Chapter 342
“Bastard.”
Rem ground his teeth. Ragna stood before him with an arrogant posture.
He pulled his chin in, tilted his nose upward at a slight angle, and with his eyes lowered spoke as though reciting poetry.
“Advance.”
Advance—move forward.
Encrid thought the word fit perfectly.
Rem’s insides boiled. He wanted to run back to where he came from and retrieve what he left behind.
Even if he hadn’t used his sling, he still lost.
No—he ‘couldn’t’ use the sling.
There were two reasons.
Rem’s instincts told him that even then, winning would be difficult. And the second reason—using it and dying together meant nothing.
From the first moment they met, Ragna had been an insufferable bastard, but he wasn’t someone worth killing.
There were far worse scumbags in the world—men who raped and murdered passing women and patted their bellies while living on. Compared to that, a short-tempered idiot who got lost easily wasn’t worth killing.
“You really want to die?”
Rem said. Despite his words, he had no intention of actually striking.
If things truly soured, he would risk death,—but he knew that, too, was a loss.
To win, he had to overpower by skill.
Just as Ragna had done just now.
Ragna ended the fight without slicing off Rem’s arm or leg—just as Rem should have done.
But right now, he couldn’t.
His opponent fought with [Will].
Every swing of Ragna’s blade carried that power.
Even when Rem deflected the sword, it flew back at him faster than before.
The light touch of the sword’s tip on his shoulder felt as though it carried the force of a fully committed thrust.
Even though the buildup of power was missing, the impact was still there.
Why?
Rem could summarize it in one word.
[Will].
Did that mean Ragna had become a Knight?
No. But at this moment, he was slightly superior to Rem.
Which infuriated Rem to the point of madness.
“Is that so? If you want to die together, then sure—try it.”
Meaning: ‘Do you think I’ll fall for that?’
Ragna knew. If Rem truly fought seriously, even he wouldn’t escape unscathed.
He would take damage—possibly lose an arm or leg.
Even so, Ragna maintained his arrogant posture.
‘Should I just beat him to death?’
Rem seriously considered it.
“I understand, Rem.”
Encrid stepped in.
He had already finished his spar. No—the “spar” had never reached true danger in the first place.
Sinar maintained a teaching stance, and Encrid accepted it, making it a guided training session.
It wasn’t bad, but Rem and Ragna’s fight drew all his attention.
Naturally, he ended his bout early and watched theirs. Especially the final exchange—it shook Encrid’s spirit.
Six short severing strikes—then a final, firm descending slash.
It was a middle sword-style vertical cut.
From that, Encrid felt Ragna’s sword had changed.
As the vertical blade fell, Rem crossed his two axes to deflect and twisted the force.
The axes absorbed it as though they were bundles of cotton.
Had Rem possessed a little more stamina in that moment, the outcome would have shifted.
At least, it wouldn’t have ended as it did.
But Rem couldn’t endure. Ragna’s sword maintained consistent downward pressure.
It resembled a crushing blade, yet was different.
There was intent to cleave, but unlike before, that intent sustained itself.
If past severing strikes were instantaneous, this was like savoring a sip of tea—[Will] was present for far longer.
The crushing blade exerts pressure through a preparation process. Its [Will] manifests only in the instant of impact.
In a way, it was a clever trick.
Because one could not sustain overpowering [Will] for long, a slow crushing method was used instead.
Then what about Ragna’s blade?
‘Its endurance is different.’
Ragna originally used [Will] only momentarily—through that severing technique.
But now?
He maintained consistent force throughout the entire downward cut. With [Will] soaked into the blade.
Victory was determined there.
Rem failed to draw out [Will].
Their physical strength wasn’t far apart. In terms of bodily completion, Rem might even be superior—but Ragna placed [Will] on top of his body.
‘Ah.’
Encrid understood immediately.
He had opened his eyes after receiving a Knight’s sword once.
Ragna’s new swordsmanship—light and heavy—was the birth of a [Will]-based style.
A talent—no, a talent awakened after meeting a Knight’s blade.
He had already resolved to break his limits thanks to fighting a Junior Knight and Squire earlier.
And what gnawed at his heart vanished after watching Encrid’s steadfast way of living.
It was the sum of all these things.
What held the most meaning recently?
A Knight.
Receiving a Knight’s sword created this result.
Encrid thought that as he comforted Rem.
“You’ve never fought a Knight before, have you?”
