How long had it been since the sword in his hands had felt heavy?

For roughly a year after he first took up a sword, its weight had often troubled him. A few swings of that heavy lump of iron would leave his arm muscles trembling, and a sharp pain between his thumb and forefinger would linger all day. Back then, even a wooden sword had felt heavy.

And this was several times harder than that.

'Heavy.'

It felt as though dozens of iron weights hung from the blade. The slightest slackening of his strength would send it plunging into the ground. The muscles in both arms trembled.

It was unbelievable. With Audin's training, raw strength was one thing he had rarely found himself lacking. Yet now he had no room even for that thought. Simply enduring the sword's weight left no space in his mind for anything else.

'It's so heavy.'

He felt he might drop it at any moment. Raising its tip even slightly seemed as arduous as crossing a mountain in midwinter with nothing on.

The brief rain that had soaked him had evaporated in the heat of battle, but sweat had begun pouring out afterward, and Encrid was soon drenched again. Sweat streamed down him. Drops ran to the end of his chin and leaped ceaselessly to the ground.

'It's terribly heavy.'

At this rate, he would inevitably drop it. It was a wonder he had managed to fight with something so heavy.

He had not had a chance to catch his breath for some time. Breathing was a struggle, as though he had spent the entire day running without rest. The sweat flowed ever more freely, soaking him through. He looked as if he had climbed into a bathtub fully clothed and then climbed out again.

Even so, the hardest thing to bear was still the lump of iron in his hands. The renowned sword Aker, which had nestled so perfectly in his grip when he first held it, now felt like a snake thrashing to escape.

'Why is it so heavy?'

He did not know. All he had done was knock aside his opponent's spearhead.

It was around then that Anu approached Encrid, whose physical and mental reserves had been spent weathering his blows, and whispered to him. Though holding the sword up had felt like a very long time to Encrid, only a moment had actually passed. Just long enough to exchange a few words.

"Can you overcome the weight? The Bull likes to foist its burdens onto others."

Encrid could not grasp everything those words meant, but he understood one thing.

"Let it fall, and that will be your limit. Then you won't achieve what you want even if you die trying."

The talk of having to die meant that success was possible only if he ran with death at his side. Even without the king's words, Encrid already felt it: he must not let go of what he held.

Only one fact was clear. Encrid had thought he might drop the sword, yet he also knew that he would not.

'If I were going to let go just because it was heavy...'

He would never have taken a single step toward that impossible dream.

"You wished to become a knight? Then see much, experience much, and build upon it all. Everything will help you on your path."

The king continued. His words were vague. At least, that was how they sounded to Encrid now. But Anu's tone held nothing but goodwill.

"Remember what your sword carries, and a path will open."

Those few brief words remained in Encrid's mind, even as sweat streamed down him and his sword tip wavered.

"Thank you for your hospitality."

The king gave his shoulder one final pat and left.

Encrid saw the sword tip sink a little lower in his field of vision.

The Will of refusal, Heart of the Superhuman, heart of the beast, Concentrate on a Single Point, sensory arts, even the body he had trained through the Isolation Technique. Drawing upon everything did nothing to help him hold up this sword now.

The king's Bull made the weapon in its opponent's hands feel heavier than ever before. It was a mystic art wrought through Will.

Even as Encrid recognized that, he raised the sword tip at last. The failure of everything he had learned could not break the determination he had built within himself. If he were going to give up, he would never have begun.

The sword tip slowly rose. At last, Encrid lifted the sword properly, and for a moment he forgot its weight. The burden the king's Bull had laid upon it vanished.

Only then did he realize that, for the first time in ages, his palms had split. Red liquid streamed from the hands holding his sword. The leather wrapped around Aker's grip had darkened with blood.

The wounds had come when he resisted the Bull's horns as they first caught Aker's blade and twisted, trying to wrench it from his grasp. They were the price of withstanding a knight's attempt to disarm him.

As he realized this, Encrid staggered and collapsed.

"You fool."

Someone spoke as they caught him. It was Esther's voice.

That was the last thing Encrid heard before losing consciousness.

* * *

Encrid dreamed. It had been a while, hadn't it?

A real dream, not one featuring the ferryman.

["You mean to live by the sword? Give it up. You'll die young."]

["Even talented men rarely live to fifty as mercenaries."]

He had not even properly told them his dream. These were the words of people who had told him to abandon the very boat in which he meant to sail the sea of his dreams.

That boat has a hole in its bottom.

You cannot go forward.

Your oar is broken and rotten.

Again, you cannot go forward.

Your boat is made of fallen leaves. You mean to sail the sea in that? It would sink even on a lake or a river.

So you cannot go forward.

Everyone had said the same thing.

Apart from his comrades, Encrid had seen only two people listen to his dream and respond seriously. Not even Luagarne the Frog was among them. She had judged it impossible, then merely marveled at the mystery of watching him achieve it.

