"What is swordsmanship?"
After the sparring session, Oara posed the question.
They were standing in a courtyard that hardly deserved to be called a training ground.
Enkrid knelt on one knee, clutching his abdomen.
He had dodged a vertical slash and the subsequent thrust.
These were techniques he had seen many times before.
With his Sense of Evasion, avoiding them wasn't too difficult.
He evaded the swordplay, but Oara immediately closed the gap and struck his abdomen with her palm.
The impact pierced through his guts and seemed to blast out his back.
It was a relief he hadn't coughed up blood.
Although her attack was imbued with Will, the movement itself was remarkably simple—nothing more, nothing less.
"What must you do to subdue your opponent?
Think about it."
Enkrid nodded.
Saluting her with military courtesy, he watched as Oara smiled brightly and departed.
Her words echoed in his mind, but they didn't resonate deeply.
Oara returned the following day.
"Don't tell me you didn't understand what I said?
Strange, your body should have responded by now."
The knight with chestnut-colored hair tilted her head in puzzlement, then continued as if dismissing the issue.
"Don't you think you know too much?
Any vessel overflows when filled to the brim, and the excess is wasted—undrinkable, even."
"Is that a problem?"
"Swing only as much as needed, when needed.
That's all there is to it.
Keep that in mind."
While her words didn't strike Enkrid with the force of sudden enlightenment, he understood her point.
"Too much knowledge is a hindrance?"
Oara reiterated her advice another time.
"Technically, you have more than enough.
Discard what you don't need."
She was firm, and Enkrid contemplated her words.
They might be exactly what he needed to hear.
Even so, something held him back.
Why?
He wasn't sure—it was just a feeling.
He didn't like it.
While brooding over this, his gaze fell on Rem, who was meticulously sharpening his axe.
Shrrk.
The sound of the whetstone against the blade rang clear, a pristine note.
Beads of sweat dotted Rem's forehead.
His focus was absolute, a rare sight.
He appeared far more dedicated than when teasing Ragna or harassing the soldiers.
Shrrk.
The sound had been a constant in recent days, echoing in Enkrid's ears.
"Rem."
"Can't you see I'm busy?"
Without even looking up, Rem responded.
Enkrid stood where his shadow cast over Rem's head, blocking the sunlight.
"Am I greedy?"
Shrrk.
Rem pressed the whetstone against the blade and repeated the motion.
"Is that even a question?"
His tone was nonchalant, as if the answer was obvious.
To Enkrid, it sounded less like a response and more like a suggestion to drop the matter.
Sitting beside him, Enkrid unsheathed Aker, Ember, and Gladius.
He began oiling the blades with flaxseed oil, polishing them until they gleamed in the sunlight.
Nearby, Dunbakel exhaled through her nose, engrossed in her muscle training.
Luagarne swung her loop sword and whip, honing her senses.
She claimed to be preparing to demonstrate a Frogs' fighting style—a prospect that intrigued him.
He cleaned his swords and counted his Whistle Daggers—three remained.
He sharpened them, inspected his throwing axes and round shield, and checked for any damage caused by the humid air.
Finally, he spent his spare time practicing his swordsmanship.
That evening, he joined the team in exterminating the remaining colony.
The last threats were ghouls, a rare sight outside the demon borderlands.
These ghouls spat bodily fluids that no one wanted to get hit by.
Their saliva corroded metal and emitted smoke upon contact.
Luagarne handled them effortlessly.
From three steps away, she wrapped her whip around their necks and snapped them.
The Frogs were indeed a combat race, and Luagarne proved it.
"With this, the colony's done," said Dunbakel, clearly eager to leave.
Enkrid ignored her.
Returning to camp, they enjoyed a quiet evening in the life of Thousand Stone.
During this time, Oara left the city only once, returning covered in black blood.
"Spiders were gathering.
I dealt with them," she said casually, as though it were a light warm-up.
"Thanks to you, my handsome little genius, I didn't need to worry about the rear.
You've made preemptive action possible."
A knight capable of slaying a thousand on her own, she had gone out alone and slaughtered dozens of monsters as though on a stroll.
Accompanying her were two familiar figures: a large man and a petite woman, both semi knights.
"Not as handsome as me, but your skills are commendable," said the man.
"You can ignore whatever he says," added the woman.
Enkrid observed the two.
They were far from ordinary.
Along with Oliver of the Order, they were among the best.
Behind them, Oliver gave him a knowing nod.
