If there is a beginning, then there must also be an end. Indulging in gluttony to savor delicacies.
Surrendering to the rhythm of music in exhilaration. Men and women giving in to the desires of the flesh. All things must come to an end.
Enkrid raised his forearm and wiped away the nosebleed trickling down his face. The exhilaration had faded.
Since he had enjoyed the process more than the victory itself, all that remained was a sense of calm.
Just as he had calculated from the start, Penna had been enough.
"I thought you'd drop halfway through."
The female swordsman spoke.
She was kneeling on one knee, her head lifted.
Those who had been hiding here and there, waiting for the moment to pass, realized that the tension had eased.
Now, they had become mere spectators.
A wide-eyed child raised his voice and asked, "Did you win?"
The answer came from the female swordsman instead. "Yeah, I lost."
There had been no intent to kill from the start. No murderous intent. This was not a fight to the death, but a match to gauge each other. A rather rough sparring session at best. That was why Enkrid had never swung his sword with full intent.
'Victory and defeat in battle are not decided by skill alone.'
He realized something anew. When comparing himself to the swordswoman before him, he was clearly the superior one in terms of skill. But what if this had been a real battle?
'She didn't show everything she had.'
Of course, Enkrid hadn't revealed all his cards either.
"Why don't you get tired?"
The female swordsman asked.
Enkrid observed her face a few more times, sifting through his memories.
"I was wondering where I'd seen you before."
"Huh? You know me?"
It had been a fleeting encounter in the past.
He hadn't remembered her immediately because their meeting had been brief. But now, it resurfaced because her presence had left an impression.
Years had passed, yet her appearance hadn't changed much, which was why the memory, buried deep within, had surfaced again.
It was the day his mercenary comrades, had died—so long ago that even their names were now faint in his memory.
It was also the time when he had earned the reputation of a man who let his comrades die. 'The swordswoman who killed those bandits.'
At the moment when he had barely held on thanks to his two comrades' sacrifice, she had barged in.
Looking back now, that nickname—the one branding him as someone who let his comrades die—had stuck with him for a long time.
It was one of the reasons he had given up being a mercenary and instead became a guide.
"I thought you were a man back then."
Enkrid said.
Her short hair at the time had likely given him that impression.
With her chest covered by armor, it would have been difficult to tell her gender if one only looked at her face.
Now, however, her hair was much longer than before.
A fleeting encounter from his mercenary days had come back around in the present.
"Huh, but I'm seeing you for the first time."
The female swordsman responded.
Enkrid had met countless people, but it had been a while since someone looked at him this candidly.
There was only admiration for his swordsmanship in her gaze—his appearance didn't seem to register at all.
"It was just in passing, a long time ago." Enkrid said as he sheathed his sword.
She had no will to fight anymore, and in the past, she had been the one who saved him, even if unintentionally.
"Ah, no way. I have a good memory for faces."
There was something about the way she spoke that oddly reminded him of Ragna.
"Why did you attack?"
Enkrid didn't press the matter.
It had been too long for him to remember, and besides, it was clear she hadn't attacked to kill him.
"I was watching, and my blood just started boiling."
She grinned as she spoke—an unguarded smile, a completely honest admission. To anyone else, her words would have sounded absurd.
It would have been natural to ask if that was really all there was to it. But Enkrid understood immediately.
When the blood starts boiling, that's just how it is.
"You're both insane."
A voice interjected from the side.
Vengeance had appeared at some point, shaking his head.
To him, the idea of attacking someone just because "his blood boiled" was nothing short of madness.
He had survived battlefields where swords clashed and arrows rained down, barely making it this far alive.
To him, dying to a stray arrow or an unintended sword strike was just an everyday occurrence. 'One of those times, it was Enkrid who saved me.'
Vengeance thought back to the past.
When he had been lost in bitter self-loathing, it was Enkrid who had carried him out of that burning tent.
Enkrid glanced at Vengeance, acknowledging him with a slight nod. The city watch had arrived, and with them, their defense commander. Given the scale of the commotion, he had rushed here immediately.
Vengeance gestured toward the archers who had already loosed their arrows. Meanwhile, the soldiers surrounding the area slowly lowered their crossbows.
Enkrid and the female swordsman both noticed the growing number of soldiers and the crossbows aimed at them, but neither paid them any mind.
Similarly, Vengeance and his men knew full well they couldn't control either of them. But they couldn't just stand by and do nothing, either.
The Border Guard's watch wasn't meant to restrain knights—they were simply there to buy time. This entire situation was a testament to how dangerous knights were on this continent.
'Walking catastrophes.'
That was how Vengeance saw knights.
If a knight swung their sword indiscriminately, dozens—perhaps even hundreds—could be slaughtered in an instant.
Of course, that swordswoman would then have lost her head to Enkrid's blade. Generally, no one would ever send a knight on a mission just for mass slaughter. Knights were simply too valuable.
And despite their strength, knights were still human.
Hundreds of arrows fired in succession—one might eventually find its mark. Even full plate armor wouldn't be enough to stop a ballista bolt.
Perhaps someone like Audin could, but an ordinary knight wouldn't stand a chance. They might dodge a few, but sooner or later, they would be wounded or killed.
That was why such incidents were rare. Almost unheard of.
In other words, the female swordsman had spoken the truth.
She had come here with a different purpose, but seeing Enkrid had made her blood boil, and she had attacked on impulse.
Meanwhile, Enkrid was retracing the reasons behind the exhilaration he had felt while facing her. 'She wasn't clumsy. She wasn't a fake.'
