Grida had liked this place from the moment she first saw it, but after staying for a while, she found it even better.
If it weren't, she would have left after finishing her business, two months or not.
She had traveled across the continent and seen many things, but places that suited her as well as this one were rare.
And she wasn't the only one who felt that way.
"This is absolutely incredible."
Particularly for Odincar, it seemed.
He didn't hesitate to give a thumbs-up as he took a bite of today's special—minced meat mixed with onions and flour, grilled and placed in bread.
Juices mixed with oil dripped down the corner of his mouth.
It was the kind of sight that made anyone take a bite themselves.
The seared exterior crackled as the meat's juices swirled in his mouth, stimulating his tongue before sliding down his throat.
Alright, he admitted it—it was delicious. Grida agreed and gave a thumbs-up as well. The food here was truly exceptional.
The seasoned jerky and well-baked bread were great, but the slow-roasted pork barbecue, shredded and stuffed into a long bun with spices, was equally amazing.
What was it called again? Pulled pork sandwich?
And that wasn't all.
'And what about the pumpkin soup and juice?'
The hot broth warmed her insides—it was perfect.
Yohan's culinary skills were certainly not lacking, but this place had its own distinct flavor.
Some dishes were similar, but there were unique tastes too, and that made it all the more enjoyable.
Odincar, who had always been enthusiastic about food, couldn't help but say,
"Can I just not go back?"
"Do you think that's possible?"
Grida, knowing it was a joke, spoke soothingly.
What about the four wives and children he had left back home?
"I'm joking. Just joking."
Odincar laughed heartily.
"Hey, if you're done eating, come outside and spar with me." Beyond the dining hall, Enkrid called for him.
"What are we doing today?"
Odincar gulped down the last of his food and asked. "Are you taking on two opponents or just one?" Enkrid's voice rang out again from outside.
Odincar had no sense of restraint.
That meant that every sparring session with him was a battle for survival.
Even after nearly having his collarbone cut, Odincar had dueled Enkrid twice more—and even won once.
That time, it was Enkrid who had nearly died.
Just before the blade sank into his neck, a man named Jaxen had blocked it with a pointed dagger.
At the same time, another man named Audin had seized Odincar's arm.
After that, they realized that continuing such duels would only end when one of them was truly dead.
Then Rem came up with an interesting suggestion.
In his unit, a single warrior would train against three others of similar skill.
"Wasn't that just a method of torment?"
Krais muttered from the side, but everyone knew it wasn't merely for suffering. Of course, there was no doubt Rem's personal tastes had influenced the decision.
Forcing someone to fight three at once, refusing to explain the reason behind the method, not offering any solutions for overcoming it, and simply letting them figure it out through experience—while laughing at their struggles—was all very much in line with Rem.
"That's a great idea, brother."
"Not bad. If three skilled fighters pressure one, that one will have much to learn, and the three will also improve their coordination."
For once, Jaxen spoke at length—probably because he wanted to argue that their current training should be abandoned.
But since they trained this way in Rem's unit, there was no reason knights couldn't. And so, the training method changed.
Enkrid fought against two or three opponents, and Odincar did the same. At times, Rem and Audin took that position as well.
What amazed Grida the most was that Odincar gradually began to control himself. Upon seeing that, Rem had laughed and said,
"Anyone can be tamed with enough beatings."
Jaxen claimed that Odincar had simply been forced to change his habits.
Audin called it divine grace, saying he was merely delivering the will of God with his fists. They all had different words, but the meaning was the same.
"So, everything just gets solved by beating it into submission?"
And yet, despite their words, they were meticulous.
Their techniques, their approach to training—everything was precise.
"Changed by taking hits?"
Could it really be that simple?
Odincar had walked the line between life and death since childhood. A habit like his wouldn't be altered so easily.
Then what had caused this shift?
What was at the core of this transformation? Observing alone wouldn't be enough.
It needed to be studied.
Would Magrun have noticed?
He was particularly gifted in that area, after all. Regardless, at the center of all this was one man—Enkrid.
Once the change in training style brought a level of safety, these lunatics truly lost themselves. Enkrid, in particular, was something even Odincar found shocking.
It wasn't just his attitude toward sparring—it was the way he spent his days that was astonishing. At dawn, he would wake up and train his body.
In the mornings, he sometimes strolled with a panther, sometimes with a witch clad in a
revealing, long black robe—yet even that was training.
'Sparring with a mage.'
At least twice a week, he did that.
Beyond that, he trained separately with barbarians, assassins, and fairies.
'And he still finds time to teach others.'
He also managed his personal unit—whether it was his escort force or an elite guard was unclear. Though, for the most part, he simply set the direction of their training.
"I won't fall down!"
Among them, a soldier named Clemen stood out.
Regardless of her talent, her burning passion was remarkable.
Another, a girl named Seiki, had immense talent but seemed uninterested. Meanwhile, the squad's regular training was handled by other members.
What mattered most was how Enkrid spent the rest of his time. He spent it fighting. All day long.
Endlessly.
Without pause.
He simply fought.
Every single day, he repeated this routine.
'Can the mind endure that?'
The body wasn't the issue—if the mind wavered, the body would follow.
So the mind had to come first.
And yet, Enkrid handled it all with eerie composure. It was baffling.
With that thought, Grida called out to a passing knight.
By now, she had memorized most of the names of the lunatics in this order.
"Hey, Ropord. Want to spar for a bit?"
She greeted the nearest squad member he spotted, but the man responded with evident displeasure.
"My name is Fel. Shepherd Fel. Why do you keep mistaking me for that bastard?"
"Oh, isn't it? You two look alike."
At those words, the man named Fel drew his sword.
