The cloud-filled sky felt lower than ever. The clouds almost seemed to touch the little hill rising behind the training ground and quarters.

While everyone else went about their business, the king and Encrid discussed their dreams, drawing the cool, refreshing air left by the drying rain deep into their lungs and exhaling as they spoke.

"I want to become a knight and wield my sword."

His tone and manner were so plain and composed that he might have been describing someone else's dream. Becoming a knight was only the beginning of what he meant to do on the continent.

Listening to Encrid's dream, the king thought, 'Neither despair nor discouragement.'

He did not even mention other people's ridicule. He would simply keep advancing and make it happen, so he had no doubts. This man did not consider failure.

The king's own past flashed through his mind.

["Found a nation? Enough of this nonsense! Do you think that's remotely possible?"]

Those were the words of the younger brother who had followed him most devotedly. Anu could not blame him. His brother was simply a realist. Nor was he wrong. Others had offered equally sensible words.

["It's impossible. You want me to invest in something like that?"]

["Do you intend to become a mounted raider or a bandit? What is there in the East?"]

["Why waste your strength so? Devote yourself to holding back the Demonic Realm. I shall give you anything you desire."]

The king, Anu, had heeded none of them. He had refused them all. Nothing they said had made his heart race.

'I'll do what makes my heart race.'

For him, that meant founding a nation in the East. And in the end, he had done it. He had poured his life into laying its foundations.

Everyone had said it was impossible. Everyone had called it pointless. Everyone had laughed at him. Anu had had no time to care. There was far, far too much to do. He had simply kept moving forward.

And as he walked onward, ever onward:

["Sounds interesting. Count me in."]

More people had come to stay at his side.

["You seem to have quite a few shortcomings. Allow me to make up for them."]

That had brought him to the present. It was not over. This was only the beginning.

He had not meant to sound forceful, but weight entered his voice and his eyes burned.

"The kingdom in the East? That's only a milestone! The nation is merely my foundation. My goal is to conquer the entire East."

He would explore and investigate the unknown, open one path after another, and plant his flag in that land. As he spoke, the king bared his fangs. It was a smile, but it also showed his fighting spirit.

"You want to become a knight? Did you say the knight who would end the war?"

"Yes."

"You mean to erase war from the continent? Erase the Demonic Realm if it's your enemy, kill demons if they stand in your way, and bring down even the Empire if it stops you?"

That dream surpassed even his own ambition to conquer the East. This was a delusion. The king respected other people's dreams, but wasn't this going too far?

Encrid's manner remained unchanged. His sweat had cooled. A breeze stirred his black hair, which had grown long enough to tickle his neck.

He had no illustrious bloodline. He was not royalty. Nor was his talent exceptional. He was simply a human who walked onward with nothing but a dream.

"You really are an interesting bastard."

Anu found himself saying the very words others had spoken in admiration of him. This man's dreams were on an entirely different scale.

"If I started a war on the continent, you'd fight me too. Then I'd better think of the future and kill you here."

He did not actually mean to kill him. The man's words had reminded the king of something he had forgotten, and for the first time during his stay, he had seen Encrid's true determination. That was why.

It was a lesson disguised as a threat to kill. Rather than explain all his whims, he had wrapped them in the excuse, "I'll kill you." Of course, no one could know what was going through the king's mind. He was already fickle enough, a man who did whatever took his fancy.

As he spoke, the king rose from his seat and reached behind him. His adjutant hesitated. He had followed Anu for over twenty years.

'Is he serious?'

That was why he hesitated, but he obeyed. He was about to toss the spear into the king's hand when the king spoke.

"The Bull."

The adjutant did more than hesitate. He stopped. The king had named a weapon he brought out only against foes he absolutely had to kill, or enemies worthy of standing against him.

"My lord?"

Asalluhi questioned him before he could help himself.

"Give it to me."

The king was adamant. His adjutant took another weapon from his back and unwrapped the cloth around it.

Its shaft was a deep brown, its material difficult to guess. The spearhead was unusual: it had two prongs. In both shape and substance, they resembled horns. Dark gray horn blades, so dark they would likely be invisible at night.

The two horns, the spearhead, formed the bull's head; the shaft was its body.

An unprecedented intimidation poured from the king as he took the spear. It made one feel compelled to bow and grovel.

