It had been a long time since the sword in his hand felt so heavy.
For the first year after he first held a sword, it always felt heavy. After swinging that heavy piece of metal a few times, his arm muscles would tremble, and the sharp pain between his thumb and forefinger would linger all day.
Those were the days when even a wooden sword felt heavy.
And now, it was several times harder than back then.
'It's heavy.'
It felt as if dozens of iron weights were attached to the blade.
If he relaxed even a little, the blade seemed like it would drop straight down and embed itself in the ground. The muscles in his arms were trembling.
It was unbelievable. Audin's training had made him feel that his strength was never lacking, yet now was not the time for such thoughts.
He was solely focused on bearing the weight of the sword, leaving no room for any other thoughts.
'So heavy.'
It felt like he could drop the sword at any moment. Even lifting the tip of the blade felt as hard as crossing a mountain in the dead of winter with nothing but his body.
The rain that had briefly soaked him evaporated from the heat generated by the battle, but soon after, sweat began to pour, drenching Encrid's entire body once more.
Sweat dripped down. The droplets running off the tip of his chin fell relentlessly to the ground.
'It's very heavy.'
If this continued, he would naturally drop the sword. It was a wonder he managed to fight while holding something so heavy.
There was no time to catch his breath, which had been coming in gasps since earlier. It felt as if he had been running all day without a break.
Sweat was flowing more and more, soaking him from head to toe. It was as if he had jumped into a bathtub fully clothed.
Yet, the hardest thing to bear was still the piece of metal in his hand. The renowned sword, Aker, which had fit perfectly in his hand when he first held it, now felt like a snake struggling to escape his grip.
'Why is it so heavy?'
He couldn't understand. All he had done was deflect the opponent's spear.
Just as Encrid, drained of stamina and mental strength, was thinking this, Anu approached and whispered in his ear.
To Encrid, it felt like he had been holding the sword for a long time, but in reality, it had only been a brief moment.
It was just a few words exchanged in a short span of time.
"Can you withstand the weight? The Bull likes to shift its burden onto others."
Encrid couldn't fully grasp the meaning behind his opponent's words, but he understood one thing.
"If you drop it, that will be your limit. And if you die, you won't be able to achieve what you desire."
The implication was that only by facing death could one achieve their goal.
Even without hearing the King's words, Encrid already knew.
He must not drop what he was holding.
The only clear fact was this:
Encrid thought he might drop the sword, but at the same time, he knew he wouldn't.
'If I were going to drop it just because it's heavy...'
He wouldn't have even taken the first step toward his impossible dream.
"Did you wish to become a Knight? Then see, experience, and accumulate many things. All of these will help you on your path."
The King continued. The words were vague. At least, to the current Encrid, they sounded that way. But there was nothing but goodwill in Anu's tone.
"If you don't forget what you've placed in your sword, the path will open."
These few short words stuck in Encrid's mind. Even as sweat poured down and the tip of the sword wavered, he remembered them.
"Thanks."
The King gave him one last pat on the shoulder and left.
Encrid noticed that the tip of his sword had lowered slightly.
Will of Refusal, Heart of Great Strength, The Heart of the Beast, Focus Point, The Isolation Technique—all of it.
None of these could help him hold the sword at this moment.
The King's Bull made the weapon in his hand feel unbearably heavy.
It was the mystic power of Will.
Aware of this, Encrid still managed to lift the tip of his sword.
Just because everything he had learned didn't work didn't mean that the resolve he had built within himself would be broken.
If he was going to give up, he wouldn't have started in the first place.
The tip of the sword slowly rose. Finally lifting the sword properly, Encrid momentarily forgot its weight.
The added weight placed by the King's Bull disappeared.
It was only then that Encrid realized his grip had been torn open after so long. Red liquid was oozing from his hand that held the sword.
The leather wrapped around Aker's hilt had turned a dark, dingy color from soaking in the blood.
It was the wound he had sustained when the Bull's horns had twisted and tried to wrench Aker's blade from his hand, and he had withstood it.
It could be said that this was the price for enduring the Knight's attempt to disarm him.
Recognizing this, Encrid staggered and collapsed.
"Foolish."
Someone caught his body and said this. It was Esther's voice.
That was the last thing Encrid heard before he lost consciousness.
* * *
Encrid had a dream. Perhaps it had been a long time.
It wasn't the usual dream of the ferryman, but a real dream.
"Are you thinking of making a living with a sword? Give it up. You'll die young."
"Even those who are exceptionally talented struggle to survive as mercenaries past fifty."
This was before he even properly voiced his dream. These were the words of those who told him to abandon the boat he intended to sail across the sea of his dreams.
That boat had a hole in its bottom.
It couldn't move forward.
Your oar is broken and rotten.
You can't go forward.
The boat you're on is made of fallen leaves. Do you really think you can take that out to sea? It would sink even on a lake or river.
So, you cannot go forward.
Everyone said the same thing.
Encrid saw only two people, aside from his comrades, who listened to his dream seriously and responded.
It wasn't even Frog Luagarne.
She merely felt a sense of mystery, seeing Encrid achieve what she thought impossible.
