“Why aren't you a member of the knight order?”

Roman's question was reasonable.

WHOOSH.

As he spoke, Roman swung the greatsword from his shoulder straight down. Its blunt edge stopped just before Encrid's nose. Encrid never budged. He felt no killing intent whatsoever, so he simply watched.

“Either everyone in the capital is blind, or there's something else you want. Am I right?”

Oara's end had been everything she had hoped and wished for. Roman knew that. He also knew that the man who had made his master's final moments glorious was not him, but this man.

He had no doubts. He had barred the way and swung his greatsword. Roman's resolve was set. Reversing his grip, he drove it down. The greatsword's tip plunged into the ground.

THUD.

The sound traveled through the earth and resonated in their hearts. With everyone watching beneath the fierce sunlight, Roman spoke.

“My name is Roman, and I will not forget what I owe you. If you call, I will set my sword beside you, even in the heart of the Demonic Realm. This has nothing to do with the knight order's wishes. It is my promise, mine alone.”

Determination imbued Roman's words. In other words, this was an oath he would have to uphold even after becoming a knight. The determination behind it was startling enough, but the promise itself was more so. He might as well have entrusted Encrid with his life. It was a covenant to risk his life in battle for Encrid, at least once.

“What makes you trust me that much?”

Encrid was somewhat dumbfounded. If he harbored even the slightest ill intent, Roman would be a dead man. That oath could become a shackle that prevented Roman from ever opposing him.

“It's just the respect owed to the second hero who saved this city. If you don't like it, forget about it.”

A typically Roman answer. He had handed over an absurdly extravagant gift and then said to forget it. Here was another crazy bastard.

“Here.”

Next came the short-haired blonde proto knight. She approached and offered three daggers. All were meant for throwing, and Rem's eyes narrowed at the sight.

“You, those...”

“I know. I'm giving them to him knowing full well.”

The blonde cut Rem off.

Three daggers rested in Encrid's hands. As he gripped and lifted them, something faintly stirred his Sixth Sense. Without that sense awakened, he would never have noticed it.

“Take good care of those. Don't go throwing them around carelessly,” Rem added from beside him.

“I hope they help you on your path,” the blonde continued.

Surely, if she was giving him something like this, she ought to explain how to use it?

“They will lend you strength in the form you need, when you need it.”

That was the answer his questioning look received. Dark circles shadowed her eyes as she spoke. She looked utterly exhausted. And those two were not the only ones.

“There's not a soul in this city who doesn't know what you've done.”

It was Milio. He rubbed his newly cropped hair. Perhaps he intended to become a monk. His hair was that short.

“If you're thinking of joining a monastery, shall I recommend one?”

At Encrid's joke, Milio broke off with a chuckle. He held up his left hand.

“What, did you think I'd spend the rest of my life pining for Dame Oara with only Lady Left Hand for company? Not a chance. I'll find a woman ten times prettier who fights ten times better.”

Milio declared his bold ambition with a dash of dirty humor.

There would be no such woman. Oara had been special, and all the more so to Milio. Even in death, she had left so much behind. Encrid knew all that, but respected the man's dream.

“Keep at it. Don't give up, no matter what anyone says.”

It was the same advice he had given when Milio said he would become Oara's partner.

“I won't.”

The Milio who had asked whether his chances seemed hopeless was gone. He nodded, a quiet smile on his face that was good to see.

Now he would join the knight order as a squire and forge steadfastly ahead. The determination to live that way radiated from his whole body. Resolve, conviction—whatever one called it, it was a manifestation of something without physical form. To Encrid, it almost seemed that Milio's resolve had taken visible shape. A solid, unyielding wall. That was the man Milio would become.

“Sometimes, certain parts of monsters have special properties.”

As Encrid quietly watched him, Milio spoke again.

Humans differed from one individual to the next, as did dwarves and Fairies. Why would Giants be any different? Encrid had never seen dragonfolk, but surely the same held true for them. Frogs certainly varied greatly between individuals. Monsters were much the same.

That was how the Ghoul Jerix had come to exist, along with a spider that walked on two legs and wielded eight arms, and an owlbear with the strength to kill a proto knight. Killing them all had left materials behind. Some of those materials were special.

The object Milio offered had been made by entwining those materials: a bow as long as his arm.

