"By a hair's breadth."
When the man answered, Rem grinned and said,
"Want me to lop off your head? Talking nonsense about a hair's breadth." The man fell silent.
Win or lose, it seemed he'd taken quite the beating.
Just from looking at him, his stance was unbalanced, and the scabs forming on his head made further observation unnecessary.
If he wasn't even verbally retaliating, it meant his fighting spirit was broken. His glare at Rem remained sharp.
"Want me to gouge out your eyes?"
Rem kept taunting, though it was mostly talk.
There was an undercurrent of killing intent between them, but compared to what he had with Jaxen or Ragna, this was nothing more than playful banter.
Ignoring their little game, Enkrid focused his gaze beyond Rem, tracking the two figures moving swiftly.
'One is Audin.'
The other was an unfamiliar man.
He wielded his sword with practiced skill, his short blonde hair whipping in the wind.
He wasn't just swinging aimlessly—his strikes carried weight, interwoven with strategic feints. 'He's mixing standard and unconventional sword styles.'
He drew upon what was necessary at just the right moment.
From Enkrid's perspective, his structure placed him near the level of an advanced fighter. Analyzing his movements, Enkrid saw the intent behind them.
'He's deliberately creating openings.' He wanted Audin to close the distance. But why?
Because he had the confidence to counter.
Then, what had he prepared? That part remained unknown.
However, it was likely a technique close to a secret art, something he wouldn't easily reveal in front of others.
Enkrid had fought countless drifters in his time.
Some were truly skilled, while others relied on nothing but empty reputations.
But there was one common trait among the real experts—none of them readily revealed their best techniques.
'Then doesn't that mean they keep passing up opportunities to improve?' That was Enkrid's perspective.
If you didn't test and surpass your limits, there was no next step. It was a truth he had learned through his own body.
And the man before him seemed to be of the same mindset.
If he didn't intend to test himself, there was no reason to keep exposing those openings. Audin took the bait, stepping in until he was within arm's reach.
Too close for clean sword swings, but perfect for grappling. The clash happened in an instant.
The man slashed down with his right sword while raising his left hand.
Had he been unarmed, the motion would have resembled a signal flag being lifted. But of course, a weapon had appeared in his left hand—a hidden blade.
'A second sword.'
It had been concealed.
His armor was designed in two parts, and as his hand slid inside, a wavy dagger, barely a handspan long, shot out.
A blade called a Kris.
His hand surged upward in a vertical motion. Audin had anticipated this.
He brought his hands together, loosely spreading his fingers to catch the dagger between them.
Instead of stopping there, he twisted his waist and closed in further.
That rendered the enemy's right-hand sword useless—it no longer had space to strike, its trajectory diverted.
Instead of hitting its target, the man's sword merely struck Audin's shoulder.
Meanwhile, Audin, now practically pressed against his opponent, pivoted on his left foot and slammed his shoulder and back into the man's chest.
A devastating body slam at an impossible distance. Difficult to block, agonizing to endure.
Boom!
A loud impact echoed as the man was knocked backward. Blood dripped between Audin's middle and ring fingers.
Meanwhile, the man's breastplate had been dented from the force.
"It didn't work, huh?"
The man spoke. His tone held both excitement and anticipation. Despite his technique being countered, he showed no disappointment—only an unwavering focus on the fight.
Enkrid found himself liking the man, even though they hadn't exchanged a single word.
"Odincar, stop."
The voice that cut through the tension belonged to Grida. The man, called Odincar, turned his head.
His fighting spirit hadn't entirely faded, yet his stance showed trust that Audin wouldn't take advantage of this pause.
In other words, this was just a sparring match.
"Pity," the man murmured.
He and Grida were alike.
They hadn't come here to kill, but for another reason entirely. Sure enough, Grida spoke up.
"I should introduce us properly. I'm Grida Yohan, this is Odincar Yohan, and this is Magrun Yohan. We are from the Yohan family."
All eyes turned toward the three of them. Yohan.
The place where Ragna was born.
And now, having found the very person they were searching for, Grida called out— "Ragna, we've come to take you back. Your hair color has changed, hasn't it?"
She even raised her hand and pointed directly at him. Everyone's gazes followed her gesture.
