"What is swordsmanship?"

Oara asked after their spar. They were in the front yard, hardly a place one could call a training ground. Encrid was down on one knee, clutching his stomach.

He had dodged her vertical strike, then the stab that followed. He had seen those attacks several times before. With his dodging sense active, he could evade them.

He had avoided her blade, but immediately after swinging, Oara had slipped inside his guard and slammed her palm into his abdomen. The impact had punched through his guts and out his back. He was lucky he hadn't coughed up blood.

Of course, the attack had carried Will, but the movement was simple. Utterly simple.

"What do you need to do to subdue an opponent? Think about it."

Encrid nodded. When he saluted, Oara gave him another bright smile and left. He mulled over her words. They didn't really resonate.

Oara came again the next day.

"Don't tell me you didn't understand. Strange. At your level, your body should respond on its own."

The brown-haired knight tilted her head, then continued as though it didn't matter.

"Don't you think you know how to do too many things? Every bucket overflows once it's full, and you can't drink the water that spills out."

"Is that a problem?"

"Swing only as much as you need, when you need to. That's all there is to it. Remember that."

No revelation struck his mind like lightning. But he understood what Oara meant.

'Having too much is a problem?'

She said much the same thing once more.

"In terms of technique alone, you have more than enough. Discard what you don't need."

She was firm, and Encrid considered it. Perhaps it was exactly the advice he needed right now. So why couldn't he readily embrace it?

He didn't know. It was just a feeling. He didn't want to.

Still pondering, he turned and saw Rem carefully sharpening his axe.

SHING.

The whetstone rang clear against the blade. A pure sound. Beads of sweat dotted Rem's forehead. He was utterly absorbed. It was rare indeed to see him work so hard at anything. Wasn't he putting several times more effort into this than into teasing Ragna or tormenting the soldiers?

SHING.

The sound he'd been hearing constantly these past few days rang in his ears again.

"Rem."

"Can't you see I'm busy?"

Rem answered without even looking up. Encrid casually moved to block the sunlight. His shadow fell over Rem's head.

"Am I greedy?"

The whetstone scraped along the axe blade again. Rem answered without breaking his rhythm.

"You seriously asking me that?"

His attitude was plain, his tone suggesting the answer was obvious. To Encrid, it sounded like he was telling him to stop asking questions that weren't worth asking.

Encrid sat down beside Rem, drew Aker, Spark, and his gladius, and began wiping them with linseed oil. Their blades gleamed in the sunlight.

"Grr!"

Nearby, Dunbachel snorted as she worked to strengthen her muscles. Off to one side, Luagarne wielded her Loop Sword and the whip she wore around her waist. She had said she'd lost her touch and wanted to sharpen it again. Hadn't she said it was so she could let him experience Frog-style combat?

That was something to look forward to.

After cleaning his swords, he counted his whistle daggers. Three remained, so he honed their blades as well. He tended to his throwing axe and the rim of his round shield, checked each piece of equipment for damage from the damp air, then spent his remaining time practicing his swordsmanship.

One evening, they went out to deal with the last colony. The remaining monsters were a pack of Ghouls—spitting Ghouls, a rare sight outside the Demonic Realm borderlands.

The fluid they spat looked unpleasant enough that no one would want it on them. And no one could afford to be hit: it was a poison that sent up smoke on contact and could corrode even iron.

Luagarne dealt with them. From three paces away, she wrapped her whip around their necks and snapped them. Frogs were known as one of the warrior races, and she proved why.

"That's the last colony, then?"

Dunbachel seemed eager to head home, but Encrid ignored the hint. They returned and enjoyed everyday life in Thousand Brick.

During that time, Oara went outside the city just once and returned covered in black blood.

"Some spider bastards were gathering, so I took care of them."

It seemed to have been a light warm-up for her.

"It's thanks to you, you handsome, dependable fellow. Now that I don't have to worry about the rear, I can take preemptive measures."

A knight could cut down a thousand people alone. She had gone out as casually as someone taking a stroll and slaughtered dozens of monsters.

The same two proto knights accompanied her: the huge man and the small woman.

"You're not quite as handsome as me, but your skill? I'll give you that," the man said.

"Feel free to ignore this bastard," the woman added.

Encrid looked at them. They were both formidable fighters. So was Oliver, the knight-order member he'd arm-wrestled. Standing behind them, Oliver greeted him with a glance.

Encrid thought they were honest, upright people without pretensions. Every one of them lived without reserve. They never hesitated to speak their minds or crack a joke.

'Would it have been fun if Sinar had come along?'

She enjoyed jokes too, didn't she?