Enkrid thought of them as honest, straightforward people.
None hesitated to express their thoughts or jokes.
'If Shinar had been here, it might've been fun.
Shinar, too, enjoyed a good joke.
During this time, Eisia had been overseeing city security.
With no threats, there wasn't much to do.
After her trip, Oara spent two days inside her home, for reasons unknown.
Meanwhile, Enkrid sparred with some soldiers.
A few uneventful days passed, until one evening when the sun dipped and the horizon blushed with twilight.
This was the hour when shapes blurred, and it was hard to distinguish a dog from a wolf.
The sound of insects buzzed faintly, as meat skewers sizzled over Dunbakel's campfire.
Rem sprinkled salt and spices over the meat, while Lua-Garne happily chewed on bugs, puffing her cheeks in delight.
Oara appeared again, sparring with Enkrid once more.
At the end, she remarked, "This is refreshing."
"Is it?"
"You're stubborn, aren't you?"
"I'd call it resolute."
"Stubborn," she concluded.
Rem burst into laughter, interjecting, "She reads people well."
"I agree," said Luagarne.
Dunbakel opened her mouth to speak but, catching Enkrid's gaze, opted instead to chew her food.
Crunch.
She ate with remarkable gusto.
Enkrid didn't bother defending himself.
He wasn't stubborn; he was steadfast.
There was no need for external validation.
"Your eyes give you away.
You're a maniac," said Oara.
If she hadn't been a knight, her words might have earned her a beating.
Rem laughed even harder, his voice booming.
"That's true."
Enkrid made a mental note to ask what had amused him so much.
As Oara walked away, taking a skewer of meat with her, she gave him a thumbs-up for the excellent roasting.
The entire conversation had taken place after their sparring session.
At the end of it, Enkrid was lying flat on the ground.
It hadn't been bad at all.
"Not bad," said Luagarne, puffing her cheeks lightly—a gesture he assumed expressed her joy.
"To be honest, I was surprised," she added.
"If that surprises you, you'll be surprised twelve times a day teaching rookies," quipped Rem, now calm.
His words seemed to hold more meaning, prompting Luagarne to react.
"What's so surprising?"
The question was asked with genuine curiosity.
"Because a madman always chooses to do mad things," Rem replied, gazing at the stars as if he were a sage imparting wisdom.
In that moment, he seemed like someone who had reached profound enlightenment.
Of course, it was nonsense.
Enkrid still wasn't entirely on board with Oara's advice to discard complexity and chaos.
Must one abandon the very things that safeguarded their life in order to progress?
He questioned himself and then answered himself.
No, he didn't want to.
So instead of discarding, he embraced it.
To be precise, he integrated it.
He had done it once before and had naturally used the technique several times since, so it wasn't particularly difficult.
The starting point was what he had learned from Jaxen.
"The sense of evasion, the realm of intuition, the sense of attack.
All of it focused on honing perception.
Jaxen referred to it as sensory skills.
Had Jaxen separated these techniques when he used them?
No, he hadn't.
His movements were seamless.
So why couldn't Enkrid achieve the same?
He simply shifted his perspective.
And then he realized it.
Everyone had dismissed Enkrid as someone with mediocre talent, and even he hadn't repeated the day's success.
But he had done it.
He had achieved it.
Enkrid took pride in that accomplishment.
It was unfortunate that it didn't work perfectly against Oara just yet.
"It's still unrefined," Rem advised, pulling out his axe and whetstone after finishing his meal.
"You'll wear that axe blade down at this rate."
"Don't worry.
I'm keeping an eye on it.
What, do you take me for a fool who gets lost easily?"
Recently, the person Rem harbored the most animosity toward was Ragna.
The teasing over Ragna's promotion to knight was the biggest reason.
Ragna, for his part, teased Rem incessantly, as if to show that Rem had been under him for a reason.
"Savage, that's not how you eat.
Proper dining manners will improve your skills.
Hold the fork properly."
Even during meals, it was like this.
Enough said.
"Attack like a storm, defend like an unyielding mountain," Oara had imparted during one of her lessons.
And one afternoon, she asked him again.
"You intend to become a knight?"
"Yes," Enkrid replied, lowering his sword.
Strength had yet to return to his left arm, numb from an attack imbued with Will that Oara called a "grip."
If the Mercenary King's bull attacks added weight to his strikes, Oara's sword made his arm muscles tingle with just a brush.
Of course, the sensation soon subsided.
