"Mister, I've made up my mind."

Jiba came scurrying over as Encrid returned from washing and shook out his wet hair. He had just been wondering whether it was getting long enough to need a trim.

He seemed like a different person from moments ago. In other words, he was as unruffled as ever. Rubbing his grown-out hair dry with the cloth Jiba's mother had given him, he asked with his eyes: What had she decided?

Jiba looked up, met his gaze, and declared resolutely, "I'm going to be your bride. Just wait five years."

CROAK, CROAK.

Luagarne puffed out her cheeks in laughter beside them. Dunbachel tilted her head.

"Will five years be enough? I don't think you'll have filled out enough by then."

Jiba was still a little girl.

"Look at my mother. I'll get big. Very big."

What exactly was going to get big?

Off to one side, Jiba's mother quietly straightened her back and thrust out her chest. Beside her, the western man who had forgotten his hostility nodded. Absolutely. Pride showed on his face.

They certainly were big, but that was beside the point.

"Who's this kid?" Rem asked.

He had come and gone a few times, but the first day was the only time he had spent long in this tent. He didn't know the precocious little Jiba.

"Jiba. A kid whose dream is hard to support."

Rem nodded at Encrid's candid assessment.

"That's a first. A kid whose dream you won't support."

He could encourage any dream, but this was rather different, wasn't it? Marriage required the other person's consent. One person's determination wasn't enough.

Of course, Encrid had no such thoughts about little Jiba. No, she was simply a precocious child he was glad had survived. That was all.

Jiba stepped back as though she had said her piece. She had little choice, really. Encrid had fought, returned, and only just finished washing. The excitement had yet to fade, and more than a few people had come to see him.

"You've gotten a lot better," Rem said.

He truly had. The cries of great warrior and savior didn't sound like empty praise. Rem had the discerning eye to recognize that.

He measured Encrid's current ability against his own now that he had regained his spells.

Many things affected the outcome of actual combat. This assessment wasn't everything. For example, was a proto knight absolutely incapable of dying at a squire's hands? He could die. It could happen. That was real combat.

Using Will didn't turn one's body to steel. All Rem could do now was gauge Encrid's approximate level. But that didn't make the assessment meaningless.

What was swordsmanship? What was fighting? Strength, speed, stamina, judgment, adaptability, boldness, the ferocity to wring out one's very last breath, an unshakable mind, keen eyes, sharp senses, and more. It was bringing all of those together to kill an opponent.

From what he could see, all of Encrid's abilities had risen to a uniformly higher level. He hadn't simply grown stronger. Some concentrated experience had seeped into him.

'It really is something.'

Rem had watched him for a long time, but these occasional transformations never ceased to amaze him. That wasn't to say he couldn't accept them. The world was vast, and he didn't know everything. Couldn't such things happen beyond the bounds of his knowledge and understanding?

'Hard as it is to believe.'

It could happen. Those called geniuses invariably broke some mold. Rem himself had reached his present level by breaking such molds, so he had no rigid preconceptions.

It was those of middling ability who would be trapped in their own thinking, shouting that it was impossible. Only people with impoverished imaginations would do that. Not Rem. Nor Luagarne.

Dunbachel wasn't thinking much of anything. Most of the westerners knew nothing of Encrid's past, so they were simply impressed by what they saw now.

"I've improved a little."

He had advanced another step beyond his level during their spars on the journey here. Encrid therefore nodded calmly.

Killing the two Giants had been more than simply killing two Giants. It had been the moment his accumulated experience translated into skill. Even he couldn't explain it precisely, but one thing was certain: the thread leading toward knighthood now seemed to have become a thicker strand.

"Impressive."

Ayul spoke from beside Rem, making no attempt to hide her admiration or how moved she was.

"I've never seen anyone fight better than Rem."

Juol was even more astonished by her words. He had known Encrid would be an excellent fighter and had heard that he had subdued the twins, but still.

"I knew you were no ordinary man when we first met, but..."

He couldn't even finish. What he had witnessed was that extraordinary.

"You've warded off the curse and killed the Giants for us. I don't know what to say."

The middle-aged westerner who occasionally visited to chat was there too. But who was this man to squeeze his way into this gathering?

He had emerged between Geomnarae and Hira, tear tracks plain on his face. Taking Encrid's hand, he thanked him over and over.

"Ah, Chieftain."

One of the shamans recognized the man and addressed him.

Encrid hadn't even known the man before him was the chieftain. He dressed much like everyone else, had never brought an entourage, and possessed no exceptional fighting ability. He would occasionally stop by to thank Encrid and leave him some fruit. Encrid had merely thought him a good-natured westerner.

His face and manner of speaking did seem kindly. Though he spoke with the distinctive western accent and sometimes used words exclusive to the West, the chieftain was always considerate of Encrid when they spoke. He explained unfamiliar words or kindly repeated himself. He was thoughtful in many ways.

Was that why he was chieftain?

"You're the chieftain?"

"You didn't know?"

Encrid nodded.

"It makes no difference."

He had stopped the curse and killed two Giants. The chieftain looked ready to give him his very liver. He had already been overwhelmed with gratitude when Encrid became their human totem. And now he had killed the Giants too.

"If there's anything you want, I ought to stake my position as chieftain on getting it for you."

The brief commotion continued, with Jiba's outlandish declaration, the chieftain's thanks, Ayul's astonishment, and more. Then everyone left to attend to their own business.

"Let's talk later."

Rem left the tent too.

There had been cries of savior and moments of fervent excitement. The way people looked at Encrid had changed afterward, but that didn't mean his life would change.

"Let's leave our spar for later," Geomnarae said casually.

