"That was a light wave."

So said Oara upon returning after killing the Ghoula.

The Ghouls' cries seemed to rise from deep beneath the earth. Their sheer numbers were enough to make one's head spin. Then there was the Ghoula with its extending arm. An ordinary person could hardly be blamed for panicking, but Encrid had to agree with Oara.

Four squires, two proto knights, and one knight. Their fighting strength had been overwhelming.

Encrid had noticed something else, too: the shape of this city's tactics.

'Use the squires and proto knights as a wall while the knight strikes down the enemy.'

It was a simple but efficient tactic, clearly separating the roles of shield and spear. All the other soldiers would concentrate on ranged fire.

Every soldier on the walls carried a longbow, each a fine piece made from shaped demonic-beast bone. They were like turtles poking their heads out, using the walls as their shells. Rather than expose themselves to danger, the turtles fired arrows. The knight could finish the rest.

Hadn't she just proved it? Oara had killed the Ghoula with a single stroke and returned at her leisure. She hadn't even bathed herself in black blood. A few swings of her sword on her way back through the battlefield had obliged a dozen or so Ghouls to part briefly with their heads. Of course, reattaching a severed head was a feat even a troll couldn't manage, so none of the Ghouls ever put theirs back on.

"One day, I'll kill every last one of these little bastards. Clear out the whole Demonic Realm and plant orange trees over there!"

Oara spoke with a bright smile, her cheeks lifting to reveal her upper teeth. Smiling so radiantly while saying that was a talent in itself.

'They don't call her Oara of the Smile for nothing.'

The soldier who had survived the monsters' charge knelt inside the gate and roared.

"I'm alive!"

Oara cackled at the sight. So did the four squires and two proto knights. They all went through life with smiles on their faces. Encrid smiled, too. It was both enjoyable and impressive.

"Interesting humans."

Luagarne's frank assessment.

"Well, it's nice to see."

Rem's agreement.

"Aren't we going home?"

Dunbachel's instinct to escape.

Encrid heard all of it, yet never took his eyes off Oara and those standing around her.

FLAP.

Scarlet cloaks fluttered in the wind, proof of their knight order. Oara, the linchpin of that order, felt his gaze and looked at him. Facing the oncoming wind, she spoke.

"Let's fight together next time."

Encrid nodded.

* * *

"Hey, you burned the bread!"

Oara remained cheerful and spirited. She strolled through the market greeting people and eating slightly burnt, browned bread.

"Is she an interesting person? I couldn't say. But one thing's certain. You can't figure her out."

Aesia would drop by at every opportunity and offer remarks like that.

"How about a spar?"

"You'll regret it if you think I'm the same Aesia you knew before."

Encrid almost answered reflexively as he would have answered Rem, but stopped himself.

"What? Didn't you have something to say?"

Aesia noticed and asked.

"Nothing."

He answered and raised his sword. An ordinary spar, a chance to take stock of what he had.

If he had brought his senses together as one, couldn't he do the same with other things? The heart of the beast, Heart of the Superhuman, Giant Cleaver, Handful of Breath. Rem had taught him a mountain of techniques, too.

Had Rem deliberately given those techniques names? Or had there been some other purpose?

'To teach them.'

That might be it. Lacking confidence in his explanations, he had begun by giving them names and definitions.

Watching Rem made something clear all over again. Everything he taught flowed naturally from his body. The techniques and arts honed in the realm of instinct sprang forth on their own. Some things came naturally to Encrid; others did not. Then he simply needed to start by making all of them come naturally.

"What're you looking at?"

The western barbarian, whom Encrid suspected might have been driven out for being mad, merely kept sharpening his axe. He was already on his third whetstone.

'I just have to swing my sword, too.'

Use strength when strength was needed. Be bold when the moment called for boldness. He combined, one by one, the things Oara had told him to discard. That was how Encrid spent his time.

"So you'll walk your own path. Nothing wrong with that, either."

Oara didn't claim her answer was the right one. Gather ten people, and each would have a different color. Gather a hundred, and the same held true. Would knights be any different? Ragna was different, as was the Mercenary King. So Encrid, too, would be different. Time to refine what he had. Perhaps this was what he had needed.

It was dawn. Uncharacteristically, Rem was outside before Encrid. As Encrid worked through the insights he had gained from Review off to one side, Rem spoke.

"Not bad."

