed his cheek.
Rem grinned.
“Oh, did that hurt? Maybe I should’ve gone easier.”
“Sure. Let’s die today.”
“I’ll burn you and scatter your ashes in the river.”
A polite way of saying: ‘I’ll kill you first.’
Ragna’s change had left Rem feeling impatient.
He needed to evolve too.
So he trained harder.
Swung his axes through the air.
Passion burned in his movements.
This kind of provocation—he didn’t mind.
His energy had changed.
Seeing that, Encrid added,
“You said you were using a sling, right?”
Prompting him to draw his new weapon, Rem grinned, forgetting everything else as he readied himself.