"Samcheol, are you ready?"
Enkrid responded to Grida's words in kind, and she, watching him, carefully chose her words before speaking.
"I told you not to call it that. You really sound like a crazy person."
Grida was serious. The sword didn't even have a will of its own—so why did he keep talking to it?
Enkrid didn't argue. He spoke to it because it was worth speaking to. The sword's name was Samcheol, a masterpiece.
'If it contained Will, it could be considered an engraved weapon.'
Not all swords made by Aetri were like this—Samcheol was special.
While Penna felt as if it fit perfectly in his hand, Samcheol felt as if it had become one with him. And so, the sword whispered.
It wanted to rampage, to play, to form an ensemble with other blades. Only Enkrid could hear that voice.
Though, to be honest, he wasn't really hearing it in the first place.
"Samcheol whispered that it wanted to play an ensemble."
"...I usually try not to engage with your nonsense, but do you realize you sound even crazier when you say that?"
It was Rem, who had apparently been watching.
The morning training had left him drenched in sweat.
The season was shifting, the winds no longer biting but carrying a touch of warmth.
Though the sun rose earlier, the dawn training remained unchanged, and so he continued to sweat.
It had been the same for the past two months. Grida acknowledged this about Enkrid.
'Training freak.'
Even in Yohan, a place full of people obsessed with swordsmanship, this type was rare. 'I didn't expect to find someone like him on this continent.'
Once in a while, an unconventional genius would emerge.
Still, the strangest thing was that despite his undeniable talent, Enkrid seemed to be standing still. Even after two months of sparring, she hadn't noticed any significant improvement in him.
'There must be something.' Something she didn't understand.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have become a knight, wouldn't have earned everyone's recognition. As the spring breeze blew in, a chilling gust seeped into her chest.
Grida felt her muscles tense in response. Her heartbeat quickened slightly.
Good.
A little tension would sharpen her reflexes. 'I've been slacking off too much.'
Even when she roamed the continent under the excuse of searching for Ragna, she never stopped training.
But there was a difference between casual training while wandering and training alongside those who had settled down and dedicated themselves to it.
'That's why I feel like I've fallen behind.'
Well, it was the path she had chosen, so she had to bear the consequences. She knew this would happen.
She hadn't chosen this path out of laziness. She had simply done what she needed to do.
The clan head had told her to find Ragna but never set a deadline—likely for the same reason. 'Traveling, eating, and drinking were fun, though.'
One of the highlights was when a noble fell for her and tried to take her as a concubine. The look on his face when she cut off the wrists of his three bodyguards was priceless.
Even the moment her lover set off in pursuit of his own path was now a fond memory. Shaking off the brief nostalgia, Grida spoke.
"Have you figured out Yohan's secret?"
Enkrid, his sword held loosely, nodded. Not that it was much of a secret. Grida and the others hadn't hidden anything; everything had been laid bare.
"You didn't even pretend to hide it, so what secret are we talking about?"
"It sounds more impressive if I say it like that."
Grida flashed a bright, white grin.
Even during her travels, she had clearly maintained her oral hygiene.
Knights rarely suffered from common ailments, so their teeth rarely decayed. With swords in hand, they measured the distance between them.
Not only Rem, but Audin had also come out to watch.
Ropord and Fel were tying cords around each other's wrists and ankles as they observed.
Lately, training included sparring with limbs restrained, in addition to the usual beatings with wooden clubs.
Watching the two before them, both felt a sense of urgency. 'It's been two months.'
Yet they were still nowhere near a knight's level. But that was to be expected.
Even with structured training and new methods, becoming a knight wasn't something that could happen overnight.
If it were that easy, knights wouldn't be so rare across the continent. Still, both were progressing at an impressive pace.
This was clearest in the eyes of Magrun, who had been watching.
After spending two months observing Grida, he had come to a conclusion. Magrun had stepped out to spectate and had naturally watched Fel and Ropord. He felt a vague certainty as he looked at them.
