Dunbakel's return was special, but it didn't change their daily routine.
Enkrid returned to his routine from the very next dawn.
That is to say, he devoted himself to training all day.
'Beelrog.'
The majority of that time was spent reflecting on the journey to fight Beelrog.
After finishing his dawn training, it was time to sit still and be lost in thought.
As much as he moved his body, he took great care in retracing the inspirations and the afterimages of thoughts that had come to him then, reflecting on them one by one.
Among them, the sparring match with Dunbakel had contributed to the diversity of his thoughts, in that he had encountered new techniques and tactics.
Enkrid walked around and around the training grounds, deep in thought.
It was a habit he had developed because his head worked better when walking than when standing still.
'Three-dimensionality.'
Dunbakel had developed a tactic that utilized the unique physical abilities of a beastkin.
To put it simply, she went beyond simply moving back and forth; she would move more than ten steps out, circling around the opponent, and look for an opening.
'It felt less like a fight and more like a hunt.'
But that was a perfect fit for Dunbakel.
Elastic muscles and physical ability, and perceiving the opponent not with her eyes but with her sense of smell.
It was a tactic only Dunbakel could use.
During the spar, she had turned her back, and without even looking, had shot out her fingertips and snatched his collar—for an instant, he had almost lost the upper hand.
And that was despite the clear difference in their skill levels.
It meant that the blade Dunbakel had whetted and brought with her was that sharp.
'A combat art that has reached a singularity.'
One couldn't call something like this a simple sword style.
Furthermore, Dunbakel's combat art was a method that perfectly utilized a beastkin's physical abilities.
'Then can I not even imitate it?'
That was unlikely.
A knight could do it, as their physical abilities were developed.
But it wouldn't be efficient.
However, it meant that there was no need to forcefully imitate all of it.
Even without doing so, the core concept of using space three-dimensionally could be adopted.
Enkrid-style orthodox swordsmanship, Wave-Breaking and Extinguishing Embers, the Sword of Chance, Will management.
Dozens of thoughts came and went in his head, and he organized them.
Enkrid thoroughly enjoyed this moment.
If this wasn't fun, what was?
Not only Enkrid, but also Rem, Ragna, Jaxen, and Audin had gained and learned much through this recent affair.
It meant that they too were spending their time training.
While the entire knight order was engrossed in training, new guests arrived one after another at the Border Guard.
A person with jet-black hair and red eyes was not a common appearance on the continent.
He wore a wide-brimmed hat as he entered and looked around the city.
His long hair fell from under the hat to below his chin.
"It's not just a city that smells nice."
His tone was cheerful and his voice was clear.
It was like the voice of a child who had not fully grown.
The gates of the Border Guard are open to anyone as long as their identity is confirmed.
In this process, there are no guards who commonly accept bribes.
"Bribes? Take them if you have the ability. I won't stop you. Embezzlement is also done according to one's ability."
Krais didn't stop them.
But no one even tried.
Proper training, high-quality supplies, and on top of that, a salary that couldn't even be compared to the standing armies of other cities.
Furthermore, if you were caught doing something foolish, the level of punishment was brutal, and there was nowhere to run.
In the beginning, there were many who did foolish things, but what had become of them now?
None of them remained in the standing army to this day.
And they couldn't become bandits or robbers threatening livelihoods in the back alleys either.
Krais had taken control of the city's nights before he had secured economic superiority.
Getting into trouble and hiding in the back alleys had become the same as shouting 'come and get me' or quietly agreeing to go to prison.
And using all of this, he had revealed that he was running the city in a just and rational manner.
Could one raise the quality of an army simply by having a lot of Krona?
Not a chance.
The man knew that, so he puckered his lips and whistled.
Wheee.
"It's not just a city that smells nice."
Well-maintained roads, soldiers visible everywhere, merchants exchanging jokes with them, and even children running and playing.
The military city of the Border Guard had at some point become another heart of Naurillia.
'Hasn't it developed more than the capital?'
He even had such a thought.
A slow-moving carriage passed by the man, raising a faint cloud of dust.
A man with a portly impression followed behind the man in the hat.
This man had a yellow, round circle symbolizing a gold coin embroidered on his outer coat, which made it known that his affiliation was with the continent's number one merchant guild.
In other words, a merchant belonging to Lengardis.
Behind the two of them, another man followed, a greatsword slung diagonally across his back and a hood pulled over his head.
"It's just the three of us, right?"