Still seated where they had been talking side by side, Encrid felt a pressure as though he were sinking beneath the ground. He immediately activated the Will of refusal. The determination within him pushed back against the king's intimidation and asserted his existence. Refusal and defiance: he would not be crushed merely because someone pressed down on him.

Encrid pressed his palm against the ground and rose as well. Asalluhi gave him a startled look, as though the simple act of standing was remarkable.

He stood before the king wielding the Bull without so much as a tremor. And the king had already knocked him down twice today. He should have been exhausted. His resolve should have wavered. Yet it did not.

Encrid stood with Aker in hand. What had the man truly meant? That was none of his concern. His legs, drained by two bouts? Those were none of his concern either.

His opponent had heard his dream and now declared he would break it, openly displaying his intent to kill.

Encrid did what he always did. He raised his sword in defiance.

As always, he stitched his torn dream back together. He took his stance and faced his opponent.

As always, he walked with his eyes fixed only on his dream. He braced his legs and steadied his breathing.

As always, he chose to live a moment in which he did not care if he died.

The king's spear moved. The twin horns stabbed toward his chest so quickly that even their pale afterimages blurred. Encrid angled Aker to block. Without luck, he could not have stopped that attack.

TING.

The spear arrived in the blink of an eye, grazed Aker's blade in front of his chest, and stopped. Then it trapped the blade between its horns and twisted sideways.

Stopping it was a greater feat than thrusting it. Despite driving it forward so fast, he had halted it with only a light ring, then caught the sword between the prongs to snap it.

GRRRK.

The blade screamed between the two horns. Encrid held tight as the sword tried to tear through his palms and escape his grip. With the Heart of the Superhuman and the grip he trained every morning, he held firm.

When neither the blade snapped nor the sword left Encrid's hands, the king spoke.

"Try blocking this too."

Apparently still at ease, the king withdrew his spear as he spoke and thrust again. Before Encrid's eyes, the Bull's horns multiplied into six. The spear split into three thrusts, each one seemingly real. And they were.

Speed was relative, after all. To Encrid's eyes, all three thrusts were real. It was a marvel the king performed by repeatedly thrusting and withdrawing his spear.

There was not even time for a battle cry. Encrid relaxed, then instantly tensed every muscle in his body and swept his sword across.

Any soldier who could recognize the techniques blended into his swordsmanship now would be worthy of receiving Luagarne's instruction immediately.

His stroke, combining the Crushing Sword with the Will of Swiftness, met the Bull's horns. As before, the horns merely grazed the blade before withdrawing.

TING.

Encrid drew Aker back. Time to catch his breath. Somehow, the sword felt heavier than before. No, its weight bore down on both arms more distinctly than ever. Perhaps it was exhaustion.

Instead of attacking, the king spoke.

"You grasp Will and build techniques from it, one by one. Once you go beyond that, you fight with Will itself. That's what you call a knight."

Encrid had no breath to spare for an answer. The king continued.

"If you can fight with Will itself, wouldn't you need a weapon to match? The answer was obvious. The Bull is such a weapon. What people commonly call an imprinted weapon. My Will resides within it."

As he spoke, the king thrust again. Encrid could not even begin to guess when he breathed. He swung his sword upward once more.

TING!

Again, blade and horns merely grazed one another. Encrid could not even judge whether this was the time to stake everything on an attack.

Though Eyes That See One Step Ahead was active, he could not see what came next, as though it were hidden in fog. He needed to predict the next move from a shifting shoulder or a foot bracing against the ground, but his opponent showed him none of those signs. That was why everything seemed shrouded in fog.

The sword in his hands felt heavier still. It was as though someone secretly attached more iron to it each time it met the spear. The fog, the weight—everything hindered him, but...

'So what?'

Ignoring it all, Encrid filled his mouth with air and held his breath. His cheeks bulged. He would do everything he could. Just as he always had.

His sword seemed to vanish through the air. A stab drawing on everything he had. Swiftness activated. He put breathless exertion, Concentrate on a Single Point, the Heart of the Superhuman, and even his attacking sense into that single strike.

"Not a chance."

The king extended his spear and diverted the blade.

TING!

Again, much the same sound rang out. Encrid hauled his deflected sword back by force. If once did not work, he would try twice, three times. If that still failed, ten times.

