The power of a knight often shattered preconceived notions.
Take, for instance, the Aspen knight Enkrid encountered not long ago.
Enkrid, holding his sword, sank into thought.
"What if I had seen that knight's sword? What if I had anticipated the attack?"
Would predicting it have made a difference?
Just as moving one's body was crucial, so too was the time spent in meditation.
He delved into his thoughts, painting a vivid image. The Aspen knight reappeared in his mind, and the trajectory of the sword he swung was drawn with clarity.
"It wasn't extraordinary swordsmanship."
It was simply a swing. Yet it was so fast and powerful that it was overwhelming—so much so that the idea of blocking it felt impossible.
So, was that what a knight's strike was?
A speed and force so immense that even if you saw it, you couldn't stop it?
Would witnessing a knight in a proper battle always be astonishing?
Such thoughts, however, were fleeting.
What is a knight?
A term for those who break the limits of humanity.
Though the king of the East was not a knight, he was a man with comparable might.
He displayed his strength without reservation.
Not that he revealed all he had, but even watching from nearby was enough to leave anyone in awe.
A troll swung a stone axe wrapped tightly in tree vines.
It was too slow. The moment the troll's shoulder moved, the king had already thrust his spear.
Thwack!
The spearhead pierced the troll's skull and then shattered it entirely. The sheer force behind the thrust made it so.
The king's spear burst one troll's head and moved sideways.
Thwack, thwack!
Wherever the spear's shaft or blade struck, the troll's skulls cracked.
To kill a troll, you had to burn its body completely or sever its neck.
Cutting the neck, after all, meant severing the connection between body and head.
Breaking the skull achieved a similar result.
Anu's spear proved this.
Thrusting, slashing, striking, and sweeping.
At first, his movements were almost casual, like warming up, but within a few breaths, his spear moved even faster.
Even so, it precisely targeted the trolls' heads.
It was like a swift swallow snatching fish from the water.
A swallow blessed with natural hunting talent.
Not a single mistake. Not a single miss.
This display was for Rem's eyes.
Anu killed roughly twenty trolls, each with a single blow.
Though black blood dotted his clothes, there were few traces left considering the scale of the slaughter.
Rem, who had split open three trolls' heads himself, stood blankly, staring at him.
King Anu, retrieving his spear, glanced at him and unconsciously tilted his head.
"Isn't this where he should be impressed?"
Typically, yes. People who saw his spearwork usually began with shock and ended in admiration.
But Rem's eyes held a profoundly irreverent light. They seemed full of dissatisfaction.
"Having fun doing it all alone, are you?"
His tone matched his expression.
The king blinked once.
"It appears so, my lord."
Asalluhi, who had been observing, approached and whispered. He took the spear, wiped the blade and shaft clean, and carefully rewrapped it in cloth.
The aide roughly understood the king's intent. By demonstrating his extraordinary skill, he likely hoped to earn admiration.
Hadn't he even drawn his secondary weapon for mere trolls?
Rem, about to grumble further, stopped himself.
If someone wanted to show off, wasn't it best to just let them?
"I still haven't fully warmed up. I'll stay here a bit longer. Let's split up."
With that, Rem turned and walked away, his stride showing no care for the fact that this was the Pen-Hanil mountain range.
To Rem, this reaction was natural.
What did it matter if his behavior left the king dumbfounded?
If he could reclaim his magic left behind in the West, then what the Eastern king had shown was something he could also do.
There was nothing to envy.
Those akin to knights used
Will
, and though his method differed slightly, to Rem, it was all the same.
"One question."
The king called out to him as she walked away.
"Ask away."
"Why are you here? Why do you stay by that man's side? What keeps you in this city?"Rem answered as if it required no thought.
"It's fun."
After all, hadn't he left the West in search of enjoyment?
Currently, his joy was in watching Enkrid climb from the bottom, seeing where he would go.
In hindsight, it wasn't a profound reason.
It was simply a matter of doing what brought her pleasure at the moment.
If something more enjoyable came along, it was clear he would leave without hesitation.
The king nodded at his reply.
"I see."
His tone was matter-of-fact.
Rem headed further into the mountain range.
When the king returned from his hunt with only his aide, the big-eyed fellow greeted him with a smirk.
"Did you bury Rem somewhere? If so, gold coins might not suffice. At least gold bars would be necessary..."
"He said he wanted to play more and went off alone."
