"It just happens when you keep doing it."
Following Rem, Ragna spoke again.
It was rare for him to pause mid-sentence, chew over his words, and then continue at length. He had also heard, learned, and realized many things during his time here.
Unlike certain individuals who simply believed that swinging a sword with force was enough, he had developed a sense of understanding—or perhaps consideration.
"If you believe in yourself, that's enough. You choose a path and walk it. If you trust that the path is right, then no matter how much others claim you're wrong, you just ignore them. And even if you stray a little, you simply correct your course. Let's say you need to go this way to get to Martai, but you mistakenly head in this direction instead. Once you realize it midway, you just turn like this, and you'll reach Martai. That's all there is to it. Which means, the path I take becomes the right path."
When Ragna first said "this way," he pointed north.
Then, when he said "mistakenly this way," he pointed west.
And when he demonstrated "just turn like this," his finger ended up pointing south. In reality, Martai was to the east.
His ability to point in every direction except the right one was truly remarkable.
"That guy is unbelievable. How do you even get to Aetri and back? No, seriously, how do you even find the bathroom? It's amazing that you don't get lost on the way."
The latrine was within fifty steps of their lodging, with a stone-paved path leading there for convenience.
It was a considerate arrangement. Enkrid suddenly wondered:
'When was that path laid down, and by whom?' There was no need to think too hard.
'Krais, of course.'
Compared to Ragna, Krais was practically a walking signpost.
But still, while it was understandable for him to find the bathroom, Ragna occasionally ventured into the city alone as well.
"How do I manage? There are plenty of soldiers along the way. I've ordered them to follow Ragna whenever he steps out."
Krais spoke as he grilled sausages, their juices beading on the surface like sweat and releasing a savory aroma.
Ah, right. Krais was around. Rem nodded in understanding.
That guy would probably prepare for the possibility of a meteor crashing onto the royal guard unit tomorrow.
'Seriously, none of these guys are normal. Not a single one.' Rem shook his head.
"Don't assign soldiers to follow me. It's annoying."
"Deal with it."
Ragna protested, but Krais firmly shook his head. By now, even Krais had adapted to them.
He was too busy to cater to their every whim, and if he tried, every day would be a battlefield.
These madmen—if they could even be called knights—were generally accommodating as long as certain lines weren't crossed.
From Krais's perspective, if left to his own devices, Ragna would likely wander all the way to the Empire.
And he'd probably return carrying the embers of war, having cut down anything in his path. That didn't mean Rem or Audin were any more normal.
If Rem were left alone, the best-case scenario was that he'd refrain from beating up the latest noble to arrive at Border Guard.
Audin wasn't much different.
'Training is good and all, but why is he so obsessed with pushing it onto others, that bear of a man?'
Krais swallowed his complaint without much thought.
Audin would grab anyone in sight and force them into training, and once he got his hands on someone, escape was out of the question.
With that hulking frame and his ever-smiling demeanor, calling people "brother" or "sister," he radiated a kind of madness.
Perhaps that was why Audin's holy unit had the most disciplined bodies.
They lifted stones daily, even during prayer, maintaining a seated posture as if sitting on an invisible chair while seeking divine guidance.
Sometimes, watching them made Krais feel emotional. 'Poor guys.'
That said, Krais didn't actually mind all of this.
After all, the benefits of being around Audin, Rem, and Ragna far outweighed the drawbacks. Krais was a man who found satisfaction in profit.
Jaxen was present as well, though he didn't seem inclined to offer any advice. But then, he suddenly drew everyone's attention.
As he spun the dagger in his hand, the blade reflected the firelight from the campfires illuminating both sides of the dining table.Spinning the dagger smoothly, Jaxen finally spoke.
"There is no such thing as a 'perfect' person. The difference lies in who has the sharper edge."
It was a short but piercing remark.
Enkrid thought it struck at the core of the system he was building. 'What can surpass a completed circle?'
Was the ideal to develop in all aspects, rounding out every ability? But if a sharp needle pricked it, a hole would form.
He had experienced that himself today.
In a sparring match, he could defeat Shinar eight out of ten times.
But when it came to the Wave-Breaking Sword, her blade had still struck his shoulder. She had wielded a sharp needle.
