Enkrid knew that merely swinging his sword a few times wouldn't suddenly lead to a surge of enlightenment.
So, he just had to take it one step at a time. The first step was naming it.
'Let's call it Flow.'
The foundation would be Oara's Connecting Blade, and from there— 'It should be natural in every moment.'
Its meaning was like a river that never stops flowing.
The execution was as simple as swinging the sword as naturally as breathing. Then, how should he train it?
That was where Enkrid hit a wall.
As always, he had reached the limit of his talent, yet that only made him feel exhilarated. Even when the wall was unseen, he felt the thrill of overcoming it.
That was the kind of madman Enkrid was. Now, the wall was visible, within reach.
And this was only the beginning—he had already glimpsed beyond it.
It was the path his entire unit had forged ahead.
It wasn't just about quantity; it was a transformation of quality. That realization sent shivers across his body.
A tingling sensation struck his heart, reached his head, and exploded into sheer euphoria. 'Ah.'
It was driving him mad with excitement.
Of course, that didn't mean a clear path had suddenly appeared before him. For now, the only thing he could do was swing his sword.
So, Enkrid did just that.
He swung it relentlessly and stubbornly, without any unnecessary thoughts.
He only knew how to do one thing, so he simply did that one thing. And yet, a smile never left his face.
He swung his sword like a child experiencing first love. "Isn't he insane?"
The Ragged Saint muttered with deep concern, watching from the side.
Why was that guy suddenly talking to himself, then running outside to swing his sword while grinning?
Honestly, it was downright terrifying.
Even if no one voiced it aloud, they all nodded in agreement with the Ragged Saint's mumbling.
"Well, you're just stating the obvious. He's always been crazy."
"There's no need to be too surprised—he always comes back to normal after a while."
"It's fine. It'll pass."
Hearing the responses from Rem, Ragna, and even Audin, the Ragged Saint snorted. He couldn't help but retort.
"You guys are the last people who should be saying that."
Enkrid might be someone he met later, but he had seen plenty of Rem and Ragna before. He had even witnessed how much his foster son had changed.
These people, who once talked about killing each other, were now working together in perfect harmony.
It was absurd.
And the reason for that?
The Ragged Saint knew it well.
It was because of the madman grinning and swinging his sword in front of them. 'Yeah, so he's the center of it all.'
Everything revolved around that one man—The knights, the city, the people. Impressive?
Without a doubt.
Having such a madman around somehow made it seem natural for others like them to gather here.
Watching that lunatic wield his sword, the Ragged Saint was flooded with thoughts. Regret and remorse mixed within them.
What if he had someone like that in his youth?
What if there had been someone who could even sway Overdear?
No, what if there had been someone universally acknowledged by all? There was only one person who came close.
A friend, blessed as if by divine grace, who knew how to give power to his words. His divinity and talent were on par with Audin's.
Sometimes, he felt like a younger brother. Other times, like an older one.
He could command authority and care for people alike. He possessed dignity, leadership, and charisma.
But his talent was as great as his ambition.
What if they had protected him when he became Pope? Would anything have changed?
The Ragged Saint already knew the answer. 'Nothing would have changed.'
Only regret remained.
Ultimately, it was the Legion that drove him away, and it was the Legion that led him to corruption.
The greatest genius the Legion had ever produced lost his family, lost his lover, and left for the Demonic Realm in pursuit of vengeance.
He neither shed tears nor wailed.
He simply left, disowning everything he once had.
"If this is the will of the gods, then I will defy the will of the gods." That was his final declaration.
'What a fool.'
He was too exceptional, too capable to sit on the Pope's throne. Jealousy was inevitable—many wanted to bring him down.
That incident had led Overdear, the Holy Knight, to abandon his own opinions and swear to obey the next Pope's every wish.
As regret gnawed at his heart, a sudden realization struck him.
'Divinity wasn't necessary. What was needed was someone who could unite others. Someone who knew how to sacrifice.'
A person who earned everyone's recognition needed to be that kind of person. The Holy Knights could fight.
The ones blessed with divinity could wield it.
Not everyone needed to get along, but respect should be earned through character, not just strength.
'Ha.'
The Ragged Saint knew himself well. He wasn't suited to be Pope.
He had no desire for such responsibility, and he was far more comfortable tending to sick children before his eyes.
The Holy City needed someone with a different kind of stature. And here, at Border Guard, they needed someone like that too.
A man who neither ruled over others nor commanded them with force— 'That man is no king.'
He was meant for something else entirely. "You said his dream was to be a knight, right?"
The Ragged Saint spoke as if asking Audin, though he already knew the answer. He had heard it before.
More precisely, Enkrid had spoken of a knight straight out of a bard's tale. It wasn't something he could mock.
Not because of Enkrid's current status, but because he had lived a similar life himself.
And now, seeing that man walk through the city, it became clear. Enkrid wielded his sword to protect what stood behind him.
That was all.
That one thing had carried him this far. A madman, indeed.
"What a ridiculous man."
With that final thought, the Ragged Saint knelt where he stood and began to pray. Praying for forgiveness for past mistakes, for the regrets that haunted him—
And for a bright future ahead of that madman. Clasping his hands together, he sought his faith.
"…Praying won't erase what's been said, you know? I don't care whether they're nobles or whatever—they mean nothing to me."
