Chapter 419

“You’ll be staying with the Border Guards, right?”

At Krys’s question, Encrid nodded.

“I figured as much, so I made preparations. If you need anything else, just say the word. With all sincerity!”

Ever since seeing the generalship and the treasure, Krys’s eyes had often gleamed like Krong, and he kept spitting out the word “sincerity.”

Encrid didn’t fault Krys for it. No matter what anyone said, he was someone who did his job properly.

Their lodgings had changed. They were larger now, with more rooms. A new training ground had also been built in front of them.

There had already been a training ground reserved for the Madman Company, but this one was completely different from the ground up.

Straight, flat stones were neatly laid across a broad stretch of land.

On one side, the green leaves of carefully planted trees held the morning dew.

Dawn was slowly breaking. It was summer, the season when the sun rose early.

Trees, flowers, the rising sun.

Watching the leaves sway in the wind, Encrid drew his sword.

Then he began his usual training. There was no sparring scheduled for today.

“Let’s see when my axes are done.”

Rem said, grinding his teeth.

“My greatsword isn’t ready yet.”

Ragna also refused, his brow furrowed.

“You’re planning to stab and slash with that? Brother General?”

Even Audin, of all people, subtly refused.

“I won’t do it.”

Dunbakel avoided it outright.

“I just got a new shield fitted.”

Teresa refused as well.

“My ankle has grown back, but even if I had three ankles, it still wouldn’t be enough to face you now.”

The last bit of hope, Ruagarne, vanished too.

Sinar wasn’t even visible.

“I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

When he tried to call even Pell, he shook his head.

He added that he still couldn’t win. He didn’t seem to be in the mood to fight, either.

For Encrid, it was regrettable. All he had done was test Aker, the greatest of great swords he had newly obtained.

During that test, he had broken the blade of Rem’s axe and cut in half the sword Ragna had been using temporarily, but that was unavoidable.

When you get a new sword, you have to test it.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit shameless?”

Rem sneered, but Encrid replied calmly.

“Equipping yourself properly is part of your skill too.”

“The King just handed it to you… never mind.”

Rem gave up arguing. It would be easier to draw out one more burst of magical power than to try to beat Encrid in an argument.

“Come at me, you western savage brute.”

Encrid kept provoking Rem, but Rem, having learned his lesson, shut his ears and ignored him.

Encrid soon cast off the distracting thoughts and focused on training.

‘Slash, thrust, cut.’

As he pictured an imaginary enemy and swung his sword, the wind rose with it, and the leaves shook.

‘There is something to learn in everything you see.’

It didn’t always take some grand realization. By repeating a movement, he could shave away the smallest errors and embody better action.

Along with that thought, everything he had learned so far naturally blended into the sword he swung.

He wove [Will of the Moment] into the continuous motions of thrusting and cutting.

‘Two movements in one breath.’

Ragna had already reached three movements in one breath.

Encrid had seen it when Ragna cut down the Wraiths’ commander before the Count.

Encrid still couldn’t do that. What Ragna had done was closer to a miracle than a mere feat.

In practical terms, it seemed like the sword closest to a knight’s.

‘Repetition. Then repetition again.’

If the Ferryman had been standing right beside him, he would probably have cursed him for being unbearably tedious.

He followed that momentary acceleration with [Pressing Blade].

With [Capturing Sword], he imagined an enemy and laid out numerical tactics.

The opponents before his eyes ranged from the young genius he had met in the past to those from his mercenary days, Lierbart, Rem, Ragna, and Audin.

Not one of those fights would be easy.

In terms of sheer skill, Encrid was already among the top of the Junior Knights, but the outcome of a real fight was different from a spar.

Anyone could die from a stray blade.

‘Don’t talk about victory or defeat before you’ve fought.’

Three of the people who had taught him said the same thing.

Strangely, all three had first refused to teach him, only giving in after seeing a persistence that went beyond mere earnestness.

As he swung his sword over and over, sweat scattered in every direction.

To Encrid’s eyes, the person closest to being a knight was Ragna.