The man in the black hat with a youthful appearance spoke first.
He looked clearly younger than the other two, but his tone was light.
It was a tone that implied it was perfectly fine for him to speak that way.
The other two continued the conversation nonchalantly.
"That is what I have heard. Being a subordinate is not easy."
The portly man from the merchant guild answered, wiping his sweat.
He did not take issue with the other's tone.
Rather, he answered with a polite attitude.
"Tell me about it."
The three of them stayed in the city and looked around.
It was an interesting place.
A peaceful and comfortable place.
There were many places that sold delicious food, and the inns were clean.
They had apparently laid long pipes in the city to dispose of filth, so there was almost no smell of excrement.
"Wow, I should take the friend who made this city with us."
The man in the black hat was impressed, and half of what he said was sincere.
If things went well, it would be good to take them.
On the fourth day, they made their way to the inner castle.
A soldier standing on the left among those on guard duty blocked their path with the shaft of his spear.
That soldier's name was Marco.
"May I ask your business?"
Unlike the gates of the outer city, the gates of the inner castle do not open for just anyone.
That is to say, they do not accept everyone who comes and goes without an appointment.
It was a basic rule.
Marco.
At one point, he had challenged Enkrid, and after being relentlessly broken, he had quietly become a member of the Border Guard's standing army.
He was satisfied with his current life and was in the middle of repeatedly training through ceaseless practice.
Thanks to that, he was struggling to become a squire of The Order of the Madmen Knights.
Currently, the only official squire belonging to the knight order was a person with the nickname 'Fallen Clemen'.
'I am next.'
He was living with that resolve.
That Marco saw the two people and one warrior approaching.
His eyes met with the man who had a thick greatsword slung across his back.
In an instant, goosebumps broke out all over Marco's body.
At the same time, he saw an illusion of his neck being sliced off.
Thump!
Marco pulled back the spear he was holding, struck the ground with its butt, and retreated.
It was a reflexive action.
If he had stayed there, he would have died.
That feeling was what had moved his body.
Their eyes had only met for a moment, but cold sweat was pouring down his back.
'This bastard.'
He was a member of the Border Guard's standing army, and one of the skilled ones among them.
That was why he sometimes got the opportunity to spar with Ropord.
If he was bored, Rem would sometimes step in.
That was why he knew the nature of pressure.
What that man had just shown was a pressure close to killing intent.
"Hey."
Marco opened his mouth, clenching his jaw tightly.
He was full of wariness.
He could tell just by the opponent's pressure.
He would be no match.
If he charged in now, he would die.
Just as the sun rises in the morning, it felt like an obvious fact, so his heart pounded and twice as much cold sweat poured out as before.
So should he retreat?
Before coming here, Marco had been one to run wild, trusting in his own talent, but not now.
If you're going to back down when you need to show spirit, why did you even pick up a weapon?
Because strength is the only law that holds sway on the continent?
Because you believe that the one with great strength can grasp everything?
'No.'
It was to prove himself by fulfilling his given duty.
The duty given to Marco now was to protect this spot.
'And if possible, to save the comrade standing behind me.'
He was a friend whose child would be born next month.
Marco, with senses sharpened through repeated real combat, faced the opponent directly.
'Dangerous.'
His intuition judged the man with the greatsword and the two in front of him all as dangerous opponents.
Thump.
He kicks the shaft of the spear he had struck the ground with, once again brings the spearhead forward, and takes a stance.
He leaves a good distance between his feet, keeps his gaze forward, tenses his abs to prepare for the pressure that would bear down on him, and exhales a long, thin breath.
"Not bad."
The man with the greatsword said.
This was the conclusion reached when combining his words just now with his previous pressure, atmosphere, and intimidation.
'A knight.'
If the recently returned Dunbakel was a bouncing crystal of Life Force, this man was like a heavy lump of iron.
'A fire-heated lump of iron.'
That was the image that came to mind.
Instead of swallowing, Marco moved his lips and spoke.
"Go and report that uninvited guests have arrived, Limil."
His comrade Limil did not retreat at those words.
"You show-off, Marco."
Limil brought up Marco's nickname and continued.
"I am also one of the shields of the Border Guard."
The official name of the standing army was the 'Shields that Guard the Border.'
Because the city was a fortress wall, they became the shields that protected those within it.
"It doesn't look bad, but we have come as guests, so we would appreciate it if you would just relay the message inside."
