The fairy city was not small. The part Encrid had seen and stayed in was merely its outskirts.
‘It’s quite expansive.’
Judging by size alone, it might even be larger than the Border Guard.
The fairy city was divided into several zones, connected by winding paths or magical elements.
If Ragna were here, he might have called it a labyrinth.
‘If Ragna came here, he’d be lost forever.’
Even if one climbed the trees to navigate, many areas were blocked by the dense canopy of leaves, serving as a natural ceiling.
Ragna wouldn’t be able to find his way here.
In fact, the structure was so complex that even most people would easily lose their way.
For the fairies, it was familiar and manageable, but for others? Not so much.
‘Is that why there are old tales of woodcutters getting lost in the fairy city and emerging decades later?’
Such stories existed—fairy tales, really.
One told of a man who stumbled upon a spring and spotted fairies bathing. He stole their clothes and fled, only to wander the forest for twenty years before finding his way out.
There were many variations of this story, some ending with the man and a fairy having a child, or with a magic axe being pulled from the spring, turning into one made of silver.
‘Fairy tales are just that—tales.’
Still, the reasons such stories spread were obvious. The city’s mystical allure made them plausible.
The city was constructed with wood encasing its exterior and buildings nested within.
The structure became clear to Encrid as he learned from the fairies who kindly answered any questions he had.
‘Come to think of it, this could be a natural fortress.’
It explained why the fairy city had no need for walls.
If an enemy considered the trees as weak points, perhaps they could pour oil and set them ablaze?
The fire would spread along the exterior, causing a massive inferno. Fairies inside would have to flee.
But would it be that easy?
‘If the demon hadn’t attacked from the inside, an external assault would’ve stood no chance.’
The fairies wielded spirit magic and manifested natural energy. Including Druier and the Woodguard, the fairy race was far from weak.
The city’s ‘walls’, made of dead Woodguard corpses, were naturally resistant to fire.
Bran, for instance, had burned a cigarette on his own body, yet not even a scorch mark remained.
Even so, Woodguards who could handle fire were certainly an anomaly.
Encrid immersed himself in the pond, which was so large it was practically a lake.
"This is part of the migration plan, isn’t it?"
It was known as the Fairy Spring or Healing Spring—a hot spring that melted away fatigue and left the body feeling rejuvenated.
Soaking in its warm waters after training felt like heaven.
Adding to the experience, the fairies had prepared chilled leaf tea for him to enjoy.
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
Encrid felt a moment of euphoria. The hot water cleansed impurities from his skin and pores, while a cool breeze swept over his head. The cold leaf tea provided an unparalleled satisfaction, like drinking water after ten days of thirst.
"This is incredible."
After a day of constant training and thoughts, spending a few hours soaking here had become a part of his routine.
Initially, he was surprised to learn that the migration plan included transporting a pond the size of a lake.
Now, he couldn’t imagine leaving it behind—it had become indispensable.
As he was relaxing, he heard splashing from the misty waters beyond. Someone was approaching.
The pond was vast—more of a lake, really.
With the steam rising from its warm waters, it was difficult to make out anyone at a distance, and most of the time, he didn’t bother.
But as they came closer, their presence naturally became apparent.
His senses hinted at their identity.
"What is it?"
Encrid asked.
"Today is a day for soaking."
"Is it some kind of ceremonial day for the fairy race?"
"No, I decided this morning that it would be."
A crazy fairy.
"Your expression is disrespectful. I am the queen of this city."
Of course, it was Sinar.
"And I am the savior of this city."
"Bold of you to call yourself a savior."
It was a joke, knowing his personality.
"Am I wrong?"
"No, not entirely."
When Encrid chuckled, Sinar moved closer, parting the mist. She was now within sight, her face visible above the water where she was submerged up to her neck.
"Are you disappointed?"
No, that wasn’t it.
"I heard you proposed a migration site?"
Sinar splashed water as she asked, the fragrant water—laden with the scent of flowers and grass—spraying onto Encrid’s forehead.
Her movement briefly exposed parts of her pale, smooth arms and rounded shoulders.
Encrid nodded calmly.
"I found a suitable location, so I suggested it."
"Thank you."
Sinar seemed to be expressing gratitude more often than before.
"Didn’t you say you couldn’t leave the city?"
"I stated a fact."
"A distorted fact. I’ve heard that’s a fairy specialty—and I’ve experienced it myself."
"There’s no such thing as lying in our society."
She said, blinking innocently.
It was hard to accuse her of insincerity with a face like that.
With such looks, most men would have fallen head over heels and given her their hearts and souls by now.
"Let’s not forget—didn’t you lie in the labyrinth? I’m sure you haven’t forgotten claiming you’d become the queen of the monsters."
"Your tone is disrespectful."
"Yes, ma’am."
Between their lighthearted exchanges, she expressed gratitude once more.
"Well then."
Sinar stepped out of the pond. Because Encrid hadn’t averted his gaze, he caught a glimpse of her bare form—though not out of any ill intent.
"When did you get that scar?"
He asked.
The scar, which he’d noticed on her arm, extended down her back. It was a brutal, disfiguring burn.
Sinar was fully aware of her body’s scars, which were why she usually avoided bathing with others.
Even if she could have insisted on sharing the same water, she deftly avoided creating such situations.
The water trickled along the burn scars on her back, flowing down to her thighs and falling away.
The burn marks extended from her back to her calves, vividly displaying the pain she had endured.
"The Healing Spring has many effects."
Sinar said, dodging his question. The scars remained as a reminder, something she had chosen not to erase.
When Encrid tilted his head questioningly, Sinar smiled and added,
"I could erase most of these burn scars, leaving behind smooth skin."
