What should one do when events spiral out of their control, and watching it unfold is far from enjoyable?
‘This isn’t good.’
Krais was deeply dissatisfied with the current situation, which had deviated significantly from his calculations.
It was troubling him enough to disrupt his sleep.
For the first time in ages, he found himself battling insomnia.
Ever since Encrid’s return and their subsequent awareness of the events unfolding within the Holy Kingdom—culminating in the gathering of the Gray God’s Holy Army, Krais had been monitoring every development.
His conclusion?
The cultists had entrenched themselves far deeper into the continent than expected.
Though not solely responsible for all the turmoil, their involvement was undeniable.
‘Could we wipe out all the cultists?’
But how? With no clear methods in mind, worst-case scenarios constantly plagued his thoughts.
What if a cultist could spread curses merely by touch?
Unbeknownst to Krais, such a figure had already attempted and failed.
‘If I were them, I’d target the Captain first.’
No matter how one viewed it, the Border Guard was a territory centered entirely around one person.
Without Encrid, no one could fill the void.
The so-called Mad Knights, known for their chaos and intensity, would likely scatter.
‘Could anyone hold Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin together?’
Who could possibly unify all of them?
Adding Esther, Sinar, Pel, Lawford, Teresa to the mix only made it more daunting.
Krais found even one of them overwhelming.
Yet Encrid carried all their hopes on his back and within his grasp, seemingly unfazed.
Krais would have crumbled under such pressure, but Encrid, as always, merely wielded his sword.
“I’ve spoken with Eitri. You should head over.”
“No reprimands about breaking equipment this time?”
“Would you even listen if I did? Also, here’s an undergarment woven with jin-silver. Esther imbued it with protective enchantments, so take it.”
When Krais handed over a thin, transparent garment, Encrid stared at him before asking:
“Are you sick?”
“Why is there always a problem when I try to help?”
“Get some sleep.”
Despite Krais’s growing concerns, he never voiced them and endured several sleepless nights.
When Encrid finally mentioned deployment, Krais found his insomnia miraculously cured.
It wasn’t intentional on Encrid’s part, but watching him act gave Krais a sort of answer.
‘What should one do when events deviate from one’s intentions?’
What else?
You act according to your desires.
And if that doesn’t work?
Change the things around you, step by step.Nothing changes if you don’t.
If your surroundings remain stagnant, the whole remains the same.So, one step at a time.
That had always been Encrid’s approach to life.
Adding Krais’s realism to this perspective:
‘Does the world change just because you want it to?’
Probably not.
So what’s needed to realize one’s dreams and follow one’s path?
Strength.
Not just physical power or combat prowess.
Even unwavering convictions born of will could be considered strength in this world.
But for now, what was needed was brute force—a sword and fists.
Was Encrid’s life up to now dedicated to training and honing himself for this purpose?
Krais didn’t know for sure, but he experienced an unprecedented clarity.
“Let’s go.”
When Encrid announced his departure, Krais watched the Knights mount their horses.
Strangely, he felt no ominous foreboding.
Neither did he feel the need to offer a blessing for their journey.
“You know what Encrid said when I thanked him for saving Cross Guard last night?”
Avnair, a man who had once proposed speaking as equals, approached with a question.
“What did he say?”
Krais kept his polite tone. Avnair respected that preference.
“He said he’d merely swung his sword.”
Avnair observed the departing figures before adding:
“Maybe to him, it really was just a swing. But for someone else, that swing could be a life-changing moment. Or, for another, the realization that they’ve made the worst decision of their life.”
“Ah.”
Krais let out a short exclamation.
It resonated with him deeply.
Watching Encrid’s demeanor, he had realized how to face challenges.
If strength was necessary, then one wielded it to uphold their values.
That was the kind of Knight Encrid was.
Such thoughts passed through Krais’s mind.
“To know abundance, one must first understand poverty. To appreciate joy, one must learn to wait. The fruit must ripen before it falls.”