'Krang.'
One was his friend who sat on the throne of Naurillia.
When he heard Encrid's dream, he said he had found his own path.
And the other was the King of the East.
Though their time together was brief, Encrid was able to refine what he had through sparring with him.
What was strange was that, despite expecting to hear countless times that he lacked talent, the King of the East never said such words.
When Encrid had not yet acquired the skills to overwhelm his opponents as he could now, most of those who came to hear about his dream spoke of his lack of talent.
Now, they couldn't say such things because Encrid's swordsmanship had surpassed theirs.
But the King was someone who had both the position and skill to easily declare that Encrid had no talent.
He could have lamented his lack of talent or been surprised, yet he remained calm.
Instead, before leaving, he said,
"Don't forget what you've placed in your sword and keep moving forward. The path will open."
It was both encouragement and a sign of faith.
Encrid ignored the words of those who remained faceless behind the curtain.
The boat made of fallen leaves and the oar made of rotten wood had somehow transformed into a caravel crafted from well-treated oak that wouldn't absorb water, and the oar, once made of rotten wood, had become a sturdy one meticulously crafted from strong planks.
With his boat and oar, Encrid saw the landmarks and the path.
'What must I do to become a Knight?'
Everything around him blurred as a Knight of Aspen appeared.
"If you block just once, I'll spare your life."
Did he really say that?
It didn't seem so, but this was a dream. The words didn't matter as much as their meaning.
The point was that he had to block just once.
The Knight of Aspen swung his sword.
It was a swift and powerful strike.
Blocking it was impossible, so Encrid struck first instead.
The Knight retreated, preserving his honor.
Encrid used that single strike as a foundation to practice various techniques—cutting, thrusting, and swinging his sword.
Later, Encrid also observed the various techniques displayed by Anu's Bull.
The King of the East had shown him how to wield Will.
If he had wanted, the King could have easily killed someone like him.
Though Encrid had no intention of dying easily and would resist until the end, the reality was as it was.
He had long forgotten that if he died, today would repeat itself.
And then—
"You wretch."
The ferryman tore through a part of the dream and intruded.
He was also part of the dream.
Ignoring the ferryman, Encrid fell into thought and gained a small insight. It was a faintly guiding milestone on his path.
'Different.'
The King of the East and the Knight of Aspen had walked different paths and used techniques of different kinds.
They were distinctly different. Too different.
With that final thought, Encrid opened his eyes.
His entire body ached, and his grip throbbed with pain.
When he raised his hand, he saw it was tightly wrapped in bandages.
He could see the dark outside, the light of a lamp, and someone sitting in a chair right next to the bed.
"Sinar?"
"Since you've called my name, we just need to hold the ceremony."
A Fairy-like joke echoed in his ears.
Instead of laughing, Encrid asked a question. It was hard to laugh at the Fairy's joke.
"What are you doing?"
"Admiring."
It seemed unnecessary to ask what she was admiring.
She was sitting there, one leg crossed, her elbow resting on her knee, chin in hand, watching him.
"You're always getting into fights and collapsing."
Sinar continued speaking.
Encrid shrugged his shoulders as if it was no big deal.
"When you get up, I can show you something interesting."
"What are you talking about?"
Sinar, still seated, revealed a faint smile that she would never show anyone else.
Along with that smile, she uncrossed her legs and lowered her arms, then suddenly drew her sword and thrust it forward. The speed and angle were utterly incomprehensible.
Naidil had pierced Encrid's heart from outside his perception.
He felt like he might cough up blood. His entire body tensed up, temporarily making him forget the muscle pain.
Death was right in front of him.
Was he really going to close his eyes and die like this? No, that wasn't the case.
"How does it feel?"
With Sinar's words, the sword that had pierced his heart disappeared like grains of sand.
She was merely sitting there, legs uncrossed, with her arms resting casually.
It was all an illusion. No, it was a reality that could have happened, revealed through her aura.
"What is this?"
"Do you think I would have left your side for so long without a reason?"
Despite Sinar's teasing, Encrid instantly realized a few things.
Having experienced the power of Knights twice, it was easier this time.
What Sinar had just shown was the power of a Knight.
A panther that had been watching from the side approached and snuggled into Encrid's arms.
It seemed to be signaling Sinar to back off now that enough had been shown.
"I'll wait for you to recover."
Sinar said.
Encrid's heart pounded. He wanted to ignore the muscle pain that resonated throughout his body, get up, grab his sword, and face her for real.
He had a strong desire to test himself against Sinar's true swordplay.
Thud.
Esther struck Encrid's chest with her front paw.
It was as if she was telling him to restrain himself.
"I know."
Encrid responded. He knew as well. In his current state, he couldn't properly fight. Sparring was out of the question.
So, resting was the right choice.
Instead, he would focus on recovery, and when he was ready to jump up and lift his sword, he would challenge Sinar to a duel.
"What do you think? About your fiance?"
Sinar asked, her smile now gone, and Encrid had no choice but to respond.
"She is the best."
"That's all you need to know."