Dawn was darkest just before daybreak. Their surroundings were pitch-black. Perhaps because of the Demonic Realm, the air here was still clammy, but the wind had grown noticeably colder. Rem looked up into the dark sky, resting a hand on his hip as he watched the fading stars. When the sun rose, the stars hid themselves. Naturally, the same went for the two moons that had lit the night.

"Remember Utkiora?"

At Rem's question, Encrid lowered his sword tip and nodded.

"Dark dawn. You said it means it's darkest just before daybreak."

"Right. But I reckon those are words I need, too."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to go west."

Did he mean to go and come back? Or was he leaving to find his place now? Rem didn't know, either. Honestly, he thought he would have to go there to find out. He hadn't left home because of anything momentous. Things had happened, of course, but it would be a lie to say there had been no impulse involved.

If he had to give a reason...

'It's no fun there.'

Perhaps he had left in search of amusement. But being beside that crazy bastard of a captain was fun. It still was.

To Rem, this city was a candle in the wind. A slightly stronger gust would bring it down. A knight was holding it together. Why did she go so far to protect it? He didn't particularly want to ask her here. Instead, he thought of the place where he'd been born and raised. There would be people protecting the things he had left behind. He wanted to return and ask them.

The directionless bastard and the alley cat bastard had spurred him on, but apart from that, Rem knew it was time to look back at what he had left behind. His heart told him so, not his head.

"Go ahead."

Encrid's answer was calm. He had never been the kind of man to force anyone to stay.

"Hell, come at me. I'm feeling generous. I'll play with you today."

Grinning broadly, Rem raised his finely honed axe. Its edge gleamed faintly even in the darkness of dark dawn.

"Has coming closer to the Demonic Realm made you even sicker? You need treatment, then."

Encrid answered as he raised his sword. Aker, too, revealed itself, cutting through the predawn darkness. Rem found his taunting endearing.

"If running your mouth were the measure, you'd be the best on the continent, Captain."

"Yes, let's treat you."

This treatment was much like Encrid's usual method of persuasion. In other words, it would require a little contact. If necessary, a light cut with a blade to let out some blood could also form part of the treatment. Just as one lanced a boil to drain the pus, Rem's head needed a little cutting open.

"I was telling you to stop running your mouth so much. Didn't understand, did you?"

Rem moved as he spoke. He was already moving on the word "understand." To Encrid, the axe seemed to vanish before his eyes, then drop straight down over his head.

CLANG!

He blocked it, of course.

It was an ordinary spar. Only Encrid seemed to have regressed. Rather than use everything he had, he was in the process of mixing and melding it together. Just as proper bread needed time to rise, he needed time, too. Rem knew that, but still pressed him savagely. Feeling one's life in danger naturally improved one's skills, after all. Even so, he really was slow.

"So damned slow."

Rem voiced exactly the same complaint as before.

Encrid spent several more days following much the same routine, alternating spars with Rem, Luagarne, and Aesia. Milio's dream remained unchanged, and he visited Encrid from time to time.

"Don't give up, soldier. Whatever anyone says."

"... Does it look that hopeless?"

Sometimes Encrid's heartfelt encouragement left Milio looking dejected, but he, too, refused to give up.

Oara often wandered around the city. In the meantime, Encrid managed a few brief exchanges with one of her proto knights, rather than Aesia.

"I don't do sparring."

The short-haired blonde said her techniques weren't suited to sparring, leaving only the large man.

"This is for smashing and crushing."

He spoke as he drew his gray blunt weapon. Its grip resembled that of a greatsword, only thicker. With good reason. His hands were that large. His hands, at least, looked even bigger than Audin's.

"Seems everyone here uses an epithet?"

Encrid asked as he roughly gauged the distance.

"Well, some are meant to lift the soldiers' spirits when they hear them. But someone at your level ought to have a fair idea. Will is determination. An epithet can help give shape to the mental image needed to summon that determination."

"Then what's yours?"

"People call me Roman the Pulverizer."

Encrid thought of his own unit members and silently tried giving them epithets. Audin the Praying. Jaxon the Sneak-Stabber. Ragna the Lost. Rem the Shit-Stirrer. Fitting.

"Right, let's begin."

Encrid noticed something very unusual about Roman's movements. Every action was sloppy and clumsy. There were far too many openings. His fighting style accounted for the armor he wore from the outset, and was specialized for fighting monsters at that. Even so, Encrid felt it had many shortcomings. A single thrust looked as though it would send blood gushing out.

"I'll stop fooling around and show you one proper blow."

Near the end of their spar, Roman smiled, took a few breaths to steady himself, and swung his sword down from above.

WHOOSH.