'Krang.'

One was his friend who sat on Naurilia's throne. He had said that hearing Encrid's dream had helped him find his own path.

The other was the King of the East.

Though their time together had been brief, sparring with him had allowed Encrid to refine what he possessed. The strange thing was that, although he had expected to hear countless remarks about his lack of talent during their bouts, the King of the East had made none.

Before Encrid possessed the skill to overwhelm opponents as he did now, most people who came after hearing about his dream had discussed his talent. They could no longer do that because his swordsmanship now surpassed theirs.

Yet the king possessed more than enough standing and skill to tell him he lacked talent. He could have lamented it or expressed surprise, but he took it in stride. Instead, before leaving, he had said:

["Go forward without forgetting what you carry upon your sword. A path will open."]

That was encouragement. That was faith.

Encrid ignored every word spoken by those whose faces remained unseen beyond the curtain.

The boat made of fallen leaves and the oar woven from rotten branches had, before he knew it, become a caravel built from oak carefully treated against water, and an oar painstakingly planed from sturdy planks instead of woven from rotting wood.

With boat and oar in hand, Encrid saw a signpost and a path.

'What must I do to become a knight?'

Everything around him blurred, and the knight from Aspen appeared.

"Block just once, and I'll let you live."

Had he said that? Encrid did not think so, but this was a dream. The words themselves did not matter. Their meaning did.

He only had to block once.

The knight from Aspen swung his sword. A sword of sheer speed and strength.

Since parrying it was impossible, Encrid had struck first instead. The knight had withdrawn for the sake of his honor.

Using that single blow as his benchmark, Encrid had practiced all manner of techniques, cutting down, thrusting, and swinging his sword.

Then he saw the many techniques Anu had displayed with the Bull. The King of the East had shown him the finesse of wielding Will. Had he so chosen, he might have been able to kill someone like Encrid in no time. Encrid would have resisted to the very end and had no intention of dying easily, but that was reality.

Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten about the today that would repeat if he died.

Then:

"You little..."

The ferryman tore through one side of the dream and barged in. He, too, was part of the dream.

Ignoring him, Encrid sank into thought and gained a small insight. It was a signpost that showed him the way, however faintly.

'They're different.'

The King of the East had walked a different path from the knight of Aspen, and his techniques followed a different course. The two were clearly different. Utterly different.

With that thought, Encrid opened his eyes.

A dull pain suffused his body, and his palms throbbed. He raised a hand and found it thickly wrapped in bandages.

He saw the darkness outside, the glow of a lamp, and someone seated in a chair right beside his bed.

"Sinar?"

"Now that you've called me by my name, all that remains is the wedding ceremony."

A Fairy joke rang in his ears. Instead of laughing, Encrid asked a question. Her jokes were not easy to laugh at.

"What are you doing?"

"Admiring the view."

He did not think he needed to ask what she was admiring. She sat with her legs crossed, an elbow on her leg and her chin propped in her hand, looking at him.

"You're always fighting until you collapse," Sinar continued.

Encrid shrugged as though it were nothing.

"Once you're up, I'll have something interesting to show you."

"What do you mean?"

Still seated, Sinar gave him a faint smile she would show no one else.

Along with that smile came her attack. She had uncrossed her legs and lowered her arm before he knew it, then drawn her sword and thrust. The speed and angle defied comprehension.

Nidle pierced Encrid's heart from beyond his awareness.

He felt he ought to cough up blood. Every muscle in his body tightened, briefly making him forget his aches.

Death was right before him. Was he to close his eyes and die like this?

No.

"What do you think?"

At Sinar's words, the sword piercing his heart vanished like grains of sand. She was merely sitting with her legs uncrossed and her arms hanging loosely.

It had all been an illusion. No, it had been a possible reality, shown to him by her presence.

"What was that?"

"Did you think I spent so long away from your side for nothing?"

Despite the Fairy's joke, Encrid immediately understood several things. Having experienced a knight's might twice made it all the easier now.

What Sinar had just shown him was the might of a knight.

The panther watching from one side came over and nestled into Encrid's arms. It seemed to be a pointed message to Sinar: she had done enough, and should leave now.

"I'll be waiting for you to recover," Sinar said.

Encrid's heart pounded. He wanted to ignore the muscular pain resounding through his body, get up, and take hold of his sword. An urge surged through him to receive a real sword stroke from Sinar.

TAP.

Esther struck his chest with a forepaw, as if telling him to restrain himself.

"I know," Encrid answered.

He knew that too. In this condition, he could not fight properly. Even sparring was out of the question. Waiting was the right thing to do.

Instead, he would devote himself to recovering. Once he could spring up and hold his sword upright, he would catch Sinar and cross swords with her.

"Well? What do you think of your betrothed?"

Sinar's smile had already vanished as she asked. Encrid could only answer.

