“Three Iron, are you ready?”
Encrid received Grida’s words as they were, and Grida carefully chose her words in response.
“I told you to stop doing that. You really sound like a crazy person.”
Grida was serious. It wasn’t even a sentient sword, so why did he keep talking to it?
Encrid didn’t argue back. He simply spoke because it was worth speaking to.
The sword’s name was Three Iron, a masterpiece forged with Star Iron as its core, honed with Black Gold and True Iron.
‘If it only had a Will imbued, it could be considered an engraved weapon.’
Not all swords made by Eitri were like this. Three Iron was special. If Penna felt as though it perfectly fit in one’s hand, then Three Iron felt like an extension of the hand itself.
And so, the sword whispered. It longed to rampage, to play, to create an ensemble with other blades. A voice only Encrid could hear.
To be honest, it wasn’t really a voice, but it felt as if it was.
“Three Iron whispered that it wanted to perform a duet.”
“...Even if I wanted to, I can’t agree with that statement. You do realize that you sound even crazier, right?”
It was Rem, who had been watching unnoticed.
He had woken up at dawn, drenched himself in sweat, and now stood there watching. The season had shifted, biting winds had begun to give way to warmth.
Though the sun was rising earlier, the dawn training remained unchanged, and thus, today was another morning of sweat.
It had been the same for two months.
Grida looked at Encrid and acknowledged him.
‘A training fanatic.’
Even among the House of Zaun, which was filled with sword-obsessed individuals, he was a rare breed.
‘I didn’t expect to find someone like this on the continent.’
Every now and then, such an unpredictable genius emerged.
Yet, the strangest thing here was that despite being a clear prodigy, he seemed to be making no progress.
Even after two months of sparring, Encrid showed no significant improvement.
‘There must be something more to this.’
There had to be something she didn’t know. He had become a Knight and earned everyone’s recognition, after all.
As the spring breeze swept in, a cold gust seeped into her chest. Grida felt the tension in her muscles tightening.
Her heartbeat quickened slightly.
Just right.
A moderate level of tension heightened muscle response.
‘I’ve been slacking off too much.’
Even while wandering under the pretext of searching for Ragna, she had never skipped training.
But there was a difference between training alone and practicing alongside those who had fully dedicated themselves to improvement.
‘I feel like I’ve fallen behind because of that.’
Well, it was the path she had chosen, and she had to accept the consequences. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this would happen.
Not that she had slacked off either, she had simply done what was necessary. Even her patriarch, who had ordered her to find Ragna, hadn’t set a deadline.
‘Though I did enjoy wandering, eating, and drinking along the way.’
She had even found it amusing when a noble had fallen for her and tried to take her as a concubine.
After cutting off the wrists of the noble’s three guards, their expressions had been priceless.
The moment her lover had left to find his own path had now become just another memory. Shaking off her brief reverie, Grida spoke.
“Did you figure out Zaun’s secret?”
Encrid, holding his sword loosely, nodded. Honestly, there was no secret.
Grida and the others had hidden nothing.
“You didn’t even pretend to keep anything hidden, so what secret are you talking about?”
“Saying it like this makes it sound more impressive.”
Grida flashed a grin, revealing immaculate white teeth. Even during her wanderings, she had taken meticulous care of her oral hygiene.
For Knights, common illnesses were no longer a concern, so their teeth rarely decayed.
They stood there, swords in hand, gauging distance and sizing each other up.
Not just Rem, but Audin had come to watch as well. Lawford and Pel were tying ropes around their wrists and ankles, becoming spectators.
Lately, training included not just repeated beatings with clubs but also sparring with restricted limbs.
Watching those standing before them, Pel and Lawford felt an increasing sense of urgency.
‘Two months have passed already.’
Yet, they hadn’t even reached a Knight’s toes.
But that was natural.
No matter how much structure and refinement they put into their training, if becoming a Knight were that easy, Knights wouldn’t be so rare and valuable on the continent.
Still, the two were progressing rapidly.
That much was most evident to Magrun, who had come to observe.
After watching the past two months, Magrun had developed a certain intuition.
‘These two will make it.’
The House of Zaun raised Knights in a distinctive manner.
Based on his experience, Magrun was confident in his intuition, what he sensed now was nothing short of certainty.
Even the sense of urgency those two felt would serve as fuel for their growth. That was only natural.
Because in Zaun, that’s exactly how it worked.
‘Zaun thrives on competition.’
It encouraged ambition.
But Border Guard training was even more brutal. Unlike Zaun’s self-driven training, Border Guard training was relentless and punishing.
Yet, Encrid’s focus remained entirely on Grida.
She was never an easy opponent, but to be blunt, her skill slightly lagged behind Odinkar and Magrun. That opinion hadn’t changed.
“So, what did you figure out?”
Grida asked, shifting one step sideways. The sunlight behind her spilled directly into Encrid’s eyes.
Encrid turned half a step to the right, shielding his vision from the light, and answered.
“Never stop competing.”
He had watched the three from Zaun, conversed with them, listened, and analyzed.
His curiosity and thirst for learning had led him to this realization.
It was easier to grasp their philosophy through conversation than through physical demonstration.
And through that, he understood. Zaun always competed, and at the core of that competition was desire.
If someone asked Encrid how to cultivate Will, he would answer:
“You need passion to move toward what you seek.”
And Zaun taught the same lesson.
How does one cultivate will? With relentless passion. That was House of Zaun’s doctrine.
And Encrid had seen through its essence. It was possible because he had talent.
Zaun had likely been founded by those with exceptional talent, drawn together.
For those without talent, mere passion would never be enough. That wasn’t Zaun’s teaching, nor was it Encrid’s path.
