"She said gift, right?"
Rem muttered.
He said it because she had drawn her Sword and looked ready to pounce. As if responding to his words, Shinar spoke.
"If it's a gift for a madman, then, of course, it would be a duel."
Ah, that makes sense.
Shinar's words could have been a song if they had a melody.
Her voice was that clear and beautiful, like the sound of a water droplet falling into a still lake.
After the previous destruction, the lodgings had been moved slightly away from the training grounds.
Rebuilding was always an option, but Krais wouldn't stand by and let Krona be wasted.
Thus, the training grounds, positioned in a corner when viewed from above, were bathed in light as it fell upon them.
"You'll regret underestimating her, Brother," Audin warned.
It was a late afternoon with warm sunlight.
Pollen from the wildflowers across the training grounds scattered in the air, carried by a gentle breeze mixed with the scent of grass and flowers.
A season where simply lying down would lull one to sleep, and just walking around would lift the spirits.
And now, the two standing in the training grounds were indeed excited.
Enkrid was thrilled at the mention of a gift, and Shinar was excited simply to be back.
Standing at the center, Shinar made it clear to everyone that she was no longer the same as before.
The first sign was her smile.
Her lips curved ever so slightly into a faint smile.
That alone was enough to make it seem like a royal guard was about to form just to protect her.
Fortunately, at least here, no one was foolish enough to pledge their allegiance simply over a smile.
"She's smiling?"
"Is she?"
Rem and Ragna stared blankly.
"You've learned to smile, Sister."
Audin returned the smile.
"It's a good look."
Theresa commented in surprise.
"Eh?"
Ropord felt momentarily dazed before quickly gathering himself.
"Is she possessed?"
Fel muttered, rejecting what seemed like an enchantment meant to cloud his mind. Even without magic, that smile could have very well been a spell.
History had no shortage of such cases.
The most famous tale was that of the painter Pelloran and the alchemist Zeloran.
The two brothers had fallen in love with the same countryside maiden, whose beauty was so mesmerizing that even a king would have taken her as his queen at first sight.
Knowing this, the painter and the alchemist were locked in conflict—until the prince saw her, then the king, and then the nation's most powerful noble.
The king, coveting the woman, killed his own young and handsome son. The noble, determined to have her, waged war against the king.
As the city burned and the nation teetered on the edge of collapse, Zeloran committed the ultimate folly—he created and fed her a love potion.
And with that, she died.
Pelloran, devastated, neither ate, drank, nor slept, painting endlessly for fifteen days before he, too, perished.
Thus was born the legendary portrait, Dorthea's Beauty.
It was said that any man who saw it would be unable to look away, consumed by an overwhelming desire to possess it.
"I, the Flower of Gold, have yet to concede."
Had Pelloran or Zeloran seen her now, they would have thrown their lives at her feet without hesitation.
And judging by what Shinar said, she must have already heard the rumors despite just arriving. But of course, that was only natural.
The relocated fairy clan had kept their ears open and their mouths shut, absorbing everything. Especially when it came to their savior, it went without saying.
Whenever Enkrid ventured into the city, some fairies would secretly follow just to watch. Jaxen had caught them several times.
Some had even tried staking out in advance, preparing for an occupation before their queen arrived, but all had failed.
Getting into Enkrid's lodgings was a feat in itself, but fooling Jaxen's senses and bypassing Esther's magical barrier was another matter entirely.
With no means to act directly, the entire clan had sharpened their ears, absorbing every bit of information they could.
"They say the Black Flower has won against him."
Having heard that upon arrival, Shinar's rush to the training grounds was inevitable.Seeing the Swords before him, Enkrid steadied his excited mind and focused on the blades.
He remembered the Shinar from before.
The one who had gifted him the Four Seasons Sword. The one who had been trapped by a demon.
Shinar raised her knives and gave them a shake above her head.
As she flicked them, the direction of the wind shifted around the blades, and the scent of flowers vanished.
She kicked off the ground and moved. As always, a fairy's steps were swift.
To Enkrid, it suddenly seemed as though her form had grown larger, and he immediately heightened his perception, slowing time in his mind as he swung his sword.
At that instant, Shinar's blade descended toward his head.
The moment he registered it, Enkrid twisted his waist and turned his head.
A reflexive evasive maneuver followed—his feet pressed firmly against the ground, muscles propelling him sideways with inhuman strength.
His body stretched and glided as if elongated. Anyone watching would have been awed by the feat. And yet, he had not completely avoided the blade.
It wasn't a fatal strike, but even considering it was a spar, Enkrid could feel the solid weight of the blade as it grazed his shoulder.
How?
There was another blade hidden between the visible ones, undetectable to the senses. A technique that blended Ragna's heavy strikes with Jaxen's precise thrusts.
"Winter Mountain Breeze." Shinar spoke and halted.
Enkrid looked at her, and she looked at him.
He could feel the faint heat radiating from her entire body.
She must have gritted her teeth and trained relentlessly to prepare this "gift."
After witnessing him fight a One-Killer, she must have carved away at herself in training.
I was careless.
It wasn't arrogance.
It wasn't complacency.
He had simply underestimated her.
If I can change, others can too.
Hadn't he already learned that from Rem? So why had he forgotten?
Enkrid realized it anew.
The fairy before him was also one of the greatest geniuses her clan had ever produced. Indeed, Shinar was born from the combined talents of her mother and father.
