"If you just sit around because the shop collapsed, will someone buy bread for you? I can’t send my daughter off to marriage empty-handed. Or will you take my daughter instead?"
It was when the Gate of Sixth Sense was opened. Despite losing his workshop, the shoemaker did not let his hands rest.
‘It was an impressive sight, one I clearly remember.
It wasn’t exactly a grand spectacle, but the craftsman demonstrated his work, and Encrid watched.
Lifting the tanned leather, he struck it, stitched it, applied adhesive, shaped it, and fixed it firmly into place. The process flowed seamlessly, one step leading naturally to the next.
What had he thought when he saw that?
'How long must one have done this to become so skilled?'
That was surely his thought, and from there, he believed that if he swung his sword ceaselessly, he too would become proficient.
As always, back then, his days were a continuous struggle to find the way forward.
He also recalled Eitri wielding his hammer.
'Was there ever a moment of hesitation in his hands?'
Not once had he seen such a thing. Whether sharpening a blade on the whetstone or hammering heated metal, Eitri’s hands never ceased moving.
If one has walked a path hundreds or thousands of times, they could find their way even with their eyes closed.
That’s what Eitri’s work with metal was like.
And what about Frog, who stood beside him? The one who swore he would drive a nail into his slippery hands if he had to, just to craft an ornament—were his hands clumsy?
They were not. Not at all, not in the slightest.
Even before dawn, he would wake, pick up the tools suited to his hands, melt silver, fuse gold, shape various metals, and busy himself drawing forth the ideas within his mind.
There was no room for clumsiness in a routine repeated without rest.
Even as mistakes piled up and failures came one after another, his hands naturally moved on to the ‘next’ attempt.
He hadn’t seen everything, but the fluidity of their motions told him enough. They must have repeated the same actions for an unfathomable length of time.
Snap!
One day, Jaxon suddenly concealed his presence, approached quietly, and snapped his fingers. Startled by the sound, Encrid quickly turned his head.
"How did you turn your head just now? Did you think about turning it? Did you recognize the sound first, determine its direction, and then move? Or did you just react instinctively?"
Jaxon said he could not explain it any more simply than that, but at the time, he couldn’t understand him.
He grasped, in theory, that Will functioned in a similar way, but he could not truly feel it.
The giant merchant naturally spread word of his goods' worth.
The woman grilling jerky instinctively adjusted the fire’s intensity and the seasoning's balance.
Did they hesitate or falter in that process?
'No, they did not.'
Had he not marveled at the Ragged Saint, watching the woman grill jerky before him?
A seamless chain of movements, executed without a single flaw.
Had the Ragged Saint ever groaned while using divine power?
'It was nothing but pure instinct.'
He had taught Seiki the same way.
He told her to let her divine power flow naturally, to release it, throw it, even play with it.
Seiki once told him:"I’ve known how to handle divine power since childhood. It took me a while to realize I could actually manifest and use it, though. The Blacksmith Brothers are the same as me."
Even Audin had said,
"You just do it. It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you aren’t."
Even Ragna, half-asleep, would mutter:
"Just like I mastered my slashes through tens of thousands of swings, you have to make Will an instinctive reaction. That’s how I did it."
So, if Eitri could do it, he had to be able to do it.
If the woman grilling jerky could do it, he had to be able to do it too.
While they worked with metal and grilled meat, he swung his sword and moved Will. Thanks to the Bottomless Well, he could spend his time more densely than anyone else.
He wielded Will endlessly, over and over again. He repeated today just as he had before.
Yet, he thought it wasn’t working. Why? Because Will is intention, and therefore, he believed one had to first recognize an action before performing it.
"Why wouldn’t it work? That’s an obsession, you crazy blacksmith. Do you really believe that Will only moves if you consciously summon it? That Will and intention are the same thing? Do you seriously believe that?"
Will is derived from intention. Isn’t that right? It is.
But Rem claimed that Will and intention were not the same.
At the time, he couldn’t understand. But now, he does.
Not due to some grand revelation, just because the image of the woman grilling jerky came to mind.
And now, Encrid could naturally wield Will to swing his sword.
