Chapter 433

The madman, a wayfarer and maniac wandering in search of dreams, had faced three Knights.

The first was the Knight of Azpen.

Every technique he possessed was fast and powerful.

Even if you knew it was coming, you couldn’t block it.

No, now he might be able to block a strike from back then if he knew it was coming, even if the opponent weren’t serious. But at the time, that was how it had felt.

Even his physical abilities as a whole seemed to belong to a completely different class of human being. His swordsmanship was like that.

The next Knight-level martial prowess he encountered was that of Mercenary King of the East, Anu.

He hadn’t shown everything he had. What he showed had been only a tiny fraction.

And the Mercenary King was a Beastkin. The techniques he displayed without even transforming were already at that level.

Even so, there had been much to see, much to feel, and much to learn.

Because he had fought as though he were showing them one by one, slowly.

What he showed was artistry.

From movements that could not be understood, the spearhead flew in from angles that could not be imagined.

The last was right before his eyes.

An opponent who drew back a descending black blade.

Ragna’s sword was a killing stroke.

A sword that killed without fail.

It perfectly embodied the nature of the heavy sword style.

Not all Knights are the same.

What was this experience the Mercenary King had spoken of?

Where did this difference come from?

‘By honing what one already possesses.’

If you believed the path you were walking now was the right one, then instead of stopping to look back and ponder, you had to take even one more step.

The King’s words remained vivid in his memory. His lesson had been clear.

The moment he realized that, Encrid knew for certain.

That talent, that heaven, would not grant him what he desired.

‘A genius among geniuses.’

One in ten thousand.

And from among even those gathered few, one was selected again.

That was a Knight.

‘So?’

Would that change anything? No. It was the same as always. It had always been like this.

Permission had never been granted.

Even if heaven did not permit it, even if talent did not permit it, what if he found a way?

This was one of those ways. Encrid seemed to know that.

A clue had appeared.

So a smile surfaced, and his mouth opened, and the words came out before they ever passed through his brain.

“Again.”

His arms were trembling. If he did not tighten his abdomen, it felt as though he would be blown away.

It was like standing without even a staff before a storm strong enough to uproot trees.

Like climbing a glacier-cold mountain range, one where urine froze the moment it left the body, without even a straw mat.

‘No.’

He did have a staff, and even if it was no more than a straw mat, there were still clothes covering his body.

Encrid steadied his mind.

Everything he had built until now—those were his clothes and his staff.

For someone who denied what he had built and could not believe in himself, there was no tomorrow.

So believing in himself was the starting point.

That was the meaning in the Mercenary King’s words as well.

Walk the path you believed was right, and do not turn away from what you had built.

Encrid smiled, looked at Ragna, and asked with his eyes.

Did you think it would end after one strike?

Ragna took his stance as if the answer were obvious. The black-haired boy lifted his sword, splitting the sunlight with his body, the blade rising upright, perpendicular to the ground.

He intended to repeat the same motion and nothing else.

An attack that could not be blocked even if you knew it was coming.

A swordsmanship that perfectly recreated the feeling Encrid had first received from the Knight of Azpen.

===

That was as far as Ragna’s strike went, even while holding back his strength.

The black lightning fell a total of three times, and Encrid blocked all three.

No, it was more accurate to say he endured them.

Because the muscles in his right arm had nearly torn, and his left arm had nearly broken.

‘That brute bastard.’

Rem watched until the end and tried to spit out the thought, then stopped. Suddenly, his throat itched, and when he raised a hand to scratch it, Rem found he could not say anything.

‘Even if it were me…’

He too had to admit it was hard to go easy after seeing someone like Encrid.

Even with both arms trembling violently, Encrid still tried to grip his sword again. His body swayed as though he might collapse at any moment, yet the light in his eyes had not died.

Could anyone really deal casually with someone who charged in while burning his very soul just to fight?

Spenadul, that lazy bastard who would light a cigarette with his anus, was the one who had shown restraint.

If he had put just a little more force into it, Encrid’s arms would have been shattered.

So it was hard to curse him just for being a brute.

“Hoho, my lazy brother has grasped something extraordinary.”

Audin voiced pure admiration.

Seeing Knight-level swordsmanship was not something that happened often.

Even Audin could not do something like that immediately just by releasing a Taboo.

He too would need time to adjust.

Or perhaps time for brutal training.

But that did not mean it was beyond reach.

Rem and Audin remained composed.

The others did not.

There were many around Encrid blessed with talent.