If he stopped because a wall with no end in sight barred his way, he would never cross it. Aker's blade began to dance through the air, shattering the sunset light. The king parried every stroke with the Bull's horns.

The dark clouds released a few thin streams of rain with a light patter.

TING-TING-TING-TING-TING!

Aker and the Bull met countless times and parted just as often. After that brief flurry of contact and separation, Encrid staggered back.

Fine rain fell onto his sword and hissed into steam.

"Yes, you really must die."

Even as the king spoke and Encrid swayed, his grip on his sword did not loosen. For a while, they simply glared at each other.

"Axe, I know you're behind me. Don't bother throwing anything."

The king spoke again.

"Your senses still won't feel right. Take the wrong path now, and you'll suffer for the rest of your life."

He continued.

"You seem ready to grab me if things go wrong, but I won't let you get close enough in the first place."

Holding the Bull upright, the king drove its shaft hard against the ground and withdrew his killing intent.

"And I am a Beastman! I have yet to even transform!"

That final cry raised the hairs on everyone's skin. It brimmed not with arrogance but with confidence proven over long years. Having lived so long that his personality veered from one extreme to another, the king's speech was erratic, but his meaning was clear.

"Why so suddenly?"

Luagarne asked the question. She, too, had been standing to one side, fingering the grip of her Loop Sword. That Frog had also intended to attack if things went wrong.

The king knew it, but answered as though he did not.

"A whim. Asalluhi."

"Yes."

He tossed the Bull back. Catching the hot spear, Asalluhi waved it to cool the horn blades, then wrapped it in cloth again.

"Let's go."

The king made his decision and moved. His departure was as impulsive as his arrival. No one tried to stop him.

Passing Encrid, who stood on the verge of fainting, the king paused to whisper something and clapped his shoulder once. Then he ambled away.

"Until we have occasion to meet again."

Asalluhi looked back as he spoke. No one answered.

His eyes met Dunbachel's as she watched, frozen rigid, from a tree. He gave her a gentle smile and withdrew. Every last one of them had been ready to attack.

Teresa stood by the way out with her shield in hand.

"Farewell."

Asalluhi followed the king out.

* * *

"Why did you do that? They didn't seem likely to come east."

Asalluhi quickened his pace and asked as he caught up behind the ambling king. He had followed him for a long time. Though briefly flustered, he understood his intentions well enough in retrospect.

What the king had given was a gift. Including that final whisper, he had left Encrid a gift.

"I received a gift first."

"What do you mean?"

At Asalluhi's further question, the king gave a small smile and replied.

"I was good with swords and spears from the moment I first picked them up. You know that?"

"Yes, I do."

There had been a time when his natural talent had earned him the name Mercenary King. He possessed both innate physical gifts and personal charm.

"I was born the child of slaves, but before I turned sixteen, I'd freed even my parents from slavery."

After that, he had made his name by killing a lion with a single spear.

"And yet."

The king fell silent for a moment. The brief rain had already stopped again. The air was cold but utterly clear, as was the sky. A cool breeze brushed his cheek.

'I'd begun to wonder whether I could conquer the East even if I devoted my entire life to it.'

Keeping that thought to himself, the king spoke. It was the harm time had done him. For a while, he had forgotten the audacity of his youth.

He believed he needed talented people, but were they truly essential? Why couldn't he advance alone? Why had he thought himself lacking even after building a kingdom in the East? Because he had lost his audacity.

In those ten days or so—a short time, or a long one, depending on how one looked at it—watching Encrid had made the king realize it again. It had rekindled the audacity he had forgotten.

"That clumsy swordsman showed greater determination than mine."

Asalluhi tilted his head, then abruptly asked,

"Do you think he'll become a knight?"

"I don't know."

"It isn't an easy road."

Asalluhi had eyes too. The man could not become a knight. He showed no such talent.

The king smiled at his adjutant's words.

"His talent really is meager. I've never met anyone so ungifted."

Compared with the others, he had no talent worth mentioning. Sparring with him had made that clear: his talent was abysmal. Yet the king believed he would become a knight.

"Can you become a knight just by swinging a sword all day? Or does it take an abundance of talent?"

"Don't you need both?"

Effort and talent. Weren't they the foremost prerequisites?

Still smiling, the king spoke, thinking of the man who had reminded him of what he had forgotten.

"A man who carries his dream upon his sword can surely surpass his limits."

That was how the king saw it.