Just as Rem had made up his mind, the others had undergone changes of heart as well. It was inevitable.

"Hah!"

From morning until night, whether it rained or snowed or the weather turned muggy, the man swung his sword like a lunatic. How could watching him not give them all sorts of thoughts?

Where a particular incident had cemented Rem's resolve, Ragna took a fresh look at his own talents. He turned a contemplative eye inward.

'What do I possess?'

First and foremost, a talent for finding shortcuts. In that, he was truly exceptional. Finding a path was hardly a talent that needed anyone else's recognition.

'Not that I'm going to make a living as a guide.'

Ragna had actually worked as a guide, but everyone who hired him even once had been horrified. A mad guide who fought like hell but couldn't tell north from south or east from west. Some had even mistakenly believed he deliberately sought out places infested with monsters and demonic beasts. There had been a time when the guides' guild recoiled at the mere mention of his name.

Setting his talent as a guide aside, then.

'What next?'

The sword. Swordsmanship. Inborn talent didn't simply vanish, and some things needed no one to point them out. Just as with his talent for guiding, he knew he had a measure of talent with the sword.

'Then what am I lacking?'

He understood his strengths well enough. He might be beyond reproach as a guide, but not as a swordsman. If his swordsmanship lacked nothing and met no obstacles, he would already be a knight. But he wasn't. He had hit a wall. It even felt as though the flow of his swordsmanship was breaking off. Something was missing.

To the others, he had lately appeared to be lazing about, but in truth, he had been examining himself. Only after that reflection brought him to a conclusion did he move.

'Fundamentals.'

Every motion of swinging, cutting, and stabbing. Beginning with basic physical conditioning, Ragna retraced the path he had taken in reverse. However terrible his sense of direction, even he could find his way back by following the footprints he had firmly stamped into the ground.

In the process, someone within him asked, "Why do you want to become a knight?"

Once, that question would have stopped him, unable to answer. But now he said, "Only by becoming a knight can I see what lies beyond."

Ragna now looked forward to what came next. He had an immediate goal as well: the knight who had come from Aspen. To defeat him. Ragna had changed no less than Rem had with his new resolve.

Jaxon had no further change of heart to undergo. He had already made up his mind. Instead, he was physically busy, constantly on the move. If he failed to persuade his guild members, plenty of them would poison Encrid's food at the first opportunity.

Amid it all, Encrid kept swinging his sword. Watching its trajectory, the Frog spoke admiringly.

"Clean."

His fundamentals looked as though he had repeated them thousands upon thousands of times over many years. In fundamentals alone, Luagarne had never seen his equal.

'Am I stating the obvious?'

Luagarne considered that privately. With a little thought, it did seem only natural. Born with talent, a genius would grasp a movement's principles after just a few attempts, interpret them, and modify the movement.

'But could you say they had fully internalized it?'

Brilliant talent revealed shortcuts, but that was not necessarily always a blessing. Without effort, even geniuses were consumed by their own talent. Luagarne had seen many such unfortunate people.

What, then, was needed? Persistence. Talent without persistence was like the song of a bird that could make no sound. Where did his appalling persistence come from?

'What makes him repeat it without even thinking of boredom or tedium?'

"Whew."

Encrid exhaled from deep in his lungs and brought his sword down. The motion followed precisely the same trajectory as before. He wasn't swinging at an imaginary sparring partner. It was simply the downward cut he practiced every day, enough to bore anyone. That was how it looked to Luagarne, yet heat poured from his body.

That fervor could never come from boredom. It was the passion of someone intoxicated with enjoyment.

'He never ceases to amaze me.'

Now she could see things she had missed before, when she hadn't watched him so closely. He never grew bored because swinging the sword was itself a joy. He simply reveled in it. He truly was mad.

As Krang, whose nickname of the Mourning King was slowly spreading, had put it:

["That bastard isn't human."]

Luagarne privately agreed.

Her eyes followed Encrid throughout his day. Observing and investigating everything the man before her did was her work. She also saw those who changed because of him.

'Recognizing your own shortcomings isn't a talent.'

It required a catalyst, something to spur you on. In that regard, the stimulus named Encrid affected everyone equally. Pell was no exception.

Pell took pride in his talent. He watched and studied everyone as closely as Luagarne did, paying particular attention to Encrid.

'Crazy bastard.'

He never took a break. No, Pell had seen him supposedly resting, but could that even be called rest? Training every day without showing any boredom was impressive enough, but this bastard seemed to stake his life on every exercise.

"I do my best."

Plenty of people said that, but...

'I've never seen a crazy bastard like this.'

It wasn't just talk. He truly lived that way, every single day. He lived as though burning the candle of his soul to illuminate his surroundings. Pell hardly neglected his own training, but that, every day?

Pell swallowed hard and made his own decision.

'If that's what it takes, I'll do it.'

He hadn't come all this way, taking abuse from the elder Shepherds, for nothing. Alongside his observations, Pell secretly threw himself into training.

Roford, who could be said to be in a similar position, took the exact opposite approach.

"Let's have a bout!"

Anyone who had known the old Roford would have found this unimaginable. The man who once anxiously watched others and acted on their opinions rather than his own now blithely ignored what anyone thought and acted first.

"Do you really want to die?"

Ragna asked Roford gravely when he issued the challenge. He was entirely serious.

"Don't kill him," Encrid said, swinging his sword nearby.

Roford was a little bird that had broken out of its shell into a new world.

'He can't mean it.'

That was how he took Ragna's words. Until now, he had often misunderstood people by presuming to guess their true thoughts. But he would no longer do that. That was why their jokes didn't shake him.