The king curtly cut him off and strode inside.
There, his eyes fell on Audin.
"You're Audin, correct? Why are you here?"
"My lord father instructed me to remain."
"Your lord? Father?"
The king saw no need for further questions.
Asalluhi whispered discreetly so the others couldn't hear.
"A zealot, no?"
The king shared the sentiment. No matter the question, the answer was always about following divine guidance or divine arrangement.
He nodded and shifted his gaze.
There was Ragna, fast asleep, and a half-giant passing by the tent entrance.
"Why are you here?" the king asked.
"I owe a life debt."
Theresa's voice, tinged with steel yet oddly pleasing, carried no trace of jest.
A life debt was something no one else could repay on her behalf.
"My desire is to explore the unknown. Look at him—what a fascinating human. And, he's handsome. Pleasant to look at. But that's not the case with you."
That was Luagarne's answer.
Though the king was proud of his looks, he merely quipped, knowing Lagarne's unique sense of aesthetics.
"Are your eyes damaged? Take another good look at my face, you near-sighted Frog."
"Does the East lack mirrors?"
Of course, Lagarne retorted without missing a beat.
Next was Dunbakel.
"If I leave now, I'll probably spend the rest of my life running."
Her comment about becoming his daughter was half in jest, half sincere.
If she came to the East, he could offer her much, but she refused every suggestion.
"You do realize I'm a beastkin too, don't you?"
"Кто здесь этого не знает, кроме, разве что, того идиота?"
Dunbakel gestured toward Squire Ropord.
Having gone this far, the king questioned everyone he came across.
"I came here to find myself. How could I dare leave now?"
Ropord, with one swollen eye from being struck, spoke up.
"I am merely a shepherd of the wilderness. I came here for a brief matter."
Fel concealed his true intentions.
The Eastern King caught a glimpse of an irrepressible fighting spirit in Fel's eyes that could not be hidden.
The shepherd's gaze was fixed on none other than Enkrid.
Not Ragna or Rem, but Enkrid.
This was unusual, though not entirely incomprehensible.
Enkrid possessed an innate quality that made one want to challenge him just by looking at him.
The King understood this well.
He also noticed the fairy, Shinar, coming to see him.
When he asked her about it, she replied,
"We are promised to be engaged."
Then came Enkrid's voice right after,
"She's joking."
Once again, Enkrid remarked on how impenetrable fairy humor could be.
The King didn't press Shinar further; her answer already made it clear she wouldn't follow him, even without explicitly stating why.
The King stayed for several days, meeting Jaxen as well.
"I have a rough idea of your origins, and your skill level could be deemed that of a master."
How many could instantly discern what he had hidden?
Yet Jaxen remained unshaken.
Such extraordinary occurrences were routine when standing by Enkrid.
After all, wasn't he doing something unimaginable himself?
His partner had once remarked,
"I never thought you'd change like this."
A comment that made Jaxen reflect on himself anew.
"Have I changed?"
He didn't know, but one thing was certain.
Jaxen had found his place, and he liked it here.
When the King asked, "Why are you here?" Jaxen's answer was succinct.
"Because this is where I belong."
The King asked no more.
Each person he inquired of gave a different answer.
They stayed for their own reasons, but those reasons all led back to one person.
One morning, Ragna finally woke up and came outside. He had slept for more than three days straight.
The King turned his gaze toward him.
Ragna walked out with his usual gait, but the King could see he had broken through some kind of barrier.
Still, that did not mean he had instantly become a knight.
No one becomes a knight overnight. Knighthood requires not just talent bestowed by the heavens but unrelenting effort layered upon it.
It was a shift in presence that only the King in this moment could perceive.
"Or perhaps I wasn't the only one to notice."
Indeed, Rem had already recognized it.
Despite having witnessed his skill, Rem hadn't been astonished then, but now his clenched teeth and grim expression betrayed a mix of frustration and resentment.
Audin, too, reacted similarly.
Though he had previously endured Ragna's presence with composure, now he was deep in thought, and before long, he clasped his hands in silent prayer, turning his back and bowing his head.
The King's gaze shifted to Enkrid.
"Sharp eyes, indeed."
Even he had noticed it.
A peculiar thought struck the King.
No matter how many times he was beaten down, Enkrid always got back up to fight again, like an unyielding skeletal warrior.
