Junior-Knights name their techniques and train them for the same reason.
Once they surpass that stage, they can be considered intermediate. Intermediate Knights develop refined skills and unique individuality.
‘Leirbart didn’t possess it, but Jamal, the Knight of Aspen, did.’
Both were memorable opponents, ones he couldn’t forget even after reliving the day repeatedly.
The difference between the two, as retrieved from the library of experience, was clear: a distinct individuality.
Their fighting styles were similar—both relied on endurance battles. However, Jamal possessed a unique trait called Plunder.
‘That’s the hallmark of an intermediate Knight.’
Individuality—a stark distinction in technique.
Through experience, one builds a foundation of knowledge, which then becomes theory—a system.
Encrid was in the process of establishing his system.
‘The hallmark of an advanced Knight is freedom from techniques.’
This was true for Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin. They named their techniques but weren’t bound by them.
‘They formalized techniques to teach me.’
Whether it was Rem’s Giant Slash or the techniques taught by Audin, Ragna, and Jaxon, all were designed to elevate their students to a higher level.
Encrid had watched them take that next step and understood why theory and structure were necessary.
‘A path walked solely on instinct offers no certainty. Sometimes, you have to look back at the path you’ve traveled to move forward.’
Even someone as brilliant as Ragna only advanced further after reflecting on their journey.
Swordsmanship requires meaning, methods of execution, and ways to train.
Using a similar approach, Encrid envisioned a training system for Knights. Once again, he considered himself lucky.
If even a few key experiences in his life had been absent, he wouldn’t have come this far.
But life, by nature, is a flower that blooms amidst the miracles of chance.
Just as it’s meaningless to regret paths not taken, there’s no need to find comfort in those already walked.
What matters is maintaining a steadfast attitude toward life.
Encrid hadn’t changed, whether before becoming a Knight or now. That steadfastness was likely why he had reached this point.
In any case, the lack of distractions in his current setting was another stroke of luck.
He delved deeper into himself.
The standards Encrid envisioned were worthy of defining Knighthood.
Of course, they couldn’t solely determine a Knight’s combat abilities. Victory and defeat depended on many factors.
Even he had defeated Jamal by sheer willpower.
‘At the time, I was closer to the novice level.’
According to his current standards, that was true. Even if his system were complete, it wouldn’t encompass everything.
Back then, Jamal was a fully matured intermediate Knight.
Victory was determined by the difference in their willpower.
‘The size of one’s Will.’
Beyond individuality, factors like willpower, divinity, and sorcery also influenced combat.
But it was impossible to incorporate all those factors into a single system.
What mattered was distinguishing the possible from the impossible. Even when becoming a Knight, he hadn’t succumbed to a sense of omnipotence.
The same held true now.
Encrid divided, categorized, and systematized everything.
‘Nothing can be perfect.’
But it can be complete. Completion and progression are more important than perfection.
Because he looked forward to an imperfect tomorrow rather than a flawless today, he could achieve completion.
So that’s what he did.
The difference between novice, intermediate, and advanced Knights.
‘For now, focus on mastering willpower.’
The difference in combat abilities would also depend on physical training and compatibility.
So victory and defeat are separate issues.
However, to fix training methods, this form of structure was necessary.
Systematization became theory, and theory became a framework.
Encrid opened his eyes. For a week, he had alternated between minimal training and soaking in the fairy spring. In the end, he hadn’t left the spring for the last two days.
“I thought you’d drowned in there.”
A voice said as he opened his eyes. Luagarne stood nearby, half-puffing her cheeks in mock annoyance, though not enough to seem genuinely upset.
Encrid felt the flow of the spring against his skin, which now felt smoother than ever.
He blinked a few times, droplets of steam rolling off his face like sweat.
"At least the fairies aren’t crowding around me like before."
He remarked, sensing the passage of time. He hadn’t been unconscious—he had been deeply immersed in concentration, aware of the flow of time.
"That’s a premature conclusion."
Pel said, standing nearby with a slanted posture.
Encrid, still basking in the joy of unlocking a new perspective, teased with a grin.
"Report on what’s happened in my absence, Squire."
"Who are you calling a Squire?"
Pel snapped, though he didn’t deny it too vehemently.
He might even secretly accept the title, especially if it meant he could replace Lawford as Encrid’s Squire.
As Encrid rose and dried himself off, he noticed his skin wrinkled from prolonged exposure to water. His fingers had bloated to look almost like Frog’s.
"Admiring my finger shape, are you?"
Luagarne joked.
Encrid chuckled and dressed. His original clothes had been replaced with fairy garments—green-threaded shirts and pants, complete with undergarments. His armor and weapons were neatly laid out nearby.
The clothes, though they looked rough, were surprisingly soft and comfortable, wrapping around him like the embrace of leaves kissed by sunlight.
He wasn’t thirsty, nor was he particularly hungry.
"The fairies have been gathering steadily; today, there’s quite a crowd."
Luagarne commented as Encrid stepped out of the spring.
Walking along the fairy paths, sure to become a labyrinth for Ragna—he saw hundreds of fairies waiting as if for something.
Why? A quick look at their faces revealed they were likely worried after he spent two days in the spring.
Still, this seemed excessive.
