Encrid felt every fine hair on his body stand on end. His opponent's blade seemed ready to cut his throat at any moment.

Could he block it?

His hands and feet moved before the question even formed. He adjusted the angle of his feet and rested his hand on his sword belt, assuming the most comfortable stance for drawing at any moment. As he shifted, dozens of possible attacks flashed through his mind and vanished just as quickly.

'What if I distract him with a whistle dagger?'

Or rush straight in with the Crushing Sword? Try the Giant's Strike?

Concentrate on a Single Point activated on its own, refusing to let him so much as blink. He saw his opponent's eyes. Those yellow eyes seemed to hold a hint of playfulness. That playfulness alone could kill him.

Yes, it could. But did that change anything?

His concentration blazed, and Eyes That See One Step Ahead activated of its own accord.

Every attack would be blocked. That was what would happen.

So? What did it matter?

The bristling hairs, pounding heart, running sweat, and chill at odds with the weather.

Encrid decided to forget them all.

Against the knight he had faced before, he had survived by advancing and striking first. Otherwise, he hadn't been confident he could block even a single attack. Back then, that had been his best option.

'Then what about now?'

Despite countless beatings and defeats, Encrid had kept walking in pursuit of his faded dream. He swung his sword all day without rest until the skin of his hands split. Not a day had passed otherwise. The sun rose anew each morning, and he had never squandered a single day.

'Will it work?'

An urge to try something, anything, surged up. Couldn't he do that now?

He wanted to. His fervor boiled over, erasing everything around him until only his opponent remained.

'Is this arrogance? Conceit?'

Even before he had become the troublemaker Squad Leader, in a time that now felt so distant thanks to his repeating todays, Encrid had once developed something resembling confidence.

How could he not? He had swung his sword again and again like a madman.

He hadn't known that effort did not reward everyone equally. No, he had known and looked away. The confidence he had gained among the riffraff had awakened a desire to challenge himself.

'How good am I now?'

With that thought, he had gone looking for someone worth fighting. His steps had been founded on a baseless belief that he must have changed.

And what had come of it?

In the spring of his twenty-seventh year, Encrid had learned how paltry his talent was. A chance quarrel on the road had taught him.

In five exchanges, his sword had gone flying and a hole had opened in his belly. Pressing his palm over the wound, he had asked,

["How old are you?"]

["Twelve."]

Twelve. It had been beyond belief.

This was a true genius.

["Sorry. That was my first real fight."]

So the child had said.

The memory was still vivid. He could never forget that young genius's face.

'Even so.'

A sword that had forgotten confidence might cut an opponent, but it could never defeat them.

["Instead of wondering whether to hit, just swing."]

That was what Rem said.

["Keep cutting until it works."]

That had been Ragna's advice on cutting a rock that refused to split.

["When the mind falls short, train the body. When the body falls short, train the mind, brother."]

Audin said the answer was training that left no room to think.

["Just stab them when they aren't looking."]

That was Jaxon's answer when asked what to do against a powerful enemy.

Perhaps even now, it was baseless confidence that made him want to test his skills.

'And why shouldn't I?'

He had built a tower of effort, and when that wasn't enough, he had struggled desperately up the wall to reach this point.

Encrid wanted to test himself. To quench his thirst. To turn his sword on this opponent.

'How far have I come now?'

Compared to when he had met the knight from Aspen? To when that young genius had put a blade through his belly?

It was obstinacy and stubbornness, defiance and tenacity.

His opponent knew it too. He had eased off, yet this fellow wanted to attack him instead.

The man in the vest looked Encrid straight in the eye and smiled.

There was plenty to amuse him. Not just the fellow's stubborn pride, but the way those around him naturally went along with it.

"Oh, I don't know anymore either."

The man moved. With a sharp sound as he kicked off the ground, his body seemed to stretch forward. His acceleration exceeded human limits.

The instant Encrid registered it, his sword moved too. It was neither Giant's Strike nor the Crushing Sword. His body had simply reacted before he could think.

BOOM!

An explosive crash rang out. Encrid felt himself driven backward, but bent his knees and lowered his center of gravity to hold firm.

GRRRR!

His feet plowed through the dirt. Still in that position, he drew back his deflected sword and thrust. Naturally, he kept every motion to a minimum as he sought an opening. It was a response born of the instincts countless spars with Rem had ingrained in his body.

"Hiyah!"

With a shout, the man knocked that aside too. His weapon was a dagger called a jambiya, with a thick, curved blade a handspan long. Even after clashing with Aker, it had neither cracked nor broken. It was clearly a fine weapon in its own right.

Rem, Ragna, or Audin might have intervened, but none stepped forward.

CLANG! CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

Their weapons clashed again and again. Rather than retreat, Encrid watched the dagger's path. Astonishingly, it seemed to vanish at moments, but each time he anticipated it with Eyes That See One Step Ahead, activated through his Will.

It was like predicting a destination from a point of departure, though he could still see some of the blade's trajectory. Eyes That See One Step Ahead made it possible. That left him no room to mount a major attack, but he could just barely follow the blade and hold on.

After twelve rounds of dodging and parrying, Encrid dropped his left hand to his waist and thrust it forward in an instant. He had drawn Spark and stabbed.

Faster than ever before, the sword shot out as a single point, perfectly embodying swiftness.

And the man's hand caught Spark's blade. With a sharp snap, it stopped dead, as immovable as if wedged between rocks.

The jambiya in the man's other hand was already at Encrid's throat. Holding Spark's blade in one hand, he had deftly slipped past the hand wielding Aker, closed in, and extended his dagger to Encrid's neck.

