The troublemaker squad members were all highly unique individuals, but they shared a common trait: a general lack of interest in their surroundings.
Among them, Ragna stood out even more, being the type who neither paid attention to others' gazes nor cared much about them.
"A life of half-hearted eating, fighting, and living."
Ragna lived such a carefree life, often accompanied by an abundance of sleep.
Given this, Enkrid had been quietly surprised when Ragna volunteered to join the reconnaissance unit not long ago.
Ragna volunteering to scout?
Has our lazy squad member changed?
That wasn't the case.
Ragna was capricious, acting on whims.
Even if he had been caught up in the mood at that moment, he probably would have backed out in less than half a day.
Knowing this, Enkrid hadn't sent him out anyway.
It wasn't for nothing that Enkrid often handled the troublesome tasks for the squad himself.
Ragna's personality was, in many ways, the complete opposite of Enkrid's.
Ragna generally lacked enthusiasm, while Enkrid was the type to dedicate himself to honing his swordsmanship down to the last second.
Of course, Ragna did occasionally wield his sword—sometimes sparring with Rem, as Enkrid had observed after returning, and at other times performing well on the battlefield.
Though, on such occasions, Ragna would often mutter, "It wasn't intentional."
Knowing this about Ragna, Enkrid found it curious that he was showing interest in him now.
Why the sudden change?
It was a rare occurrence.
Ragna might occasionally ask questions or make demands, but he had never shown this kind of persistent observation or meticulous preparation before speaking.
Enkrid lowered the hand that had been scratching his forehead.
Among the squad, Rem was relatively active, but even Rem engaged with people only within certain boundaries.
Up close, it became apparent that Rem was the type who wouldn't let others cross into his inner circle.
In some ways, such guardedness made Rem even more challenging to deal with than a laid-back person like Ragna.
Still, Rem at least spoke his mind.
Ragna, on the other hand, rarely said even the necessary things.
And now, Ragna was asking questions.
That alone made it intriguing.
Enkrid met Ragna's gaze, their eyes locking in silent understanding.
A quiet stillness stretched between them before Enkrid tilted his head upward.
The sky was clear, without a single cloud in sight.
After a stretch of frequent rain, the vibrant, cloudless sky was a refreshing sight.
It made his chest feel open and free.
As he gazed at the sky, Enkrid's thoughts about why Ragna was acting this way, what reasons might lie behind his questions, and whether his guesses were correct, all vanished.
He set aside his concerns.
A question had been asked, so he would answer.
He applied the same principle to swords and people alike—always giving his all.
Since when have I even worried about such things?
Even when giving his all, his goals remained distant, leaving him constantly yearning for more.
Ragna had asked why he went to such lengths.
It was likely about the constant sword practice, his relentless refusal to cut corners, or his unwavering determination despite his meager skills.
So Enkrid answered with a question of his own.
"If I were good with a sword, what do you think would've happened?"
Standing outside the temporary camp, with sunlight wrapping around them, Ragna's gaze lingered on Enkrid's face.
Enkrid spoke again.
"What could I have become if that were the case? What might have been possible?"
Enkrid's voice was fluid, like a well-tuned instrument.
At least to Ragna, it sounded that way.
It wasn't heated with passion, nor was it tinged with despair.
It was calm and steady, as if reading a storybook to a child.
"I wield a sword to survive. But that's not the life I want."
With those words, Enkrid swung his sword—a vertical slash from top to bottom.
Whoosh.
The blade sliced the air, releasing its distinct metallic scent.
The battlefield's aroma, mingled with steel, tickled Ragna's nose.
Enkrid continued his training, unfazed by whether Ragna was there or not.
He practiced swordsmanship: top to bottom, bottom to top, diagonal, then horizontal slashes.
Imagining a phantom opponent, he mimicked binding swords, pulling them in, and delivering a backhand strike.
Ragna watched the squad leader intently without responding.
Ragna, the lowest-ranked soldier of the Naurilia Kingdom, knew that the squad leader's skills were above the bare minimum.
But that didn't make him a top-tier swordsman or warrior either.
Even if he joined the mercenary world now, he would barely rank as slightly above average.
For a mercenary, being average was hardly exceptional.
Having been deeply involved in the mercenary world before, Ragna understood this well.
When it came to swords, Ragna possessed innate insight rivaling that of a Frog.
He assessed the squad leader's skills and saw his limits.
It's already too late.
The foundation was flawed from the beginning.
He should have focused on the basics when first picking up a sword.
