"So, you killed off the beasts and finally stepped out of the Today you had prepared."
The heaving river, the violet lamp, and the Ferryman's appearance made it clear this wasn't a dream.
Enkrid sat on the gunwale, stared into the distance, then turned his head.
Somehow, no matter where you looked here, you couldn't see an end. No—more precisely, you could see only an "end."
As if all four directions were blocked. Even that vast river and the unending string of lights looked that way. If you asked why, there was nothing to say but "just because."
"Congratulations. Born mortal, and yet in the end you will come to crave immortality, human."
There was pedantry in the words.
Today's Ferryman was poetic. Or he looked like a sage seeking truth.
"I've never wanted immortality."
"You will come to."
"Is that a certainty?"
After all this until now?
That was the unspoken question under the words.
The Ferryman's lips twisted into a crooked smile. These days he even smiled often. Compared to their very first meeting, it was a clear change.
"The moment you end up imprisoned in the gaol called regret, you will plead and beg. Yes—you won't believe it and you won't accept it. I know. So I will show you."
The Ferryman's lampless hand lifted into the air. His robe fluttered up, and the inside didn't look like someone had just slapped on pitch-black paint.
The instant he thought his gaze had been snatched to the robe's interior, the surroundings had already changed. Not the gunwale.
On a blackened ground, Enkrid knelt on one knee and held someone in his arms.
"Leave me. Go do your job. Tch."
Hair matted with blood had turned to a dingier shade than his usual gray.
Rem was dying. There was nothing he could do.
"It's not that the future isn't variable. Yes—this would be a far-off future."
The Ferryman's voice rang from every direction.
It wasn't a base or evil voice. If anything, it was even.
He had only thrust before Enkrid a prediction with a high likelihood.
Which made it come across all the more real.
Rem died. Enkrid had to watch the man's last breath stutter out upon his hands.
"That is the first Today you will gain."
Loss. The word for what is taken from you.
What the Ferryman desired was obvious.
Hold grief. Must you, of your own will, go to meet days that hard?
He understood the intent, but he had no intention of playing along.
Also—
'A thing that hasn't yet happened.'
There's nothing to know. And if so, fretting now won't change a thing.
Thus, shake it off, get up, and do what needs doing.
Enkrid woke from the dream and opened his eyes. The smell of water wafted in the moment he did. Since last night the air had felt damp, and now a fine rain had begun to fall.
"Hup."
Enkrid sprang lightly up from a bed whose moderate firmness pleased him.
The bed had been Shinar's gift. Wasn't it stuffed with special leaves?
Up and out he went, bare-chested in thin trousers.
"You're up, Brother."
Audin, burly as a bear, greeted him with a sunny smile.
"Up early."
"It's the week of dawn prayers."
A priest of the God of War, faithful to his prayer week.
Even in Legion, the holy city, there were few so devout.
Except perhaps the Ragged Saint he called his spiritual father.
That saint, this time, was said to be heading for Legion. He'd left on some request, and apparently a letter had come from Lord Overdier.
'A man like Lord Overdier would be devout enough.'
Aside from him, there was Noah.
Back at the Border Guard, Enkrid found several letters had come from Noah as well.
Most of it was idle chatter, but the meaning inside was clear.
If he was needed and could help, he would do anything.
Not to repay a debt, and not even because Enkrid had helped him as a friend—but because then he could do the same.
'Quite a fuss.'
If he had truly been taken by the Empire, a very troublesome situation would have unfolded.
Right then beside him, Audin spoke.
"You haven't been loafing."
He'd continued training even at Zaun's house. For Enkrid that was only natural.
"What do you think."
"Of course."
The two soon shouldered stones in the dawn rain, hoisting and lowering them, then—lying on their backs with a steel ball Aetri had made wedged between their legs—raised and lowered their legs using only their abs.
To anyone watching, it would have been a training method beyond shocking.
Drop that steel ball and your face would shatter.
Worse luck, and it would fall between your thighs and cause a catastrophe more dire.
Naturally, for the two of them, such things did not happen. They simply concentrated calmly on their training.
"A war with the Empire—I was looking forward to it. A pity."
After a little while, Pel came out and said it. Beside him, Lawford shook his head.
"I wasn't looking forward to it."
War births sorrow. Lawford knew that. It wasn't as if Pel didn't know, only that if needed he would fight.
Enkrid observed the two. So different—and yet, should he say of similar bent?
Both would square up when there was a thing to do—but their processes differed. So the form their awakenings took would differ as well.