“It's made from the Ghoul's hide, silk extracted from the spider, and the owlbear's bones.”

A horn bow. An extraordinary amount of care had gone into it. So that was why smoke had risen without cease for days: they had been heat-shaping a bow. Even gathering all of Thousand Brick's finest craftsmen had not been enough. They had worked in shifts through several sleepless nights, pouring their hearts into it.

“Please accept it.”

Milio offered the bow with both hands. Encrid accepted the unstrung stave. Attaching a strap at the bottom and slinging it across his back or waist would make it convenient to carry.

That was not all.

“A breastplate made from the spider's shell.”

The blacksmiths who had claimed they were too busy to sell him even a single dagger approached with the breastplate they had made together.

At first glance it resembled black leather, its surface densely covered in fine black hairs. But when he touched them, they felt more like embedded steel pins than down. Ordinary swords and spears would never pierce it.

After the breastplate came pauldrons and vambraces, all made from the same material. Every craftsman who presented them wore a bright expression. Their exhaustion was plain, but their smiles were full of satisfaction.

“Thank you.”

A female soldier bowed her head.

“You have my respect for preserving Master's pride,” said the squire Oliver.

“If anyone speaks ill of you, I'll hunt them down myself and ram my fist into their mouth.”

The squire known as a brawler laughed heartily as he spoke, tears welling in his eyes.

That supposed brawler had cried every day since Oara's death. Tears were not proof of a weak heart. Sometimes, crying in front of others demanded tremendous courage. By tears alone, this squire was a Hero fit to defeat a demon king.

“If we have a son, we'll name him Encrid. If we have a daughter, Oara.”

It was Squad Leader Admorr, Rowena's man.

Before they knew it, the people at the gate had surrounded Encrid's party.

“Surely you don't need to go as far as naming your children after us?”

Encrid asked without a trace of a smile from the center of the crowd. Admorr scratched his head.

Looking at him, Encrid said, “Let's make a wager. Stand at the forefront of the next wave, too. Then you can do as you please.”

The Demonic Realm was no longer as threatening as before. Oara's sword had cut it down.

“You're on.”

Admorr lowered the hand scratching his head and answered boldly.

“Show-off.”

Rowena chided him from beside him. Meeting Encrid's eyes, she bowed her head.

“My thanks.”

Rowena spoke. They all spoke.

“To the second hero who defended our city.”

Encrid had never told them what he had done. But one thing was certain. With all his heart and strength, he had fought for Oara's pride, reaching beyond merely repeating today. He had not fought for himself. There was no need to boast about it.

He had wanted not a meaningless today that simply led to tomorrow, but a today that would grant one knight a magnificent end.

[“Was that the best you could do?”]

The ferryman had asked. No answer was needed. He could not live every today to its fullest. But neither would he stop to dwell on the todays that had passed. The people here before him were living that way, too. They, too, were walking toward tomorrow.

“Well, then.”

At Encrid's brief farewell, the people cleared a path. And so he left the city.

“Enkie!”

Someone led the cry.

“Enkie!”

Behind him, a new chant rose in place of Oara's.

Encrid glanced back once, then turned west and walked. He was on his way to the West. It was a day of fine sunshine. The dampness had left the air, and the Demonic Realm's mist melted softly in the sun. Thus Encrid and his companions left behind Oara, the city born from the death of the knight Oara.

* * *

Dawn, when daylight drove back the blue world of early morning, or the orange world ruled by sunset. That hour when one could not tell a dog from a wolf. It was Encrid's favorite time in the world. Why did he love it? Even if someone asked, he could give no clear reason.

Because it marked the beginning of a new today? Or because insights so often came to him at that hour? Perhaps that was it. At such times, his mood shifted, his drive surged, and his spirits rose.

That was why he preferred clear days to rainy ones. Sunlight, dawn, wind, flowers: he enjoyed the uplift such useless things gave him. In that respect, even rain could be enjoyable some days. In any case, all those experiences of enjoying the sunshine and finding fresh motivation must have made him love this time, this moment.

Orange washed over the world. With the Gray Forest Demonic Realm in sight, they had traveled southwest, passed the marsh that spewed poisonous fumes, continued farther south, then turned west. That route had brought them to this open land. The horizon stretched in the distance. As the sun hid beneath it, the world turned orange.

