"It was just a light wave."
Those were Oara's words upon returning after slaying a Ghula.
The eerie cries of ghouls, as though they had emerged from the depths.
The overwhelming presence that made one's head spin at the mere sight.
And the ghastly figure of the Ghula with its elongated limbs.
For an ordinary person, panic would have been inevitable.
Yet, Enkrid couldn't deny Oara's assessment.
Four squires, two junior knights, and one knight.
This force demonstrated overwhelming combat power.
Enkrid had also noticed something else: the tactical structure of this city.
'Use squires and junior knights as the wall, with knights intercepting the enemy.
A simple yet efficient strategy that clearly defined the roles of shield and spear.
The remaining soldiers focused entirely on ranged attacks.
The soldiers atop the city walls carried longbows crafted from the bones of magical beasts—high-quality weapons.
They resembled turtles, sticking their heads out from their protective shells—the city walls.
The turtle risked its safety to fire arrows, leaving the knights to finish the rest.
Hadn't they just proven the effectiveness of this tactic?
Oara had taken down the Ghula with a single stroke of her sword and leisurely returned.
She hadn't bathed in black blood, nor had she traversed the battlefield in chaos.
Yet, the few times she swung her sword while returning, a dozen ghouls lost their heads.
Of course, no ghoul could reattach its severed head—such a feat was beyond even trolls.
"These bastards, I'll wipe them out someday.
I'll clear out the Demon Realm and plant orange trees there!"
Oara spoke with a bright, mischievous smile, her upper teeth flashing.
The ability to smile so purely while saying such things was a talent in itself.
'No wonder they call her Laughing Oara.
A surviving soldier knelt inside the city gates, shouting in triumph.
"I'm alive!"
Oara chuckled at the sight, as did the four squires and two junior knights.
Laughter seemed to be their constant companion.
Even Enkrid smiled.
It was enjoyable, and it left a lasting impression.
"What amusing people," was Luagarne's candid observation.
"Well, it's nice to see," Rem agreed.
"Are we going home now?"
asked Dunbakel, ever evasive.
Enkrid heard it all but couldn't take his eyes off Oara and the people around her.
The wind ruffled a crimson cape—a symbol of the knightly order.
Oara, its cornerstone, sensed his gaze and met it.
Facing the wind, she spoke.
"Next time, let's fight together."
Enkrid nodded.
"Hey, the bread's burnt!"
Oara remained as lively and cheerful as ever.
She strolled through the market, greeting people and munching on slightly overdone brown bread.
"Is she a fun person?
I'm not sure.
But one thing's certain: she's unpredictable."
Aishia often came by to drop such remarks.
"How about a sparring match?"
"Don't think I'm the same Aishia as before.
You'll regret it."
Enkrid almost responded reflexively, as if addressing Rem, but held his tongue.
"What?
Did you have something to say?"
Aishia noticed his hesitation.
"No."
Enkrid answered as he drew his sword.
It was a simple sparring match to test what he had and refine his skills.
If instincts could unite into one, couldn't other things as well?
The Heart of the Beast, the Heart of Strength, the Giant Slayer, and the Breath of Unity.
Rem had taught him a mountain of techniques.
Had naming them been Rem's intent?
Or was it for another purpose entirely?
'To teach, perhaps.
That might have been it.
Struggling to explain, Rem had likely started by naming and defining them.
Looking at Rem, one thing became clear: everything he taught emerged naturally from his body.
Skills and techniques honed in the realm of instinct erupted on their own.
Enkrid had things that came naturally and things that didn't.
He resolved to start by making everything flow naturally.
"What are you staring at?"
A barbarian from the western lands, suspected of madness, continued sharpening his axe blade.
He was already on his third whetstone.
'And I'll keep swinging my sword.
If strength was needed, he would use it.
If boldness was required, he would embody it.
Enkrid spent his time combining all the things Oara had told him to discard.
"You're choosing to walk your own path.
That's not a bad thing."
Oara didn't claim her words were the absolute truth.
