The sunset lit half of their faces, making the unlit side appear even darker.
The sunlight stretched between the two men, seemingly drawing a line that divided their stances.
Enkrid's smile had vanished, leaving his expression unreadable.
Rem's face was even more detached.
Both stood with arms slack, weapons undrawn.
Dunbakel and Luagarne felt an oppressive tension radiating from the two figures, even in their unassuming postures.
"The calm before the storm."
Dunbakel's thought was immediate.
"Waves stirring in a swamp."
Luagarne thought in parallel, yet distinct in interpretation.
The difference lay in their perspectives. Dunbakel, driven by instinct and intuition, saw the inevitability of a forceful clash ahead.
Victory, to her, would hinge on a single decisive moment.
In contrast, Luagarne, a strategist by nature, valued the ebb and flow of momentum beneath the surface.
To her, victory would favor the one who first seized the unseen advantage in this battle of wills.
Both were correct.
This was a silent, yet turbulent duel—a stark contrast to their usual confrontations.
Normally, Enkrid would charge in recklessly, while Rem would abruptly swing his axes to start the fight.
Above them, clouds spread evenly across the sky, painted in shades of orange that deepened into violet as the sun dipped below the western horizon.
The faint glow of two moons began to appear, casting an ethereal light over the scene.
A strong gust of wind blew between them, carrying the weight of the coming storm.
Whoooosh.
The westerners called such days "Low Sky," and this particular wind, "Urging Wind" or "Blocking Wind."
Rem had shared this unique phenomenon earlier—how it could act as a barrier when blowing against you, or propel you forward like a push from behind.
Unaffected by the wind, Enkrid reached for his sword hilt, gripping it with calm confidence.
Meanwhile, Rem drew his axes.
Shiiiing.
Enkrid unsheathed
Aker
, holding it with both hands, his gaze locked on Rem.
In response, Rem wielded his dual axes, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides once more.
Raising Aker to a horizontal position, Enkrid tilted the blade slightly, shifting it to an angled stance.
"Impressive," Luagarne murmured, her large eyes sparkling with admiration.
Rem adjusted his posture, shifting his weight onto his right leg and pulling his left foot slightly back.
Aker's blade pointed at Rem's left thigh, a position that demanded a response.
The exchange of moves resembled ripples in a swamp—silent, yet charged with undercurrents.
Every shift in stance or slight adjustment hinted at a coming clash.
"Think this'll settle it?" Rem provoked, his tone teasing.
Enkrid silently agreed.
This was merely a test—a trial of techniques he'd learned and refined.
He knew brute intimidation would never faze someone as stubborn as Rem.
But what about a strategy that disrupted his rhythm?
The tactic was something Enkrid had learned from Luagarne—preparing to dominate from the very first move.
Every adjustment of stance, every calculated tilt of the blade, was a step toward claiming an advantage.
Their weapons finally moved.
Bang!
Aker's blade arced downward, only to be intercepted by the crossing of Rem's dual axes. The axes caught the blade, attempting to disarm Enkrid, but Aker withdrew immediately, its wielder anticipating Rem's intent.
The rapid disengagement chipped one of the axe blades, sending fragments flying, but neither fighter faltered.
"Not bad," Rem chuckled.
"You're not too shabby yourself," Enkrid replied with a grin.
What followed was a storm of ferocity—slashes and strikes aimed at necks, torsos, thighs, and arms.
Steel clashed against steel, sparks flying as each weapon sought to prove its dominance.
Clang! Clang-clang-clang!
The violet-hued twilight bore witness to their relentless exchange, as blows rang out like declarations of skill.
Finally, a decisive moment arrived.
Clang!
With a thunderous sound, Enkrid closed the distance, slipping into Rem's guard.
Rem countered with a rising knee, but Enkrid blocked with his left forearm, the impact reverberating through his body.
Thunk. Clatter.
Aker fell to the ground, its blade embedded in the dirt. One of Rem's axes also slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor.
Enkrid rubbed his forearm, stepping back.
"...You've improved," Rem muttered, cracking his neck as he stood.
"Even I think so," Enkrid replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
The duel had revealed something profound.
Enkrid's growth was undeniable—shaped by his encounter with the knight's strike, which had served as both a challenge and a catalyst.
"Among semi knights, there's no one left to face you," Rem remarked, retrieving his axes.
"One more round?"
"...Let's do it."
Though Luagarne and Dunbakel were astonished, they could not deny the outcome.
The fight had proven one thing: Enkrid had reached new heights, solidifying his place among warriors.
"Is there any reason not to be surprised?"
Every time he looked at Enkrid, it was evident that the man had reached his limit.
It was almost incomprehensible how much his skills had grown.
He seemed like someone who had risked his life thousands of times in battle, gained profound insights, and honed those lessons over hundreds of days.
"Even on ordinary days."
He poured all his time into swinging his sword and contemplating techniques.
Ragna had helped him and witnessed it firsthand.