"The best."

"As long as you know."

The Fairy rose quietly. Her movements still gave away scarcely any presence as she left the barracks.

The hinges announced her departure with a shrill creak.

"Not going to sleep? Making a hell of a fuss the moment you wake up from passing out."

"Ugh, the first night I've slept in the barracks in ages, and this is what I get?"

"Pray. Your recovery will be swifter for it."

SNORE.

Rem, Krais, and Audin spoke in turn. The last sound was Ragna snoring. He rarely snored unless he was utterly exhausted, yet for some reason he was offering them snores in place of a lullaby.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Exactly half a day."

"Go back to sleep. You must not ignore the warnings your body gives you, brother. Sleep, and let it settle."

Rem answered, and Audin added his advice.

Esther tapped his chest again. She meant that he should rest. She was not wrong. Thinking that, Encrid closed his eyes.

He felt he could fall asleep quickly. As drowsiness washed over him, he sensed Jaxon, who had been watching silently from one side, set a small pot of ointment beside the bed.

"Medicine."

Jaxon spoke, then returned to his place. So he had come back to the barracks today, for once.

Dunbachel, Teresa, Pell, and Roford had different quarters, but all four stood outside the barracks as though on guard duty.

Unaware of that much, Encrid drifted back to sleep.

* * *

After arriving in Border Guard, Esther had often left the barracks. Encrid might have noticed had he paid more attention, but he was completely absorbed in swinging his sword. Business as usual, one might say.

Esther roamed the Penn-Hanil River and the surrounding lakes, mountains, and forests to restore the spell world damaged in the battle with the Count. While she was at it, she also worked on that Bonehead fellow she had acquired earlier, and tried summoning a few spirits she had contracted with in the past.

"Ghoul, do I look like your prey?"

In the process, she encountered packs of Ghouls several times.

The outposts and local security measures Krais had pushed through had a drawback: they drove the monsters once scattered across the region to band together. Monsters traveling in small numbers could no longer survive, so it was only natural that those with any survival instinct should gather.

This was one such pack of Ghouls. Monsters that once would not have dared meet her eyes now fearlessly bared their ugly fangs.

Even without having learned necromancy, Esther would have had little trouble making a few Ghouls like these her servants. But there was no need. In fact, it was closer to something she must not do.

'That would lower my level, not raise it.'

As soon as the thought occurred, she summoned flames with a gesture and roasted six Ghouls.

GRAAAAGH.

Dying with their entire bodies ablaze, the Ghouls soon became lumps of flesh that stank of burning.

'I'm certainly working hard myself.'

Esther knew why. The man beside her was constantly struggling forward. She had realized that standing beside someone like him would require more than halfhearted resolve.

'If all I do is restore my former strength, I'll disgrace the name Fighting Witch.'

So she, too, would go further. And a fine opportunity lay at hand. Searching the Penn-Hanil Mountains for hidden ruins and monsters while honing what she possessed would bring insight.

If Ragna was a genius with the sword, Esther was a genius with magic.

She knew the path she must take, and could distinguish what she needed from what she did not at a glance. She knew that would allow her to advance further, too.

'Ah, that fool.'

She murmured inwardly as she recalled Encrid collapsing before that fellow called the King of the East.

He, Encrid, would go further. He was bound to become entangled with more paltry demons and mages like the Count. That was the nature of the path he walked.

She would clear away those who tried magical tricks in his path. Esther meant to satisfy her pride by proving herself that way.

To think that the Fighting Witch herself had taken shelter with him, yet was of no help at all.

'That I cannot allow.'

This was a matter of her worth.

At the same time, Esther wondered whether Encrid would achieve what he desired. What would the road that man walked be like? Where would it end?

Those questions had never interested her at all when she looked at the King of the East.

After traveling back and forth through the mountains, practicing her magic and sorting out what was useful among the six branches she had learned in the tower as a child, Esther noticed a soldier on her way back to the unit.

She did not know his name. But as he rolled dice, he moved mana without even realizing it.

Magical talent.

She was about to pass him without a thought, but changed her mind and approached.

"You're coming with me."

Interest in him? No. This was for her own sake.

'There are things to be learned through teaching.'

Her teacher had said so, and her own experience agreed. That was why.

The soldier she had singled out, known as Border Guard's foremost gambler, merely blinked.

"Pardon?"

"If you don't come, I will subject you to suffering worse than death."

Esther acted as she always did, and the soldier, knowing she was the mage nicknamed Encrid's lover, offered no pointless resistance.

Reassigning a single soldier was something Graham, who actually oversaw Border Guard's forces, could handle. And Battalion Commander Graham did just that.

"A soldier? A Squad Leader? She took a low-grade soldier? Leave it be. She'll sort it out."

That was the Battalion Commander's response when told that Esther, or the panther, had taken a soldier away.