Even now, Encrid had gained a fresh insight.

'Rem was human, too.'

Even a man like Rem had things he feared. He tried to hide it, but it showed in glimpses, though he was not one to reveal such openings.

Rem was recklessly brave, never backing down from any monster.

[“Have I learned the heart of the beast? I don't need it. I've had a beast's blood in my veins since birth.”]

Encrid remembered him boasting, baring his canines. So unlike the man before him now.

“You're really coming with me?”

His tone, his eyes, everything said they did not have to come. They could stay behind. They needn't follow him. Better yet, they should go back and wait.

“Without fail.”

Encrid imbued his words with determination, just as he had seen Roman do. Didn't dragonfolk use words of power? He wished he could use them now. Without fail, at all costs, no matter what. He put all of that into his gaze. Rem's eyes wavered.

“I'm coming with you.”

“Me too.”

“And I.”

Encrid spoke, Dunbachel followed, and Luagarne put the final word on it.

Rem met each of their eyes in turn. His gaze no longer wavered, and his wide eyes seemed filled with killing intent. But Encrid could read the fear deep within them. What on earth was he afraid of?

“It won't be fun. You might find it unpleasant,” Rem finally said.

“I'm not going for fun. I'm going because the West piques my curiosity,” Encrid said as he walked.

“... Sure you are.”

Rem was no fool. He had read Encrid's intentions. The man saw this as a chance to tease him.

“I warned you.”

“Warning received.”

Dunbachel chimed in and took an axe haft to the head.

Rem had extended his left foot and waved his right hand to draw her attention, then casually swung the axe in his left. It was not especially fast, but it was cunning. His raised hand traced a gentle arc overhead, and Dunbachel, watching only his right hand, was struck on the crown.

CRACK!

“Ow!”

A gentle arc did not mean a lack of force. There was more than enough to hurt. Sometimes, Encrid thought Rem seemed stronger than he was.

If Dunbachel could identify what Rem had woven into that movement and block or evade it, she would advance another step. But that was beyond her for now. That blow to the crown resembled Jaxon's Intentless Stab. It was also rather excessive for smacking an annoying Beastman.

Encrid suddenly realized he could see the structure of that technique, and even break down the elements Rem had just combined. Another insight. That was why he was here. He had not followed Rem all the way west for nothing. Rem's reaction was one reason, but there was another.

“There's a kind of spell where you make something through prayer and wishing, prepared to shorten your own life for it. That's what those daggers are. She didn't actually give up her lifespan. Looks like she poured in all the karma she'd accumulated instead. At this level, she might never be able to use spells again, and that's just as important as her lifespan. Are you listening?”

Rem had been in the middle of an explanation about the daggers the short-haired blonde had given him. Encrid had only just asked, and now he wasn't even listening properly. Rem frowned.

“What a crazy bastard,” he muttered.

Presence billowed from Encrid's entire body. His determination to fight now manifested as pressure that bore down on his surroundings. Rem smiled at the intimidation he exuded despite not yet being a knight.

His lunatic Captain had fully recovered. So had he. Both of them were whole again. His Lewis-steel axes had been damaged beyond use, so he had brought two ordinary hand axes instead. The weapons were a little lacking, but that would not matter. The urge to fight stirred within him.

“Nobody cheered my name when we left the city. Was that your doing, Captain?”

Rem said whatever came to mind.

“Yeah,” Encrid replied.

“Dunbachel's pretty enough when she brushes her fur, isn't she?”

Dunbachel, who merely happened to be beside them, looked up. Her golden eyes watched the two men, brimming with curiosity.

“Yeah.”

Encrid nodded.

Now Rem was certain. The man wasn't hearing a word. They stopped walking. Dunbachel had been gathering dry grass to prepare camp. Against the backdrop of an orange world, on the broad stage of the open land, sword and axe faced each other.

“I'm not holding back,” Rem said.

Encrid beamed. To hear those words from one of his own men now filled him with spontaneous joy. This was different from before. Rem was not lowering his guard; he was preparing to give his all. That made this moment more delightful than Encrid could put into words. Enough to bring an unbidden smile to his face.

“There you go smiling again,” Rem said.