Chapter 343
‘Am I falling behind?’
Sinar felt something close to crisis.
Encrid’s growth pushed her into that state.
Did winning or losing matter? No. The problem was that if she fell behind like this, she wouldn’t be able to offer the man before her the kind of enjoyment he deserved.
‘He lives through battle.’
What was the best gift for someone striving to become a knight?
What made his heart race the most?
Not unrivaled beauty. Definitely not that. She could not shake his heart with mere physical charm.
Then what?
‘The sword.’
Something tied to battle, skill, and ability.
Naturally, Sinar also had a hidden trump card. She just hadn’t expected to use it here.
Elves nurtured the spirit of the forest and, with enough training, could cultivate a spirit-tree within their bodies.
Normally, it took centuries to build. That was the baseline for their kind.
But Sinar was not an ordinary elf.
She possessed talent.
The ability to absorb spirit itself and raise it within her body.
To store it, then release it when needed.
A hidden move—her secret technique.
Sinar revealed her trump card for one reason: to see Encrid’s stunned face and watch him burst with excitement.
Why?
That didn’t matter.
‘Ah, this is fun.’
This was Sinar’s first time experiencing something like this.
Her heart pounded. Euphoria surged. The moment she sensed the shift in her opponent’s emotions—
She felt joy.
Enjoyment.
It sent chills dancing across her skin.
‘Are you having fun?’
She asked silently. Encrid’s entire sensory system reacted. Watching that delighted her more than anything.
Control your emotions.
She had heard that since the moment she could understand words.
Elves felt others’ emotions directly and vividly—an innate trait that made them easy to sway.
The curse of sensitivity.
Knowing the problem meant they had to solve it.
So elves learned heart-discipline.
Training to master and control one’s inner self.
Remaining calm at all times.
In a sense, it resembled a beast’s heart.
They controlled their hearts, their bodies, and ultimately their emotions. Sinar passed all these trials, which is why she stood where she did now.
For Frok, leaving his home required not reacting to the word “heart.” For elves, it required mastering control of body and mind.
Sharing swords and sweat—Sinar watched Encrid’s face as droplets fell to the ground.
Black hair and blue eyes softened into a gentle curve.
His crescent-shaped eyes seemed to shine. It was just past noon.
Spring sunlight wrapped around his hair, casting a long shadow and shading the left side of his face.
Watching him blend with the scenery gave off an almost mystical aura.
She took all of it in through her elven senses.
Elves were born beautiful.
Their perfectly symmetrical features often caused humans to fall into lovesickness.
The phrase “beauty beyond human” existed because of them.
Though some elves were exceptions, most were unmistakably elven in appearance.
Sinar had seen countless such faces since birth.
‘But his face… isn’t the point.’
The vitality overflowing from him dominated the space around him. She had sensed it before, but her attitude now was different.
It wasn’t resolve or determination. Just a natural flow.
She would swing her sword driven by emotion.
Not control—emotion.
Sinar followed that instinct.
—
Instinct or intuition.
A dangerous sensation crawled up the back of Encrid’s neck. A chill ran down his spine, every hair standing upright.
It felt as though Death whispered beside him.
Everything he saw, heard, and felt blurred into pure instinct.
He felt as though he was looking down at his body from above.
Encrid saw another blade aiming for his back.
The instant he realized it—
He twisted his body sideways. Shifting his right foot as a pivot, he drew his gladius with his left hand.
Twisting his wrist as he drew, he caught the blade with the flat.
Thunk.
It lacked weight but felt like a stabbing force.
Sinar, who had been right in front of him, had vanished.
His hairs stood again.
Thought accelerated. Encrid knew—no, ‘felt’—what he had to do.
It was time to bring out an answer born of instinct.
He threw the gladius in a direction that felt ominous.
Whoosh.
As the sword extended in a straight line, he drew Flicker.
Tirring!
Without a moment to breathe, he swung Flicker in a wide arc. Flicker was meant for thrusting, so it lacked cutting power—but in this case, surprise would be its strength.
And it worked.
Sinar wasn’t panicked, but she acknowledged his creativity.
She met his blade and redirected it.
Chiriririring!
Sparks erupted as Flicker met her swords.
Encrid released Flicker as well.
Then gripped his silver longsword with both hands.
Hup.
After a short breath—
He heightened his senses to their utmost and concentrated into a single point.
For some unknown reason, he sensed a blade before him ‘and’ behind him.
Both had physical form.
Will’s trick?
It didn’t feel like Will. It didn’t feel like that at all.
Encrid slashed downward at the Sinar in front of him.
She raised her blade to respond—but her form shimmered like a mirage.
Then blades struck from both sides.
High-speed movement?
No. These were all real.
A spell? Some magic-enhanced technique?
There was no time to think.
Encrid slashed, then immediately lunged forward and rolled.
Two deep lines carved into the ground where he had stood.
Sinar stopped moving her blades.
She simply stood and regulated her breath silently.
Her gaze stayed on Encrid, who remained in his lowered posture.
“What did you do?”
Encrid asked, crouched on one knee from the roll.
The blade in his hand reflected sunlight.