Meanwhile, Aesia took charge of keeping order in the city. With no attackers, she had practically nothing else to do.

After her little outing, Oara didn't leave her house for two days. He didn't know why. In the meantime, Encrid sparred with a few soldiers.

Several days passed that way. One evening, the sun was setting and its glow lingered at the edge of the sky—the hour when a figure in the gloom might be a dog or a wolf, and you couldn't tell which.

CHIRRR.

Insects sang in the grass. Skewered chunks of meat sizzled over the fire Dunbachel had built. Rem sprinkled them with salt and spices, while Luagarne chewed on insects, puffing her cheeks with a pleased croak.

That was when Oara came again. They sparred once more, and afterward she said,

"Well, that's novel."

"Is it?"

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?"

"I'm firm in my convictions."

"Stubborn, then."

Rem broke in with a snicker.

"Good judge of character."

"Agreed," Luagarne added.

Dunbachel was about to say something too, but after meeting Encrid's eyes, she chewed her meat instead.

MUNCH, MUNCH.

She certainly ate well.

Encrid didn't bother making excuses. He wasn't stubborn; he was steadfast. He didn't need anyone else to agree.

"I can tell for certain from your eyes. You're mad."

Oara casually said something that would have earned her a beating if she weren't a knight. Rem burst into delighted laughter.

"That's right."

Encrid would ask later what he found so amusing. That was rich coming from the biggest lunatic in the unit.

"I've never met anyone like you. You're entertaining."

Oara accepted a chunk of meat and turned to leave. She even gave a thumbs-up, saying it was well cooked.

All this conversation had taken place after Encrid faced her sword with the sunset at her back. In other words, the spar was over, and he was lying flat on the ground.

He thought he'd done fairly well.

"That wasn't bad," Luagarne said.

The Frog puffed her cheeks slightly before continuing. Encrid assumed that meant she was pleased.

"Honestly, I was surprised."

"If that surprises you, you'll never stop. Teaching him used to surprise me more than a dozen times a day."

After laughing for so long, that bastard Rem sounded calm now. Something in the way he finished suggested he had more to say, and Luagarne responded.

"What's so surprising?"

It was a question born of pure curiosity.

"A madman who never does anything but mad things."

Rem answered with his gaze on the stars, as though he were a sage. For that moment, he looked like a man who had attained enlightenment.

It was bullshit, of course.

Encrid hadn't liked Oara's advice to discard things because they had grown too complicated and tangled. Did he have to give up his life—something that had kept him safe—in order to advance?

He asked himself, and answered himself. He didn't want to.

So rather than discard them, he embraced them. More precisely, he combined them. He remembered trying it once before, and had already used them that way naturally a few times, so it wasn't difficult.

He began with what he'd learned from Jaxon.

'Whether it's dodging sense, the realm of Sixth Sense, or attacking sense...'

They all centered on the senses. Jaxon called them sensory arts. Did Jaxon use all of them separately?

No. They came naturally to him. Couldn't Encrid do the same?

He had changed his perspective. Then he had made it happen.

Everyone who saw Encrid said his talent was meager. He hadn't even had a repeating today this time, but he'd done it. He had succeeded.

He was immensely proud of that, though it was a shame it hadn't worked on Oara right away.

"It's just not polished yet."

Rem offered that advice as he finished his meat and took out his axe and whetstone again.

"You'll wear that blade away."

"Don't worry. I'm keeping an eye on it. Who do you take me for, some idiot with no sense of direction?"

Ragna had been the chief target of Rem's hostility lately. Mostly because he'd been teasing Rem since attaining knighthood. As though to prove he hadn't served under Encrid for nothing, Ragna had found all manner of ways to mock him.

["Barbarian, that's wrong. That's not how you eat. You'll never improve eating like that. Use your fork properly."]

The fact that he did it even at meals said it all.

"Attack like a raging storm. Defend like an unshakable mountain of rock."

Oara gave him several more lessons after that. Then, one afternoon, she asked,

"You say you're going to become a knight?"

"Yes."

Encrid answered with his sword hanging low. He had no strength in his left arm because of the Will-infused attack Oara called a hold.

Where the Mercenary King's bull had lent weight to his sword, Oara's blade made Encrid's arm muscles tingle with numbness at the slightest touch.

Of course, that too soon returned to normal. His Will of refusal stirred, gradually pushing out the Will she had planted in him.

Oara was a little surprised to see it. Her eyes seemed to say, You're doing something interesting, aren't you?

Then she had asked him that question: whether he would become a knight.

"Not a shred of doubt. Good. I like your face, and I like your attitude. Want a piece of advice?"