At first, it was about mastering sword techniques beyond his specialty, but the answer became clear.
'I just have to make everything my specialty.'
If he can naturally swing his sword, he don’t need a designated specialty.
He didn’t know if this is how others did it, but this is how he will. And that will be enough.
'No, Audin draws large circles, but when necessary, he becomes a sharp awl!'
An awl pierces through a circle. But at the same time, it is fragile and prone to breaking.
'Adaptability.'
That is the condition for becoming a Senior Knight.
Whether a circle or an awl, he must be able to use them both as needed.
Thinking back, he realized just how monstrous his squad was.
'Every time I caught up to them, they adapted further and left me behind again.'
He had been the catalyst for their growth, but right now, he neither knew nor cared about that.
He was simply content to stand among such extraordinary individuals.
How fortunate was he to have them by his side?
Marcus once told him about a previous battalion commander who gathered troublemakers into a unit.
Was he an opportunist only concerned with his own survival?
'Now I actually want to meet him.'
He even felt as though he owed him his thanks.
'Hah.'
In the midst of his thoughts, a new idea emerged, expanding his understanding.
And it wasn’t just about swordsmanship.
Is Will exclusively for Knights?
No. A thought stirred within him, stretching its limbs.
'Ordinary people use Will naturally, too.'
Of course, wielding Will isn’t easy, and even if one does, it doesn’t manifest visibly. But they do use it.
This wasn’t speculation, it was certainty. He had seen it with his own eyes. Even now, he could recognize it in them.
The woman grilling jerky and Eitri forging steel, they unconsciously employed Will.
In other words, if one reaches the level of a master in their craft, they inevitably wield Will as well.
'If the origin is the same, perhaps it’s not Will but rather mana?'
Or maybe a distinct term is needed just for them. One thing was certain: mastery was not just about technique.
The dwarf who once visited Eitri had been more skilled in metallurgy at the time, but he had no presence.
The thought of Krang naturally followed.
Krang was both a piercing awl and a brilliant star. No matter where he stood, he would always shine.
His presence, his charisma—it would not be concealed, no matter how tattered his clothing.
'What makes Krang so valuable is within him.'
And what is it that lies within?
He felt he now understood why his words captivated people.
Dignity, authority, and the force he exudes—these, too, are manifestations of Will.
'Many people unconsciously wield Will, even if only in small ways.'
It was a privilege reserved for those who dedicated themselves entirely to their craft, pouring in effort and time. Or, for those born with it.
In the midst of his thoughts, some of Encrid’s senses stirred, giving him a jolt of awareness. He felt the wind blowing and caught its scent.
It started with the smell. His nose twitched, distinguishing and separating the different scents.
The sweat of his companions, exhausted from their relentless march. The medicinal scent lingering around Ann. The faint smell of blood from Ragna. The perfume Grida wore. Even the metallic tang of their weapons.
These were all scents he had smelled countless times before.
But among them, a distinctly foreign scent burrowed into his nose, a faint musk and the metallic stench of blood.
Next came the sound.
The wind rustled through the thick brush around them.
Rustle.
A separate noise mixed within.
Finally, there was touch.
The fine hairs on his body stood on end as a heightened sensitivity overtook him.
For a brief moment, Encrid felt everything around him, scanning his surroundings in an instant.
His five senses, which should have remained distinct like water and oil, blended together, morphing into a sixth sense that expanded his perception.
Then, a chilling sensation crept up his nape.
Encrid turned his head slightly, adjusting the position of the Three-Iron Sword he held. The tip of the sword in his right hand rose slightly.
That small movement triggered a reaction from Ragna and the three members of House of Zaun nearby.
Ignoring their response, Encrid turned his gaze to his left, looking upward.
If killing intent had a visible form, what would it look like?
His heightened senses, combined with his newfound instinctive control over Will, merged into one and projected an image before him.
A short, sharp needle flying from the distance, homing in on its target with pinpoint precision. His amplified perception flipped open the pages of the future ahead of time.
And in that revealed future, a blackened mark, burned onto Ann’s head.
The identity of the threat was unknown. Only the intent to kill was certain.