A question he'd had before came up again.
'Can you raise Knights through a system set in order?'
These two had been beaten and rolled a countless number of times for that. Audin had recounted the process the day before.
"I put them through the wringer. Now both are very interesting indeed."
Enkrid could see why he'd said it.
'Will is responding.'
With Enkrid's gaze on them, both naturally set their stances and readied themselves.
Not because they were about to fight. It was closer to a conditioned reflex.
'A response learned through repeated experience.'
What had pulled them up to this point was the system he had made.
Could Knights be made through a system?
What answer had come out?
'With a half-made system, it's hard.'
You could, with nothing more than pounding the body, get a quasi-Knight to move Will at ridiculous speeds—but you couldn't lead them into knighthood.
'Make them use Will from the unconscious.'
That was the next goal for those two.
It wasn't something planned or prepared.
He had simply seen the two of them, and watching them set to, his heart had moved.
He had seen Zaun and stayed in a small village.
On his way back to the Border Guard, Enkrid had learned very many things—and the portion of those gained by teaching was no small part.
His talks with Valmung had helped as well.
'A Knight climbs by awakening.'
It doesn't end at simply growing stronger.
'Everything within harmony.'
Strength, reaction, senses—everything moves as one. What leads it is Will.
Lawford and Pel were different. So they needed different methods.
If luck were called chance, then half was chance and the other half was owing to Enkrid's peculiar way of growing.
Enkrid, by intuition, thought of a way to set the two upon the rung above.
The moment the thought arose, his body moved. As ever, his habit of action. He set down the iron ball and took up Tri-Iron.
"Pel."
He spoke, and moved. Tri-Iron was out before anyone noticed, rose straight up, and came down—between the step and the swing, his pressure crushed Pel.
From the side, it wasn't even that fast a cut.
'Can't block it.'
Lawford knew it the instant he saw the stroke. There was something distinct in his insight.
Peeking at the future, he felt death. Only, that death wasn't his—it was Pel's.
Luagarne, who had stepped out without anyone noticing, bulged her eyes wider than ever. Red veins popped across them. She'd poured in even the native strength of the Frog race.
'He'll cleave down and split the body. Even if he dodges, he loses an arm.'
Pressure and cut.
The pre-motion was short, and there was no warning.
Pel, its target, set his hand on Idol Slayer. Before Enkrid called him, something in his instinct had already sensed the threat.
Like a grazing animal keeping watch while it drinks, Pel oddly found his guard rising the moment he saw Enkrid.
Then he caught the moment Enkrid's force changed and reacted.
Idol Slayer came out.
Tching—
Parry it and live. Fail and die.
He had to draw up Will, but there wasn't even time to think that. With no time to think anything at all, everything was natural.
For humans, survival is the most primary drive.
And Pel had been a shepherd of the wilds. They do whatever it takes to live. That's how Pel had been trained since he was young.
To live, before he could even load intent, he drew up Will.
Ziiing.
Idol Slayer responded to Will, and muscles, nerves, and senses knit into one and swatted Enkrid's blade.
Whoosh.
There was no clash of metal on metal.
Tri-Iron broke off its fall and turned aside, and Idol Slayer cut only the empty air.
Pel looked at Enkrid—but his gaze looked past him, to a farther place.
Thock.
The tip of Idol Slayer, which had cut only emptiness, dropped and touched the ground.
Pel, arms slack, froze in place.
Everyone stared, wondering what this was.
"Shh."
Enkrid lifted an index finger to his nose.
Pel had stepped into an inner world.
The body and mind that had endured harsh training through Audin and the Mad Knight Order had only one step left to take toward knighthood.
Enkrid had helped him take it.
'The Empire's method of raising Knights—'
It would probably be similar to this.
'Apprenticeship.'
It arose naturally. They'd use the form of master and disciple and teach as a line of transmission.
That way you could maintain the number of Knights.
So Valmung had said.
Rem came out late, rubbing his eyes and then grinning.
Now you're doing all sorts of things, huh?
What Enkrid had just done in a single stroke was something none of the Mad Knight Order had managed.
That cut just now—
'Only as fast as needed.'
It threatened life without killing and left no room for other thought.
Easier said than done.
Enkrid looked at Rem and shaped words silently.
Later.
He had noticed Will stirring and a hint of force leaking out, and so he said it.
Jaxen was just then coming out of quarters as well, and he felt Enkrid's senses had grown far sharper than before.