"A duel it is."
They were an amusing bunch.
Grida humored Fel, who charged at her, playing along just enough. It was fun in its own way.
Meanwhile, Luagarne, that Frog, came over, eager to discuss theories and exchange ideas, which pleased Magrun.
"It's a level of refinement that's hard to believe was built solely through experience in the wild."
Grida hadn't expected such words from Magrun. Praise, not criticism? The Magrun known for his barbed tongue?
"Frog, is this your doing?"
Magrun then asked.
"No, it's that one."
Luagarne's stubby finger pointed at Enkrid. Magrun, seeing this, merely tilted his head.
"Is that so? Interesting."
He replied simply, showing no trace of his usual scathing remarks. Even within Yohan, there were few people Magrun treated like this.
'You could count them on one hand.'
And now, Enkrid was among them.
But from the sidelines, it didn't seem as if he was performing any extraordinary magic. He merely walked over, exchanged a few words, and engaged in a theoretical discussion. Neither Enkrid nor Magrun raised their voices or grew agitated.
Both remained composed.
Enkrid had one or two such conversations with Magrun each week. 'Strange.'
And yet, Grida felt the same way.
At first, she had thought of it in terms of romantic relationships, but now, she didn't want that at all.
'Men get awkward once they break up.' She disliked that.
She liked things as they were now.
"I'm not lining up."
When she said that to the fairy, the golden-haired fairy showed obvious delight.
"Shall I fetch you a bit of spring water?"
All this just because she got a bruise on her arm during a spar.
"Good thinking. The line is long."
But for all this talk about a long line, Grida hadn't heard of anyone aside from the Black Flower and the Golden Witch.
Oh, but there were plenty of letters.
Invitations to parties, introductions from people claiming to be close to some noble lady—countless letters poured in.
Among them were even letters from the king of the east, and some holy order. 'He is quite popular.'
Even just walking through the city, people recognized him.
Besides the Golden Witch, there were fairies secretly throwing flirtatious glances his way.
"Shinar is old, but I'm not."
The guard corps' archery instructor approached and made her move.
Since Grida was standing next to Enkrid at the time,s he got to observe the situation closely. How would he respond?
"If you're barely past four hundred, that's not too old, is it?" Enkrid casually played along with the fairy's humor.
"I'm not even half that."
"To humans, two hundred or four hundred, it's all the same."
"…Two hundred and four hundred are not the same."
The fairy blinked her innocent eyes, but behind them lay a sly intent. She wasn't lying, but she was twisting the truth.
That was the way of fairies, something even Grida knew well.
With those wide, seemingly naïve eyes, she pressed the age difference again.
"You understand what I mean, don't you?"
Enkrid firmly rejected her advances. 'Hmm, so this is how he does it.'
Besides this, the innkeeper liked him, a giant merchant showed him favor, and even a Frog who made trinkets puffed her cheeks and chattered on about the materials she had gathered and what she was planning to create.
Yet, even in the midst of all this, Enkrid listened to everything. He was always attentive, always serious in his approach.
Watching him, Grida realized—she was truly in love with this man. Not as a man or a woman, but as a person.
"You listen well."
"The passion in their words is enjoyable."
The way he said it so offhandedly was utterly captivating. So Grida spoke up.
"Ever thought about coming to Yohan?"
He wouldn't accept.
Grida had observed him for a month and knew that this man would refuse. But then, another unexpected response came.
"Can I visit?"
"Huh?"
"I'm asking if it's alright to visit."
"Oh, yeah. Sure. Come by."
Yes, this man would not settle in Yohan. He couldn't be contained.
The light he radiated was too bright.
Yohan was a still, enclosed lake, while he was like the wind that could fly anywhere. The wind could linger by a lake, but it would never become the lake itself.
"Windfang. Ever heard of a sword by that name?"
"Isn't that from a bard's song?"
"Yes, one of the founders of Yohan wielded it."
"That's new to me."
Grida shared bits and pieces of history.
"If you two stick that close, people might misunderstand." At one point, Shinar chimed in with a teasing remark.
Then, the three of them chatted for a while.
When Esther eventually joined them, they sat in silence, sipping tea. Silence was good.
Conversation was good.
All in all, they were good people.
So this was why Ragna didn't want to come back? Just then, an unfamiliar face entered the unit.
Grida, who had been standing out front, looked at the visitor—a blond with red eyes—and asked, "Who are you?"
The man slowly blinked and shook out his disheveled hair before speaking. He looked like he had been wandering lost somewhere.
He smelled, and his appearance was ragged.
But the way he carried that greatsword was at least somewhat impressive.
"Grida?"
"Hmm, you know me? You look familiar... Who were you again?"
The face was familiar. Grida frowned.
"It's Ragna. What are you doing here? Did you get lost as well?"
"Oh, Ragna."
Yeah, her search for this guy had brought her all the way here.
At first, she had been serious about finding him, but after a while, drifting around had turned out to be fun.
She'd ended up slacking off and eventually arrived here.
"I came to find you."
"Me?"
"There's someone who wants to see the runaway."
"They should come see me themselves."
"They can't, so I came instead."
Honestly, if the family hadn't contacted her, Grida would have enjoyed her travels a little longer. It had been a while since she'd set out, and there had been plenty of enjoyable experiences.
Of course, there had also been plenty of miserable ones.
But now that Ragna was back, Grida had to say what needed to be said.
"Father is looking for you."
Grida spoke.
Ragna looked at her, his gaze practically saying:
So what? And?
What do you want me to do about it?
'This place is nice, but Ragna's picked up some bad habits.' Her little brother hadn't always had that look in his eyes.
That look—
It was just like the savage, Rem.