“…What?”
“Fight a Knight. Things will change.”
He conveyed his own firsthand experience. It was advice for Rem.
Ragna added:
“I see. You’ve never received a Knight’s sword. You.”
And Rem—
“Graaahhhh!”
Displayed for a moment what a man turning into a beast looked like—but he didn’t rampage.
Encrid had expected this.
He might look like someone who would split heads with an axe when annoyed, and yes, he did have madness—but he still knew what lines not to cross.
That was the Rem Encrid knew.
But seeing him unable to accept the advice, Encrid continued anyway.
“When you receive a Knight’s sword—”
“Shut the hell up, what are you saying?”
“You haven’t seen it yet. Once you do, you’ll understand.”
“Damn it, damn it, damn it.”
Encrid insisted he wasn’t teasing, but from Sinar’s perspective, that was laughable.
She summarized the day as such:
“My fiancé’s tongue is possessed by a demon.”
Esther, lying nearby, agreed internally.
A mage who’d met actual demons thought even their whispers weren’t this bad.
“It’s for your own good.”
Especially when he spoke like that—it clearly meant he intended to drive people insane.
“Stop, stop already!”
It was a rare sight. Rem was in agony.
After hearing Encrid’s words dozens of times, Rem finally attained enlightenment.
“Fine. I’ll meet a Knight one day.”
Audin quietly muttered a prayer.
“The Lord embraces him. You have received an important revelation, brother.”
“Yes. I will gain enlightenment.”
Rem agreed.
Ragna, after watching Rem, said to Encrid:
“In cruelty, I admit the Captain is several steps above us.”
Encrid insisted it was a misunderstanding, but no one believed him.
Rem didn’t regain clarity until nightfall.
“If you say ‘Knight’ one more time, I’ll split your tongue like a snake.”
It wasn’t an empty threat.
It felt as though his words carried [Will].
Sometimes strong intent struck the heart that way.
Encrid stopped teasing and simply smacked his lips.
“Alright, I’ll stop.”
He had gone a little overboard because chances to tease Rem were rare.
“Damn it.”
Rem finally snapped, but calmed down. Afterwards, he trained alone with enthusiasm and challenged Ragna to a duel once a day—or once every few days.
“Hey, you path-lost bastard, how are you that good at fighting? Come to the training ground.”
Ragna responded to the earnest request.
“Sure. Today I’ll remove your useless head.”
Encrid occasionally joined, but Sinar visited frequently and he focused on guided sparring with her.
“Are you free these days?”
“Busy. Big Eyes started too many projects.”
Encrid had ears. Krys had spoken endlessly to him.
Krys greatly expanded the trade route—laying green stone so roads could withstand rain.
“And who’s doing the work?”
Encrid asked back at Big Eyes, who explained everything to him.
The Border Guards were short on manpower. There was also farmland expansion on the Green Pearl Plains.
“There are people in a frontier village known for such work. I paid them.”
The frontier village wasn’t exactly overflowing with spare hands either.
“I used the Captain’s name.”
Krys said confidently. Encrid didn’t complain.
When it came to making things run, Krys was unrivaled.
Selling the Captain’s name a little—what harm was there?
“They even wanted to carve your name on the wall over there, so this much is mutually beneficial.”
Martai also dispatched people, and passing mercenary groups sometimes worked entirely as labor.
“Manpower shortages will be resolved soon. More importantly, handle the recruit training.”
As he had predicted, the manpower shortage soon resolved.
Effects born from the spread of Encrid’s name.
Word spread that one wouldn’t starve at the Border Guards.
In a world where monsters roamed open roads, there were no true vagrants.
Instead, there were people forced to become thieves—escaping the clutches of dog-like lords who drained them dry.
Krys accepted such people—including refugees from cities.
Many could be problematic, but he had no luxury to pick and choose. If they caused trouble inside the city, harsh punishment handled it.
Everything was done with the Lord’s approval, so there was no problem.
Of course, some voiced concerns.
“Accepting just anyone will cause security problems.”
The Lord’s adjutant said.
“And what should we do instead?”
Krys asked sharply.
“What? You want to throw away this chance to become a trade city? A chance to earn heaps of Krong? What? And you still call yourself the Lord’s adjutant? Go ask Rem to remove your head. He’s stressed these days, so he’ll do it cleanly. Why are you still here?”
If anyone could verbally fight Rem, it was Krys.