Ragna had cut down the one who blocked his path in a single strike.

And the sword he showed while cutting through the wave of Wraiths—

in every respect, it was clearly beyond the level of a Junior Knight.

That was why Encrid had asked.

“Have you reached the level of a knight?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’ve never been there, so I don’t know.”

There was certainty in Ragna’s words. The kind of confidence only a genius could show.

His attitude said it plainly.

I haven’t been there yet, but I will get there.

That absolute conviction showed in his bearing and actions.

Encrid knew very well that his own talent was miserable, and around him were geniuses like Ragna everywhere.

Rem was like that. Audin too.

Even Dunbakel and Teresa had improved to a degree that couldn’t be compared to before. Their innate talents were simply different.

And Pell? Judging by the way he gauged opponents with his eyes, he too deserved to be called a genius.

Even Squire Roford—though Encrid had no idea what he was thinking by following them—probably had better talent than Encrid.

Lierbart was a poet who had fallen into a swamp of frustration and despair.

He sang despair and danced in frustration.

Lamenting his own talent, he had walked the path of heresy.

‘Despair and be frustrated!’

The Ferryman’s phantom shouted.

Encrid ignored it all. He would not let trivial distractions break his posture or shake his mind.

He was in the middle of sweating heavily.

Then he heard the sound of footsteps scraping in from one side.

Encrid stopped swinging his sword and turned his gaze.

It came from the direction where dawn was breaking. Against the light, he saw a shadow walking toward him.

The risen sun now brightly lit the surroundings.

He saw reddish-brown hair and arms swinging naturally.

Encrid knew a silent dagger could fly from those hands at any moment, and he also knew countless blades and weapons were hidden all over that man’s body.

If Audin’s body was a blunt instrument like steel—

then the one approaching now was a living weapon, something that could kill a man just by breathing. A living lethal weapon.

As his skill had grown, so had what he could perceive.

Now, he could see Jaxson’s ‘preparations,’ the things he would never have noticed before.

What was hidden in every step, every gesture.

Seeing that, Encrid shifted his footing, tugged at his sword belt, and placed a hand at his waist.

Naturally, Aker settled into his grip.

A famous sword named after a knight from the founding myths.

A sword worthy of being called a royal treasure.

‘If it breaks, it can’t be helped.’

It had been given to him, after all. If it came to that, it was unavoidable.

If Jaxson attacked right now, it seemed Encrid wouldn’t come out unscathed either, even with Aker in hand.

Among assassins, they divided their own levels among themselves.

To reveal killing intent openly was third-rate.

To reveal it subtly was second-rate.

To approach with no presence at all was first-rate.

To approach while giving off an ordinary presence was beyond first-rate.

Jaxson looked as usual, but Encrid’s sharpened senses and intuition told him otherwise.

“Your skill has improved a great deal.”

Jaxson said as he approached.

“I still have a long way to go.”

Encrid replied, letting his arm hang even looser.

To explosively increase speed in an instant, he actually needed to relax his muscles more.

“To become a knight?”

Encrid nodded.

Jaxson stopped walking.

With the sunlight behind him, his face was half buried in shadow. The heavy shade made him look colder than ever.

“There’s something I want to ask.”

“Ask.”

“Why didn’t you join the Royal Guard?”

===

“Are you returning now?”

In the past, during the time of the previous master of the Daggers of Gaor, there had been one thing done in secret after an infiltration mission ended.

Anyone who might guess the infiltrator’s identity was killed.

By now, it was no longer a rule that absolutely had to be followed.

But if the target in question was the master of Gaor himself, that was another matter.

The master of the Daggers of Gaor was someone who had to remain hidden behind a veil of mystery.

“Shall we take care of it?”

His lover—the daughter of the former master—asked.

Jaxson didn’t answer. His lips did not part easily.

“If it has to be done, I’ll do it myself.”

His lover nodded.

That too was proper.

So then, when should he deal with it, and when should he return?

Leaving aside the pile of delayed requests, the bigger issue was that the master had been gone too long, and discipline was no longer being maintained properly.