Rem, Jaxson, and Audin were special, but the others were formidable in their own right as well.

Teresa stared ahead with half-open eyes, lost in thought. She replayed over and over what she had just witnessed.

That was lightning.

A black, metallic catastrophe descending from above, something that made one hesitate to even attempt a block.

‘Could a shield block that?’

If there were an unbreakable shield, could the arm holding it endure?

It was a swordsmanship that could make even a Half-Giant think that way.

Teresa clenched her molars hard. The tension in her jaw left a long line standing out above it.

It was the moment despair tried to force its way in.

Then Encrid came into view, the man who had endured until he fainted and collapsed.

Looking at him, a different emotion surged up before frustration or despair could.

‘I’ll do it too.’

It was the resolve not to give up, mixed with the desire not to lose.

Dunbakel and Roford felt much the same.

Everyone’s thoughts deepened.

Ruagarne’s eyes shone so brightly that tears spilled out.

“Why is that Frok crying?”

Rem asked when he saw it.

“Her emotions must have overwhelmed her, my barbarian brother.”

Audin’s observation was correct.

Ruagarne felt something surging up from deep in her chest.

She was so overwhelmed that her mouth would not open. Frok’s smooth fingers trembled slightly.

‘How can he be like that?’

She had watched Encrid grow, but she also knew how pitiful his talent was.

Ruagarne’s talent, and the experience accumulated by the individual known as Frok, made Encrid’s limits clear to her moment by moment.

And yet he advanced.

Ruagarne saw something even greater than the absence of envy.

The will to advance even if heaven did not permit it, even if talent did not permit it.

It shone brighter than a falling star and burned hotter than a blazing fire.

It was pure will.

‘Permission was never granted.’

Encrid seemed to be saying those words with his whole being, and proved it through everything he did afterward.

Ruagarne’s mouth opened.

“He will become a Knight.”

It was an abrupt statement, but no one objected or added anything.

The Mercenary King had not left something behind for Encrid because he had been convinced.

What he left was closer to a gift casually tossed to a guy who loaded dreams onto his sword.

And now—

Frok, who always grasped reality before anything else in order to explore the unknown, felt a conviction so strong that reason no longer mattered.

That man would become a Knight.

While Frok was moved and everyone else was lost in thought,

the one who was most shocked was Pell.

‘What is that?’

He had never thought he would lose to anyone in terms of talent.

Why would he?

He was one of the Shepherds of the Wilds.

Everyone within it was a monster.

How many elders were there there that he could not handle even if he charged with Demon Slayer in hand?

Even so, it was fine. He might be behind for now, but he would catch up soon enough.

But after seeing what had just happened before his eyes, that confidence had been chipped away.

What he had thought was a solid mountain now seemed like a light pile of dirt scattering in the wind.

‘Is my talent really that insignificant?’

Pell was so shocked he could not move.

===

If both arms were ruined, then the answer was to train the lower body.

“No rest, I see. Good posture. If the blood circulates quickly through the body, recovery also speeds up.”

A properly trained healer would have called that insane nonsense.

When inflammation occurred in the body, rest came first, not pushing through it.

But there was no such healer here, and Audin’s words were not wrong either.

Encrid’s body was not so fragile that it would break down over something like that.

Through the [Isolation Technique] and his regenerative body, he had turned into a physique specialized for recovery.

It took seven days for both his arms to recover completely.

Exactly one week later, Encrid took up his sword and called for Ragna.

“Stop loafing around and get out here. Today I’m going to fix all your bad habits.”

The clumsy one, who had been swinging his sword in the center of the training ground more diligently than ever, turned his head and answered calmly.

“You could just ask for a normal spar.”

Encrid felt a little embarrassed and scratched his cheek as he answered.

“It’s a habit.”

It was a habit formed from calling out Rem and the others.

Habits like that did not disappear overnight.

Because when he said to Rem, ‘You crazy barbarian bastard, get out here, I’ll shatter your pride,’ it was not a provocation at all, but a request for a spar.

“This time, it comes from here.”

As he said that, Ragna held his sword parallel to the ground.

If before he had brought it down from above in a vertical strike, this time he would sweep it horizontally.

If before it had felt like lightning falling, this time it felt like an entire castle wall collapsing.

It was not faster than before, but there was nowhere to dodge.

It also felt like a massive boulder rolling toward him.

It was as if it were declaring, ‘This is a Knight’s strike.’

This time, Encrid cracked two ribs.