Especially with Krong involved, his tongue gained several levels of power.
The adjutant swallowed his words. He thought he heard some nonsense about Krong, but couldn’t argue.
Nor could he punch the man.
Krys was a member of the Madman Company.
Could he hit him? Should he?
He couldn’t.
Krys even offered his face forward as if begging to be hit.
“If you’re not going to throw a punch, then work.”
The adjutant was level-headed and skilled, which was why he had his position.
He made the obvious judgment: he could not hit Krys. Krys knew that too.
Otherwise, he would have been punched already.
If the adjutant were the type to swing first, Krys wouldn’t have approached this way.
After that, the adjutant obeyed Krys’ not-orders and was buried in work.
Because the Lord rediscovered the joy of swinging a sword, the adjutant’s dark circles only worsened.
He began praying before bed—half complaints about Krys, half about the Lord.
Encrid couldn’t know everything, but he understood enough.
With Krys working so hard, others would inevitably groan.
Krys knew how to squeeze out every last drop of a person’s ability.
“Recruit training will go to Audin.”
Encrid gave Krys support.
“Yes, brother. I’ll do it. They must at least be able to run.”
There was no one more suited for basic physical training.
Though the new recruits would shed tears—suffering near-death in training increased survival odds in battle.
Soldier wages were significantly raised. Many laborers were hired. A sewing guild was formed with skilled women.
“Let’s burn Krong.”
Krys consumed all remaining funds in the castle.
The adjutant’s last strength protested:
“That is the castle’s money.”
“And? What, will wheat fall from the sky if we store it? Apples? What, then?”
“…I was just saying.”
The adjutant gave up. The Lord had already permitted it.
His nightly prayers only grew longer.
Krys reorganized several units around veteran soldiers.
Equipment was completely replaced.
Unified gear improved the sense of belonging.
The lacking Krong was borrowed from Leona.
“No interest. Just don’t forget to expand my authority.”
Krys would eventually hand trade and other matters to the Rockfreed Company.
Leona knew this, and gave gold while taking a share of influence.
Later, when given benefits, no one could complain.
Rumors spread that being part of the Border Guards meant higher wages.
As rumors spread, people flocked.
When peasants defected from neighboring territories, local lords complained to the royal court.
The royal court sent someone to tell them to stop causing trouble, but the Lord only bowed and ignored it completely.
“If they care so much, they should help us when we get attacked.”
Krys criticized sharply.
He knew the royal court couldn’t mobilize force right now.
So he acted freely.
Once he built enough strength and legitimacy, no one could say anything.
They also improved the roads and built outposts wherever sight reached.
Outposts lined along the roads made the place look like a landmark of the Border Guards.
He deployed the newly formed units.
He named ten-man squads “outpost squads.”
“We’re guarding this place?”
The first squad leader showed anxiety.
They needed to be on duty day and night. There was no guarantee monsters wouldn’t appear.
Krys gave the obvious answer:
“You’ll get extra pay.”
“Still…”
“Would you rather join the advanced training course?”
“I’ll guard the outpost.”
Audin’s training was known to recruits as the entrance to hell.
Thus, people joked: ‘If you want to die, become a soldier.’
Despite that, many still came.
The Border Guards were transforming daily.
Krys sat at the center of it all.
He caused countless changes.
Sinar also became busier.
Her unit was surveying the newly acquired swamp.
It was truly a busy period.
Yet she visited Encrid without fail, prompting him to ask if she wasn’t too busy.
“Then come when you have free time.”
Encrid said, and Sinar found it absurd.
“A date is at stake.”
“…Ah.”
Perhaps she was more persistent than Encrid himself—but his instinct sensed she wasn’t doing this just for a date.
Something was going on.
If not, she would have said, “Let’s go to the market,” long ago. But she didn’t.
“When the time comes, I will make the request.”
That was all she said.
“Let us enjoy ourselves today as well, fiancé.”
Sinar drew her blades.
Encrid drew his silver longsword.
It now fit perfectly in his hand, as though it had forgotten its previous owner.
“You’ve surpassed me now.”
While conducting their guided spar, Sinar remarked.
She meant that Encrid’s skill had surpassed hers.
Encrid did not deny it.
He felt the same.
As their usual training neared its end—
Sinar stepped back, raised her chin slightly.
Her gaze traveled upward from below until it met Encrid’s face.
Then her lips opened.
“This won’t do.”