The Wave-Breaking Sword wasn't about a specific form of swordplay but rather a response-driven technique shaped by thought.
Shinar had exploited the gap in his reactions. 'Spirit Blade.'
She had hidden an unseen blade within a perceptible one. A winter mountain breeze.
There were no gentle breezes in winter—only biting winds.
In other words, a wind that should not have blown in winter had suddenly appeared. "Brother, can you calculate everything? I don't think so. Instead, if you stay ahead of your opponent's calculations, do you really need to be so natural and instantaneous in finding the right answer? Does a technique have to emerge reflexively?"
Audin answered with a question. 'Calculate everything?'
That was impossible.
So the goal was simply to be superior to the opponent.
Moreover, his words meant that one should only bring out what was necessary at the right time. Sometimes soft, sometimes fierce.
Sometimes straightforward, sometimes deceptive. Balanced, heavy, swift, and smooth.
He began to understand why Leonesis Oniac, the genius swordsman of his era, divided swordsmanship into five categories.
'Mastering the basics allows you to catch up with everything else.'
Enkrid before training in the Wave-Breaking Sword and Enkrid after were vastly different. Of course, he had also changed after becoming a knight.
Some aspects of a person never changed, but others always did. Enkrid found part of his answer in Audin's question.
"In the end, it all comes down to swordsmanship, doesn't it?"
If simplified, that was the essence of it.
"What do you mean by that?"
Theresa, who had been listening beside them, asked. Audin answered.
"In the end, you punch with your fists, slash with your sword, and stab with your spear. That's all there is to it, Sister. That's why all you need to do is refine your basics."
"Stick to the basics. Train every day. Find the answer not with your head, but with your body." Audin repeated the words, interpreting them once more.
Everyone had their own ideals and convictions.
Enkrid absorbed all those words as if dry cotton soaking up water. 'Calculating everything is, in a way, the same as what Rem does.'
Rem grasped everything in an instant and devised the most rational and lethal move.
In a game of rock-paper-scissors, he could predict his opponent's changing hand and counter it. That meant his eyes were keen, and his reactions were fast.
'He's on par with beastkin.'
If a beastkin learned to use their head well, they could fight like Rem. Their innate ability to control their bodies was that exceptional.
Rem, on the other hand, compensated for it with his own talent. Ragna's words were long-winded, but their essence was clear.
'It's fine to take a roundabout way. Just don't leave any regrets on the path you've chosen.'
Once you start swinging your sword, you need the determination to turn even the wrong path into the right one.
'Faith.'
A knight who experiences omnipotence may, through defeat, accumulate distrust. Especially if their oath is broken, they become consumed by doubt.
'A Will without faith is only half-complete.' Ragna was a genius.
His brilliance was beyond remarkable. That was why he could say such things.
Still, that didn't mean his words were useless to Enkrid. He listened, pondered, and carved them into his heart. That was how Enkrid processed things.
Jaxen had said not to see the opponent as too formidable. Audin had said that steady training was the key.
Different words, yet the same meaning.
It wasn't just advice that helped Enkrid—it was valuable for Luagarne, Ropord, Fel, and Theresa as well.
"Forging one's own path—that's probably a requirement for reaching the upper ranks." Luagarne, ever the researcher, added.
"That's right."
Enkrid agreed indifferently, popping a piece of meat into his mouth. The pork belly, skewered and sizzling over the fire, dripped with fat.
Blowing on it slightly, he placed it in his mouth, where it melted instantly. The salt and spices blended with the fat, delivering a thrilling taste.
The slow-roasted, tender meat tore apart between his teeth and wrapped around his tongue. 'Mmm.'
A dish truly worthy of praise.
Nearby, Shinar nibbled on some ripe fruit, her every motion so graceful she looked like a goddess.
"If things don't go our way, let's just form the Shinar Knights. Gathering people wouldn't be difficult at all. By the way, Shinar, have you ever heard of salons? Seeing the fairies this time, I thought it would be good for them to learn some work on the continent. They could start working in a salon, and later, we could establish a fairy-exclusive one to help them adapt."
Krais spoke, his eyes shining brighter than the campfire's glow.
"There are some interested in such work. They come from the Ermen family—you must have met some of them already."