Resolve became determination.

"I'm dying to fight you!"

"Even after that?" Ragna asked flatly.

"Don't kill him."

Encrid shook his head.

Their banter did nothing to weaken Roford's resolve. Those two certainly loved their jokes. Naturally, he was the one who charged in and got beaten to a pulp.

Roford didn't stop there. Even after groaning in bed for days, he was soon back on his feet.

"Lady Teresa, let's have a bout!"

He challenged anyone and everyone.

"I won't send you to the Lord."

Teresa nodded. She had recently had a small realization, after watching several challengers come to see Encrid. They were quite a motley assortment. Common mercenaries, some noble's bodyguard who couldn't believe the rumors, warriors from other countries, wandering swordsmen from the East, and more.

The Frog Meellun was in the city to turn away most of them, but a few still reached the barracks. Even Meellun couldn't be in two places at once. Encrid personally faced them, and Teresa had nodded inwardly as she watched.

A lion gave its all even when hunting a rabbit. Encrid never took an opponent lightly. He drew Aker and activated his Will of Swiftness. The light-fast stab was like a bolt of lightning.

She followed his example. As Roford charged, she smashed him with her shield, putting her half-Giant strength into the blow.

THWACK!

"Gah!"

Roford flew sideways, his neck bent askew, and rolled three times before coming to a stop. He was unconscious. Had Teresa used just a little more strength, he would have been knocking on heaven's door.

"Trying to kill him?" Encrid asked at the sight.

"I merely give my best when I spar."

The half-Giant Teresa spoke with fervor. Her eyes conveyed her desire to fight.

Encrid wasn't a man to refuse a spar.

"Come at me."

He saw no reason to avoid this one either.

Any visitor would have found it a complete madhouse. The lord in all but name, called a general and ruling this entire region, fought like his life depended on it at every opportunity.

"Let's have a bout!"

The apparent weakest of the lot challenged anyone he laid eyes on.

Some who came to spar were so impressed by Encrid and the others' skills that they wanted to join the unit.

"I'd like to stay and serve the Demon Killer."

No one bothered to dissuade them. Given a little time, even they came to their senses.

"I'll start in Border Guard's standing army. No. No, that's not it. You want me to serve under Master Rem? I was wrong. I'm thinking of taking up farming. The standing army? No, I'll become a farmer."

They changed their tune in an instant. No matter how desperately a sane person tried, they could never keep up with madness. There was a reason these people were called a unit of lunatics.

"Spar with me!" Roford shouted.

Pell watched unobtrusively. Rem considered when to leave for the West. Jaxon constantly came and went. Ragna devoted himself to the fundamentals as never before. Audin, too, found his thoughts turning to his bindings.

'Lord, may I undo my bindings?'

The thought had come to him often lately. He could only trust that his god would grant him another revelation.

Dunbachel had recognized her weakness: an excessive desire to live. Because of it, her first instinct was always to look back and think of escape.

'I had no choice if I wanted to survive.'

Beastmen had stronger survival instincts than other races, and Dunbachel's had grown still stronger through her expulsion from her pack. Why did the desire to live return so quickly even after she had prepared herself for death? Because she truly did not want to die.

'I have to get past this.'

Encrid was a peculiar man. Simply watching him had made her realize what her problem was. Such was another ordinary day on the training ground.

Pell saw someone approaching between the three trees near the training ground entrance. It wasn't a familiar face, nor was the newcomer dressed as a guard.

A cloth vest, scar-covered arms and fists, a square jaw and prominent cheekbones. His body was visibly muscular, without a trace of excess fat. Pell's gaze swept over him in an instant.

"Let me join the fun."

The moment Pell saw the man's lips move, the words reached his ears and the figure suddenly loomed large.

"Hah!"

Startled, Pell drew Idol Slayer in an upward strike. Of course he did. The man who had been strolling toward him from far away was suddenly right under his nose.

Instinct made him swing Idol Slayer, and the man struck the blade with his palm. It left a shallow cut, but...

"That's a sharp blade."

He merely flicked his tongue over the wound once. Idol Slayer's mana had failed to take effect.

"You don't look like much fun."

As the sudden intruder spoke and stepped farther into the training ground, Rem, Ragna, Audin, Teresa, and Dunbachel lined up to either side of Encrid.

Roford, once so perceptive and now utterly oblivious, asked, "Who might you be?"

Clearly, this was no ordinary soldier.

"Just passing by," the man replied.

Though the man was doing nothing, Encrid felt pressure from him and was reminded of someone. It was a memory called up by instinct. That man had come from Aspen, torn through a tent, and struck with his sword. A knight. An opponent whose single blow had been more than Encrid could comfortably block.

"They told me the rumors were exaggerated."

As he spoke, the man let his hands hang at his sides. He did nothing and raised no Will, yet showed not the slightest opening.

But did that mean Encrid had to yield? He raised the sword within his heart. Determination was a blade honed on the whetstone of resolve. Steeling himself, he straightened his back and set his hand on his sword's grip.

He was not alone. Rem, Ragna, Audin, Dunbachel, and Teresa were the same. None of them looked inclined to retreat.

Summer heat warmed the air, hot enough to send heat haze shimmering upward. They had already been streaming sweat in the sweltering humidity, but the tension chilled that heat.

While everyone stood silent, someone else interjected, from behind the newcomer.

"Would you please stop fooling around?"

He approached and spoke, but the tension remained unbroken. The man in the vest had deliberately created this atmosphere at first, but things were different now.

'Well, look at this.'

The man in the vest stared at Encrid. That bastard was the one sustaining the tension now. The man from the rumors: the Demon Killer.