But he did not die.

A few days later, when the pain in his side had faded and he was fine again, Sinar returned and saw Encrid sweating on the training ground, and for once showed an expression.

It was only her left eyebrow rising slightly, but Encrid knew that meant surprise.

“You’ve gone far.”

“Did you miss me, beaten-up fiancée?”

“Did you pick up that modifier from Audin?”

“I’m not at an age where I learn things from anyone.”

Encrid nodded and took up his sword.

He had not forgotten what Sinar had shown him when he had collapsed.

If not for Ragna, he would have spent every waking and sleeping moment wondering when she would come, unable to forget it, simply waiting.

Sinar smiled as she held Needles.

It was a elf-like smile shown only to Encrid.

But Encrid did not fall for the spell cast by that inhuman beauty.

Sinar erased her smile and closed the distance at the same time.

Thud!

Was it thanks to Ragna?

It was slower than the black lightning, and easier to block than that horizontal slash that had felt like an entire castle wall coming down, leaving nowhere to run.

Instead, her sword moved like a butterfly.

He blocked, but it curved and closed in before falling from above, and as he barely blocked that, at some point it returned to the front and stabbed deeply toward his abdomen.

Even when he somehow managed to block and evade, it was the same.

At some point, an unseen blade aimed for the back of his head.

A sword swung from the front, while a blade appeared from behind as well?

It was a skill she had shown him once before.

The secret sword art of the Elf, created from the Forest Essence.

“There is nowhere to dodge.”

He heard Sinar’s words.

This time too, Encrid smiled.

He had no intention of dodging.

In an instant, he twisted his body sideways, blocked Sinar’s Needles with Aker in his right hand, and drew Gladius with his left to strike down the intangible blade.

Pik, the intangible blade vanished weakly, but he could not block Needles completely.

After several more attacks like that, a few cuts appeared on him.

Naturally, he lost, and this time there was nearly a hole opened in his thigh.

“If she had stabbed a little higher, you might’ve ended up a new life-form for the rest of your life. Neither man nor woman.”

Rem, having seen that, threw out a joke.

“I almost made a serious mistake.”

After the spar, Sinar showed a brief hint of reflection.

“It’s fine.”

Encrid did not mind.

What followed was an ordinary yet extraordinary daily life.

One day with Ragna.

Another spent sparring with Sinar.

And in the gaps, he also learned various techniques from Rem.

He spent time with Audin, and since Jaxson did not seem any busier than before, Encrid also stuck close to him and lingered around.

“[Silence Knife] isn’t about stabbing in such a way that it can’t be blocked even when someone knows. It’s about stabbing before they even know it’s happening.”

It was not absolutely necessary to learn, but simply knowing a wide range of techniques would help.

That was why he learned and mastered this and that.

The Elf’s blade could not be seen, but it was caught within the net of sensation.

‘In the end, is it about stabbing so that it can’t be seen or felt?’

The Elf’s secret technique came to him as a realization through intuition.

It was an enlightenment he gained before Sinar showed it again.

Repeating such days and such training was precisely Encrid’s specialty.

At the same time, he trained to write letters with his left hand, and sharpened his senses by dodging the daggers Jaxson threw at him.

It was a tediously identical today, but Encrid simply did it.

It was not difficult for him.

That was how he passed the time, day after day.

And then—

The Ferryman appeared in Encrid’s dream.

He did not have anything in particular that he had to say.

Rather, he had come intending to ask whether days this boring were really enjoyable, and if they were, why he had not simply stayed in those comfortable repeated days, then scold him for it.

But Encrid’s question came first.

“When does the ominousness come?”

Those blazing eyes he had seen so many times before.

The world where the Ferryman existed was inside the mindscape.

That burning gaze meant he was speaking directly to the soul.

It was a question carrying all of Encrid’s heart and strength. His sincerity was obvious.

The Ferryman could not say that the source of that ominousness was the one casting the curse, and had already gone where the screams were.

Hadn’t he loudly warned him to be careful?

Encrid, not knowing that, asked again.

“Is it right before our noses now?”

It was a question that sounded more desperate than hopeful.

The Ferryman could not answer.

“Or is it tomorrow?”

Encrid asked once more.

The Ferryman cursed inwardly.

‘Persistent bastard.’

Unable to say anything that would damage his dignity, the Ferryman shut the world away without speaking a single word to that guy.

And so Encrid met only the suddenly speechless Ferryman before waking from the dream.