It felt as though they were more enthusiastic than when they set out to resolve a labyrinthine Demon Realm.
Not that fairies openly displayed their enthusiasm, of course.
"There he is."
A Druier said with mesmerizing green eyes, covering their mouth with a leaf.
Some Druier were shy by nature and often covered their faces when speaking.
They rarely interacted with others unless necessary, but here they were, waiting two days to ensure Encrid was okay.
"Shouldn’t a healer check on him?"
"Should I do it?"
"Wouldn’t I be enough?"
"He came out of the spring; it’s not as though his body was in trouble."
Fairies never caused a commotion. Their emotional restraint ensured they remained logical and composed.
Even now, it wasn’t rowdy, though the gathering resembled a market square. Groups huddled together, murmuring among themselves.
A short-haired fairy approached.
Neither Ermen nor Sinar was in sight, and the fact that no one stopped this fairy suggested they had permission or authority.
"If your body is fine, can you come with me?"
In truth, this fairy was the only one with actual business. The rest had gathered out of concern.
Even Encrid could sense it now.
‘As Pel said, if I broke a nail, hundreds of fairies would rush to fix it.’
He thought wryly.
It was an exaggeration, but not entirely untrue.
Encrid was the savior of the fairies.
The meaning was clear: he had become an idol to the entire fairy race.
"This is a bit much."
He murmured. While it wasn’t unpleasant to be recognized and admired for his deeds, it felt overwhelming.
The moment he spoke, the fairies fell silent, their glassy eyes fixed on him.
For a moment, all sound vanished, leaving only their stares. It was almost like being targeted by Argos, the demon with a hundred eyes from the Demon Realm.
"Where to?"
Encrid averted all those gazes and asked.
The fairy standing before him was tall, with short hair that had a reddish tint and eyes subtly mixed with orange hues. His hands were covered in scars.
He also smelled different from the other fairies. Instead of the fragrance of flowers and grass, he carried the scent of ash and fire—a scent similar to Eitri’s.
With just a brief glance, Encrid could infer his line of work.
Having recently created the Wave-Blocking Sword and formulated the stages of Knighthood, his insight had become far sharper than before.
"I’ve heard there’s a clan of fairies who work with fire."
"Yes, we craft Naidil and forge the weapons of the fairies. We crossed paths briefly before. I am Rafrathio."
Among fairies, those who represent their clan adopt the name of their lineage, much like Ermen.
The fairy standing before Encrid was, in essence, the best blacksmith of the fairy race.
"Fairies create partner weapons, which can function like engraved weapons."
Fairies speak only the truth. He had no reason to lie or mince words.
"I wish to craft a weapon for you, Demon Slayer."
In other words, he was offering to create an engraved weapon.
But instead of being thrilled or grateful, Encrid scratched his chin awkwardly.
"I’m afraid I already have someone who’s promised to craft one for me."
He said honestly.
Engraved weapons are unique—they cannot be duplicated, as they are imbued with the wielder’s will. That’s what makes them "engraved".
"Then at least allow me to give you a gift."
Rafrathio said without a hint of disappointment.
Encrid nodded. There was no reason to refuse.
He had already received much from the fairies, but a gift from their best blacksmith was surely something different.
Whether it was a weapon or armor, Encrid had always had a fondness for such things.
He didn’t deny the saying that "a good weapon is part of one’s skill".
While it sounded like something a mercenary might say, the essence of it remained true.
‘A Knight with a fine sword.’
If that Knight were to face another with bare hands, who would have the upper hand?
Encrid believed in seizing any advantage possible.
No matter what realizations he gained, his core principles remained unchanged. His attitude toward life had not wavered.
Passing through the gathered fairies, he followed Rafrathio to his workshop.
Clang!
It was a zone dedicated to fire and steel—one that Sinar had once been enamored with.
Located in a remote corner of the fairy city, it was on the opposite side of the Woodguard territory, as they naturally avoided flames.
Fairies hammering iron worked diligently around a large forge, each immersed in their tasks.
In the open space, a blackened forge and bellows, carved from the hollowed trunk of a tree using some mysterious technique—stood prominently.
Fairies didn’t forge weapons using moonlight or leaves.
Working with steel required fire, a universal and immutable truth.
These blacksmiths, sweating profusely, were forging their aspirations into reality.
Eitri came to mind. Somewhere, the person crafting his engraved weapon was waiting for him.
‘Will he be disappointed that I broke the silver sword?’
No, he wouldn’t be. That sword was given to him to break—it was something he understood without him saying it.
That sword had saved him from several precarious situations.
When he met him again, he wanted to tell him how "luck" had truly brought him fortune.
Here, however, there would be no engraved weapon for Encrid.
"My gift…"
Rafrathio began.
Encrid clicked his tongue softly.
His heightened insight had sharpened his ability to discern weapons. Even without holding it, he could tell.
The item Rafrathio presented as a gift was a weapon of exceptional craftsmanship, a sword that could rival engraved weapons.
"Penna."
She said, naming the blade.
Encrid let out a small sigh.
The sword was extraordinary, worthy of being called a masterpiece.
It was so fine that he wondered if even Eitri could craft something superior.
No comments yet. Be the first to leave a review!