'Those two will make it.'
Yohan trained knights using a unique method.
Based on his experience, Magrun was confident in calling his intuition correct. Even their sense of urgency would serve as fuel for their growth.
That much was a given.
After all, that was how Yohan operated. 'Yohan thrives on competition.'
It was a method that spurred ambition, though this place took it even further.
Border Guard training didn't just foster competition—it was brutal, nearly murderous. It was the opposite of Yohan's self-driven approach.
Enkrid kept his eyes locked on Grida.
She was never an easy opponent, but if he had to be honest, he rated her slightly below Odincar and Magrun.
That opinion hadn't changed.
"So, what did you figure out?"
Grida asked as she took a step to the side.
The sunlight at her back now poured directly into Enkrid's eyes.
Enkrid shifted half a step to his right, angling himself to shield his vision from the glare.
"To never stop competing."
He had spent time watching the three from Yohan, talking with them, listening, and analyzing.
Rather than simply replicating their techniques, he had sought to understand the values that drove them.
That approach had led him to this realization.
Yohan was always competing, and at the core of that competition was desire.
If someone were to ask Enkrid how to cultivate Will, he would answer like this: "You need the passion to pursue what you desire."
That was the key.
And it was the same lesson taught by Yohan.
How does one cultivate Will? Through unyielding passion.
That was the way of the Yohan family. And Enkrid had grasped its essence.
Talent makes such things possible.
The family must have begun by gathering those with talent.
Yohan's teachings do not claim that sheer determination alone can compensate for a lack of talent.
That was not the path Enkrid sought. And yet, there was still much to learn.
"They encourage you to become even better at what you're already good at." Enkrid continued, raising the tip of his sword.
Though he spoke, his eyes had already taken in the entirety of Grida's form. Calculations began.
He predicted every possible movement before the fight even started, weighing the probabilities.
Grida simply stood still and smiled.
"That's right."
"And those who fall behind will be left behind."
Only those who enjoy competition remain. And thus, progress continues.
"That's right as well."
Grida nodded.
After Ragna returned, they had once spoken about his childhood.
"Ragna? As a child, you could say he was a little lacking. But there was one undeniable difference. My brother was an anomaly. His talent was real."
What others struggled to grasp through gritted teeth, he picked up effortlessly. Yet, he lacked enthusiasm.
His natural talent was both a blessing and a curse.
"Ordinary talent fosters passion, but overwhelming talent robs one of it."
That was the conclusion they reached. The elders gave up on Ragna, and Ragna didn't care in the slightest. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that was when his laziness began.
"He has always found things bothersome since childhood. But when he did go somewhere, he enjoyed wandering around. Did he say something about finding new paths fun?"
Enkrid had never heard Ragna's full thoughts on the matter, but he had heard similar things. A path with a visible destination did not interest him.
That was why walking his own road must have been so exhilarating. 'Since he couldn't find a path, every road he took became a new one.' For Ragna, being unable to find a path wasn't a curse—it was a blessing. The opposite of his talent.
Was Ragna held back by his family's expectations? Or was he given the freedom to do what he wanted?
If what one excelled at differed from what one wanted to do, what should they choose?
Enkrid knew the answer. And he respected it.
"Yohan does not seek battles with the Demonic Realm, nor does it desire anything else. We are devoted solely to the pursuit and study of swordsmanship. We live for every moment of it."
Grida added.
Yes, that was the essence of Yohan's philosophy.
They never hesitated to learn, teach, and train through competition.
At the same time, they expended their strength nowhere else, remaining within their own domain.
"You could call us stagnant waters, but we ensure we do not stagnate. 'Wandering' is a duty for most members of our family, sending them across the continent. Some choose to stay behind with like-minded individuals, leaving their mark on history."
Enkrid had no intention of criticizing them. Does strength always need to be used?
Not necessarily.
If needed, it could be put to use.
If given what they desired in return, they might accept such an offer. But Enkrid didn't want to do that.
