Aspen and the Holy Kingdom had both attempted to cultivate knights, but they had only learned that shortcuts had clear limitations.
Of course, for ordinary soldiers, those produced through such shortcuts were still a disaster to face.
However, they could never stand against true knights.
Enkrid, despite not knowing all these circumstances, chose the straightforward path. He had a vague sense of it but didn't consider it something he needed to dwell on.
He simply followed the theories he had established along the path he had walked. Ropord and Fel stood in front of him, their mouths tightly shut, staring at him.
"Even if I ask again, the answer will be the same, won't it?"
Enkrid asked once more.
Reaffirming one's resolve was always the right choice.
"Yes. I want to become a knight."
"My answer won't change even if you ask three times. If you're worried about talent, then sure, from your perspective, it might seem that way. But I won't stop here."
Ropord replied calmly, while Fel, though somewhat indignant, showed his determination. Enkrid merely nodded, unconcerned.
Ropord clenched his teeth.
He had already lost in provocation techniques, but he refused to concede in this. If there was a path to knighthood, he would walk it.
No training would be too much for him to endure. His determination shone like a star.
Fel was no different.
I have talent too.
Maybe not as much as the captain, but still.
It was said that an Idol Slayer was a sword that ultimately devoured its wielder. Yet he had chosen to wield this sword, believing he could overcome it.
So he would prove it.
Would a shepherd of the wilderness stop here?
Perseverance and endurance were fundamental virtues of a shepherd. His resolve was firm.
It was evident to anyone who saw them.
Enkrid calmly organized his thoughts and spoke.
"Put your swords down."
"…What?"
Ropord, tense, responded in confusion at the unexpected words.
"I said, disarm."
Enkrid repeated.
Something about his tone gave them an ominous feeling. Fel and Ropord exchanged glances.
Was this barehanded training? The isolation tehnique?
They had already done that countless times.
At that moment, Anne entered the training hall, having been there since the morning.
"Why are you calling someone busy?"
"I'm calling you to do your job."
"What the hell are you planning to do?"
Following Anne, Seiki arrived, her steps light and bouncy. Beside her was the Ragged Saint.
"If I guide them, they'll improve faster." The saint remarked.
Guide them in what?
"I'll go first," Seiki answered.
Go first in what?
Simultaneously, the same question popped into Ropord and Fel's minds. Audin then approached Enkrid's side, holding a metal club.
In his hands, it seemed small, but it was thicker than an average grown man's forearm. And it wasn't just Audin—Rem also held one.
"I was against this."
Then came the voice of Luagarne.
"I would've chosen a different path," Theresa added her piece as well.
Ropord suddenly felt the same gut instinct as when, as a child, his mother found the bedsheet he had secretly wet and called his name.
This is bad.
Fel felt the same.
It reminded him of the time he got caught stealing aged cheese from the village elder.
Really bad.
Both of them could feel the sharp edge of impending doom.
"You said you were prepared, so if you run, we'll drag you back. Ragna, Jaxen."
"Understood."
"I won't cut off their legs."
Ragna and Jaxen's voices came from behind. Their escape route was sealed.
Ropord turned to look back and met Ragna's gaze.
He knew all too well how ruthless Ragna was in sparring.
Yet now, Ragna was looking at him with something akin to pity.
"Sir Ragna?"
"Accept it."
Ragna dismissed his question.
Fel realized this was his last chance.
"Run!"
He shouted, but it was already too late.
There was no escaping from the core members of the Madmen Knights gathered here.
Soon, both had relinquished their weapons, stripped down to a thin layer of clothing, even removing their boots, standing barefoot before Enkrid.
Rem, holding his club, chuckled.
"Ah, I really hate this. I hate it so much. I'd rather die than do this, but what can I do?"
"It's for our brothers' sake."
Audin responded solemnly.
"We start with full-body impact training." Enkrid announced.
"…What did you just say?" Fel refused to accept reality.
"Audin."
"Yes, brother. I'm ready."
The first step was to draw Will from their unconscious. If they were beaten all over, it would happen naturally. Enkrid firmly believed that.
If they were beaten to the brink of death, it would be even more effective.
"What the hell, are you all insane?!"
Fel resisted once more.
Ropord, however, hung his head in resignation.
Meanwhile, Enkrid noted the stark difference in their personalities. Ropord had quickly calculated that resistance was futile, whereas Fel, despite knowing it instinctively, still chose to deny it.
Thwack!
"Ugh!"
With a single precise strike, Fel's legs gave out.
That was how precise the blow was.
Rem had trained obsessively to defeat Enkrid, so his control was flawless.
Audin, who had frequently pounded on Enkrid's body in training, was even more skilled at this. A club whistled through the air and slammed into Ropord's shoulder.
Smack!
"Argh!"