The Three-Iron Sword moved in a smooth arc.
Encrid stepped his left foot to the side, distributing his weight evenly between both feet, and slashed upward in a single, fluid motion.
Because the action followed the exact moment he felt the killing intent, to an observer, it would have seemed as if he had merely raised the sword tip before immediately swinging.
Thud!
The sound followed—the distinct noise of flesh tearing and bursting.
Kreeeeeeeeh!
A shrill scream, more befitting a beast than a man. Encrid saw the blood pouring in droplets above Ann’s head. The color of the blood was pitch black.
"Ragna."
Calling out as he swung his sword, Ragna reacted instantly.
Springing up, Ragna drew his greatsword and slashed diagonally into the air.
Even though he swung the moment his knees straightened, the attack carried his full weight behind it.
To the untrained eye, it would seem like he had swung at nothing, but Ragna’s instincts told him something was there.
Schhhhk!
Kreeeaaaagh!
Another scream followed the sound of flesh being torn apart. Encrid confirmed what he had cut.
A bat beast. Its fangs were elongated, far longer than what a normal bat could have. The creature had been cleaved in two, spilling its blood and entrails—it was already dead.
He also saw what Ragna had struck. An owlbear. These monsters, resembling oversized owls, were infamous hunters of the night.
They were difficult to detect when they deliberately concealed their presence.
‘For them to get this close without being noticed… this is something else entirely.’
It was similar to how Jaxon had approached undetected.
No matter how stealthy a bat beast or an owlbear could be, this was excessive.
Through his sharpened senses, Encrid detected something beyond the killing intent of the monsters.
His battles against Walking Fire and his training with Esther had honed his awareness.
He smelled magic.
There was no clear comparison, but if Esther’s magic smelled like dried firewood beneath the night sky, then this one reeked of crushed fruit, sickly sweet and overwhelming.
The scent was cloying yet faint, as if hovering just beyond perception.
Even Encrid could barely register it. And he felt something was off. The bat beast and the owlbear had only one target.
‘Why?’
His eyes locked onto a freckled woman, her expression shocked but steady, fear restrained.
‘Why are they after Ann?’
Did monsters like these even possess that level of recognition? Or was it merely coincidence?
"Magrun."
The moment Encrid called for Magrun, Grida turned to scan the surroundings.
"Odinkar, stay on guard. What the hell are these monsters?"
The group had gathered around a small campfire, flames flickering in the dark.
"What’s going on all of a sudden?"
Magrun asked, keeping a wary eye on the perimeter.
It was absurd to be this tense over mere monsters, but their sudden ambush had put everyone on edge.
Just because they were Knights didn’t mean they were immune to poison or that their blood wouldn’t spill if they were struck.
Monsters and beasts were naturally stronger than humans. Could an ordinary man break a log with his bare hands?
An owlbear could, without momentum, simply by using the strength in its forelimbs. Their claws were that tough. Their arms held that much power.
A proper Knight would rather overreact than be caught off guard. The same went for this group, including Encrid.
His sixth sense remained sharp, like barbed spikes pressed against his skin. The sickly-sweet scent lingered just at the edge of his awareness.
If he relaxed his focus for even a moment, he might lose track of it.
It was like trying to catch the lingering fragrance of dried petals pressed against one’s nose. If he moved the petals even slightly away, the scent would vanish.
"Do these monsters use magic?"
Keeping his senses honed, Encrid asked.
"What are you talking about? We’re not even in Imperial territory yet."
Nor could this place be considered Border Guard land. They were still northeast of Count Molsen’s domain, yet to even reach the Pen-Hanil Mountains.
They had been ambushed in a lawless, unclaimed land.
‘I don’t feel any killing intent… but the scent remains. Where is it?’
How do you find an enemy you can’t see?
Encrid’s gaze swept across the environment. Using the terrain was a fundamental tactic. Reaching out, he grabbed a half-burnt log from the campfire.
It still held enough unburnt wood to serve as a makeshift torch.
Fwoosh.
The flame licked up the wood.
The wind howled, carrying embers into the darkness beyond.
The firelight flickered, casting Encrid’s shadow in rippling waves like the tide.
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