Once a crack appeared, there were more than enough people who would start scheming to seize that position.

Just offhand, there were more than five.

‘No. Probably around ten.’

And yet, out of respect for the former master, he followed that man’s will.

For no particular reason, Jaxson was still here.

He could have left before the civil war began. He could have left after it ended.

He didn’t have to return to the Border Guards, either.

Along the way, he had countless chances to kill those who suspected his identity.

So why, regardless of whether it would succeed or fail, had he never even tried?

There was a mountain of things he was curious about, things he couldn’t understand.

“May I ask why?”

His lover asked—not as a guild member serving the master, but simply as herself.

For a moment, Jaxson couldn’t continue speaking.

“If I ask him, I think I’ll know.”

“Know what?”

“Why he didn’t become a knight.”

To her, it was an abrupt, nonsensical statement.

But not to Jaxson.

‘Master.’

Throughout the entire journey here, the words of the previous master had been circling in his mind.

“Technique without heart is nothing but murderous art, you fool.”

A strange thing to say to someone who had come to learn murderous art.

“Are you happy because you’re good at killing people? Is that fun?”

He didn’t feel it often, but sometimes, yes, it was enjoyable.

“Don’t smile. When you smile, it makes me feel like I made the wrong choice.”

Jaxson had never cared what that choice was.

The master had said similar things from the very beginning, from the moment he first brought him in.

“If you have something precious, then what would have ended as nothing but murderous art can become a sword that protects someone.”

Jaxson had asked in return.

“Then what are you protecting, Master?”

“My daughter and my family. The fools who live only for me. A fence, perhaps, to stop people like you from being unleashed on the world.”

Half understood, half incomprehensible.

A story that had never really mattered.

The kind of story that only needed to be heard and let pass.

What mattered to Jaxson was the power he needed for revenge.

So now that the revenge was over, should he find a new object for that revenge?

Should he continue hunting down the ones who remained, one by one, and killing them?

Was that the right path?

He had thought it was something to do before worrying about whether it was right or wrong.

That was why he was here.

“Now then, Jaxson Bensino, rightful heir of Bensino. Do you want to become a killing maniac? Is perfectly carrying out the act of killing people the one and only purpose of your life? Is that your dream? Is that all there is for you?”

In Jaxson’s mind, the master’s words rose one after another.

===

For a moment, Encrid fell silent at Jaxson’s sudden question.

‘Why?’

He had never really thought much about the reason.

But thinking about it now, he could have stayed with the Royal Guard.

If he had said he wanted to remain in the capital and join them, who would have refused?

Krang had been ready to create a new Royal Guard for him if necessary, and Aisia had subtly urged him to join the Red Cloak Order.

The Marquis of Okto, now a Duke, had even said it outright.

“How about staying in the capital and joining the Royal Guard? I think it would be a good opportunity for you.”

If Markus Vaisar had tried to tie him down through connections and backing, the Duke of Okto had wanted him to become one of the land’s new pillars.

Encrid had calmly brushed every one of those offers aside.

At the time, all he had wanted was to return quickly and swing his sword in peace, morning and evening.

“Just.”

Because that alone was not enough explanation, Encrid added more.

“I moved as my heart led.”

At the deepest level, it was because the knight he pursued was nowhere in sight.

Encrid had not found chivalry.

He had seen the Royal Guard in the capital—but did it contain chivalry? Honor? Faith? Loyalty?

Protect the weak.

Raise your sword and fight for justice.

A battlefield where children do not fight.

The battle of those who guard the rear.

The things called virtues, the things people now turned away from.

Encrid felt no need to put on the red cloak in order to walk the path he wanted.

That was the true meaning behind saying he had followed his heart.

“The Royal Guard I imagined wasn’t there, either.”

Knowing his explanation was still lacking, Encrid laid out his thoughts simply, one by one.

It wasn’t a long explanation, but it conveyed enough.

“Your dream is a big one.”

That was the sort of thing Rem would have said.

But Jaxson only furrowed his brow at Encrid’s answer.