Thinking back, there had even been the moment he'd grasped Jaxen's position the instant they'd met eyes.
Jaxen's eyes gleamed.
Their game of tag wouldn't be as easy as before. Slipping around behind him now would be no simple thing at all.
Except for Ragna, everyone drifted toward the far end of the drill yard. He was still asleep.
With Pel far off, Lawford finally spoke.
"Why only Pel."
If Pel awakened first, what was he supposed to do?
Looking at Lawford, Enkrid said:
"For three days, don't stop swinging your sword. Not a sip of water, and every time, think you're blocking at the very brink of death."
If what Pel needed was a fierce stimulus, what Lawford needed was time to set what he'd stacked in order.
At Enkrid's words, Lawford thought a moment and answered.
"I'll be away for a while."
He'd left recruit training to a squire named Clemen, so there was nothing in particular he had to stay for.
Lawford vanished on the spot. Before Pel woke, he would return changed. Will burned clear between his shoulder blades.
"You brought back something fun to learn, huh?"
Rem said it. Ragna had already seen Enkrid's level change, but the others had not.
"I learned a lot of this and that."
"Then?"
He all but seemed to be saying to cross blades right now, but Enkrid gauged the sunlight peeking through the rainclouds and said:
"Later. I've got an appointment."
"…Refusing a spar?"
Rem was surprised, but Enkrid only answered evenly.
"Tri-Iron's grip has loosened. If we're going to do it, we should do it right."
"I will wait, Brother."
Audin answered for him.
"Teresa—mm, she's done already, right?"
Audin smiled and nodded at Enkrid's question.
She had been a step faster than Lawford and Pel. Only, the way she had gone up differed from those two as well.
It had been while Enkrid was away. Out of consideration, Audin had taught her this and that and pointed out another way too.
"She could enter the Paladin Order."
So he had offered.
"The place I want to live, my home, is here."
Teresa shook her head. Not a moment's hesitation.
Why did everyone call this place home?
The man who had made it so nodded and took his oiled cloak.
"I'll be back."
Aetri was waiting. Three days had already passed since he'd returned.
The first day, it had been evening by the time he got back.
The next day, he had told everyone what had happened while he was away.
"When the Captain tells it, it really is entertaining."
Rem had said it while listening. He'd heard it from Ragna already, but that man had a tendency to cut stories down too much.
Anne had been there too, but she wasn't exactly a talker either.
Enkrid had a long history of paying to hear stories.
If you weren't utterly tongueless, then after hearing that many good tellers, you could at least do it passably yourself.
Jaxen agreed.
"It's to the point I want to ask you to hurry up and tell the next tale."
His tone was even, but that was what he said.
Aetri, who took Tri-Iron, told him to wait four days.
"I'll fix it up and return it. And I've found True-Iron, but you'll need to wait a little longer."
The inscribed weapon wasn't ready yet. Still, Tri-Iron already felt half like an inscribed blade.
"That so?"
Enkrid replied and stood. He didn't ask for details. That was Aetri's business.
The Frog who made trinkets gave him a meaningful look, so Enkrid only dipped his chin and stepped out.
The rain had mostly stopped, and the sunlight was slyly lifting its head.
Back with the unit, Rem was tossing three hand-axes into the air and playing. He threw the three in order and caught them with alternating hands.
To an ordinary person, it was acrobatics; to Rem, it wasn't.
"What are you doing?"
"Can't you see?"
If sharp words came out no matter what was said, should one blame Rem's parents?
Looking at Rem, Enkrid realized he hadn't shaken off last night's dream.
No one had come and gone, and yet, like dust spread across a room that hadn't been swept for days, a fine residue remained.
So he said:
"Don't die easy, Rem."
Clack.
Rem snatched one of the axes whirling in the air. Light pooled in his gray eyes. It would be the effect of the force that people called sorcery suffusing his body.
"You picking a fight?"
No matter what you said, if he took it his own way, that was Rem for you.
A barbarian lived here who took words of concern as a declaration of war.
"Wait."
Enkrid held up a palm.
He had something in the works, inwardly. He meant to tidy it up a little and show it to everyone.
Until then, he would refrain from sparring.
"What am I, a dog?"
Rem fumed at Enkrid's raised palm—but it was the sort of ordinary day-to-day thing.
And that night—
"Well, how is it?"
The Ferryman had dressed a new stage.
The props were similar; only the actor had been swapped.
This time, the one dying in Enkrid's arms was Jaxen.