Encrid didn't know it, but the emblems of the Red Cape Knights varied according to rank.
For instance, a Knight would have three swords crossed like the royal emblem and the mythical Sun God with a round head and flaming mane engraved on their emblem.
Junior-Knights would remove one sword from the design.
Squires would only have one sword engraved, and based on the tests and tasks they completed, the emblem's shape would change.
The opponent standing before Encrid bore an emblem of a single sword with the Sun God engraved on it.
This was the emblem of Squires who had proven their skills.
Just a few more tests, and they would become Junior-Knights.
Their sword was fast and precise, like an eagle snatching its prey.
In response, Encrid thrust his sword forward without considering the opponent's habits or special techniques.
Instead, he twisted the sword the moment their blades met.
Clink!
The Squire's expression shifted rapidly.
The force he felt from Encrid's sword was like that of a Giant.
It was natural, as Encrid wielded the sword enveloped in the Heart of Great Strength.
Clang!
As their blades clashed, the Squire's sword was flung upwards, while Encrid's sword traced the path he desired.
It thrust forward in a straight line. At the end of its trajectory was the armor covering the Squire's chest.
Thunk, rip, squish.
Three distinct sounds melded into one.
The tip of the sword pierced through the armor and into the heart.
Encrid withdrew his sword as quickly as he had thrust it and stepped back.
Exactly one step.
Even as blood gushed from the Squire's chest, they swung their sword horizontally.
Whoosh!
The blade sliced through the air where Encrid had just stood. Bloodshot eyes stared at him.
"Ugh…"
The Squire coughed up blood while still gripping his sword, collapsing to the side.
He blinked a few times. The moment of death was near.
'Why?'
To the Squire, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. A phenomenon that occurs when thoughts accelerate just before death.
He refused to accept reality.
Why had he lost?
Who was this opponent? He had sparred with many Junior-Knights.
Being defeated like this didn't make sense. They had only exchanged a single blow.
Then came the regret.
'Was it the wrong choice?'
He regretted his involvement in this. But would anything have changed if he had stayed uninvolved?
The promise he had been given after completing this task was an emblem with an additional sword engraved.
Regardless of his current abilities, he was meant to rise above the rank of Junior-Knight.
He had thought of it like an already tipped water bottle. Wasn't it natural to side with those who had a chance of winning?
'I was wrong.'
As death approached, regret was joined by realization.
'It was my fault.'
Was this the same mindset he had when he first dreamed of becoming a Knight and was recognized for his talent?
Did he wield his sword to align himself with the winning side and claim a reward?
No, it wasn't.
"I wish to uphold chivalry."
His past mentors, seniors, and comrades had responded to his naive words.
"How romantic of you."
"Yes, well. When you become a Knight, let's call you the Knight of Romance."
"What kind of title is that? It's ridiculous."
"Haha, well, good luck anyway."
The Squire had also dreamed of the ideals of chivalry learned from poetry and song.
But somewhere along the way, he had forgotten that dream and pursued something new.
Power, wealth, honor.
From the moment he thought honor came from admiration, he had started to stray.
He dreamed of altering his emblem.
He wanted an additional sword to be engraved.
What had he hoped to become through that?
Like a wilting flower, like a breaking sword, one Squire lay on the ground.
In front of him stood a man, not even out of breath, holding a sword as he looked ahead.
Blood dripped from the sword onto the floor.
The hallway was already a mess. Broken furniture, the remains of a half-shattered door, bloodstains, corpses, broken blades.
Among the debris, the man stood tall.
Black hair and blue eyes.
Recently, he had been escorting a party, so a few in the room recognized who he was.
"They said he's a half-wit from the Border Guard."
One of them muttered.
He opened his mouth but quickly shut it. Encrid's gaze had turned to him.
Did he hear that?
He had muttered quietly, so there was no way he could have heard it.
The man's thoughts and his muttering were of no concern to Encrid.
"Who's inside?"
Encrid asked. It was an ordinary question, but to those remaining, it sounded different.
After all, he had just killed a Squire in one strike.
The atmosphere naturally flowed into pressure.
It wasn't exactly Intimidation, but it wasn't much different either.
If the people on the receiving end felt it as such, how was it any different from Intimidation?
There were eight standing in front of the door.
The Commander swallowed hard.
Could they take him down if all eight attacked at once?
'Not a chance.'