The Fairy quietly stood up. Moving with her usual subtle presence, she exited the tent.
The creak of the hinges announced her departure.
"Not sleeping? Waking up from unconsciousness and making such a fuss."
"Ah, it's been a while since I slept in a tent, what's going on?"
"Pray. That will speed up your recovery."
"Snore."
Rem, Krais, and Audin spoke, with Ragna's snoring following last.
Ragna was not one to snore unless he was extremely exhausted, yet here he was, snoring instead of a lullaby.
"How long did I sleep?"
"Exactly half a day."
"Get some more sleep. You shouldn't ignore the warning signals your body is giving you, brother. So sleep and let yourself recover."
Rem said, and Audin agreed.
Esther patted Encrid's chest again with a thud.
It meant to rest. She wasn't wrong. Encrid thought as he closed his eyes.
It seemed he could fall asleep again quickly. Sleep was already creeping up on him.
From the side, Jaxon, who had been silently watching, placed a small jar of ointment beside the bed.
"It's medicine."
Jaxon said before returning to his spot.
Encrid thought it was rare for him to be back in the tent today.
Dunbachel, Teresa, Pel, and Lawford were stationed in different quarters, but the four of them stood as if on guard duty outside the tent.
Unaware of this, Encrid drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Since joining the Border Guard, Esther often left the tent.
Had Encrid paid more attention, he might have noticed, but he was too engrossed in wielding his sword.
It was as if things were as they always were.
Esther wandered the Pen-Hanil River, the surrounding lakes, mountains, and forests.
It was to restore the damaged magical realm after confronting the Count.
Along the way, she also tended to the Bonehead creature she had obtained earlier.
She even summoned a few spirits with whom she had made pacts in the past.
"Ogre, do you see me as your prey?"
There were times when Esther encountered groups of ghouls.
The outpost facilities and regional security measures that Krais had pushed forward had the unintended drawback of driving scattered monsters to gather together.
The creatures that used to move in small numbers couldn't survive alone anymore, so it was only natural that those with a remaining survival instinct would band together.
This was one such group of ghouls.
Monsters that once wouldn't dare meet her gaze now brazenly bared their ugly fangs without fear.
Even though Esther hadn't studied necromancy, it wouldn't have been difficult for her to turn a few of those ghouls into her minions, but there was no need for that. In fact, it was something she ought not to do.
'That would be lowering my standards, not raising them.'
As soon as she thought this, Esther gestured, summoning flames that roasted six ghouls on the spot.
The ghouls, their entire bodies aflame, quickly became nothing more than charred, smoldering meat.
'I'm really putting in the effort, aren't I?'
Esther knew why she was doing this.
The person beside her was constantly struggling, pushing forward. To stand beside such a person, she realized, required more than half-hearted determination.
'If I only aim to recover my former strength, then the title of the Fighting Witch would be a disgrace.'
So, she decided to push forward as well. And it just so happened that she had a good opportunity.
As she wandered through the hidden ruins and hunted monsters in the depths of the Pen-Hanil Mountain Range, she would hone her skills, and eventually, she would gain new insights.
If Ragna was a genius of swordsmanship,
Esther was a genius of spells.
She knew the path she had to take and could distinguish between what was necessary and what was not at a glance.
And she knew that this would allow her to go even further.
'Ah, that foolish man.'
Thinking of Encrid, who had fallen to the so-called King of the East, Esther muttered to herself.
He—Encrid—would continue to move forward.
It was obvious that he would keep getting entangled with second-rate demons and sorcerers like that Count.
That was the path he walked.
And on that path, she would use her magic to clear away anything that tried to deceive or hinder him.
By doing so, Esther aimed to prove herself and satisfy her pride.
After all, how could the Fighting Witch, who had pledged herself to his cause, be of no help at all?
'That's something I cannot allow.'
This was a matter of her very existence.
And at the same time, Esther found herself curious about whether Encrid would be able to achieve what he sought.
What kind of path would that man walk? Where would it lead him?
These were things she had never wondered about when she looked at the King of the East.
After Esther had honed her magic by traveling through the mountains and refining the six schools of magic she had learned as a child in the tower, she headed back to the unit.
On her way back, she noticed a soldier.
She didn't know his name, but the soldier was rolling dice, unconsciously moving mana as he did so.
He had a talent for magic.
Esther was about to pass by indifferently but then changed her mind and approached him.
"You will follow me."
Interest? No.
It was for herself.
'You learn something by teaching as well.'
That's what her master had said, and her own experience had proven it to be true.
That was the reason.
The soldier, who was known as the best gambler in the Border Guard, could only blink in response.
"Huh?"
"If you don't come, I'll give you a pain worse than death."
Esther did as she always did, and the soldier, knowing she was the wizard known as Encrid's lover, wisely chose not to resist.
The reassignment of a single soldier was something that Graham, who was responsible for the Border Guard's forces, could handle.
And Battalion Commander Graham did just that.
"A soldier? A squad leader? She took a low-ranking soldier? Leave it be, she'll handle it herself."
That was what the Battalion Commander said when he heard that Esther or perhaps the panther had taken the soldier away.
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