"Are you crazy?"
Anne, who had been watching the sparring match while treating Magrun, was appalled. More than that, her face turned deathly pale.
To her, it was nothing short of a spectacle of madness.
Of course, Anne couldn't follow the flow or direction of the fight. But she could see the result.
Enkrid's sword had stopped with its blade halfway embedded in the blond man's shoulder.
If it had gone in just a little deeper, no amount of divinity or drugs would have stopped his clavicle from being severed.
"I stopped it, Freckled Sister."
Audin spoke to Anne as he placed the back of his hand against Enkrid's sword.
He wasn't wearing any protective gear, but the golden sand flowing from his skin prevented his flesh from being torn apart.
Still, the fact that blood was dripping from his hand proved just how unhesitating Enkrid's blade had been.
"Oh, I almost killed him."
Enkrid's tone remained indifferent.
"Losing an arm won't kill me."
And the one on the receiving end was just as nonchalant. 'These lunatics...?'
Anne was a healer.
Did she become one because she wanted to kill people? No, it was because she wanted to save them.
She chose this path so that no one would have to die from meaningless diseases anymore. So what did they mean it wouldn't kill them?
If an arm were cut off, there would be massive bleeding. A literal waterfall of blood.
'Rapid blood loss lowers body temperature.' That was what Anne knew.
Going deeper, the initial symptoms would include anxiety, followed by pale skin and a chilling sensation spreading through the body.
'The pulse will speed up, and breathing will become erratic.'
As body temperature continued to drop, the pulse would become irregular or weaken.
Once the skin started to take on a bluish hue, the victim would slip into confusion, and their awareness would fade.
'A knight might endure it longer, but still...' Being a knight didn't make one immortal.
Just like how the exhilaration of omnipotence could lead to sudden exhaustion, relying on the vitality of one's body recklessly could just as easily lead to death.
Anne had been able to study a variety of medical subjects under her mentor and had learned much from sneaking peeks at his research journals.
Thanks to that, she knew—unless one was a Frog, regenerating a severed arm was impossible. That was the conclusion.
But then, another thought crept into her mind. 'Wait… or is it possible?'
If someone possessed the divine power of a high-ranking archbishop... 'It might be doable?'
Of course, simply pouring divine energy into such a wound wouldn't magically heal it. Hadn't the Ragged Saint given Seiki a few pointers over the past few days?
Anne had been working tirelessly on developing potions infused with divine energy based on those teachings.
And through that, she had learned something. 'Using divinity also requires skill.'
Just like how stitching up torn flesh with a heated needle took technique, so too did the proper use of divine power.
The question was—how many people could wield divinity with such proficiency?
And even if someone could use it, how many years would it take to master the technique?
One had to apply divine power to countless wounded people to hone their skill and understand the correct degree of application.
"If you grew a third leg, how would you use it? What if you suddenly had a tail?"
That was how the Saint had described it.
But apparently, there was a spell that helped one adapt to such changes—a spell to help one learn and adjust.
It was a process of teaching and learning.
Someone who had already mastered it would pass their knowledge onto those deemed worthy.
For that, they needed a person capable of wielding divinity—and someone with the necessary experience.
'Coincidentally, we have both.'
The Ragged Saint possessed the technique.
Seiki had enough divine energy to be called a saint herself. 'And then there's me.'
She could determine which wounds couldn't be healed with divinity alone.
If necessary, she could administer potions that enhanced regeneration—or, if needed, even perform surgery.
After all, her childhood practice of stitching up corpses had made her sewing skills better than most tailors.
"As long as he didn't die, it's fine." Rem's voice came from behind.
"This was too much, though." Anne finally spoke after finishing her thoughts. Even as she did, her hands continued moving busily. She sprinkled white powder to stop the bleeding before inspecting the wound.
Should she stitch it?
Or use medicine?
She had recently made a new ointment—one crafted by blending water from a fairy's spring with morning dew.
Should she put him to sleep before treatment?
No, stitching and applying the ointment directly would be faster. The man was a knight—this should be enough.
"This time, I think I lost by half a step. But next time, that won't happen." Odincar spoke.
Despite sustaining a wound that could have killed him if things had gone south, he was still talking as if nothing had happened.
Enkrid had grasped his personality. Recklessness without concern for consequences.
And there was a clear reason why he had survived with such a mindset. He had the talent to back it up—enough to be called a genius.
That talent had turned his recklessness into boldness.
"Yeah, next time, you'll just die."
Enkrid stated the fact plainly.
"You said that on purpose to gain psychological dominance, didn't you? You're more cunning than I thought. There's a fox-like side to you. Even when you fight, you keep 'calculating.'"
Enkrid wiped the trickle of blood from his nose with the back of his hand. As Odincar said, he had used the same strategy he had when facing Grida. Calculation.
Viewing every situation as a probability.
This was something he had picked up from Jaxen, but he realized he needed to refine it further. If polished a bit more, it could become an entirely new style of swordsmanship.
"But at the same time, you can strike boldly like others. It's fascinating. Rough, yet—"
"Yet?"
"Fun."
Odincar grinned as he finished his sentence.
The white powder worked its magic, staunching the flow of blood. Only then did Odincar finally glance down at his wound.
"A skilled healer, I see."
You could tell just by how they handled wounds.
"If you understand, would you kindly keep your mouth shut? You need rest."
"I'm a knight. This much will heal in a day."
"Even a Frog wouldn't heal from wounds like these overnight."
Ann spoke while closely observing the injuries, gauging where to stitch. Enkrid then turned to Odincar.