"Hm?"
Luagarne tilted her head.
The brown-haired man she was pointing at didn't even bother looking behind him. He knew there was no one else nearby but himself.
So it made sense that Jaxen was the first to react with confusion, glancing at the finger aimed at him.
"...?"
His expression practically said, What kind of nonsense is this?
Grida, however, continued speaking with a soft smile, her tone filled with certainty.
"Are you going to pretend you don't know? I am Grida, the one who never forgets a face."
While the Border Guard soldiers remained silent, wondering what this was about
"Are you sure that's him? He doesn't seem like it."
Odincar asked. He knew Ragna.
And that man wasn't him.
Even as he spoke, his attention remained elsewhere—his desire to continue fighting Audin was written all over him.
Even after sheathing his sword, his gaze hadn't left Audin.
"I think my opponent was probably the strongest in the Order. I need more time, more time."
Magrun, on the other hand, had no interest in any of this. Ragna, or whoever else, didn't matter to him.
What fascinated him was the fact that there were warriors of this level outside the family. He was still in awe of the savage technique that had floored him.
And now, all he wanted was to lock himself away and study swordsmanship.
I lost.
Overcoming a sense of defeat could only be done through research. That was Magrun's belief.
"See? Ragna Yohan. The head of the house is calling you." Grida spoke again.
Enkrid didn't feel as if lightning had struck him, but he thought he understood something. Some people struggled to remember faces, and Grida seemed to be one of them.
Jaxen was at a loss for words, unsure how to respond—this was a first for him.
"What do you mean? Ragna went to ask Aetri to sharpen his blade."
Krais interjected from the side.
"Huh?"
Grida tilted her head in confusion.
Enkrid observed that she didn't seem like the type to hide her true thoughts.
After all, she had described Ragna as a blonde with red eyes herself, so how could she confuse faces?
The reasoning behind it was beyond him. He didn't care to understand it either.
But one thing was certain.
Just as Ragna had no sense of direction, this woman had no sense of facial recognition. That's why she had forgotten his face as well.
This was the first time Enkrid had met someone who had seen him once and then completely forgotten him.
It didn't particularly offend him, but it was still a fact.
"This guy isn't Ragna."
Enkrid stepped in to clear up the misunderstanding.
Grida insisted a few more times before finally accepting it.
"Even I make mistakes sometimes."
Hearing her say that, Enkrid became certain—this woman was Ragna's sister.
"Hmm. He insisted on coming back from the market alone, so we have no way of knowing his exact location right now."
The soldier who had followed him tried to stop him from going alone, but if Ragna could be stopped so easily, he wouldn't be Ragna.
As a result, somewhere between the market and the barracks, he had gone off course, and no one could track him down.
Krais was the one who solemnly delivered this fact to those searching for Ragna.
Since their objective was to find him, they had immediately inquired about his whereabouts, and this was the result.
"Ragna's been terrible at finding his way since childhood."
Grida nodded as she spoke, but her tone was so indifferent that she didn't seem particularly concerned about finding him.
The other two barely seemed to care at all.
One of them, a man named Odincar, had begun paying attention to others besides Audin. He was even subtly releasing his fighting spirit toward Enkrid.
Meanwhile, the third one, upon hearing Krais's words, simply asked— "Could we stay somewhere quiet, away from people, for a bit?"
The other two didn't object.
Each of them simply spoke their minds without any regard for the others.
"Who the hell are these guys?"
Rem voiced what everyone was thinking.
Krais almost instinctively responded, "My thoughts exactly," but stopped himself. Jaxen folded his arms and positioned himself to keep all three in his sights. His intent was clear—if things went south, he would cut or stab them without hesitation.
The three seemed to recognize this, yet remained unfazed. That in itself was intriguing.
Yohan—the name was known to those who paid attention.
The family had produced several knights throughout generations, and their knights were often called sword seekers.
Some mercenaries and adventurers had also trained under the Yohan family.
At one point, Barnas, the beastman general of Aspen and a leader in war, had recognized Ragna immediately.
It might have been for a similar reason.
He had simply guessed based on Ragna's overwhelming talent. But maybe, in the end, it was just dumb luck.