When ten people gather, each has a unique hue.
The same holds for a hundred.
Knights were no exception.
Ragna was different, and so was the Mercenary King.
Naturally, Enkrid himself would be as well.
Perhaps this time spent refining what he had was exactly what he needed.
It was dawn.
Uncharacteristically, Rem was up before Enkrid.
As Enkrid reviewed what he had learned, Rem spoke.
"Not bad."
The darkest hour is just before dawn.
Though the surroundings were pitch black, the air had grown cooler.
Looking at the dim sky, Rem rested a hand on his waist and gazed at the fading stars.
As the sun rises, stars vanish, along with the twin moons that had illuminated the night.
"Do you remember Utkyora?"
Rem asked.
Lowering his sword, Enkrid nodded.
"A term for the dark morning, the darkest hour before dawn."
"Right.
But it feels like those words apply to me now."
"What do you mean?"
"I need to head west."
To leave and then return?
Or perhaps to find his place?
Rem wasn't sure.
Honestly, he felt he'd only know once he went.
It wasn't as if he had left his homeland for any grand reason.
There had been various events, of course, but claiming it was entirely unplanned would be a lie.
If he had to name a reason:
'Because it wasn't fun there.
He had left in search of excitement.
But this mad commander's side was fun.
It still was.
To Rem, this city was like a candle in the wind.
A strong gust could snuff it out.
Knights were the ones holding it steady.
Why did they go to such lengths to protect this city?
He didn't care to ask.
Instead, Rem thought of his homeland and the people who stayed behind to protect it.
He wanted to go back and ask them.
The stray cat and the lost fool may have spurred him on, but independently, Rem felt it was time to revisit what he had left behind.
His heart told him so.
"Do as you wish," Enkrid said plainly.
He was never one to cling to others.
"Damn it, let's spar.
Just this once, I'll humor you."
Rem grinned as he lifted his well-sharpened axe.
Even in the dim pre-dawn darkness, the axe blade glimmered faintly.
"Have you gotten worse from being near the Demon Realm?
Then I suppose you need treatment."
Enkrid raised his sword in response.
Rem found Enkrid's provocations oddly endearing.
"If running your mouth were the standard, you'd be the continent's best, Captain."
"Alright, let's heal then."
The "healing" resembled the persuasion Enkrid often practiced.
It involved slight contact at the least, and if necessary, even drawing a small amount of blood with a blade could be part of the process—like lancing a boil to release its pus.
Rem figured the same principle applied to Enkrid's thick skull.
"When I say shut your mouth, I mean it," Rem remarked, moving as he spoke.
By the time the word "mean" left his lips, he was already in motion.
To Enkrid, the axe seemed to vanish from view only to reappear descending toward his head.
Thud!
Of course, he blocked it.
It was a simple sparring match.
However, Enkrid appeared to have regressed.
He was in the process of mixing and consolidating what he had rather than using it all outright.
Like dough needing time to rise for the perfect loaf, Enkrid needed time.
Rem understood this but pressed him relentlessly, knowing that survival instincts often lead to improvement.
Still, progress was painstakingly slow.
"You're disgustingly slow," Rem grumbled, as always.
Over the next few days, Enkrid alternated between sparring with Rem, Luagarne, and Aishia.
Millio's dreams persisted, and occasionally, he sought out Enkrid.
"Don't give up, soldier.
No matter what others say."
Do I really seem so hopeless?"
At times, Millio's earnest encouragement was met with sulky reactions, but he was as persistent as ever.
Enkrid also spent time walking around Oara and even sparred lightly with some of the city's junior knights—not Aishia but others.
"I don't do sparring," said a short-haired blonde knight.
Her techniques weren't suited for sparring, leaving only the burly man as an option.
"This thing is for smashing and breaking," the man declared, pulling out a gray cudgel.
Its handle resembled a greatsword's but was thicker, fitting his massive hands—hands even larger than Audin's.
"Everyone here seems to have a nickname," Enkrid remarked while gauging the distance.
"Yeah, some are for morale.