A groan mixed with a scream burst from Ropord's mouth.
The club continued to hammer down on the two apprentice knights' bodies. After a long beating, Rem finally spoke.
"Is this the establishment of a system, or the establishment of punishment?"
It was just like Rem to say something like that after finishing a thorough beating. Not that he was wrong.
'If you're going to say something like that, say it before you start hitting.'
'You barbarian bastard.'
Ropord and Fel shared a brief moment of understanding but kept it to themselves. The same routine continued the next day and the day after.
"If you want in, there's always a place for you."
Enkrid extended his offer to Theresa, who stood off to the side.
"I'm fine."
She refused without hesitation. It wasn't due to a lack of resolve.
She had already found her own path—she just hadn't put it into words yet. And her way was vastly different from theirs.
The beatings were simply a method to enhance one's senses. If that was the case, there was no need for a clubbing session. Later, Enkrid led the two down the path.
It wasn't just some vague notion like "swing with power"; it was advice only someone who had walked the path from the foot of the mountain to the peak could give.
Moreover, it was coming from someone who had paved the path and set up milestones along the way.
"Are you going to counter Fel's sharp moves the same way? Use your own method to block them."
Enkrid spoke to Ropord, then turned to Fel.
"Same goes for you. Don't try to predict Ropord's calculations and read one step ahead. Don't predict—overturn the entire board. Whether it's through your physical abilities or an unexpected maneuver, use whatever means necessary."
The point was simple.
"There's no need to hand a bow to someone who's good with a sword."
Rem, listening nearby, nodded.
"That makes sense. That's why I gave every member of my unit an axe. Suits them better."
It sounded a little forced, but it wasn't entirely wrong.
Rem's men, at least on the surface, were recklessly powerful when breaking through enemy lines. Even Ragna, Audin, and Jaxen paid close attention to Enkrid's words.
Lethality, endurance, versatility—those were the broad categories, which could then be further divided into skill-based and endurance-based styles.
'But right now, it seems more fitting to divide them into sense-based and calculation-based approaches.'
Or perhaps those two elements could be included as subtypes. No theory is perfect.
One just has to refine it step by step, believing that a clear path will eventually emerge.
"Is this really certain?"
Fel, covered in bruises, asked.
Even without the influence of the fairies, Enkrid was an honest man. And when there was no reason to lie, he was even more so.
"No."
"Then?"
"I believe it will work."
Fel grit his teeth, producing a sharp grinding noise.
"When I become stronger than you, we'll see about that."
The resentment in his words carried the weight of an almost malevolent grudge.
If Fel were to die now, he might return as a vengeful spirit powerful enough to devour demons.
'A vengeance type?'
No, that's not quite right.
Enkrid dismissed the thought with a shake of his head.
Ropord, on the other hand, wavered between resignation and renewed determination.
From Enkrid's perspective, Ropord might appear indifferent, but he had a strong aversion to losing.
'Maybe dividing by personality traits also makes sense.'
That was, in a way, how he had categorized endurance-based and skill-based styles.
Fel spent his time mastering techniques, while Ropord focused more on physical training. Neither was more correct than the other.
Ropord disliked showing off and was steadfast in his approach, while Fel openly discussed his talents and immersed himself in the technical aspects.
'Their swordsmanship represents sense and calculation.'
As test subjects, they were ideal. By coincidence, they had opposite natures and were highly conscious of each other. Even if this training didn't serve as a direct path to knighthood, they would still gain something valuable from it.
'At the very least, they'll learn Endure.'
A technique typically reserved for those who had already advanced beyond the rank of knight.
'They need to be using it at the apprentice level.'
Future Sight, Endure, and Hardening—these were all the same.
'If they can grasp those, they'll naturally start using Will.'
It was the path toward becoming a knight. No, more than that—it was the prerequisite. The fundamentals.
Enkrid was both teaching and learning.
And these two were already somewhat prepared.
'Except for Endure.'
So he just had to fill in the gap.
Future Sight was something one could learn depending on their disposition, but at least the basics had to be grasped.
What remained were Hardening and Endure. Hardening had left the strongest impression on Enkrid.
How could he forget the moment on the battlefield when an apprentice knight had launched forward, striking the ground with immense force?
Ropord and Fel had also learned Hardening, though they weren't proficient. That part needed further training.
It was simply a matter of conditioning their legs to the point of near destruction, then strengthening them through repetition.
At one point, Ropord made a request.
"I want to pass this special training method to my unit."
Enkrid wasn't sure whether this training would truly forge knights, but he firmly believed it would benefit everyone.
'At the very least.'
This was just the entry-level intensity of his training.
Sharing knowledge was how systems were built and overall skill levels were raised. Unintentionally, the Border Guard reserve forces had ended up on this path.
