335 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

**335.** It's training. While nobles, merchant guilds, and city officials continued to visit, Enkrid no longer paid them any mind. And that was just fine. Krais was effectively handling everything in the middle. When told to come up with a plan, he truly devised one. "Have I come all this way only to find myself unable to meet even just one city soldier?" Even when sly nobles visited. "No, you cannot meet them." Krais would reply like an automaton. Although there were those who occasionally attempted some show of force. "You want to fight?" There was Prok Meiloon, who had become Krais' guard. Few were bold enough to dare confront even Prok's threats. It wasn't that Enkrid and his circle were unusual; rather, this was the norm. And it wasn't as if Krais was forcibly kicking them out or being unreasonable. "We are preparing for an important battle." He offered suitable excuses. "This is a direct matter coming from the central authority." He invoked the backdrop of the royal palace. This was enough to deal with the pesky nobles, and as for merchants, they didn't even need him. "If you have something to say, take it up with the Lokfryde merchant guild. They have a direct contract with the lord." Passing the buck was the end of it. Leona Lokfryde was indeed capable. She skillfully and deftly managed most of the small to medium-sized merchant guilds. "Is the name 'Lokfryde' that lightweight?" Just by leveraging the merchant guild's name, half the problems were resolved. It didn't matter if a sizable merchant guild under some noble patron came. Their goal was to secure trade routes and generate profits through Enkrid. Leona promised them just that. "The trade routes will expand. Our guild alone cannot monopolize it all anyway." Naturally, the merchants who tried to impress Enkrid swarmed to Leona. She selected and vetted the most competent among them. Identifying and capitalizing on the value of goods was her forte. From what Krais observed of her endeavors, he couldn't be more satisfied with her selection. 'Who would have thought such complex matters could be resolved so simply by just showing the leader's face.' If not for Enkrid, he might still be negotiating various trivial matters with Leona. Claiming that Enkrid had no influence in this decision would be dishonest. He was indeed a rare presence. A potential star of the salon and a top talent. Just because Krais was managing things well didn’t mean Enkrid was idle either. In truth, he was now busy with what he truly desired. "Come at me!" Engrossed in dueling sessions, he was bound to stay busy. "Be careful not to kill me." Enkrid would even use this time to hone Rem's eloquence during their sparring. The duels were intense. To an outsider, it might appear to be a reckless gamble with life, but it was beneficial for both Enkrid and Rem. Naturally, Dunbakel, Teresa, and even Aoudin joined in. Only Lagnaman abstained. He occasionally swung his sword in the air or fell into a meditative-like stupor. Everyone but Lagnaman was silently amazed by Enkrid’s progress. And understandably so. ‘When did he…’ Dunbakel felt the ever-widening gap. Teresa saw a wall she could not surmount even with the combined power and cunning of her half-giant lineage. Though, neither faced with a wall nor a gap would they surrender. Before their eyes stood one who had clawed his way up from the bottom. To speak of giving up in front of such a person was impossible. Neither emotionally nor physically. "Give up? Is it tough? Oh, our dear beast-person is having a hard time. Well, it's okay then, should you just die? It's logical to die if it's too tough." Even if Dunbakel showed the slightest hint of giving up, Rem would step in. "Sister, in the sacred texts, it is said that sometimes different pain can make you forget the original suffering." Aoudin would not hesitate to provide Teresa with 'different pain', a more physical kind, if necessary. Of course, neither voiced such thoughts aloud. ‘I, too…’ Teresa simply resolved. Dunbakel was no different. Both women adapted to constantly reaching higher aspirations. Their mindset had altered distinctly from before. They had the ears to hear, to know what kind of man Enkrid was and how he had reached this point. Listening to Rem and the soldiers around them, Enkrid's beginnings had been meager. Truly meager. "Once beneath me, I had a slightly better face back then." The origin of this banter was Vengeance; the other soldiers told the same story. A mercenary, rolling in the mud at the level of a low-ranking soldier. That was Enkrid. That man had now become an entirely different entity. A hero of the city, a hero of the battlefield, the one who rallied most of the Border Guard's young recruits into training games with wooden swords. His beginnings were humble, yet the ending grand, as the holy scriptures suggested. Teresa thought so, too. Dunbakel whispered to herself. ‘Don’t fall behind.’ She gritted her teeth and persevered obstinately. Unbeknownst to herself, she was treading a path similar to Enkrid's struggles. Naturally, Enkrid had little concern with how the beast and the half-giant perceived him. Besides training and sparring, he used his time studiously, even visiting the blacksmith. In truth, he had to manage his time this way. Though he was not in a hurry, time couldn't be allowed to slip away easily. He had seen a knight’s sword. He even demonstrated blocking it by striking it first. Although only once, exchanging swords with a knight expanded Enkrid's world, brightened the starry path above. A dream pursued like a grim reaper had turned into starlight and drifted away. The remnants of that light illuminated his path. Experiencing a surge in enthusiasm beyond any he had felt before was only natural. What appeared to be a continuous, grueling ordeal to some, was unprecedented joy and exhilaration for Enkrid. "What is this?" The self-proclaimed best blacksmith of Border Guard inspected the sword given by an enemy nation’s semi-knight repeatedly. The silver blade and finish, the grip wrapped in beast hide, the round pommel. "This is no ordinary craftsmanship." When shown both Gladius and Fire Sparks, his eyes nearly popped out in wonder. The blacksmith's eyes gleamed brightly. "The crafting technique is different; this isn't a human-made weapon." A discerning person, he recognized the value of both the Gladius and the Fire Sparks. "You planning to use all three?" They had known each other for quite some time. The blacksmith continued to speak informally, more invested in his work than in the rank of Company Commander. While there were guilds where blacksmiths would band together to protect their interests, such an organization didn't exist in the Border Guard. Most craftsmen, unless they were making farming tools, were practically part of the military. This blacksmith had pursued his skills rather than settling for the stability that guild membership might offer. Enkrid respected the artisan. He believed the blacksmith was also on a journey, chasing something akin to a dream. "Just doing my job, that's all. No need for any grand words." Of course, if asked directly, the blacksmith would likely dismiss such talk with a scoff. Yet, his pride was undoubtedly high. Enkrid found himself reflecting on his own aspirations as he watched the blacksmith. Perhaps his enthusiasm had been a bit too high lately. The blacksmith, still engrossed with the three swords, asked, "What do you need done?" "They were used roughly, and I'd like them touched up. Also, could you make fifty throwing knives, thin but with a good center of balance? Plus, some additional metal plates to reinforce the greaves. All my gauntlets are worn out, so I'll need new armor, too..." For a mercenary, good equipment was as vital as having an extra life. Even as a semi-knight now capable of wielding shards of will, this truth remained the same. 'What if, when faced with the knight's sword, the weapon in my hand had been a cheap longsword?' It would have been annoyingly frustrating. Most importantly, having a fine weapon that fits perfectly in one's hand is a source of joy for a swordsman. It's part of what defines skill. In that sense, the knight's decision not to bring his cherished weapon was arrogance. Excessive confidence. It’s how he was able to escape, but is such arrogance something to be learned? Or, having witnessed failure due to such hubris, should he ensure he doesn't fall into the same trap? Enkrid chose the latter. He invested in equipment and weapons with his Krona. "As for the payment?" "Charge it to the castle." "Got it." The cost would be covered by the lord. The craftsman sharpened the three swords, meticulously inspecting and honing their blades. There was nothing wrong with them. Though Enkrid had learned to maintain his weapons throughout his mercenary days, nothing compared to the touch of a skilled craftsman. Still, training couldn’t be compromised just to delve into mastering this craft. "Oh, I was considering some polearms and blunt weapons; do you have any maces or axes on hand?" In the midst of it all, Enkrid ordered a few more weapons. In fact, he requested a variety, rather than just a few. The blacksmith looked directly at Enkrid for the first time, having been focused solely on the swords and gear until now. He seemed to be silently asking where they would be used. "Yes, they’re for me." Having placed the order, the blacksmith nodded without further questions. He already understood the reason. The renown garnered on the battlefield couldn't have missed a blacksmith's ear. Even if his demands seemed eccentric, they would be attended to without complaint. The blacksmith's thoughts lingered momentarily on the three swords. Could he craft anything better than these? One day he would attempt it, and the first to see that sword would be the man before him. That was his intention. If his counterpart was satisfied with the blade, they would discuss payment then. "I’ll send some of the weapons along with the gear later." "Alright." Thus began another period of intense training. "Flex your muscles and apply force. By doing so, you can achieve muscles as strong as steel." It was morning training session. Enkrid didn’t tilt his head at Aoudin’s words but did express his skepticism. "You mean a body that doesn’t get injured from a sword blow?" "Precisely, brother. You’ve