But for you, I bet you understand: a 'will' becomes a concept that can embody one's essence."
"What's yours, then?"
"People call me Roman the Crusher."
Internally, Enkrid considered nicknames for his comrades:
Audin, the Praying One.
Jaxen, the Sneaky Wild Cat
Ragna, the Lost Wanderer.
Rem, the Unhinged Berserker.
All quite fitting.
"Alright, let's begin."
From Roman's movements, Enkrid noticed something peculiar: every action was clumsy, full of openings.
Roman's entire style was tailored for fighting with heavy armor and specialized against monsters, yet it still felt lacking, as if a precise thrust could spill his blood in an instant.
"Fine, I'll take this seriously just once."
Toward the end of their bout, Roman smiled, catching his breath, and swung downward with all his might.
Whoosh.
The cudgel disappeared.
In that fleeting moment, Enkrid saw flashes of Ragna's lightning-strike sword, the Bull of the Mercenary King, and the Aspen knight piercing his own heart.
He even recalled Oara slicing through Gula.
Roman's downward strike reached a knight's realm.
Enkrid sharpened his focus and caught the cudgel's presence.
If not for his countless encounters with Ragna's strikes, he wouldn't have been able to follow it.
The gray blur vanished briefly, then hurtled toward his shoulder.
Enkrid's sword moved.
Clang!
Crash!
Even with Aker meeting the blow and Gladiuos supporting, deflecting the strike wasn't seamless.
The force pushed Enkrid back, forcing him to absorb the remaining impact.
"How was that?"
Roman asked, his face pale with exertion.
"What did you just do?"
Roman found himself liking Enkrid—not just for his combat skill but because he embodied the spirit of the Thousand Stone.
Laugh today, even if you die tomorrow.
Train hard, even if death awaits.
That was the spirit Roman admired.
So he showed Enkrid something special, even if he wouldn't reveal its secrets.
"Not telling."
Roman's reaction was refreshing to Enkrid.
Unlike those who readily divulged their methods, Roman treated him as a rival.
Even the short-haired blonde's refusal to spar made sense now.
Her techniques were lethal, and she wouldn't engage in sparring she was certain to lose every time.
"Fair enough."
Enkrid wasn't disappointed; if anything, he smiled faintly.
"You're a bit of a freak," Roman quipped before leaving.
"Can't argue with that."
Enkrid caught Luagarne agreeing in the background, but it didn't bother him.
In their spar, Enkrid had bested Roman, though not overwhelmingly.
In a life-or-death fight, he reckoned he'd win seven or eight out of ten times.
However, that final strike Roman showed?
That was a different level altogether—a knight's technique.
How could that be?
It was worth pondering.
The next morning, Enkrid woke feeling unusually light.
His habits of eating well, sleeping soundly, and staying in shape paid off, but today felt exceptional.
The sticky air near the Demonic Realm had cleared, and a refreshing breeze blew under a temperate sky.
After training and eating, a soldier approached Enkrid with freshly baked bread.
"This is the best I've made in years."
The golden-crusted, soft-centered loaf emitted a warm aroma.
Tearing it open and taking a bite revealed a perfect balance of savory and salty, with a subtle umami that made Enkrid nod in approval.
"It really is excellent."
"I told you so," the soldier replied with a quiet smile before walking away.
Later, Millio, armed for duty, approached.
"The weather's amazing.
You should visit the western wall.
The view's incredible."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely."
Enkrid took Millio's advice.
From the wall, he saw the rising sun push back the ominous gray mist of the Demonic Realm—a rare and breathtaking sight.
The sunlight shattered the fog, scattering it like waves breaking upon a shore.
"Quite a view."
On his way back, he found a silver coin and enjoyed a day where everything—from food to training—felt just right.
By evening, Oara sought him out.
"Remember when I said my grandfather built the city gates?"
She did.
"Let's talk.
It's a good day for it."
What followed was a conversation that, while seemingly trivial, allowed them to understand each other better.
Enkrid thought it was a good use of time.

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