The Unyielding Will began to push out the Will Oara had imbued.
Seeing this, Oara looked slightly surprised.
You're doing something curious, aren't you?
That was the look in her eyes.
And then she asked the question.
"Do you want to be a knight?"
"Not a shadow of doubt," he replied.
"Good.
You have a fine face and a commendable resolve.
Then let me offer you some advice."
"I'll gladly accept it," he said with a steady tone, though his eyes gleamed with eagerness.
Oara liked those blue eyes.
She wouldn't have spent time sparring with him otherwise.
Was it because she liked him as a man?
While his looks were appealing, it was more about the fire in his actions, the way he stirred the hearts of those around him.
"If you want to be a knight, first define the scope of what you'll protect."
She spoke with the sun at her back, shadows casting over her face, but her smile was still vividly visible.
Was she beautiful?
Did she have striking features, a graceful jawline?
If it was purely about looks, Shinar, with her inhuman beauty, outshone her.
Esther, with her mysterious aura, was superior.
For human beauty, the lady from the Marquisate of Baisar was remarkable.
Kin, was it?
She would likely explode in anger if she knew Enkrid had forgotten her name again.
She radiated vitality.
In terms of vitality, Dunbakel, too, was lively—though her unwashed odor was another story.
Teresa had a dependable, calming presence.
Yet Oara stood apart from them all.
The allure she exuded wasn't one of mere femininity.
"I wish to be arrogant, but I'm bound here—to this city, to those behind me.
That's my scope."
A knight's conviction is forged by their Will.
That conviction becomes both their restraint and their oath.
"As long as I stand, this city will not fall.
I won't allow the Demon Realm to approach."
Oara smiled—a smile that earned her nickname as a knight.
Her epithet was peculiar.
Aishia had explained to Enkrid why Oara was called that.
Because she never lost her smile, no matter the situation.
Though it wasn't a question, Enkrid already had his answer.
So he answered.
"The scope of what I protect is everything I see and everything I feel I must."
"Hmm?"
Oara blinked, caught in the light drizzle that began to fall as she stood with her back to the sun.
Her smile faded slightly before broadening again.
"You're utterly insane, aren't you?"
"Am I?"
"That's far too arrogant.
But, well, do as you please."
That was already his plan.
"Now that the job's done, you're free to leave, Enkrid of Border Guard."
"This place weighs on me, so I'll stay longer."
"That's not something I can stop."
Oara vanished in a flash.
Enkrid, watching the rain cool the earth, packed up his gear and returned indoors.
Rem, still sharpening his axe, came into view.
The next day, a familiar soldier approached Enkrid amidst a group of troops.
"Milio, sir.
In case you've forgotten," the soldier introduced himself.
He had a solid, grounded demeanor rather than a sharp one.
He had guided Enkrid around the city after Aishia and expressed a desire to learn from him.
"I've been busy with no days off, but I'm here now to ask for your guidance."
And so, Enkrid obliged by beating him senseless.
Milio returned the next day.
And the day after that.
The rain continued for two days, and Milio tirelessly rolled in the mud, his face covered in dirt.
By the time the rain stopped, the air around them felt heavier, as if something unseen loomed.
At dawn, when the rain ceased, Milio visited early.
"I have duty during the day, so I came now," he explained.
Milio wasn't the only one seeking Enkrid out.
Other soldiers, many of them skilled, also came to him.
Observing this, Enkrid realized something.
Overstaffed troops?
The place housed a knight, two junior knights, and four squires.
Even excluding Aishia and his companions, this was a formidable gathering.
All of them were as skilled as junior knights.
The soldiers, hardened by relentless battles, were no less capable than Border Guard troops.
While the Border Guard primarily fought Aspen, these forces defended against incursions from the Demon Realm, shaping them into elite fighters.
Their numbers were modest but sufficient.
It wasn't an overconcentration of troops—it was evidence of the danger this place faced.
That's why he didn't want to leave.
Moreover, each soldier bore a sense of purpose—duty, responsibility, and mission.
Milio, however, stood out.
"What's your goal?"
Enkrid asked him.
Milio blushed slightly, scratching his cheek before answering.
"To marry Dame Oara."
The man had an audacious dream.
At twenty-five—though he looked thirty-five—he aspired to wed a knight at least a decade his senior.
But Enkrid supported him.
His own dreams were absurd.
Why not cheer for someone else's impossible goal?
"Good luck."
"I'll do my best."
Two days later, something else unfolded.

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