His face paled with complex thoughts, and cold sweat trickled down as he considered breaking down the door. At that moment, Encrid took a step forward.
With a firm 'thud', his foot kicked aside a half-broken wooden shield fragment lying beneath him.
As he walked, one of the soldiers blocking the path moved aside.
A few others gritted their teeth and tried to stand their ground at the door.
Encrid approached, raising his sword.
If they blocked, he would cut them down.
Once his Will was set, true Intimidation naturally followed. It was real pressure.
One of the soldiers in front of him broke out into a cold sweat. Before long, he too moved aside as if fleeing.
That was the end of it. No one else was left to block the way.
"Are you staying because you want to fight?"
Encrid asked.
"No."
The Commander replied.
Then why are you still here? Encrid's eyes asked the question.
"We… will retreat."
The Commander spat the words out as if chewing them. Standing their ground would be a foolish death. They were just fortunate he hadn't decided to cut them all down.
Silently, they all followed suit.
Among them were mercenaries under Viscount Mernes and soldiers as well.
They knew full well they weren't supposed to leave this place.
They could be held accountable and executed later.
Viscount Mernes was strict when it came to rewards and punishments, especially toward those who made mistakes. He never let them go.
Yet, they withdrew without a word.
The sheer force of Encrid's presence was different.
If they fought, they would die. That was certain. His presence was overwhelming. Fear welled up from within. Courage was nowhere to be found. Their will was soon broken.
Thus, they couldn't block him, and thus, they couldn't stand their ground.
Without even glancing back, Encrid examined the area behind the broken door.
"Who's inside?"
He asked, tapping the half-shattered door lightly with the tip of his sword.
From inside, there was a 'crack' sound, something sharply striking the ground.
"You?"
A voice from within reached his ears. He recognized it. It was the whip-wielding bodyguard.
'What was his name again?'
His memory was hazy. The side effect of repeating countless days. No matter how good his memory was, it couldn't be helped.
"Ret?"
Encrid asked.
"...Who is that?"
It sounded close, but not quite right.
"Melon?"
"...Are you doing this on purpose?"
Why was he acting like this in such a serious situation?
Matthew thought to himself. Why did his Lord trust a man like this? He couldn't understand it at all.
"It's Matthew."
"Ah, right. Matthew."
"What about the ones outside?"
"They're gone."
"...Where?"
"They probably went wherever they were headed."
Encrid had no obligation to protect other nobles or anyone else. Nor did he have any desire to.
He didn't feel like he had to kill those men, either. He understood that Marcus had asked for help and that he had asked him to protect Krang.
So, that's exactly what he did.
"He's inside, right?"
Encrid asked.
"Come in."
Came the reply.
Finally, the dresser blocking the door was pushed aside with a scraping sound.
Upon entering, the inside was just as much of a mess.
There were seven bodies.
Matthew, with half of his face bandaged, stood next to another female warrior.
The female warrior was holding a long trident and had a wary look in her eyes.
She wore chainmail that only covered her upper body, and her left shoulder armor was visibly cracked and cut.
She showed signs of having narrowly survived a significant threat.
Watching her try to move her left shoulder, she seemed uncomfortable.
"Where?"
"Here."
Turning to look, Encrid spotted Krang's face peeking out from a hole in the ground.
"I told you, even if we die, you must go."
Matthew said angrily, clearly displeased.
"Where would I go, leaving you behind? If this is where it ends for me, then so be it."
Krang replied calmly. Even in moments like this, he showed his difference in character. Waving at Encrid, Krang said,
"You're late."
"I tripped over a rock on the way."
Encrid shrugged in response, leaving out the part where the 'rock' had been an orange-clad female Knight from the Red Cape Knights.
Krang pulled his hand out of the hole and started climbing up.
It looked like some kind of emergency escape tunnel, but Encrid wondered why it was just a hole and not a proper staircase.
There was a ladder inside, and the sound of Krang climbing up could be heard.
The tunnel seemed to be slanted.
"You shouldn't."
Matthew tried to stop him.
Just because Encrid had cleared the way didn't mean it was safe now.
Yet Krang ignored him and continued climbing up. The woman with the trident was keeping watch outside. Encrid briefly wondered who she was. But of course, Matthew wasn't the only one assigned to guard Krang.
'Krang wasn't the type to go down easily.'
Krang had undoubtedly prepared for situations like this. So, Encrid never thought for a moment that Krang would be dead.