Shouldn't they also be allowed to live as they wished?
This was a choice born from respecting personal will and aspirations, beyond mere strength. A gathering of individuals who focused solely on the sword.
A group where competition fueled their passion.
For that reason, they did not hesitate to share techniques, nor were they stingy with their teachings.
'Would you sell your soul to the devil for the sake of swordsmanship?' A Yohan might.
But they did not choose that path.
Enkrid had heard the answer from Odincar.
"If I sell my soul to the devil, then the one training in swordsmanship wouldn't be me anymore. That would be unpleasant."
Selfish, yet undeniably fascinating individuals.
"Magrun has been watching you for two months," Grida spoke, raising her sword.
In response, Enkrid angled his own blade. Both were now ready.
"Be careful, Enki." Grida warned.
As the two shifted positions, behind Enkrid stood Rem, Audin, Jaxen, Esther, Shinar, Theresa, Ropord, Fel, and Luagarne.
Behind Grida, Odincar stood with his arms crossed, while Magrun had brought over a chair and sat down.
Enkrid and Grida's gazes met.
Was she the same as when they first encountered each other in the marketplace?
Enkrid asked himself and answered. 'No.'
The woman who had forged her body like steel over the past two months swung her sword. Her left foot stepped forward, marking the first recognized movement.
It was a scene his insight revealed before it fully unfolded.
A thrust, launched by the force of her left foot striking the ground.
The moment he perceived it, her attack was already sharper, swifter, and deadlier than before, flying toward him like a piercing dot.
Clang!
The white blade met his Samcheol Sword and was deflected. There was no time to gauge breath.
Enkrid crossed his feet and advanced.
Closing the distance in an instant, he brought the pommel of his sword down toward Grida's head.
A completely unexpected move. Grida raised her forearm to block. Thud!
The difference in strength was evident.
She was pushed back, choosing to retreat instead of enduring and straining her forearm. At the same time, Enkrid calculated the dozens of potential attacks Grida might launch. But she chose none of them.
Tap, tap.
She tapped her foot twice.
Or rather, she struck the ground with her soles.
A meaningless motion on the surface, but to Enkrid, it branched into dozens of potential movements.
'Why did she stomp her foot?' A feint?
The start of an unexpected technique? A step adjustment?
A positioning tactic?
A strategy to utilize the environment?
Dozens of possibilities flashed through his mind in an instant. 'If I don't know, I'll watch her reaction.'
The reason behind her actions would reveal itself in her next move. Enkrid reversed his grip, shifting the blade's direction.
Samcheol had two edges—one of black gold, one of true silver.
It might seem like this would ruin the balance of the blade, but Aettri had adjusted the ratio of meteor iron to compensate.
That didn't mean the metal on both edges of the blade was different. Hence, this kind of trick was possible.
He shifted his weight forward, positioning the side with the black-gold metal in front. This added extra acceleration to the blade.
It was a technique that took advantage of the uneven weight of the weapon.
Enkrid extended his right foot, twisted his waist, and transmitted the motion through his elbow and wrist as he slashed his sword.
Bang!
The blade, tearing through the air, carved through the space where Grida had just been. Grida rolled sideways to evade.
Of course, simply rolling wasn't enough.
The moment she hit the ground, she pressed her left hand against it, springing herself up, then struck her own chest with the sword-wielding right hand.
Pak.
The impact was strong enough to make a sound.
Why?
What was the purpose of that move?
Was it preparation for an attack? Had she lost her balance?
No.
After repeating the same motion a few times, Enkrid stumbled over his own foot. Seizing the moment, Grida thrust her sword tip forward.
Tang!
Though he blocked it, blood trickled down from Enkrid's nose.
"Fun, isn't it?"
Grida asked as she watched.
Even though his head was spinning, Enkrid responded.
"Yeah."
Looking back at the sequence of events, it wasn't hard to figure out what had just happened.
A series of unpredictable movements to overturn calculations.
That was the conclusion.