"And?"
"Then you could touch it too."
"...Right."
"It would be enjoyable. Very."
‘Why am I having such a serious conversation with this fairy?’
Encrid turned his head away, filled with a strange sense of self-reproach.
"Let’s stay together, child of dreams and possibilities."
The fairy said.
"Is that a curse?"
"It’s a blessing."
Sinar replied, smiling like a fully bloomed flower—the same smile she had in her dream.
Seeing it made Encrid smile as well.
At least it seemed her worries had dissipated.
Sinar left.
Encrid stayed in the water a little longer, letting the warmth envelop him.
As he closed his eyes and immersed himself, the warmth embraced his body, and his thoughts deepened.
At times, inspiration strikes unexpectedly, and this was one of those times.
‘Sinar hasn’t erased her scars.’
It must have been to keep herself from forgetting her mistakes.
Now, she had chosen to face those mistakes and move forward—not to dwell on blame, but to walk toward the future.
Just as Encrid’s temperament influenced those around him, sometimes the positive changes he brought about came back to affect him in turn.
Sinar’s transformation stirred something deep within Encrid.
He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but suddenly, inspiration filled his mind. The fragments of ideas scattered like loose threads, intertwining and breaking apart repeatedly, until they wove themselves into a coherent pattern.
Beyond the steam rising from the spring, a vision appeared.
"It’s because of me. So you mustn’t forget me."
Was this a remnant of the demon?
Or was it merely a stray thought that had been contaminated by an impurity along the way?
It didn’t really matter. When Encrid entered a state of deep focus, he forgot everything around him.
The vision dissipated, and Encrid didn’t bother holding on to the memory.
He delved into his thoughts, forgetting himself, his sword, and the world around him. All that mattered was consolidating the inspiration that had surfaced.
He was fortunate—nothing interrupted him.
The large spring, known as the Healing Spring, cradled his body gently on the water’s surface, ensuring he wouldn’t drown.
It kept his body warm, eliminated the risk of losing body heat, and removed the need to worry about food.
Though hunger might still strike while in the spring, the water itself provided some nourishment to the body.
That’s why it was called the Healing Spring.
Some Druier deliberately fasted for two days while soaking in the spring, knowing it enhanced their recovery.
Moreover, the hot water improved blood circulation, which sharpened the mind.
In the past, the Fairy Council had even held meetings while submerged in the spring.
Amidst this blend of inspiration and theoretical refinement, the first thought to surface was one of self-reproach.
‘I was arrogant.’
When he had completed the Wave-Blocking Sword, he had convinced himself that he had reached his limits, but that wasn’t true.
‘There is no end.’
Back then, it felt as though he had reached the pinnacle, but now he knew otherwise. His thoughts wandered freely, carving new paths. Within him, a new world was opening, distinct from the realm he had unlocked with his swordsmanship.
This was the process of embracing something new. Whatever was needed for it, he sought out and utilized.
He sifted through his memories, pulling out one particular moment.
What came to mind was the time he had entered the fairy city and was greeted by arrows.
He perceived the arrows, shattered them, and broke them apart.
He had listened to the wind. Using the sensory techniques he learned from Jaxon, he had done so.
Encrid had named it the Gate of Sixth Sense.
Jaxon hadn’t interfered with his naming of it, but later, he had demonstrated how sensory techniques could all be grouped under one category.
There was no need to name each method of sensory manipulation separately—that was likely the point he wanted to make.
Another example would be Endure. Concentrating willpower to enhance skin and muscle strength wasn’t so much a technique as a natural extension of effort.
‘But can everyone do that?’
To naturally use willpower and techniques? Was that really so simple?
If Encrid hadn’t named his techniques and trained repeatedly, what would have happened?
He wouldn’t have given up, but the journey to where he stood now would have been far more challenging.
Would he even have reached the level of a Knight? The doubt gave him a dizzying sense of vertigo, as though he were falling off a cliff with his limbs bound.
He had been lucky. Perhaps the goddess of luck had truly smiled upon him.
In any case...
‘Incremental growth is necessary.’
This was especially true for himself.
The foundation of his theories and knowledge had been built as he roamed the continent, meeting a variety of instructors.
Some of them had repeated the same lessons, while others offered different insights, and yet others tried to consolidate theories into systematic frameworks.
“Methods that work for some may not work for you. What I teach isn’t meant for people with less talent than me, so just move on already. Please.”
One of his instructors had said this, practically begging him to leave because he couldn’t teach him anymore. He wasn’t a bad person.
Even when threatened or pressured with force, the instructor had chosen words to end the matter.
Not that Encrid would have stopped even if force had been used.
In fact, even after hearing those words, he had stayed for another three months, pestering the man to teach him more.
Another memory surfaced, of an elderly swordsman settled in a coastal city whose words had left a deep impression on him.
"You need to find your own way. How? By reflecting and revisiting. Walk the paths others have taken, but from those paths, choose the ones you can take. Use what you can, discard what you can’t."
Some of his advice had been right; some of it had been wrong.
‘There’s nothing to discard.’
If he hadn’t used every bit of knowledge and scraped by with sheer determination, he wouldn’t have advanced. So he did just that.
‘Even if it’s desperation.’
Crawling forward, if necessary.
Determination became willpower, shining brightly, and that willpower illuminated his dreams.
The contents of his library of experiences spilled out, chaotically rearranging themselves in his mind. Days passed like this.
After wandering for days, Encrid finally saw a milestone.
‘Yes, a milestone.’
Techniques were milestones—a way of marking progress and establishing methods of training.
‘The novice stage of knighthood should focus on refining techniques for wielding willpower.’
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