The man with the impressive portly belly and sagging cheeks stepped forward and spoke.
"Ah, or is something like this needed here too?"
The man continued, making a gesture of flipping a gold coin.
"No, that's not necessary."
Marco replied.
"Lower that spear. My patience is not deep enough to let pass an opponent who shows hostility."
The man with the greatsword said.
His tone was serious, but his presence was not.
Marco, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead, lowered the tip of his spear.
He was an opponent he couldn't match even in a frontal confrontation.
So nothing would change by charging in here.
It was a cold judgment.
Of course, he had no intention of letting them in meekly.
First, he had to get Limil to fall back.
Just then, whether by chance or fate, a passing Esther came upon the three of them.
"You."
And the man in the black hat saw Esther and acknowledged her.
"As they say, the mystery of fate is as great as magic."
The man said, and Esther, instead of opening her mouth, just acknowledged him with her eyes.
It was a truly impassive attitude.
In any case, they were old acquaintances.
"Well, this has gotten complicated. My business is not with you, though."
The man in the black hat licked his lips.
His tongue was long like a snake's.
"May I ask for your guidance, Child of the Stars?"
Esther nodded.
She gestured with her eyes toward Marco and Limil.
The two of them quietly retreated.
"I will."
It was after the three uninvited guests and Esther had disappeared.
Limil let out a breath and said.
"I almost went to the afterlife without even seeing my kid being born. Why are they so menacing."
"You should have backed down when I told you to."
Marco blamed him, but he was inwardly acknowledging Limil.
He too must have just been doing his best to fulfill his duty.
"Uh, my legs gave out, so I couldn't."
Limil passed off the situation with a joke out of embarrassment.
Marco stared at the three who had moved away with narrowed eyes.
'They were no ordinary people.'
But if you were to ask if they were at the level to surpass The Order of the Madmen Knights, led by Enkrid.
'Not even close.'
Marco was one of the soldiers who had seen The Order of the Madmen Knights up close.
In his view, those three guys were monsters, but.
'There are even greater monsters packed in there.'
Just take Ragna, for instance.
"It wasn't the heat."
After returning, he had kept muttering only those words and would swing his sword at the drop of a hat.
A rule had been established among the soldiers that one must not enter the radius of the directionally-challenged Ragna's sword.
What this meant was that he would abruptly swing his sword regardless of what was around him.
No one had died by that blade, but many had their clothes nicked.
It was one thing to say clothes, but after experiencing that blade grazing thinly over one's skin, one's hair would stand on end.
"Even if it gets cut off, it will be reattached, so don't worry too much."
The words of the healer Anne, known to be his lover, were also a masterpiece.
That was why Marco wasn't worried at all.
The white-skinned man in the black hat who had acknowledged Esther was heading inside when a thunderbolt suddenly fell on his head.
CRASH!
That thunderbolt was blocked by the master of the greatsword who was behind him.
Cold sweat ran down the back of the man in the hat.
A few protective spells wrapped around his body reacted, creating an invisible barrier around him.
The man caught his breath for a moment and then opened his mouth.
"...Is this a greeting?"
He knew how to handle a weapon, but he was not proficient.
His specialty lay elsewhere.
It wasn't that he had been careless, but hadn't his head almost been split in two just now?
And a head isn't something that should be in two pieces.
In other words, he had almost died.
"Ah, there was a person here."
Blond hair and red eyes.
The swordsman looked down at the man who was much smaller than him from the same position he had struck down with his greatsword and spoke.
"You're not hurt."
The blonde man then ignored him and tried to pass by.
"So you are mad."
The master of the greatsword who had blocked Ragna's blow turned his body.
At the same time, pressure.
Pressure containing killing intent cut the opponent's neck.
With that, they would tense all the muscles in their body and their jewels would shrivel up.
That intention did not get through.
The illusion of Ragna's neck being cut was crushed, and a new illusion took its place.
The three uninvited guests simultaneously saw an illusion of their bodies being cut vertically.
The ones who shriveled up were them.
"Ack!"
The legs of the man from the Lengardis merchant guild, who had no resistance to such things, gave out.
He even wet himself, and his trouser leg got damp.
Ragna had torn apart the pressure the opponent had used and had overwritten it with his own.
It's easy to say, but if you were actually told to do it, well, who knows how many would be able to.
"Hmm, Blade."
Ragna muttered.
He was still staring into the empty air.
It was as if he wasn't even paying any attention to the people in front of him.

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