In terms of experience alone, Enkrid surpassed anyone else on the continent by far.
"A body tempered by all that experience, meticulously trained techniques, and ideas that caught opponents off guard."
Those were the things that now allowed him to surpass Rem.
During their second spar, neither had been sent flying or knocked down.
Yet, Enkrid was confident.
"I can catch him."
If he set his mind to it, he could defeat Rem.
An equal match?
Not anymore.
The advantage was his.
"Just now, you thought you could beat me if you wanted, didn't you? Knock it off. You know things would be different if we fought for real."
"You know it too. I haven't been sparring as if my life depended on it either."
"...You've got a way of talking that really gets under people's skin."
By now, they were on their third sparring match.
Rem's eyes had changed.
So had Enkrid's aura.
"One of you is going to get killed at this rate."
Dunbakel, sensitive to their intensifying auras, voiced her concern.
They had reached their second campsite after walking all day.
With the firewood they had gathered, a fire crackled behind them as their sword and axe clashed once more.
This match didn't last long.
But every exchange was deadly.
Clang!
The sound of metal striking metal was rare.
Rem's weapon wasn't like Aker's; the more it clashed, the more it wore down.
By now, the axe blade had turned serrated, almost like a saw.
It could even be called an axe-saw.
They were fighting as though it were half a real battle.
In the midst of this, Enkrid found himself surprised again.
Rem showed him something new yet again, as if to prove that sparring wasn't everything.
Lethal intent flashed between them.
Then, before anyone realized, both had stopped.
Their shoulders heaved, their breath escaping in ragged gasps.
Despite neither yielding in terms of stamina, the match had drained them.
Their sword and axe were poised, each pointed at the other's heart.
"Mess around,
huff
, and there'll be a hole
huff
right here," said Rem.
Huff
, you're already dead," Enkrid replied with a smirk.
At that, they both broke into laughter.
"Alright, fine. We've got over ten more days of this trip, so I figure you'll want to keep sparring. Might as well let you win a few."
Rem backed off.
"It's not letting me win. You lost."
Enkrid couldn't resist pointing it out.
"Yeah, yeah, fine. Let's say I lost."
Even as he spoke, Rem found it curious.
"This feels strange."
Losing wasn't something he was used to.
It wasn't just for nothing that he was called a genius.
There was a time when he was hailed as the strongest in the west, the greatest talent of the western tribes.
Few among his teachers had lasted a month against him.
"Learning curses was a bit tricky, though."
But even that, he had learned, mastered, and understood.
Several sorcerers had debated making him their successor.
And then he left that land.
Even after leaving, losing was a rarity for him.
Recently, there had been a mad lost wanderer and a stray cat that suddenly went berserk, but before that, losing wasn't even a concept he was familiar with. Losing should have felt unpleasant, but strangely, it didn't.
"This is different from that mad wanderer."
There were many reasons, but perhaps it was because this insane captain didn't seem like he would stop anytime soon.
It wasn't as if he considered Rem merely a checkpoint to pass or a goal to ultimately overcome.
"This was just something that happened."
A part of his journey toward his own dreams.
That's why, even now, he continued to wield his sword.
"This campsite is uncomfortable for a lot of reasons."
As they built the fire, Dunbakel commented.
"And I'm thirsty," added Luagarne.
As they ventured further west, the increasingly dry weather must have been tough on the Frog.
"Alright, let's see."
Rem began digging into the ground.
Everyone, including Enkrid, turned their gaze toward him.
"Just wait. I'll get us something sweet to drink."
This was the west, the land where he was born and raised.
There would be plenty of troublesome matters further in.
"But it'd be a waste not to enjoy the present."
Always have fun—that had always been his creed.
After digging for a while, Rem plunged his axe into the ground, grabbed something behind the blade, and pulled it up.
Crack.
The earth broke apart more easily than expected, and something round emerged. Too large for one hand but too small for two.
"Fruits grow underground?"
Was it some kind of root fruit?
Enkrid asked, puzzled.
"It's a western specialty, the ground-squirrel fruit."
Its hard outer shell was made of compacted dirt.
Rem cracked it open to reveal a shriveled fruit inside. He brushed off the dirt, sliced it with his axe blade, and split it in half. Inside was a sloshing liquid.
"Give it a try. Once you taste it, you'll never forget it. Merchants used to call it paradise water."
Enkrid was the first to take a sip.
As the liquid went down, the sweetness spread from his mouth to his entire body.
It was very sweet, but not unpleasantly so.
Instead, it was the kind of sweetness that left you wanting more.
"If you drink too much, it'll make your mouth even drier, so one per person per day is just right."
"You're officially our guide to the west now,"
Enkrid praised, genuinely impressed.
Rem responded with a curse.
Just hearing the word "guide" made him reflexively curse.
Of course, he was the guide.
Who else had been leading them all this time?
Sometimes, the captain managed to turn people inside out with a single word.
This was different from admitting defeat.
It was a comparison to that mad wanderer, and it made him thoroughly annoyed.

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