"Welcome to Border Guard."
"A bit early for a greeting, isn't it?"
"This counts as the real greeting."
Enkrid shook Penna, the sword that had just cut into Odincar's shoulder. Sunlight reflected off the blade as blood splattered—it was Odincar's.
As Luagarne had said, Enkrid was more than willing to learn their system. But could he really just ask and learn outright?
He wasn't sure.
If not, he'd steal the knowledge if he had to. For now.
'Technique.'
His victory over Odincar earlier had been pure luck.
If luck hadn't been on his side, he would have been the one to lose. That fact alone was oddly thrilling.
Everything else could be considered later.
Regardless, the three from the Yohan family decided to stay, and Enkrid had to take it easy for the next day.
"You're not going anywhere until the treatment is finished. Otherwise, you might as well just die and become my test subject."
Anne persuaded him without a hint of humor. Enkrid wasn't in top condition either.
Even as a knight, with his naturally heightened vitality, overuse of calculations had left his head throbbing.
After two days, the pain was completely gone.
During that time, he watched Audin spar with Grida and then Rem spar with Grida.
Among the three from the Yohan family, Grida was the only one who didn't care about winning or losing.
"Isn't it unfair to fight while wrapped in divinity, Jaxen?"
"Sister, if you don't know my name, don't call me anything at all."
Audin's response didn't faze Grida in the slightest. For Audin, Grida was the most difficult opponent to deal with. By Enkrid's standards, Audin could draw a massive circle. And more than that, he was a holy knight. Divinity was a power specialized for defense. The golden sand enveloping his body was a gift from the gods, a divine armor that was nearly impervious to normal attacks.
"This is totally unfair! Rem!"
"That's my name."
Even as Rem pointed that out, Grida kept throwing out random names. Except for one—Enkrid's.
Audin won the match. Was it overwhelming? Not quite.
They simply adapted to each other's pace, and Grida admitted defeat. Rem's fight, however, was much more intense.
At a glance, Rem had many apparent weaknesses.
But that was part of his style—he exposed openings only to use them against his opponent.
Grida, on the other hand, was a swordswoman who knew how to exploit an enemy's vulnerabilities.
She did exactly that.
And she lost.
Rem barely moved his wrist as he swung his axe. The same technique that had frustrated Ragna.
The weightless axe zigzagged unpredictably, blocking Grida's attacks.
Clang!
The moment their weapons clashed, Grida caught a glimpse of her own death.
'Sorcery!'
If divinity was a holy knight's armor, then sorcery was a barbarian's blade.
A crude, barely-wrapped weapon—one that could just as easily cut its own wielder if mishandled.
Yet Rem wielded it with masterful precision.
"Not bad at all."
Despite losing, Grida simply grinned.
Among the three, she was the most sociable and easygoing—aside from the fact that she never remembered faces.
"Luagarne, huh? There's a research-oriented Frog in my family too. Apparently, one of their ancestors developed a few of our sword techniques."
As she got to know a few people, Ropord and Fel increased the intensity of their training, even while chewing on wooden sticks and getting beaten up by Audin.
Meanwhile, Magrun observed everyone in silence, jotting things down. There were no simple knights in the Yohan family.
Their knights fell into three categories.
The first was the Pioneer—those who used their talent as a guide to explore uncharted paths. Odincar belonged to this group.
The second was the Researchers, also known as the Deep Diggers.
They were completely enamored with swordsmanship, creating new techniques and then devising countermeasures against their own inventions.
At times, they became obsessed with seemingly useless things, but they were the very ones who had shaped the Jaun family into what it was today.
Magrun belonged to this category.
Lastly, there were the Observers, also called Guardians. Grida Yohan was one of them.
They didn't focus on winning or losing fights but rather on observing everything and ensuring the knowledge was passed on to the next generation.
A structured system required an equally structured framework to sustain it. That was how the Yohan family operated.
"Is it really okay to tell me all this?" Enkrid asked.
Grida smiled.
The seasonal rains were due to come soon, and as if the sky had been ripped open, a torrential downpour followed.
Swoooosh.
Through the sheets of rain, Grida's voice rang clear.
"Anyone who visits the Yohan family would learn this much. And you want to know even more, don't you?"
They stood beneath a broad eave, watching the mist rise from the rain-drenched earth. Beyond the watery haze, Grida's brown eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Enkrid nodded.
"I have nothing to offer in return."
That was the truth. He had no price to pay. If she was hoping for a relationship, well—he'd have to deal with the Golden Flower first.
"Another woman, really?"
The next morning, before the sun had fully risen, Shinar came shouting. Thankfully, the misunderstanding was cleared up.
But she made sure to tell Grida, loud and clear—"There's already a long line ahead of you. Your turn is far off."
"Sure, if you say so. You're the Black Flower, right?"
With that answer, Grida affirmed her own identity.
The fact that she could look at a fairy's golden hair and still associate her with the Black Flower was amusing, to say the least.
She had a talent for observing others, yet couldn't remember faces. Was she even capable of relaying information properly?
That thought crossed his mind, but he let it go. Not his problem.
Spring was ever fickle. For two days, it rained.
Then, for two more, the sun shone brightly, drying the rain-soaked earth. Flowers bloomed, and trees bore fruit.
The seasonal rains had passed.
And Ragna—had still not returned, even after half a month.
During that time, Enkrid spent much of his days with the Yohan trio, learning and absorbing everything he could.
There would be no other time quite like this. It was, without a doubt, a valuable experience.
And so, the days, the hours, the moments, passed by in strides.