Grida liked this place from the moment she first saw it, but after staying here, she liked it even more. If that hadn't been the case, she would have left as soon as her business was done, two months or not.
She had wandered across the continent and seen many things, but few places had charmed her as much as this one. And she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
"This is absolutely amazing."
Odinkar seemed to be particularly taken with it. He had no hesitation in giving a thumbs-up while chewing on a special dish of the day—a mixture of minced meat, onions, and flour, grilled into a patty and sandwiched in bread.
Juices mixed with oil dribbled down the corners of Odinkar's mouth. It was the kind of sight that made one unable to resist taking a bite of their own food.
Sizzling. The charred exterior of the meat locked in the juices, which swirled inside his mouth, stimulating his tongue before sliding down his throat.
Alright, she admitted it. It was delicious.
Grida nodded in agreement and raised her thumb as well. The food here was truly exceptional.
The seasoned jerky and well-baked bread were delightful, and the slow-roasted pork barbecue, shredded and stuffed into a long bun with spices, was another favorite.
What was it called again? Pulled pork sandwich? And that wasn’t even the best of it.
‘Pumpkin soup and juice, too.’
The hot broth warmed her insides, and the soup was just as incredible.
The House of Zaun wasn’t exactly lacking when it came to food, but this place had its own unique charm.
There were similar dishes, yet the flavors were distinct in their own way. It was an enjoyable experience.
Odinkar had always been enthusiastic about food, so it was no surprise when he blurted out:
"Can I just not go back?"
"Do you think that’s an option?"
Grida, knowing it was a joke, gently reasoned with him. What about the four wives and children he had left at home?
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding."
Odinkar laughed heartily.
"Hey, if you're done eating, come outside for a round."
Beyond the dining area, Encrid called out to him.
"What are we doing today?"
Odinkar gulped down the last of his meal and asked.
"Do you want to take on two, or will you go one-on-one?"
Encrid asked again from outside.
Odinkar had no concept of restraint, which meant every sparring match was a fight for survival.
Encrid had learned that the hard way after training with him a few times, so much so that Ann had even warned him.
"Is your dream to become a tattered rag doll? Are you trying to get your entire body stitched back together?"
Even after nearly losing his clavicle, Odinkar had continued to spar two more times, one of which he won. That time, it was Encrid who had nearly died.
Just before the blade pierced his throat, a man named Jaxon had drawn a sharp dagger and blocked it.
At the same time, Odinkar’s arm was caught by another man—Audin.
After that, the two of them realized that if they continued to duel in that manner, one of them would eventually die.
Then Rem had suggested an interesting idea, his unit trained by pitting one person against three fighters of similar skill.
"Wasn’t that just a method of torture?"
Krais muttered from the side, but everyone knew it wasn’t just about torment.
Well, no one doubted that a bit of Rem’s personal tastes were mixed in.
Forcing someone to fight against three opponents, never explaining the purpose of the training, refusing to give hints on how to overcome the challenge, and laughing while watching the poor fighter struggle, it all reeked of Rem's style.
"That's a great idea, brother."
"Not bad. If three skilled fighters put pressure on one, the lone fighter will learn something, and the trio will also improve their coordination."
Jaxon, for once, spoke at length. He probably wanted to say they should scrap the idea altogether.
Still, there was no reason Knights couldn't train the same way as Rem’s unit.
Thus, the sparring format changed.
Encrid began fighting against two or three opponents, and Odinkar did the same.
At times, even Rem and Audin took on that role.
What fascinated Grida the most was how Odinkar had started to control himself.
Upon seeing that, Rem had laughed and said,
"You get used to it after enough beatings."
Jaxon said he was simply breaking old habits.
Audin, on the other hand, claimed it was all thanks to divine grace and merely offered God's words through his fists.
Their words were different, but their meaning was the same.
"Beat it into them until they change?"
Yet despite their crude phrasing, they were incredibly precise. Their techniques, actions, and sparring methods were all refined.
"He changed because of the beatings?"
Could it really be that simple? Odinkar had lived on the razor’s edge between life and death since childhood.
That wasn’t a habit one could change overnight.
So what was the real reason? What was at the core of this transformation?
Observing alone wouldn’t provide the answer. Research was necessary.
Had Magrun figured it out? He had a talent for such things, after all.
At the center of it all was Encrid.
Now that the new sparring system had made things relatively safer, the madness truly began.
Even Odinkar was astounded by Encrid.
It wasn’t just his approach to training, it was how he lived every single day.
He woke up at dawn to train his body.
In the morning, he would sometimes take a stroll with a panther, other times with a witch clad in a long black robe with dangerously revealing slits, but even those were training sessions.
‘Sparring with a wizard.’
At least twice a week, he trained that way.
And beyond that, he fought barbarians, assassins, and fairies, all in separate training regimens.
‘And he still teaches others on top of that.’
He also oversaw his personal unit, whether they were bodyguards or an elite squad, they weren't sure. Though for the most part, he only set their training direction.
"I'm not falling down!"
A particular Squire named Clemen stood out. Her talent aside, her blazing determination was impressive.
Meanwhile, a girl named Seiki, who occasionally joined, had remarkable talent but little interest.
The actual training of the unit was left to other members.
What mattered was how Encrid spent the rest of his time, he fought all day.
Duel after duel, with no rest. He just fought. Endlessly. Every single day.
‘How does his mind endure this?’
His body wasn’t the issue. If his mind wavered, his body would follow.
Yet Encrid absorbed it all with an unshaken demeanor.
It was baffling.
Grida called out to a passing man, having finally memorized most of the names in this Mad Knight Order.
"Hey, Lawford. Want to spar?"
She greeted a Junior-Knight who happened to be nearby, but his response was one of pure irritation.