Avnair, a long-time follower of the God of Prosperity, mused aloud.
“Seems it’s someone else’s turn to experience poverty.”
Krais remarked.
His words were directed at those building a new cult around the so-called Gray God.
Of course, they wouldn’t hear it.
* * *
Rushing forward didn’t mean missing the scenery.
The sky, the wind, the winter flowers—they all caught their eyes.
Within a day of departure, icy sleet began to fall amidst the chilly wind.
Snow fell from a cloudless blue sky, creating a striking scene.
The temperature plummeted, but the sight of sleet cascading was mesmerizing.
It was like a blue canvas splattered with white paint.
Crunch.
No matter how beautiful the scenery, someone’s grumbling interrupted it.
“Can’t these bastards pick a warmer time to fight?”
It was Rem.
His dissatisfaction with the cold was evident.
Ragna, who enjoyed the cold, let it slide.
He disliked the heat more and became sluggish during the summer.
“Cold is better. Move and generate heat. That’s all you need.”
Ragna’s response to Rem’s grumbling caused the latter’s eyebrows to twitch.
Not just a twitch—his brows undulated like waves, a rare feat.
It was such an odd sight that when others first saw it, they asked if he’d worked in a circus.
“Heat’s better, you idiot. You sweat it out, drink water, and cool off in a lake. Simple.”
“I forgot I was talking to an animal.”
“Go ahead, take the lead, and get far away. I never want to see you again.”
This familiar banter surfaced every summer and winter.
Rarely did it escalate into an actual fight.
In summer, Ragna found swinging his sword tiresome.
In winter, the reverse was true for Rem.
“Take it out on the cultists instead of bickering here.”
Encrid mediated just enough.
The misplaced frustration shifted toward their enemies.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, fanatics.”
“I’m ready to swing my sword for those dim-witted zealots who can’t find their way.”
Jaxon silently followed on horseback, and Teresa hummed a tune when the pace quickened.
Riding along, Encrid reflected on what he’d learned recently and considered how to refine his swordsmanship.
Meanwhile, Sinar altered her approach.
“I may be cold, but I’m fine on my own now.”
Her jokes shifted tone.
She joked that she was fine on her own, even without being embraced.
Curious about the constant humor, Encrid asked her:
“Do you enjoy it?”
“What do you mean?”
“The jokes.”
“Immensely, profoundly, deeply.”
After a brief pause, her radiant green eyes locked onto his.
“They’re fun.”
So, she’s serious.
Encrid nodded, taking her at her word.
As they traveled toward Noah’s monastery, passing several towns, they stopped at relay stations to swap horses.
Encrid, however, kept his mount—his familiar odd-eyed steed.
“Not feeling unwell, are you?”
He noticed the horse’s developed back muscles and asked.
The horse shook its head dismissively.
Whinny.
It felt like the horse was telling him to stop spouting nonsense.
During the journey, Encrid recalled his conversation with Eitri.
“Did it break?”
He had returned with his shattered Black Gold blade.
Despite it being a painstakingly crafted weapon, Eitri’s tone was calm.
“Should I apologize?”
Encrid asked, and Eitri shook his head.
“Not at all.”
As if expecting it, Eitri brought out a new sword.
“It’s lighter. Mixed with jin-silver.”
The previous blade was heavy, this one was nimble.
“It’s made from fine silver sourced near Lewis. Excellent material.”
Encrid nodded and took the sword.
A few swings confirmed its lightness.
Despite its thicker blade, it weighed less than his previous sword.
The Black Gold blade absorbed light, but this one caught it, leaving a soft glow on the blade.
It almost seemed golden.
The blade’s light shifted with the changing sky.
A lightweight, sturdy, excellent sword.
Most notably, it reflected Eitri’s growing skill.
“It fits the hand well.”
It clung to his grip better than the Black Gold blade, as if the sword recognized him as its master.
Of course, swords don’t speak.