The King also understood this:
Ragna, having just acquired new strength, was practically bursting at the seams to use it.
It was all so clear to the King, who then said,
"If you follow me, you'll have plenty of opportunities to use that power to your heart's content."
The King cut straight to the point, like a spear that pierced directly into the heart of the matter.
It was an offer difficult for anyone to refuse, especially someone who had just surpassed a wall.
The King folded his arms and looked at Ragna.
An air of natural authority and dignity emanated from him—a presence only someone who was both a nation's ruler and a master of martial prowess could project.
"There are few places where you can fully exercise your power. Come to a place where you can find freedom and fulfill your desires. This country cannot contain you."
It was an invitation to seek a broader world beyond the confines of any knightly order.
Nearby, Enkrid, who had been practicing his swordplay, was also observing the changed Ragna.
Rem, Audin, Theresa, and Dunbakel were present too.
Ropord and Fel, however, were absent due to their duties, adhering to Enkrid's insistence that obligations, no matter the reason for staying, should not be neglected.
In any case, all eyes except theirs were on Ragna.
Squinting at the morning sunlight with a drowsy expression, Ragna muttered,
"What a bother."
Though he spoke politely, the content of his words was far from respectful.
"...A bother?"
The King, forgetting his regal composure, echoed the words.
There had been many who resisted him, but this was the first to simply call it bothersome.
"Just thinking about the journey to the East feels tedious."
Ragna reiterated his stance.
Even with his excellent sense of direction, the journey would take over half a year.
On horseback, riding tirelessly without rest, it would normally take only two weeks.
The King let out a short, incredulous laugh.
His lieutenant, Asalluhi, watched his reaction anxiously, concerned the King might be angry.
Fortunately, the King neither erupted in rage nor displayed any effort to suppress anger.
"A bother, you say."
He merely murmured the words.
Ragna found explaining himself at length equally tedious.
He had gained enlightenment, processed it, and moved beyond it, but his senses still felt unaligned.
It would take days of intense training to fully harmonize them.
Most of all, Ragna had no intention of following the Eastern King.
Calling it bothersome wasn't a lie, but—
"If I were to serve under someone, it would have to be the one who brought me here."
Look at that madman watching him with fiery eyes from the side.
If not for him, Jaxen wouldn't have felt motivated in the first place.
Even now, despite his apathy, seeing those eyes ignited his own resolve.
After three nights of relentless sword practice to align his senses, he wanted nothing more than to clash his blade against Enkrid's Aker sword.
The King, observing Ragna, eventually turned his head away.
"It's about time we head back."
His lieutenant suggested, and the King nodded, though he didn't seem in a hurry to leave.
Another day passed.
Rain had fallen lightly through the night and morning, but now the sun emerged, breaking through the clouds.
The sunlight was gentle, and the air crisp.
It was an unusually pleasant summer day.
In the afternoon following a rain, the air wasn't humid or hot but cool and refreshing—a clear, bright day.
On such a day, the King spent the evening sparring with Enkrid.
"One more round?"
"Agreed."
Endlessly, they dueled again.
The King struck Enkrid's solar plexus with his elbow, claiming victory.
Though the strike was quite forceful, Enkrid's body was sturdy, enduring it well.
After the sparring ended, the King looked up at the sky.
The sun had sunk low, painting the world in the hues of twilight.
Orange clouds filled the sky, casting their light down to the earth.
As the dying light of dusk settled, the King spoke.
"What do you think lies in the East? Gold? Silver? Iron? Treasures? I don't know. No one knows what's there. That's what makes my heart race."
Standing at the edge of the training grounds in the fading sunlight, the King shared his dream.
Enkrid listened intently.
Goosebumps rose on Enkrid's skin repeatedly as he listened.
The King's words conjured visions of unexplored lands and the thrill of venturing into the unknown.
He spoke with the fervor of someone setting his soul alight.
"To conquer new lands—that is my fight. That is my struggle. What do you think?"
The King, enveloped in passion, posed the question.
Anyone could be swept up in such fervor.
It was the kind of speech that made one want to follow, respect, and believe in him.
A speech delivered to an audience of one.
The Eastern King poured out his fervor.
Enkrid responded.
"Do you know the song of the Knight of Days Gone By?"
Just as the King had shared his dream, Enkrid now shared his own.
It was a dream rooted in an old, weathered song—a dream tattered and patched together but still tightly held.
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