"That's enough, amusing little fellow," the man said.

Only then did Encrid's field of vision widen. Until now, he had seen nothing but the man before him. Now the surroundings returned: the familiar training ground, the three trees.

At the same time, every muscle in his body faintly ached. He felt as strained as if he had pushed himself to the limit through days of relentless training.

"Where do you serve as a knight?" Encrid asked.

"A knight? I'm nothing of the sort."

The man shrugged as he answered. The gesture seemed innocent, ill-suited to his scar-covered body and short, coarse beard.

"Shouldn't you introduce yourself first?"

A brown-skinned man wearing a turban fashioned from a broad strip of cloth finally approached and addressed everyone. His tone was utterly calm, as though the recent commotion had been nothing at all.

"Allow me to introduce Lord Anu, commonly known as the King of the East."

Even Encrid froze briefly at the unexpected introduction.

"Surprised?"

The king spoke with a hearty laugh.

The Mercenary King of the East. The continent's foremost explorer. Master of a griffin. The man who had killed a lion with a single blade at eighteen.

"Now, let's see. You enjoy fighting, I hear? And you've staked your life on killing demons? Come serve under me. I'll give you the strength of a knight, enough to kill demons."

These were the words of a man with many epithets, one who had already proven himself.

The reason Rem and the others hadn't attacked was plain. The man called the King of the East had shown not a trace of killing intent. He had indulged Encrid's stubbornness. It had been a kind of lesson, a fight they could hardly interrupt.

But the words he had just spoken carried a different weight. Enough to change even the look in Ragna's eyes, which had gone blank as he abruptly sank into thought.

"Aren't you full of confidence."

Rem couldn't let that pass. Audin also gave a rumbling chuckle.

Though the man hadn't called himself a knight, anyone could see that his displayed prowess more than warranted the title. Standing tall, he spoke with complete assurance. An air much like Krang's emerged naturally.

Luagarne studied the man who dared claim he could do what even a Frog devoted to exploring the unknown had failed to accomplish. She could hardly bear not to hear how, exactly, he intended to do it.

Beneath the blazing sun, in a shadeless corner of the training ground, dust stirred by their movements swirled over the bluestone and settled again. Sunlight that gave off heat rather than mere warmth swept over the dust and the people gathered amid it.

A brief silence passed. Before Encrid could speak,

"My lord, you mustn't make promises you cannot keep."

The turbaned man who had followed him finally spoke again.

'Hm?'

Encrid's eyebrow twitched.

"You think I can't?" the king said sternly.

"How do you intend to do it?" the turbaned man asked.

"Well."

"Doing it well won't make everything possible."

"With hard work?"

"That won't do either."

"It might work if we keep at it."

The king's eyes blazed with passion as he spoke those last words. Anyone would have felt compelled to agree with him. But his adjutant was no pushover.

"What cannot be done cannot be done."

"You're giving up too soon!"

"This isn't about giving up. You mustn't keep making promises you can't fulfill."

The king snorted.

Watching him, Encrid caught a whiff of Rem. A different variety, but definitely a crazy bastard.

"With all the rumors going around, we requested a visit, but we've ended up barging in. Please accept my sincerest apologies. We mean no harm."

The adjutant spoke in a thick eastern accent.

Everyone could understand that last part: they meant no harm. Encrid himself knew perfectly well that the man had indulged his stubbornness.

"Welcome."

He offered that simple greeting.

"Might I stay a few more days?" the King of the East asked.

"You look like you'd do whatever you wanted even if we said no," Rem interjected.

The king laughed heartily.

"You've got good instincts, boy!"

He wasn't the sort to listen if they tried to stop him. Encrid didn't particularly mind, either. The man was remarkably sociable; he was already chatting with Rem, Ragna, and Audin.

Not that they were the sort to casually let a stranger get close.

"Look at the size of you. You must be strong."

"Only modestly so, brother from the East."

"One of my brothers, a fellow called Geshtarian, has some strength to him. You two would make a fine pair. You're all capable lads. How did you end up gathered here?"

His manner of speaking was peculiar. He spoke lightly, treating them all like much younger children.

"We've certainly imposed on you."

The man who appeared to be his adjutant looked troubled as he spoke. Encrid sank into thought for a moment.

The brief spar had left him with something. Not the strain on his body, but those techniques unleashed from the realm of instinct, the ones Rem had tried so often to teach him.

No matter how much he honed them, they wouldn't be true techniques until he used them in actual combat.

Could he try them against this man? From the way he spoke, wouldn't he accept a sparring request at any time?

More importantly, unlike Rem, Ragna, and Audin, he had handled everything Encrid threw at him with ease. Quite literally, this was an opportunity to fight with all his strength and the intent to kill.

Encrid had already thought that far before uttering his five-syllable welcome.

"About five spars a day should..."

At Encrid's mutter, the adjutant blinked.

"Pardon? What did you just say?"

"Could we manage ten?"

That wouldn't be bad either, if his body could withstand it. With that thought, Encrid looked at the adjutant.

"You seem to have heard everything."

"I did hear you, but..."

The adjutant reflected that until now, he had thought the king he served was the craziest man alive. Yet here was someone much like him.

With that, the King of the East's stay was effectively settled.

"Take good care of me, youngsters," the king said.

"How old are you, anyway?" Rem asked.

"Over a hundred."

Everyone marveled at an age so at odds with his appearance. It wasn't a lie.

This was the man who had led the mercenaries and assorted talented people following him to found a kingdom in the East. The stories of that founding had already been told more than fifty years ago.

A monster who had lived from then until now, still brimming with vigor. That was Anu, the Mercenary King of the East.