understood perfectly." Logically, it made no sense. Though he didn’t voice it. "It’s possible." Aoudin replied preemptively, before even being asked 'how'. "You may already know the method. Asking questions isn’t bad, but sometimes self-discovery is the better path, wouldn’t you agree?" His counterquestion held the answer. Enkrid nodded. What followed was a grueling training that made all previous efforts seem trivial. By the end, Aoudin wielded a hammer wrapped in thick cloth. "What are you going to do with that?" Dunbakel asked, her voice laced with apprehension. "Training. Sister, if you wish, get in line." Dunbakel didn’t line up. She didn't think this was right. Perhaps someday, but not now. While she aimed to absorb everything from Enkrid, she decided to leave this for later. However, Enkrid silently followed Aoudin's teachings. This was the result. Thunk! It was straightforward. Brace for impact and take the hit. That was all. Aoudin struck Enkrid's side with the cloth-wrapped hammer. Though not overly forceful, a strike like this could shatter ribs and reverberate through organs in an average person. "Ah, excellent!" Aoudin struck with appropriate force, assessing Enkrid’s physical resilience just by observing. And Enkrid took the hit. "Isn’t that just torture?" It was Krais, commenting as he passed by. Though pressed for time, he couldn't take his eyes off the scene. "All of it strengthens mind and body, indeed. If you desire, feel free to join in, brother." "Doing that to me would be murder, Aoudin." Krais sprinted off seriously, not wishing to linger. Yes, go on. Enkrid watched Krais disappear and drew a steady breath. "Inhale." "Focus your strength on the core, your body's center. The moment you waver, something will give." With Aoudin’s words, the cloth-wrapped hammer struck his side again. Thunk. The impact coursed throughout his entire body. A tingling sensation shot through his mind. 'Is it possible I'm enjoying this somehow?' Enkrid mused inwardly as he felt the pain. Could it be that Aoudin enjoyed hitting people? His lips seemed to curve upward more than usual. While he always had a gentle smile, today, it seemed a bit broader. To an observer, that smile might appear genuinely benevolent. Yet, one should never be deceived by appearances. ‘The devil comes with the face of an angel.’ Enkrid, unconsciously, recalled the words from the holy scriptures that he had heard often enough to memorize. "I look forward to the day we won’t need the cloth anymore, brother." Even using the cloth-wrapped hammer was crossing a line, yet Aoudin spoke of the next step enthusiastically. Enkrid returned a subtle smile. "I do as well." In truth, if this was a meaningless act, it would be pointless, but it wasn't. ‘Willpower.’ Willpower, the essence of determination, stirred. Something born from the Will of Resistance infused his body, creating a semblance of defiance. Was it rejecting the shock? No, it was different. It was endurance. Among the skills used by knights, there were some standardized arts. Intimidation was one of them. This was why many semi-knights would specialize in it. They saw it as the foundational step. Naturally, there were other arts, standardized and widely known, among them was "Endure." Also known as the power to endure, it was originally a skill of the holy knights but had since spread throughout the knightly orders. To understand its utility: ‘An instinctive reaction the moment you’re hit.’ It served like a suit of armor wrapped around the body, allowing one to ignore that natural response. Mastering its use and covering the entire body with it is fundamental for knights. Achieving that grants one a body that isn’t easily cut by a blade. ‘Ah.’ That explained the surprise of the brown-haired knight when struck by Lagnaman's sword. Moreover, Enkrid understood. ‘Willpower.’ Simply training muscles wouldn’t yield a body resilient to blades. But what if one could wrap their body in will as if it were steel armor? Another milestone visibly emerged. Did witnessing such raw training stimulate this realization? It was uncertain. The sparring sessions between Enkrid and Rem took on an unprecedented intensity. "If you’re still going easy on me like before, that won’t do. You’ve improved a lot, truly." Rem wielded two axes, and after sixteen rounds, Enkrid had left a slash on his cheek. Thus the comment. "Oh, did that hurt? Perhaps I should have gone easier." "Yes, let’s do that. How about we both die today?" "I’ll burn and scatter your ashes in the river." Such provocative words were deeply challenging. What ashes would be scattered? It meant one’s remains. It was a direct challenge suggesting a fight to the death. Why did he wrap it in such flowery language? Seeing Lagnaman's transformation, Rem felt a tinge of urgency. The need for change was palpable. This spurred more training sessions. He started swinging axes into thin air. His overflowing determination drove his body. Such provocations didn’t dampen his spirits. Rem's momentum shifted. And as Enkrid observed this, he continued speaking. "A sling, is it?" Urged to try a new weapon, Rem immersed himself, forgetting his surroundings as he retrieved the weapon.