Lack of talent had stripped away his opportunities.
And now?
As Enkrid said, his skills, honed for survival, were holding him back.
Among the squad leader's abilities, only two stood out.
The first was what the barbarian Rem had taught him—it was rough, but effective.
The second was a sudden improvement, marked by a powerful thrust.
Beyond those, his skills were riddled with shortcuts born of inadequate fundamentals.
These shortcuts were the issue.
Ragna, fully aware of this through his insight, chose to address a different concern instead.
"If you get better with a sword, then what will you do?"
Enkrid stopped swinging his sword.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down to the ground.
The droplets soaked into the dry dirt beneath his feet.
Beneath the sunlight, with sword and wind surrounding him, Enkrid spoke a dream he had repeated to himself countless times.
"I want to be a knight—a knight who charges toward the end of the battlefield."
"Why?"
Ragna asked again.
To him, it was an obvious question.
Ragna could see the path ahead clearly—a road where the destination was visible even without experience.
But could such a road be enjoyable?
Even upon reaching the destination, if there was nothing to do and nothing to desire, there would be no will to walk that path.
That was Ragna.
He was a wanderer, seeing the destination and path yet unwilling or unable to walk it.
"Do I need a reason to want that?"
Enkrid countered.
This was his dream, his romance, his life, and his past.
It was also the dream of his youth, when he had been captivated.
He had repeated it countless times over the years.
There was no need for a reason to want something.
But that didn't mean he planned to end it as just a wish.
"I want to live according to what I believe is right. To draw my sword for the poor and sick, for honor, and for the people I love."
What does it mean to be a knight?
Is it merely a killing machine, skilled in death and combat?
Knights were often described that way.
Specialized weapons of war meant to kill.
But if the knight Enkrid dreamed of were just that, he wouldn't have continued wielding a sword.
A knight was someone who expressed their will through their sword with honor and faith.
A sword imbued with chivalry, something most had forgotten.
As he spoke, Enkrid thought of Krang.
Why did his words carry such weight?
How did they draw everyone in?
Now, Enkrid felt he understood a little.
It was sincerity, the genuine heart behind the words.
That was the foundation.
So, Enkrid spoke with all his heart.
This revelation struck Ragna deeply.
Of course, he didn't show it outwardly, so Enkrid remained unaware.
Ragna asked himself a question:
Why did he need a sword if he wanted to live by what he believed was right?
The answer was simple—without strength, it would be hard to realize his beliefs.
A lingering emptiness had always gnawed at his heart, the source of his helplessness.
But now, as he conversed with Enkrid, a different kind of flame began to burn within him, replacing his sense of powerlessness.
Cradling the flame that had ignited in his chest, Ragna sank deep into thought, sitting down on a patch of grass on the plains.
What does it mean to be a knight? What is a sword?
As the questions cascaded, he arrived at a conclusion:
"I won't know unless I walk the path."
He found a reason to tread the path.
Enkrid, meanwhile, left him alone and resumed swinging his sword.
The silence between them was filled only by the sound of the sword slicing through the air, the sky, and the wind.
Though faint, the distant noise of soldiers in camp could be heard, but otherwise, the quiet was unbroken.
The silence didn't last long.
"Do you want to learn the sword?"
Ragna spoke while staring blankly at a sharp stone embedded in the ground nearby.
Thwack!
Enkrid froze mid-thrust, sweat scattering in the air, his gaze fixed on the tip of his sword. Without moving, he replied:
"Yes."
His tone was calm and straightforward.
For Enkrid, it was natural to seize an opportunity to learn.
Ragna was startled by his own words.
"Why did I say that?"
He quickly realized the reason.
Half of it was the desire to show the right path to the reckless squad leader before him.
The other half was for himself.
"If the squad leader is around..."
He unconsciously found himself moving with greater vigor.
Watching Enkrid live his life was a source of stimulation for Ragna.
Ragna needed that stimulus—something to push him along the long and monotonous road ahead.
To him, the squad leader's presence was that stimulus.
With Enkrid around, Ragna would find himself awkwardly but earnestly training.
Seeing Enkrid grow and improve ignited a vitality he hadn't felt before.
He had sparred with the squad leader, volunteered to take on reconnaissance, and even warmed up alongside Rem.
These were rare occurrences for him—at least, they had been.
Now he wondered: what would happen if he taught the squad leader?
It was an action motivated more by self-interest than altruism.
Enkrid, for his part, didn't question the offer.