“Eager to shine? Patience, we’re almost there.”
No need to talk to it like Rem did with his axe.
Encrid noticed Lawford and Pel’s gazes during the journey.
They seemed to have much to say but remained silent.
He sensed they needed to sort out their thoughts.
His experience climbing from the bottom gave him a keen eye for such matters.
Teresa appeared unusually serene.
“Divinity is said to be the privilege of the faithful, but its mechanics suggest otherwise. Perhaps that’s why the Gray Light exists.”
Occasionally, she made such remarks but was otherwise quiet.
Esther, following in her panther form, naturally didn’t speak.
Oddly, Teresa appeared the calmest among them, despite being a half-blood Giant.
As they rode, their destination—enemy forces—came into view.
“There’s a scattered unit ahead, not in formation.”
“Which side?”
Hadn’t Overdear mentioned bringing his forces? It could be them.
Traveling so fast, they hadn’t stopped for news and were unaware of other developments.
Even Jaxon hadn’t had a chance to gather intel.
They had simply charged forward.
“They’re enemies. Confirmed Gray Light. Some Holy Knights are leading the unit, setting up siege equipment in front of the monastery.”
Jaxon, returning from scouting, reported this.
He hadn’t just observed their gathering but had ventured far ahead.
“Looks like Noah’s been holding out.”
The siege equipment suggested no serious battle had yet occurred.
Noah had fortified the monastery, hunkering down effectively.
Negotiations had stalled the attackers, buying time.
Muel, the self-proclaimed Pope of the Gray God, saw this as the perfect opportunity to rally his forces.
His excuse for attacking the monastery had drawn like-minded followers.
Instead of engaging immediately, he focused on gathering strength.
A premature fight might deter hesitant allies.
The monastery was but a candle in the wind, destined to fall.
It would serve as proof of his righteousness.
If he hoped for more, he might await the Holy Kingdom’s forces and clash with them as well.
Such reasons explained his delayed actions, though Encrid wasn’t privy to these details.
He merely noted the enemy’s presence and presumed Noah had endured well.
They encountered the enemy, outnumbered significantly.
Normally, this would call for regrouping before striking.
But these Knights weren’t ordinary.
“Attack.”
Encrid commanded, spurring his horse.
His odd-eyed steed responded as if understanding, surging forward.
Despite the grueling journey, it showed no signs of fatigue.
At one point, the sound of hooves disappeared as they gained momentum.
Accelerating, they reached a speed rivaling a Knight’s charge.
Flanking the enemy, one figure reacted—a soldier in gray armor.
His mouth opened in surprise, closing quickly as he swung a flail.
At that precise moment, Encrid’s steed adjusted its pace.
Encrid drew his new sword, reflecting golden light from the sun.
The flail, propelled by centrifugal force, aimed for Encrid’s arm.
The precise targeting of the arm, rather than the head or torso, demonstrated the opponent’s skill.
With a flick of his wrist, Encrid’s blade shifted course and severed the man’s wrist.
Splat!
Blood sprayed as the severed hand fell to the ground.
“Aagh!”
A scream followed.
Encrid flicked his blade in the air, shaking off the blood, and turned his horse.
The odd-eyed steed pivoted effortlessly.
“Not bad. Or rather, better than expected.”
If the Black Gold blade had been heavy, this was almost too light.
Yet, its nimbleness made for swift, agile swordplay.
It was a satisfying weapon.
Eitri’s blade had severed the wrist, leaving the hand rolling on the ground.
“You…”
The man couldn’t finish his sentence.
Thud!
Rem’s thrown axe embedded itself in his skull, sending his body tumbling from the horse.
“What the hell?”
“Huh? Huh?”
“What is it? What’s going on?”
“Damn it, it’s the enemy!”
Thud, thud.
The body bounced, rolling into the enemy ranks as their soldiers shouted in alarm.
The madmen crashed into the heart of the enemy formation.
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