Right beside him, Rem casually placed his hand on his axe. Hadn't that guy just crossed the line a moment ago?
That madman had called them all the same, hadn't he?
Strictly speaking, he had only said that they weren't in a position to talk, but to someone as sharp as Rem, it sounded like the same thing—calling them madmen.
And that was as good as picking a fight.
In the West, there was a custom of respecting elders, but that old man wasn't a Westerner, so it didn't matter.
"You're not exactly wrong, barbarian brother." Audin stepped in to defuse the situation.
"A stray cat always takes the side of a wildcat."
At Jaxen's words, Rem went beyond pretending to place his hand on his axe—he actually did. The weapon, imbued with his presence, reacted to the warmth of his palm.
He wasn't truly planning to use it, but a little intimidation wouldn't hurt.
"You're not wrong that it's not your place to say that."
And then Ragna, in the midst of it all, added another remark.
That brought the fight to a halt.
He had conveniently left himself out of the equation.
"You really are a hopeless idiot with no sense of direction, you lazy bastard."
With those words, Rem drew his axe and swung it down.
A strike delivered with a firm wrist, coming down in a straight line.
It was as if the axe had grown out of his arm, moving as one with his body. Ragna, as if it were only natural, drew his sword to block it.
He unsheathed his greatsword like it was a mere dagger, stopping the axe blade with the
half-drawn sword.
Clang!
Sparks flew, adding fire to the fierce eyes of the two beasts.
"You lunatic brothers, honestly."
Audin, worried that his foster father might get hurt, shoved both of them apart. His fist, wrapped in divine energy, shimmered like golden sand.
Rem leaped to the side at the sight, while Ragna raised his sword vertically like a shield and stepped back.
The three of them soon clashed and circled one another over the battered, dented training ground. Nearby, Enkrid swung his sword while muttering to himself.
Ropord and Fel, watching him, shook their heads.
Then, their gazes met, and without hesitation, they started fighting. "What are you looking at?"
"Not at your rotten eyes, that's for sure."
"I think you can do without one eye. Let's pluck it out today."
That was the kind of exchange that led to their brawl.
Luagarne, noticing all the commotion, grew excited and grabbed Theresa.
"Hey, half-giant, if you've gotten any better, wanna have some fun?"
"Not a bad suggestion, sister."
Her deep voice resonated even more with its characteristic huskiness.
It was a voice that struck straight to the heart.
And then, there was the ragged saint, kneeling in prayer, clad in tattered robes but adorned with gemstones from head to toe.
It was just another ordinary day.
***
A few days later.
It was the day after Ropord passed on the role of basic training instructor to a squire named Clemen, who had recently tripped and fallen on the battlefield.
"Am I really doing this?"
"Yes. You're doing it."
Clemen was now officially a squire of the Madmen Knights Order.
Enkrid had taught her a few times before and knew just how fierce her spirit was. He liked that fierceness.
Because of this, both Ropord and Fel had canceled all their other plans. Every single one of them.
At Enkrid's request.
A day of promise, so to speak.
Waking up early in the morning, Enkrid meticulously stretched his body.
Good.
Spring was in full bloom, but the mornings were still chilly. The crisp air felt invigorating.
Moving around, he started to sweat, and the way his body warmed up felt pleasant. Audin had come out before sunrise, training beside him using the isolation technique. Not long after the sun rose, Ropord and Fel arrived.
Enkrid didn't believe in forcing things that weren't meant to be. Instead, he trained consistently and steadily handled his other duties.
He built a structured system, mentally categorized temperaments, and methodically arranged his plans.
And now, before him, stood two individuals with completely opposite temperaments—Ropord and Fel.
They were excellent test subjects.
"Don't you want to become knights?" Enkrid asked.
It was a question that didn't even need to be asked.
Both Ropord and Fel trained relentlessly, to an almost absurd degree. There was no other reason for that.
"Do we even need to say it?" Fel was the first to answer.
Ropord nodded firmly. "Yes."
Enkrid had thought about this moment countless times. Could a structured system pave the way to knighthood? It was time to test that question.
Unbeknownst to him, this was a path that many other military factions had walked before.
Considering the impact knights had on the battlefield, it was strange that such an attempt hadn't been made sooner.
Naurillia had also wanted to attempt something similar, but with Count Molsan, cultists, and bandit groups constantly interfering, things had become too complicated for even a trial run.
But lately, it felt like they had a brief moment of peace, like a lull in the storm.
***
"It seems they really did wipe out the cultists. The scattered ones aren't even visible anymore, and even the number of monsters and beasts has decreased."
Krais observed, studying the continental situation. Then, he added, "If life could always be like this, I'd have no complaints."
Krais had grown up surrounded by battlefields and demon-infested lands. To him, this peace must have felt strange.
Even though it was a peace forged by the sword, a peace they themselves had created, it still felt unfamiliar.
Given the circumstances, it was a good time to focus on training new warriors. That was why Krais had been so keen on developing their unit in the first place. Of course, he hadn't expected the cultists to be wiped out so cleanly.
But in an era where quality mattered more than numbers in warfare, the training of knights had become the top priority for every military force.
As Ropord and Fel subtly tensed, Enkrid, Rem, Audin, and others surrounded them. From a distance, it looked as if they were being encircled.