"I'd be grateful."

His words were calm, but his eyes shone. Oara was very fond of those blue eyes. Otherwise, she would have had no reason to spend her time sparring with him.

Was it attraction to him as a man? She liked his face, but more than that, he was the sort whose actions set a person's heart ablaze.

"If you want to become a knight, first define the bounds of what you'll protect."

Oara stood with the sun behind her as she spoke. Her face was cast in shadow, yet the smile upon it remained clear.

Was hers a beautiful face? Were her features striking? Was her jawline graceful?

In looks alone, Sinar's inhuman beauty would surpass hers. Esther, with her mysterious air, would outshine her. In terms of human beauty, that woman from House Vaisar was lovely too.

Was her name Kin?

She would probably fly into a rage if she knew Encrid had forgotten her name again. She fairly brimmed with vitality.

As far as vitality went, Dunbachel was positively bursting with it too. That was separate from her musty smell from not washing. There was also Teresa, with her reassuring, dependable presence.

Yet Oara was different from all of them. Perhaps that was only natural, since what she displayed now wasn't romantic appeal.

"I'd like to be arrogant, but this is as far as I go. What I will protect: this city, the people standing behind me. That's it. Those are my bounds."

A knight built convictions through determination. Those convictions could become both restrictions and vows.

"As long as I protect it, this city will not fall. Nor will I allow the Demonic Realm to encroach."

Oara of the Smile. That was her knightly epithet. An unusual one, as epithets went. Aesia had explained how she had earned it: she never lost her smile, no matter the circumstances.

Oara hadn't asked a question, but Encrid already had his answer. And so he gave it.

How far did the bounds of what he must protect extend?

"Everything I see that weighs on my heart."

"Hm?"

With the sun behind her, Oara blinked in the rain that had begun pattering down. Her smile seemed to fade a little. Then she grinned broadly again.

"You really are a crazy bastard."

"Am I?"

"That's far too arrogant. But, well, you do what you want."

He intended to do exactly that.

"Your commission is complete. You may return, Encrid of Border Guard."

"Right now, this place weighs on my heart. I'll stay a little longer."

"I can't stop you there."

Oara slipped away. Encrid watched the rain cool the ground, then gathered his equipment and went inside. Rem was still sharpening his axe.

The following day, a familiar face from among the soldiers sought Encrid out.

"Milio, in case you've forgotten."

He had a solid rather than sharp look about him. He was the soldier who had shown them around the city after Aesia, the one who'd asked for instruction.

"I've been busy. Haven't had any time off. Please give me a lesson."

Encrid obliged. He beat Milio up.

Milio came the next day, and the day after that. It rained for two days straight, and he rolled across the ground until his face was covered in mud, as though he'd fallen into a bog. Still, he persisted.

Encrid felt as though the air around them had grown gloomy before he knew it.

At dawn on the day the rain stopped, Milio came early.

"I'm on duty during the day. That's why I've come at this hour."

He wasn't the only one who had sought Encrid out. Quite a few other soldiers had come, all of them highly skilled. Seeing them had given Encrid something to think about.

'Too many troops concentrated here?'

There was a knight here, along with two stationed proto knights and no fewer than four squires. Three squires besides Oliver. That was without counting his own party or Aesia. Every one of those squires was close to proto knight level.

The soldiers were highly skilled as well. Repeated combat had forged them into a formidable force that could hold its own against Border Guard's. The only difference was that Border Guard mainly fought Aspen, while this place existed to hold back the Demonic Realm. These were elite, battle-hardened soldiers.

There simply weren't many of them. Was it normal to hold back the Demonic Realm's incursions with so few?

Of course not. Surely not. The knight's presence must have made it possible, with the quality of the soldiers making up the rest.

So it wasn't that excessive strength had been concentrated here. This place was that dangerous.

That was why he didn't want to leave.

And there was one more thing: every soldier here carried a purpose in their heart.

Duty, responsibility, a calling.

Among them, the soldier named Milio was particularly special.

"What's your goal?"

At Encrid's question, he blushed a little, quite unlike himself, and scratched his cheek.

"I want to marry Sir Oara."

This bastard certainly dreamed big.

It turned out he was twenty-five this year. Encrid would have guessed thirty-five from his face, but in any case, this relatively young fellow had his sights on a knight at least ten years his senior.

But Encrid supported him precisely because it was such an ambitious dream. He himself was pressing onward in pursuit of an impossible dream. There was no reason Milio couldn't do the same.

"Keep at it."

"I am."

It was two days after Encrid had offered his support for Milio's dream.