But the fact that he had called for help meant it was dangerous. It was a sign that he needed someone like Encrid.
"I didn't expect you to ask for help."
"We're friends, aren't we? Let's just call it a debt repaid."
Krang said after pulling himself out of the hole.
In reality, Krang had plans in place. But the situation had gotten so dire and time so tight that everything was falling apart.
If Encrid hadn't shown up, Krang was ready to die holding his ground.
Even so, despite having come so close to death, Krang laughed. His hand didn't even tremble.
"You wish to become King, yet why…"
Matthew spoke, his words heavy with frustration. To him, it must have seemed incomprehensible. But this was the relationship they had. Krang was the kind of master who listened to what Matthew had to say.
"Because I wish to become King."
Krang's reply carried weight.
Even more so than before.
The surrounding noise seemed to vanish.
As the atmosphere shifted, Krang spoke again.
"If I wish to become King, but all I do is run around trying to save my own life, what kind of King could I be? If I can't even protect the people I care about, what good would I be sitting on a throne? Should I just sit there and eat grapes served by handmaidens? Shut up, Matthew. If I die here, then that's simply where my fate ends. I've done my best, prepared for much, and here I stand. I will not leave, losing more than I've already lost."
Encrid felt chills. These were just words.
But how does one give words true power?
By not letting them end as just words. Krang had shown that through his actions.
Risking his life was the right thing to do.
"I also need to do this to keep the promise I made to the Queen."
Krang said this with a smile toward Matthew.
"So stop nagging already."
His last words were light, like a friend's casual remark.
Only now did Encrid truly understand why Krang had called him.
Was it because of the danger? Because it was a crisis?
No.
'It's because he refuses to run away.'
It was Krang's way of refusing to turn his back on the dream he held.
Encrid, strangely enough, saw himself in Krang at that moment.
Despite knowing they didn't belong together, despite being so different.
He saw himself, trapped in the present, desperately struggling.
That struggle was a way to take even a single step forward.
That was how Krang lived.
Encrid's heart stirred. He wanted to help.
This was Krang's talent, the ability to inspire such feelings in others.
"Someone's coming."
The female bodyguard holding the trident said. She spoke as she moved to bring furniture back in front of the door.
"How many?"
Matthew asked.
"One person?"
"Yes, one."
The woman answered.
The sound of Matthew grinding his teeth could be heard.
"This is the worst-case scenario, isn't it?"
Krang asked from behind, his voice still light and cheerful.
It was something Matthew had mentioned before.
They could hold off a large group, but a single skilled opponent might be impossible to stop.
"Now it's time to test our luck."
He added. Encrid responded with words that came from deep within.
"Then I'll be your luck."
Krang turned to look at him, but Encrid, instead of waiting for a response, spoke ahead.
"Don't block the way, Matthew."
He was speaking to Matthew, who was trying to block the entrance with furniture.
Barricading themselves inside might work against a large number of soldiers, but it would be pointless against an elite few.
In other words, someone with Encrid's level of strength wouldn't be hindered by such makeshift obstacles.
Pushing the door open, Encrid stepped outside and saw a man.
To Encrid, it was someone he had encountered before, though the man didn't know him.
It was the same Junior-Knight who had disrupted his day in the past.
The man's left eyebrow twitched as he looked at Encrid.
"Did you kill Aisia?"
He asked.
"I put her to sleep."
Encrid replied. His lullaby had been a combination of fists and kicks.
The man looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he lunged forward, drawing his sword and swinging it.
Shing!
The sound of the sword being drawn was followed by a flash of light descending from above.
It was a perfect timing move designed to break Encrid's flow.
Having faced this man once before, Encrid was able to react.
He drew his Gladius with his right hand, intending to deflect the blade.
Bang!
But Encrid's attempt failed.
With a loud crash, his right wrist nearly snapped.
Not only was the timing perfect, but the sword swings were also deceptive.
From the question to the footwork, everything was designed to disrupt Encrid's rhythm, mixing feints with real strikes.
As he endured and blocked the attack, Encrid realized something.
'Stronger than Asia.'
Perhaps on par with Rem.
In an instant, in the narrow space between openings, the opponent drew another sword and thrust forward.
At that moment, a whip made from twisted beast leather snapped into the space between Encrid and his opponent. It was Matthew's skillful intervention.