The only thing that had held her back was the fairies' innate, slow perception of time. Because they lived so long, fairies had lost their passion in exchange.
They only burned brightly for brief moments in their long lives. This was Igniculus, the spark of life.
Thus, Shinar's transformation was inevitable. Her flame was still burning.
"How did you do that?"
The one who had given her the spark now asked.
"What fun would it be if I told you everything?" Shinar responded with a sly tone.
Of course, the sheer impact of her appearance was so overwhelming that she did n't come across as cunning—instead, even this demeanor seemed elegant.
Enkrid reflected on the recent events and reached a conclusion.
An extreme, ultimate-art type—this was the form of Shinar's swordsmanship.
It was something she had honed to perfection and, at the same time, a manifestation of her innate talent.
More than that, her counter-technique had been meticulously devised after days of contemplation upon seeing the Wave-breaking Sword.
This was likely one of the reasons why she had arrived two weeks late.
"Had I been just a little slower, I would have become a flower fallen before it's peak."
Was she speaking about swordsmanship? Enkrid, curious, asked back.
"What do you mean by that?"
"It would have been like an unripe fruit falling."
Enkrid tilted his head.
Did this hold a deeper meaning?
Seeing his confusion, Shinar adjusted her wording into something more direct.
"It means you would've become a widower without even experiencing your wedding night."
It was a high-purity fairy-style joke, the likes of which he hadn't heard in quite some time.
"You're back, you crazy fairy."
Rem remarked in admiration.
He found it impressive that she could spout such things the moment she arrived.
"Let's go again."
As always, Enkrid ignored the joke entirely and spoke with refreshing decisiveness.
"If I win, will you marry me?"
Shinar was a fairy who didn't understand the concept of giving up—especially when it came to jokes, where she didn't even consider her opponent's reaction.
"Are you serious?"
"No, I wouldn't force it. That wouldn't make the night enjoyable, after all."
For some reason, her remarks had become even bolder and more daring compared to before the demon subjugation.
But putting that aside, her skill and technique were undeniably real.
When discussing new swordsmanship and the next step forward, Shinar's contribution was akin to scolding him, telling him to refine what he already had first.
It shattered his complacency. It shifted his way of thinking.
Was that why it was frustrating? No—it was more exhilarating.
The moments of sweating and pushing forward, the steady progress, the deep and intense discussions with capable individuals—every bit of it was endlessly enjoyable.
That day, Shinar used the same technique three more times before shaking her head.
"Any more, and I'll collapse, you adorable little brat."
"And what kind of title is that?"
Enkrid's mouth fell open in disbelief.
"It means I acknowledge that I'm older than you. And I'm the one who'll collapse, not you. Oh, but if I do, will you hold me again? Your embrace was quite warm."
Shinar was practically dancing in excitement, and at this point, her tongue was sharper than her sword.
Enkrid saw no need to cross blades with a possessed tongue. A true strategist knew when to fight and when to hold back.
In a sword fight, there were times to push forward recklessly, but in verbal battles, Enkrid was like a seasoned veteran who had fought a hundred times.
For the sake of a tactical retreat, he simply shut his mouth.
That evening, everyone gathered, and since they were all there, they decided to roast an entire pig.
The meal preparation was Krais's handiwork.
"Feels like a banquet. Roasting a whole pig seems perfect for the occasion."
A knight's appetite was incomparable to that of an average person. Even an entire pig wouldn't be enough to satisfy them.
Even Jaxen, who looked like a quiet eater, consumed a hefty amount. Their calorie consumption was simply on a different level.
Seated at a long table in front of the newly built lodgings, Enkrid could feel Krais's meticulousness.
"So he's telling us to eat here when we're too exhausted from training to bother moving?"
A separate dining hall had been built, yet there was also this outdoor stone table.
It stood right before him—large, rough, and purely functional, with no thought given to aesthetics.
Judging from this, it was clear that Krais's thoroughness extended even to considering potential damage to property.
"If I tell you to stop fighting in the middle of meals, will you actually listen? No, right? So just eat separately from the soldiers now."
He hadn't explicitly said this, but being on the receiving end of Krais's considerations was as good as hearing it directly.
These days, Krais had been incredibly busy. Apparently, he had asked the fairies to dig another well.
On top of that, he was working on trade arrangements and establishing new contracts with the merchant city.
And that wasn't even the end—there were talks happening with the Holy Kingdom as well. Enkrid knew the plan and could guess Krais's intentions, but he found it exhausting.
He had stamped his seal on several documents, but one thing was certain—he had absolutely no interest in such matters.
Lately, he'd been considering handing over all authority to lord Graham. Of course, Lord Graham would have no intention of accepting it.
Was there anyone who could handle such affairs properly? There had to be.
If not, Krais would suffer for it, so he'd find someone somehow.
As everyone ate and drank, their conversation naturally revolved around techniques and swordsmanship.
Among them, the topic that burned the hottest was the system of knighthood that Enkrid had recently established.
It was only natural.
There hadn't been many opportunities for them to gather like this before, and while Enkrid had spoken with each person individually, this was the first time they were discussing everything as a group.
Then, as they talked about the upper-knight's qualifications—not just techniques or specialties but the natural way of wielding a sword—someone raised a question.
"What do you mean by striking naturally? How exactly is that done?" "Hah. What's there to say?"
Rem was the first to respond.
"Like I told you before, you just do it. Simple."
Enkrid listened to them all, and through their discussions, he could clearly grasp each person's unique characteristics.