He still hadn’t broken his stance. Even that posture and the energy from his sword were threatening—but elven perception was far sharper than human senses.
“Are you proposing?”
What?
Encrid realized he was kneeling on one knee.
“I’m saying I can still fight.”
“Is that so?”
She replied without a hint of a smile.
By then, more eyes had gathered around them.
From mercenaries eager to cross blades with Encrid, to Rem, Audin, Ragna. Dunbakel and Teresa’s attention was inevitable.
What drew the Madman Company’s gaze?
The divine-like technique Sinar had just displayed.
Her skill was on another level.
Even Ragna thought it was beyond ordinary.
‘Do all elves fight like that?’
He had traveled enough to spar with many elven swordsmen.
The most memorable was a dual-blade elf who targeted nothing but vital points.
Compared to him, Sinar was several times more dangerous.
She was clearly in front of them, yet it looked as though her blade struck from behind Encrid.
How?
Precision and delicacy?
No—that was merely characteristic of elven swordsmanship.
She slashed empty air, yet the strike came from behind him.
Rem narrowed his eyes.
What had that elf done?
Audin smiled as he watched.
“Magic?”
Dunbakel murmured.
“No.”
Teresa answered. She had fought many mages. Her instinct said no.
Sinar heard them, but let the words pass. Her eyes stayed on Encrid.
A faint smile—unconsciously forming—appeared on her face.
Encrid had never seen her smile like that.
With that faint smile, she asked:
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
A simple question.
Sunlight, dust-filled air, warm spring breeze.
Feeling all of that, Encrid nodded.
She asked about joy. Naturally so. It was the first time he had faced such a technique. He didn’t understand it at all.
The thrill of wanting to unravel its principles electrified him.
Every hair on his body was still standing.
Encrid rose.
“More than anything.”
“Then sparring with me must be the most enjoyable of all.”
A sudden statement. Encrid couldn’t answer immediately.
The most enjoyable?
Everyone paused for a brief moment to think.
Then—
Thunk.
A heavy sound came from behind Sinar.
Thunk.
A sound that naturally drew all eyes.
Behind Encrid. Audin stood in a short punching stance.
“Brother Captain, have you grasped the feel of close-range bursting? Once you learn the knack, it brings a different kind of joy. There is nothing more delightful than mastering the ways of the world.”
…Hm?
Encrid’s thoughts halted.
What was he even talking about?
Audin wasn’t the last.
Beside him, Ragna swung his sword.
Swish, swish.
“A fast and heavy sword.”
A blade with [Will]. One you couldn’t learn by being taught.
The old Encrid wouldn’t have known, but he understood now.
If one aimed to become a knight, imitation wasn’t enough. You had to make it your own.
Walking that path helped him understand deeply.
“Even if you can’t learn it, can you really say a duel doesn’t teach you anything?”
Ragna said, as if reading his mind. He halted his sword and his eyes shone. [Will] radiated—firm and unyielding like a blade.
Encrid doubted this was the time for everyone to ignite their fighting spirit.
As he stared silently, a third person stepped up.
“Look, this is something I picked up from a crazy old man once. Might be good for you to learn.”
Rem wrapped ropes tightly around his axe.
…What were these people doing?
Were they all trying to insist that sparring with them was also fun?
“Then fighting Wandering Teresa wasn’t fun?”
Teresa asked, and Dunbakel rotated her shoulders—ready to charge.
Their silent protest made Encrid laugh without meaning to.
What was there to say?
Just because Sinar had given him chills didn’t mean his excitement from sparring these others had vanished.
A hundred people meant a hundred colors.
Encrid could enjoy anything—learning, experiencing, absorbing.
So their reaction didn’t annoy him.
He laughed.
At that moment—
“What, do we need to line up to talk to Captain Enki now?”
There were many spectators—from mercenaries to soldiers.
Among them were Bell and Benzense.
They turned toward the familiar voice.
“How have you been?”
A neatly trimmed beard and hair, done by a professional.
Clothing different from what the Border Guards used.
A man leaned on a short staff as he stepped out from between soldiers.
Markus Vaisar—the former lord.
His cane-wielding stroll made him look like a carefree neighbor visiting, but the escorts behind him radiated formidable presence.
Dust clung to their shoulders—they had come straight here without washing after their journey.
Encrid saluted.
“Aren’t you even offering tea? Is that how you treat a guest? Out in the open?”
Markus asked. Encrid wondered if tea shouldn’t be requested from the current lord instead.
But he couldn’t refuse the man.
Judging from his state, he had come straight here without even visiting the lord.
“Are you not giving me tea?”
Markus repeated, pestering him.
Encrid nodded.
The spar had to end.
No one protested. Even Encrid needed time to reflect on what Sinar had shown him.
‘A strike that is felt, has substance, yet is physically impossible.’
How was that possible? What was the principle?
He had to ponder and analyze.
“What a killjoy.”
Rem summed up the situation in one sentence.
Sinar turned away, expression unreadable.
“A nuisance. A nuisance.”
Whether she truly meant it was unclear.
But she stepped back quietly.
Markus smiled, and Encrid thought—
What impeccable timing he had.
“Let’s go.”
There was no tea tent in the barracks. Encrid headed for the dining hall.