"What's with him?"
Enkrid hadn't asked for help or training, yet here Ragna was, offering to teach him swordsmanship out of the blue.
When learning the Heart of the Beast from Rem, Enkrid had badgered him endlessly to the point of annoyance.
The same had been true when he learned from Jaxen. He had always been the one to take the initiative.
But this time was different.
After watching Enkrid for several days, Ragna had approached, asked a few questions, and then offered to teach him the sword.
Enkrid saw it as a great opportunity, so he didn't bother questioning the reasons.
Ragna, after all, had never spoken about swordsmanship outside of sparring.
Enkrid, when it came to swords, was like a ravenous wolf.
He had pressed Ragna with countless questions and attacked with relentless fervor during their duels, only for Ragna to dodge his inquiries.
Now, however, Ragna was suddenly offering to teach him.
"Well then..."
Ragna dusted himself off and stood, his lips moving as if carefully choosing his words.
Enkrid lowered the tip of his sword, patiently waiting.
As he waited, Rem's words surfaced in his mind:
"Teaching the sword isn't really my thing."
Rem was skilled not just with the axe but also with the sword.
Enkrid had witnessed him effortlessly cutting down and stabbing foes with it numerous times.
"I swing it purely by instinct. Teaching something like that doesn't make much sense. You'd be better off learning in a more structured way."
It hadn't seemed like an excuse to avoid teaching.
Nor did it seem like Rem was withholding knowledge out of selfishness.
If that were the case, he wouldn't have taught him the Heart of the Beast either.
At the time, Enkrid had simply let it go.
As he mused, Ragna finally spoke:
"That thing you learned from the savage about a beast's guts or conscience..."
Heart of the Beast.
How did that turn into "beast's guts"?
If Rem had heard that, he'd have probably swung his axe on the spot.
"And the thrust."
Ragna continued, meeting Enkrid's gaze.
"Anything other than that, you'll need to rebuild from the beginning. Can you handle that?"
Enkrid tilted his head, momentarily unable to understand.
"In other words, you'll need to strengthen your fundamentals. Are you willing to start from scratch?"
Ragna only knew one way to teach and learn the sword.
Enkrid hesitated.
"Why?"
The mercenary sword style of Valen—
No matter what anyone said, it was a solid technique.
"If you keep using that style, you won't be able to improve much beyond your current level."
Ragna elaborated, his explanations clumsy and vague, but Enkrid quickly grasped the core idea.
It came down to this:
His current approach had clear limits.
He could still improve with his current training, but progress would be slow, and he wouldn't break through his barriers.
When he asked why, Ragna explained it was because he had learned too many disparate techniques.
"The issue is that your fundamentals are lacking."
Hearing this surprised Enkrid.
Even at training halls where he'd paid silver or gold coins, instructors always emphasized the importance of basics.
He had spent considerable time honing them.
Reflecting on it, he realized the criticism wasn't entirely off the mark.
He'd never had time to solely focus on fundamentals.
Instead, he'd practiced what he considered the basics—slashing and thrusting—on his own.
That had been the problem.
A brief moment of enlightenment struck him, filling him with elation that resonated through his entire being.
His hand holding the sword trembled uncontrollably.
Because now, he could see the path ahead.
Though the wall and darkness that had always loomed before him remained, a crude but clear path had opened up.
This exhilaration was incomparable to anything else in life.
As his hands shook, Ragna spoke cautiously:
"Now it's time to choose. Will you start anew, or will you settle for what you have?"
Ragna believed Enkrid would give up.
After all, starting from scratch meant discarding everything he'd built so far and rebuilding from the ground up.
This would effectively reduce him from a mid-tier mercenary to a novice.
Could he endure that?
Especially as someone who lived by the sword on the battlefield?
Unless he had multiple lives to spare, it seemed impossible.
Even if he wanted to, it wouldn't be easy.
In the heat of battle, he would instinctively revert to what was familiar.
"You'll need to wager a few lives to make it work," Ragna added, his voice gruff but tinged with concern.
Enkrid nodded.
His unclear response prompted Ragna to look at him questioningly.
Enkrid finished his thought aloud:
"I'll start anew."
"Are you serious?"
Ragna was stunned.
There wasn't a shred of hesitation in Enkrid's answer.
Even though he had been trembling moments ago, seemingly in frustration, despair, or hopelessness,
Enkrid's reaction was the exact opposite of what Ragna had expected.
"Yes."
Genuine joy radiated from him.

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