"My name is Pel, Shepherd Pel! Why do you keep mixing me up with that bastard?"
"Ah, isn’t it? You two look alike, though."
At those words, Pel drew his sword.
"Duel me."
They really were an entertaining bunch. Grida gladly engaged him—it was fun, after all.
Meanwhile, a Frog named Luagarne had approached Magrun, discussing theories and exchanging questions.
Magrun seemed pleased.
"To think you built this up purely from field experience—impressive."
Grida was surprised. Magrun rarely gave praise.
"Frog, was this your work?"
Magrun asked afterward.
"No, over there."
Luagarne pointed a thick finger at Encrid.
Magrun simply tilted his head.
"Really? Interesting."
For once, no sharp criticism came from Magrun. In the House of Zaun, there were very few people he treated this way.
‘You could count them on one hand.’
And now, Encrid was one of them. But when observed closely, it wasn’t as if he had performed any grand magic.
All he did was stand beside them, exchange a few words, and engage in theoretical discussions. Neither Encrid nor Magrun ever raised their voices or got worked up. Both remained composed.
Encrid would have private discussions with Magrun once or twice a week.
‘Fascinating.’
But then again, so was he.
At first, he had thought of it in terms of a relationship between a man and a woman, but now, he didn’t want to view it that way at all.
‘Things get awkward between men after a breakup.’
He didn’t want that. He liked things as they were now.
"I'm not in line."
When he said that to a fairy, the golden-haired fairy visibly brightened.
"Shall I fetch you some spring water?"
All because he had gotten a bruise on his forearm during training—she was even willing to say something like that.
"You made a wise choice. The line is long."
But considering how long the line supposedly was, Grida hadn’t actually heard of anyone besides the Black Flower and the Golden Witch.
Ah, but the letters—those came in droves.
There were countless invitations to parties, letters from people introducing themselves as acquaintances of some noble lady or another. Even the king had sent one. The King of the East had, too. There was even one from some holy order.
‘He really is quite popular.’
Even just walking through the city, plenty of people recognized him. Besides the Golden Witch, there were other fairies discreetly casting flirtatious glances his way.
"Captain Sinar is old, but I’m still young."
A constabulary archery instructor sidled up and made her move.
Grida happened to be standing next to Encrid and observed the situation closely.
How would he respond?
"If you’re just over four hundred, that’s not really that old, is it?"
Encrid responded nonchalantly, playing along with the fairy’s joke.
"I’m not even half that age."
"To a human, two hundred or four hundred—it’s all the same."
"...Two hundred and four hundred are not the same."
The fairy blinked her innocent-looking eyes, though there was something mischievous lurking beneath.
Fairies never lied, but they certainly distorted. That was just how they were. Grida knew that well.
She batted her eyes and emphasized the age gap.
"You understand what I mean, don’t you?"
But Encrid was firm in rejecting her advances.
‘Huh. So that’s how he handles these situations.’
Beyond this, the innkeeper had taken a liking to him, and even a giant merchant had shown interest.
Then there was the Frog who made accessories, he puffed out his cheeks and excitedly talked about some new materials he had gathered and what he planned to craft.
Even amid all this, Encrid listened to everyone.
He was always serious and always attentive.
Watching him, Grida realized something, she had truly fallen for this man.
Not as a man, nor as a lover.
But as a person.
"You listen well."
"I like the passion in their words."
He said it so casually, yet it was utterly captivating.
So Grida asked:
"Ever thought about coming to the House of Zaun?"
She already knew the answer. A month of observation had told her that this man would refuse.
Yet, once again, his response was unexpected.
"Can I visit?"
"Huh?"
"I’m asking if I can come for a visit."
"Oh... Yeah. Sure. Come."
Yes, he wouldn’t join the House of Zaun. He couldn’t be claimed.
The light he radiated was too bright.
The House of Zaun was a still, deep lake. But this man—he was like the wind, free to go anywhere.
The wind could linger by the lake, but it would never settle like the water.
"Have you ever heard of a sword called Wind Blade?"
"Isn’t that a bard’s song?"
"Yes. One of the founders of the House of Zaun wielded it."
"That’s the first time I’ve heard that story."
Grida shared more tales.
"You two are getting awfully cozy. People might get the wrong idea."
Sinar interjected with a teasing remark.
That led to another long conversation between the three of them.
Then Esther arrived, and without a word, they simply sat together, drinking tea.
Silence was nice. Conversations were nice. Everything about this was nice.
‘Is this why Ragna doesn’t want to go back?’
Then, a stranger entered the camp.
Grida, who had been standing at the front, looked at the red-eyed blonde visitor and asked,
"Who are you?"
The stranger slowly blinked before shaking out his unkempt hair.
He looked like he had been wandering aimlessly for days.
He smelled, and his appearance was ragged.
But the way he carried that greatsword, that was respectable.
"Grida?"
"Hmm. Do I know you? You look familiar, but... who were you again?"
Grida furrowed her brows.
"It's Ragna."
"Oh. Ragna."
Right.
This whole journey had started with the search for him. At first, she had taken it seriously.
But then, traveling had become too much fun, and she had ended up taking her time, messing around along the way.
"You came looking for me?"
"Yeah."
"Someone out there misses you."
"If they want to see me, they should come themselves."
"They can’t. That’s why I came instead."
Honestly, if the family hadn’t reached out, Grida probably would have extended her journey even longer.
She was having too much fun.
Sure, there had been plenty of awful moments, but still.
Now that Ragna was here, she had to say what needed to be said.
"Your father is looking for you."
She told him.
Ragna looked at her with an expression that plainly said:
"So what? And?"
"Well, this place is nice, but... he’s picked up some bad habits from Ragna."
Her younger brother had never had that kind of look in his eyes before.
That sharp, wild gaze—it was the same as that barbarian, Rem.
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