The club vanished.

For an instant, Encrid saw Ragna's Black Thunderbolt. He recalled the Mercenary King's Bull and the moment the knight of Aspen had stabbed his heart. Finally, Oara advancing as she cut down the Ghoula. The downward blow Roman had just unleashed touched the realm of knights.

Encrid concentrated, then concentrated harder, catching the club's presence. It moved at a speed he could never have tracked had he not faced Ragna's Black Thunderbolt countless times. The gray blur vanished, then hurtled toward his shoulder. His sword moved.

CRASH! CLATTER!

Though he met it with Aker, braced with his gladius, and deflected it to the side all at once, not everything went as he intended. Encrid was pushed backward, dissipating the remaining force.

"How was that?"

Roman asked, his complexion poor. The strain was plain to see.

"What did you do?"

Roman liked the man before him more than he'd expected. Knowing how to fight was good, but more than that, he embodied the spirit of Thousand Brick. Die smiling. Train today even if you die tomorrow. That sort of spirit. It was why Roman had shown him this.

"Not telling."

Still, he couldn't explain his secret technique in detail.

Encrid found his reaction refreshing. Here was someone who regarded him as a rival, unlike the people who had taught him everything so far. He could understand why the short-haired blonde wouldn't fight him, too. She had learned killing arts, so in sparring, she would lose ten times out of ten. In other words, she didn't want to lose.

"Is that so?"

Encrid wasn't disappointed. Quite the opposite. A faint smile spread over his face.

"You're a bit of a pervert."

With those words, Roman left.

"He's right."

Encrid heard Luagarne agree, but it barely registered.

In terms of basic skill, Encrid had clearly beaten Roman during their spar. It hadn't been overwhelming, and they hadn't fought to kill, but even by a conservative estimate, he could win seven or eight times out of ten in a real fight. Yet Roman's final downward strike was on another plane. It resembled a knight's. How was that possible? It was something to think about.

When Encrid opened his eyes the next day, his body felt unusually light. He always monitored and maintained his condition, so as a rule, he ate well, slept well, and shat well. Even so, there were days when he felt noticeably better. Today was one of them.

The sun was high, and the clamminess in the air had eased, making it easier to breathe. Near the Demonic Realm, the air somehow felt thick enough to make breathing uncomfortable, but not today. A refreshing breeze blew. It was neither cold nor hot.

After washing and training, he went out hungry. Just then, the soldier who baked bread approached from the opposite direction and handed him a loaf.

"Best batch I've baked in years."

Warm steam rose from the white bread. Baked in the western style, it had a golden crust and a white, chewy interior. Encrid broke it in half and took a bite. Nutty richness and salt blended in harmony, and the subtle savoriness made him nod involuntarily.

"You really did bake this well."

"Didn't I tell you?"

The man was one of the soldiers he had recently befriended. He gave a quiet smile and walked away.

Milio approached carrying a pike, longbow, and quiver, apparently on his way to duty.

"It's a beautiful day. We don't often get days like this in the city of bricks. You should visit the western wall. You'll see quite a sight."

"Really?"

"Make sure you go."

At Milio's parting words, Encrid set off. Day was breaking.

He went to the western wall, rested a hand on the railing where dust rarely had a chance to settle, and climbed the stairs. Some faces atop the wall were familiar, others not. A soldier he knew acknowledged him with a glance. He gave a casual nod in return, then looked at the sky.

Milio had been right. From atop the wall, the rising sun in the east seemed to push back the ominous darkness created by the Demonic Realm. At dawn, the Realm produced a dense gray fog. The sunlight advanced, breaking, shattering, and crushing it. It was magnificent.

Waves of sunlight seemed to break apart the land formed by the Demonic Realm. It wasn't a sight one could see every day, only around this time when the weather changed. Quite a spectacular view.

After spending a little while admiring that subtle transformation of nature, Encrid found a silver coin on his way back. The food he ate that day was exceptionally delicious, and the beer exceptionally cool and rich.

A magnificent view, a silver coin, good food. He was happy, and that uplift in his spirits carried over into training. Every swing of his sword brought some insight, and the blade moved just as he intended. A day of unprecedented fulfillment and satisfaction, a day blessed by luck. Today.

Then, after the sunset's glow had faded, Oara came to see him.

"I told you my grandfather made the gates, didn't I?"

She had.

"Let's talk. It's a lovely day."

Idle stories, in a way. In another, stories through which they could come to know each other. Those were the stories they shared. Encrid, for his part, thought it was time well spent.