Shinar replied.
The fairy representing the clan's business dealings. Of course, Krais had seen them.
He scowled slightly, a rare show of displeasure. Why was he reacting like that?
"That fairy talks too much."
So it was distaste for his own kind. Enkrid realized it at once.
The others shared the same thought.
"I do not represent the will of the clan—I protect them. Let each follow their own path and will." Shinar spoke, turning her gaze to Enkrid.
Meanwhile, Ropord muttered as if talking to himself.
"A sword swung naturally, without conscious thought, is always the right answer."
That was the mark of a high-ranked knight.
Fel, frowning deeply, picked up the conversation.
"How does that even work?"
He himself had glimpses of that talent.
But that only made it harder for him to accept. How could every movement always be correct?
Swinging and striking a sword involved probability. Meaning, luck was a factor.
Could one always keep luck on their side? What about unexpected variables?
'So they mean to turn every path into the right one?' Was that even possible?
Was it simply a matter of talent?
A whirlwind of thoughts raced through Fel's mind. Questions he had no immediate answers for.
Shinar responded to his doubts.
"How, you ask? With the power of love."
Enkrid briefly wondered if the fairy had taken some strange drug today. Or perhaps had too much to drink?
But no, her appearance was as neat as ever.
She had helped with the final relocation of her clan, so she might have been fatigued —but certainly not intoxicated.
Then why was she acting this way?
"You're in high spirits."
Luagarne, speaking with a woman's intuition, hit the mark.
Shinar had been bound by duty, unable to leave her city, Kiraheis. So, she had brought the entire city with her.
If not, she had even considered renaming it to Ermen.
Either way, her oath—her lifelong promise—had kept her away from the Border Guard for far too long.
She had escaped the devil's grasp, yet she could not be with the man who had freed her from it. She wasn't resentful, but she was frustrated.
And with frustration came impatience. Among fairies, it was an open secret.
It was also why, in the past month, the number of fairies sneaking over walls at night to approach Enkrid had increased.
The odds were simply better while Shinar was absent.
But even without her, they couldn't do anything to Enkrid. Besides, the presence of the Black Flower pressured the fairies.
Among the older fairies—those who would be considered elders in human society—many saw witches as servants of demons.
That prejudice had originated in the past, during the war against demons, when some witches and wizards sided with the enemy.
To fairies, who lived in a closed society, witches were extremely dangerous beings.
Of course, Esther had never once considered displaying fairy bones and flesh on poles as trophies.
Even if she were to kill a fairy, she would never do something so pointless. Regardless, at this moment, Shinar was deeply satisfied as she faced Enkrid. She had not teased him in a long time, and now she was eager to do so.
So, to be precise, Shinar was not acting strangely because of drugs—she was simply excited. Though, from an outsider's perspective, the effect looked quite similar.
"If you really want to know, come to my quarters tonight. I'll teach you everything. Every single thing, with the power of love."
Saying something like that with such a calm and indifferent expression was what made it terrifying.
With a face resembling a goddess's sister, it was baffling why she was acting that way. Enkrid felt a chill run down his spine—different from the thrill of excitement.
"Should I knock her out?"
That's why he asked seriously. There was no better way to shut that mouth.
"Is that really necessary?"
Rem responded to that.
"May your goddess watch over you, Sister."
Audin added, while Jaxen spun his dagger in his hand. Then, out of nowhere, he asked,
"Are you really going to keep using that unsightly, ear-offending dagger?"
There had to be something about it that annoyed him; otherwise, he wouldn't have said that.
"It's a horn-blade dagger, not some unsightly piece of junk. I'm more used to this than throwing quietly."
Enkrid replied flatly, and Jaxen didn't bother answering, simply ignoring it. He clearly didn't like it, but it seemed he wouldn't push the issue further.
"Spells carry intent. A spell without intent is trash. But the more familiar you become, the more you can cast simple spells with just a gesture. Instead of intent coming first, reaction takes precedence. A spell that bursts forth in any moment—that's what's called a Glint."
Glint means a sudden flash, Esther interjected.
Today, Esther was in her human form, flaunting her black hair. She had provided an answer to Enkrid earlier question.
But why were her cheeks red?