Enkrid had traveled across the continent as a mercenary and guide, but back then, his skills had been mediocre at best.
After that, he had stayed within Border Guard.
To him, "Yohan" was just the name of the place where Ragna had been born and raised.
That's why it felt strange to see three people from the same family wielding swords with such skill.
If they had been from a knight order, it would have made sense. If they had been from the Empire, he could have accepted it.
If they had been from one of the great southern nations, that would have been understandable too.
But for them to be from a single family? That was different.
That meant they were connected by blood.
'How is this possible? Bloodline? The power of lineage?'
It was said that those descended from ancient royal bloodlines were born with exceptional abilities—
The power to move objects with thought, read others' minds, or even greater feats. He had heard that the first magic users had emerged from such bloodlines.
Most of those stories had come from Esther.
'Could there be a bloodline that enhances swordsmanship? A lineage of knights? Are talents determined at birth?
Is destiny the only answer, not effort?'
Was this another one of those hidden bloodlines that had survived in secrecy? 'No, that's not it.'
Even if that were true, Enkrid would prove otherwise with his own body. That was one of his dreams, separate from the path of a knight.
He wanted to prove that talent alone wasn't the answer.
But right now, he wasn't the proof of that yet. 'I live through today over and over.'
Some called it a curse, but to him, it was a blessing.
He wouldn't dismiss what he had gained from it,but he also didn't want to claim that this method was the only way to surpass talent.
'Don't narrow your thinking.'
The way one saw battle, the way one understood concepts—it all changed depending on perspective.
"Enki, you see the battlefield too narrowly."
It was as if he could hear Luagarne's voice. Using her teachings, he broadened his thoughts. Then, something he had realized through firsthand experience suddenly surfaced in his mind. A flawed training method—shortcuts only created incomplete results.
'What's the real difference between Count Molsan's chimera knights,Aspen's trained knights, and those from the holy church?'
Altering one's body to resemble a knight or becoming intoxicated with power didn't make someone a knight.
Using Will alone didn't make someone a knight either. One had to stumble forward and carve their own path. Only then did it hold meaning. One's will could be influenced by others, but if it were dictated by them, it would never fully bloom. So then, how had those three reached such skill? They had broken through their own limits. Talent alone wasn't enough. Something else was necessary. What was it?
"We come from House Yohan. Not everyone knows us, but you can think of us as a family of swordsmen."
Grida introduced herself in a surprisingly polite manner. Krais, standing beside Enkrid, added what he knew.
It didn't stray far from the rumors.
'A tradition passed down through generations?'
What was tradition?
It was an ideology carried through time. The Yohan family must have had something that had been passed down.
Just as Rem had called them strange, and Odincar Yohan continued provoking Jaxen ,who was growing increasingly irritated.
Enkrid muttered, "An established system."
His voice was loud enough to draw everyone's attention.
This was why the Yohan family had produced knights for generations.
In other words, they were those who had walked the path Enkrid had to follow. Luagarne was the first to understand his words.
"I see, so that's how it is."
It was her first time meeting members of the Yohan family. They had always been figures shrouded in the fog of rumors. But seeing them in person, she understood.
All three of them belonged to the same family, and all three were knights.
There was no way this could happen without a proper system in place. But so what?
Rem spoke his mind.
"Are we going to kick these bastards out?"
His tone suggested he wouldn't mind either way. Odincar bared his fangs in response.
That was a challenge, wasn't it?
The fighting spirit in the air said as much.
Rem couldn't hold back and placed his hand on his axe. Jaxen, too, quietly gripped a dagger.
Krais could feel the shift in the atmosphere. His unease spiked violently.
'That damn directionless bastard.'
He cursed Ragna for no reason and sent a look toward Enkrid, signaling him. But for some reason, their leader didn't step in.
It would have been nice if Audin had intervened, but today, Audin looked more like a beastkin bear ready to tear a man in two.
Krais thought for a moment.
Would killing those three here bring any benefit? No.
Then should they just let them be?
After a brief hesitation, Krais decided to show off his wisdom.
"I'm leaving."
He turned away.
It was best to leave them to handle it themselves.
After all, the Madmen Knights were an uncontrollable variable. For the sake of his mental well-being, he walked away.