Even so, there was much to learn.
“They encourage excellence in what one does best.”
Encrid continued, raising the tip of his sword. His mouth spoke, but his eyes had already taken in Grida’s entire body.
His calculations began.
Before the fight even started, he predicted her every possible move and weighed the probabilities.
Grida stood still and grinned.
“That’s right.”
“The weak are left behind.”
Only those who enjoy competition remain. Thus, they improve.
“That’s also right.”
Grida nodded. She had spoken with Ragna about his childhood after his return.
“Ragna? When he was younger, he was a bit... lacking. But he had one thing, his talent was real.”
While others clenched their teeth to learn, he grasped things effortlessly.
Yet, he lacked passion. His talent was both a blessing and a curse.
“Normally, talent fuels passion. But when there’s too much of it, it steals passion away.”
And so, the elders gave up on him. And he didn’t care. That was when Ragna’s laziness began.
“Zaun doesn't care for fighting the Demon Realm or anything else. We simply indulge in and explore swordsmanship, enjoying every moment of it.”
Grida finished her explanation.
Yes, that was Zaun’s system. They learned from each other, never hesitating to improve.
They did not waste strength elsewhere. They remained solely within the art of the sword.
"Even if you call it stagnant water, we do not allow ourselves to stagnate. That is why ‘wandering’ is a duty for most members of our house, to travel across the continent. Some choose to remain with those they find kinship with, leaving their marks in history."
Encrid had no intention of criticizing them.
Just because one possessed power, did that mean they had to use it? That wasn’t necessarily the case.
If needed, he could make use of them. As long as he provided them with what they desired in return, they would be available. But he didn’t want to.
Shouldn’t they also have the right to live as they wished?
It was a choice made out of respect, not for their strength, but for their personal will and aspirations.
A gathering of people who sought nothing but mastery of the sword.
A group that burned with passion in their endless competition.
Because of that, they never hesitated to exchange techniques, nor were they stingy in their teachings.
"Would you sell your soul to a demon for the sake of swordsmanship’s advancement?"
Zaun could very well do so. But they chose not to. He had heard the answer from Odinkar.
"If I sell my soul to a demon, then I’ll no longer be here to train in swordsmanship, right? I wouldn’t like that."
Selfish, yet fascinating individuals.
"Magrun has been watching you for the past two months."
Grida spoke, raising her sword. Encrid followed suit, angling his own blade diagonally.
Both were now ready.
"Be careful, Enki."
Grida’s words carried weight.
As they moved around, shifting positions, those standing behind Encrid were Rem, Audin, Jaxon, Esther, Sinar, Teresa, Lawford, Pel, and Luagarne.
Behind Grida, Odinkar stood with his arms crossed, while Magrun had brought over a chair and sat down.
Encrid and Grida’s gazes met.
Was the Grida standing before him the same as the one he had met at the market?
He asked himself the question and immediately found the answer.
‘No.’
This was a woman who had tempered her body like steel for the past two months.
She swung her sword.
As her left foot advanced, her attack was perceived before it was fully executed.
It was insight, an image presented before it even happened.
A thrust, driven forward as her foot struck the ground.
The moment he recognized it, her attack was sharper, more precise, and faster than before.
Clang!
The white blade struck Three Iron’s edge and was deflected.
There was no time to measure breaths. Encrid crossed his feet, closing the distance in an instant.
With a sudden shift, he swung Three Iron’s pommel toward Grida’s head—an unexpected, unorthodox attack.
Grida raised her forearm to block it.
Thud!
The difference in strength was clear. She was forced back.
Had she tried to endure it, her forearm would have taken severe damage. Instead, she absorbed the blow by retreating.
At the same time, Encrid calculated the dozens of possible attacks Grida could launch next.
Yet, she chose none of them.
Tap, tap.
Grida stomped the ground twice.
It could be seen as nothing more than meaningless movement. But to Encrid, it was the precursor to dozens of possible follow-up actions.
‘Why stomp?’
A distraction?
The beginning of an unexpected technique?
A step? A repositioning? A tactic using the environment?
In a fraction of a second, countless thoughts raced through his mind.
‘If I don't know, I'll just react.’
The reason for her actions would reveal itself in the next movement.
Encrid flipped his sword, reversing the blade’s alignment.
Three Iron had two edges—one forged from Black Gold, the other from True Iron.
At a glance, it seemed like the weight distribution would be uneven, but Eitri had carefully balanced the sword using the Star Iron ratio.
Even so, the differing metals on either edge remained distinct. Thus, this technique was possible.
He positioned the Black Gold side forward, shifting the weight.
This added momentum to the blade, utilizing the difference in weight for acceleration.
As Encrid extended his right foot, he twisted his waist, channeling power through his elbow and wrist before slashing forward.
Boom!
The blade tore through the air where Grida had been standing.
But she had already rolled to the side, evading it. Of course, that wasn’t the end.
The moment she finished rolling, she planted her left hand on the ground and propelled herself back up.
Then, with her right hand—the one holding the sword—she struck her own chest.
Thud.
The impact was loud.
‘Why?’
What was the purpose of that action? A preparation for an attack? Had she lost her balance?
‘No.’
The same movement repeated a few times.
And then, Encrid stumbled over his own foot.
Grida seized the opening and thrust her blade forward.
Clang!
He managed to block it, but blood dripped down from his nose.
“Isn’t this fun?”
Grida asked.
Even as his head spun, Encrid responded.
"Yes."
Looking back on the sequence of events, it wasn’t difficult to deduce what had happened.
‘A series of unpredictable actions to disrupt calculations.’
That was the simple conclusion.
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