Though, at this point, they were no longer just reserves—they were the so-called Madmen Unit.
"A system provides a clear path. While it may not surpass natural talent, it allows one to at least chase after it."
Enkrid repeated the words to himself, reflecting on their meaning.
It was something that required time, a task that could be tedious to some. Yet, he simply carried on, repeating the same things as he always had.
That was Enkrid's strength.
***
"You don't seem bored, but how about sparring with me?"
It was on such a day that Esther appeared in her human form during the early morning training. Sparring against a mage followed a different pattern, but that didn't mean he lacked interest.
There was no reason to refuse.
When he nodded, Esther immediately insisted they get started.
"Audin, take charge of today's training."
"As you wish, brother."
Enkrid entrusted Ropord and Fel to Audin's care.
Esther wore the same robe as before and carried a long staff. It was the first time he had seen her with a staff.
She had acquired it after Enkrid had picked it up from an Apostle and gifted it to her.
Some of the metal from the staff was repurposed for himself, while another portion had been handed over to Aetri.
"I accepted this well. So, what happens next is something like my way of repaying the favor." As they left the city, Esther spoke.
Enkrid had the impression she was feeling somewhat embarrassed, though that didn't seem fitting for a witch.
He assumed he was mistaken—reading the emotions of fairies and witches was no easy task. The two headed toward the mountain range.
Along the way, a soldier stationed at a tower-like outpost recognized them and saluted.
"Keep up the good work."
Enkrid greeted him in passing, while Esther didn't even glance his way.
"Do you remember how to fight against a mage?"
"Yes. If I see one, I cut them down."
"Well then, now it's time to learn how to fight a prepared mage."
Hmm?
As Esther spoke, Enkrid felt his senses distort.
It was as if she had suddenly moved far away, even though she had been right beside him moments ago.
At the same time, he saw a giant made of mud clutching at his feet.
Its hands, head, and shoulders emerged from the ground, gripping his ankles.
The tactic was simple—disrupt his senses and restrain his movements—but it was effective. Enkrid reacted as soon as he became aware of the situation.
First, he slashed at the wrist of the mud giant gripping his foot.
Penna gleamed with a pale blue light as it severed the summoned creature's wrist.
The mud should have scattered and vanished into thin air, but instead, it coalesced midair, transforming into a net.
'That's unexpected.'
His foresight ability didn't activate.
Of course—mages were beings who sought constant change. This was to be expected.
"Magic is always striving for change. If that change becomes predictable, you might as well put down your staff and quit. Though, it's also fun when someone sees through it but still can't counter it."
Esther's voice came from somewhere unseen. Instead of replying, Enkrid swung his sword.
He planted his feet firmly on the ground and watched as the net came flying toward him. Drawing upon the sensation he had felt when cutting through the Walking Fire, he pondered — 'Should I dodge? No, I won't.'
If Esther was expecting unpredictable responses, the best countermeasure was to maintain the status quo and defend his tactical position.
Spells had their own texture, akin to a scent one experiences for the first time. Invisible, yet present.
Existing, yet difficult to describe.
But through keen perception, their essence could be discerned.
It was the culmination of countless days spent cutting through spells.
Rather than making any rash movements, Enkrid traced his sword in a repeated up-and-down arc, slicing through the magic.
The net, which had transformed from mud into a dense web, was cut apart. Penna's sharpness was not diminished simply because its target was a spell. Esther continued casting and launching spells at him.
'Indeed.'
Through careful observation, she had realized something.
Ever since cutting through the Walking Fire, Enkrid had gained the ability to perceive the flow of magic.
Instinctively, he could probe for gaps in spells and dismantle them. Because of that, most magic had no effect on him.
'Spell Severance.'
With further refinement, it could even lead to magic suppression. 'A non-mage suppressing magic?'
This sparring match was, in a way, aiding him in that pursuit.
If he were to become her enemy, she was effectively teaching him a fatal technique to use against her kind.
But she didn't particularly mind.
Other witches and mages, however, would be horrified. If they saw this, they'd be appalled.
But if they were truly so alarmed, Esther would simply criticize them instead.
If a technique that could sever spells existed, then the logical response would be to develop new spells that could overcome it.
Trying to prevent the spread of knowledge instead was sheer foolishness. Idiots, all of them.
She understood that many battles had been fought over such reasons throughout history, but she considered it none of her concern.
Enkrid sparred with Esther once a week.
By the time rumors spread throughout the barracks about a black flower claiming victory, spring had fully arrived.
And with it—
"The Golden Flower has returned."
Shinar had come back.
"I brought a gift, fiancé."
The title of the Golden Flower remained unchanged. Her golden hair and green eyes locked onto Enkrid.
Without hesitation, she presented her 'gift'—drawing out blades with a gleam.