That was something his experience had taught him.
Those who aimed to become knights, if they merely followed a preordained path, would end up as "fakes."
The Holy Kingdom's so-called paladins were likely created in such a way. One should not set an answer in stone and force the path forward accordingly.
A knight whose beliefs and will are built on falsehoods cannot truly be called a knight. At least, that was how Enkrid saw it.
But what about the female swordsman before him?
This woman had walked her own path to reach this moment. He was certain of it—because they had exchanged blades.
"You've subdued her, so take her away, Commander."
Vengeance spoke, though his expression betrayed his displeasure with the situation. That didn't mean he had forgotten his duty.
Was there no way to stop knights from casually entering the city?
The thought crossed his mind.
Or perhaps, was there a way to immediately subdue them should they become unruly?
As he listened to Vengeance, Enkrid spoke up, recalling that the woman had been searching for someone.
"Did you find the person you were looking for?"
"Probably. There can't be two people with that level of skill."
The Madmen Knights of Border Guard had gained renown. It was no longer a mere echo of past glory. The woman had followed the rumors all the way here, and now she finally asked— "You're Enkrid, the Heartbreaker, aren't you?"
Damn it, Fel, you fucking bastard.
Enkrid blamed at least half of that infamous nickname on Fel's big mouth. Naturally, the other half was Shinar's fault.
"Yes."
Vengeance answered before Enkrid could. Enkrid shot him a look—was that a provocation?
"It's not wrong," Vengeance muttered.
"And I hear there's also a bear beastkin who rips people apart."
That beastkin supposedly tore through manticores and humans alike—just about anything.
"Yes. But not a beastkin."
Again, Vengeance responded.
He remained wary but saw no reason not to answer.
He had the sense to realize this woman hadn't come here with slaughter in mind.
"And a barbarian who drools at the sight of nobles and splits their heads open?"
That rumor seemed particularly malicious. Then again, rumors always grew wilder with time.
"He does not drool."
"Oh, really? And the blood-crazed youngest? I hear he enjoys stabbing people in the back. There's also supposedly a fairy with the blood of a demon."
More accurately, a fairy who despised demon blood.
"A witch hiding her true identity."
That was somewhat true.
But Esther had already built her own magic division.
She made no effort to hide herself, yet people still called her the Black Flower.
"And the madman who cuts down anyone who makes eye contact—he has blond hair and red eyes, doesn't he?"
That was right. Ragna Yohan.
The woman's name was likely similar. Enkrid caught on quickly.
"My name is Grida Yohan. I'm the sister of that blond madman." The woman spoke.
Enkrid wasn't surprised.
Ragna had once mentioned that he'd left his family behind.
He hadn't gone into detail—he wasn't the type to bother with explanations. So, that family name was Yohan.
A household legendary for its swordsmanship.
"Enkrid of Border Guard."
Enkrid offered his hand.
Grida clasped it, pulling herself up as she spoke.
"You're not bad. What do you think of me?"
"…What do you mean—no. Don't say anything."
Vengeance was already perking up beside him, and a hooded figure—likely a fairy—was watching from the crowd.
"What do you think? As a woman, of course."
Ah.
"He really is a lady-killer."
Someone muttered, and for the first time in a while, an old nickname echoed through Border Guard.
"Commander of Enchantment."
"Enchanted Knight."
"Master of Hearts."
"Collector of Affections."
At least half of them were just having fun stirring the pot.
Enkrid knew that reacting would only make the rumors spread faster. He merely memorized a few faces in the crowd.
Thud.
Somewhere among them, a fairy dropped a bottle in surprise.
They didn't even bother picking it up before vanishing into the crowd. Enkrid turned back to Grida.
"Ragna is at the lodgings."
"I see. But are you really not interested?" "No."
"Oh, did you lose it in an accident?" "Lose what?"
"That."
Ragna's sister was strikingly similar to him.
The way she ignored others' stares was just one example. She raised her fist and shook it slightly.
"I have it."
Enkrid's reply was sharp.
"Oh, then maybe your tastes—"
"Absolutely not."
"Ah, so it's because I lack charm."
Grida nodded to herself with a strangely confident expression.
She didn't seem the least bit hurt—if anything, she didn't care at all. Then, she asked again.
"But when did we ever meet?"
Just moments ago, they had spoken through their swords.
Now, it was time for a normal conversation.
And that was far preferable to debating the presence of his jewels.
"I think I saw you once when we caught some bandits who had raided a village. But it happened so quickly that you might not remember."
"That kind of thing happens too often to keep track."
"Did you get lost along the way?"
If she were Ragna's sister, that wouldn't be too surprising.
"No, not really. To be honest, I found a lot of interesting things while wandering around —more interesting than searching for Ragna. So I just pretended to look for him while having fun. But then the family sent more people after me."
"So that's why you weren't alone earlier?"
"Yeah. By now, they're probably testing each other's skills. If some of you got hurt… well, try to understand. They're all the type who can't stand not swinging their weapons."
They'd have to see who got injured.
"That is my line," Enkrid said flatly.
Ignoring the murmurs about his so-called irresistible charm, he walked on. Vengeance scattered the gathered onlookers, and Enkrid quickened his steps. When they reached the barracks, the inside was already in chaos.
"You're finally here?"
The first person he spotted was Rem.
Beside him stood a swordsman with a scowling expression.
A streak of dried blood had crusted over on the man's forehead. "Did you lose?"
Grida asked the man.