His body was still giving him trouble, though Encrid had seen him gradually getting up and stretching.

"Didn't you make it sound like we'd do it as soon as you recovered?"

"I don't think a halfhearted spar would be much fun."

Geomnarae smacked his lips. He, too, was a westerner. He had intended to give Encrid a casual bout, but no longer wanted that. Once matters in the West were settled, he wanted a fight that would send sparks flying. His canines looked unusually sharp as he bared them while speaking.

Encrid nodded.

"The result won't change."

"You do have a way of being irritating, don't you?"

"I've been told that from time to time."

With nothing else to do, Encrid reflected on what had coalesced and manifested in this fight. Review was a longstanding habit of his, and exactly what he needed now.

"Going back over everything you have, one piece at a time?"

Luagarne's passing remark made Encrid realize what he was doing. It was something he had been doing for a while.

From basic footwork to swinging and gripping a sword, everything he had learned: the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique, Nameless's Righteous Sword Technique learned from the demon sword called The Tutor, and all manner of steps, sword styles, and arts.

He had moved beyond revisiting and combining them one by one. Now he was taking them apart again, examining the principles behind each technique.

Why?

'Because I feel like I can go further.'

It was something he had realized through contemplation in the realms of intuition and Sixth Sense. What, then, did he need now?

"You won't need me for a while," Luagarne continued.

She was right. He would still be swinging his sword as always, but physically putting each thing into practice felt more appropriate than pondering and deliberating.

"I suppose not."

"Good timing, perhaps."

Muttering to herself, Luagarne prepared to leave. She had been going out constantly lately, but he didn't bother asking why. She would tell him when the time came.

With things as they were, naturally his routine remained unchanged. Encrid was still as absorbed in training as ever.

"You can leave now, but if you're more comfortable here, you're welcome to stay. Tell me if there's anything you want. We can get most things."

Hira spoke with a stick of tobacco in her mouth. She had treated him well before, but now she was even more attentive. Jiba's mother remained the same.

"This is wind rabbit, a specialty of the West. Please try some."

Wind rabbits were animals found only in this region. Light of body and twice as fast as ordinary rabbits, they supposedly required the skills of even the West's finest hunters to catch.

The meat was so tender it felt almost delicate. Minced in the western fashion, mixed with grain flour, and cooked in flat patties, it melted in his mouth.

"There's a fellow named Krais in our unit. If he tasted this, I think he'd tell us to open a shop on the spot."

It was high praise.

Hira and the other westerners kept asking what he wanted, so Encrid did give them an answer: he would like sparring partners.

"Geomnarae, aren't you well yet?"

Hira called to him, but he shook his head.

"Not yet."

He wasn't trying to avoid it. As he had felt earlier, he needed to prepare if they were going to have a proper match.

Was it surprising, or only natural? There was no shortage of sparring partners. These were westerners, and westerners considered turning tail and running a disgrace. There were more than enough people willing to fight if Encrid wanted it. Fleeing because an opponent was strong wasn't their way.

One such man came to him, saying he had arrived ten days ago, had witnessed Encrid's recent fight, and wished to learn a thing or two.

"A wound on the back is a disgrace to a westerner."

He had short gray hair, a square jaw, and a steadfast look.

"What if you're hurt in a surprise attack?"

"Can't be helped, then."

Westerners weren't rigid people. They were quite flexible. Above all, they enjoyed a joke. Smiling, Encrid took the wooden sword the man offered.

"I enjoy fighting in all sorts of ways. My friends sometimes call me underhanded or cowardly for it."

His voice was quiet and his manner casual. He had appeared with two wooden swords and offered one before continuing to speak. Encrid caught the wooden sword he tossed him.

Luagarne had gone out again, while Dunbachel sat to one side, appointing herself a spectator.

"Aaaah."

Dunbachel opened her mouth wide and stretched out all four limbs. She looked quite at leisure. She seemed to be sleeping considerably more lately, too.

Encrid tipped the wooden sword his sparring partner had given him up and down. He didn't need a proper swing to tell. The balance was off, wasn't it?

It was a poorly made weapon. Either that or the material was wrong. Yet it looked carefully carved. Its rough surface also suggested it was newly made. In other words, the man had carved it for this spar.

His opponent kept talking, to the point that Encrid wondered when they would fight.

"But calling it cowardice underestimates the preparations your opponent has ma—"

The man had been approaching as he spoke. Suddenly, he broke off and swung his wooden sword.

FLAP!

He wore a cloak to conceal his arm movements, and it billowed violently. The patterns on its surface confused the eye.

The wooden sword, the cloak, the words—all were preparations for victory.

'Tactics.'

Deception was another tactic. That didn't mean his opponent's tactics had worked. None of it mattered to Encrid. Not even the fact that his wooden sword was made from rotten wood with a hollow center.

He feigned meeting the blow with his sword, then let go. His opponent struck the wooden sword hard.

CRACK.

The sword he had released broke in the middle. Just how rotten was the wood this fellow had brought?

As the thought crossed his mind, Encrid stepped in close and drove the firm heel of his palm upward into the man's solar plexus. He didn't use his full strength. That would have left one more corpse.

THWACK!

A crisp sound rang out, and he felt the impact in his hand. His opponent couldn't react. Encrid had broken the rhythm to slip through the opening.

The upward palm strike lifted the man's feet off the ground. When they came down again, he crumpled forward. At a glance, he looked dead.

"... Urk."

The blow to his solar plexus had knocked the breath out of him. Lying facedown on the ground, he couldn't get a word out.

"Trying to kill him?"

Dunbachel came over as she spoke, took hold of the western warrior, and straightened his back.

"Ghk, huh, haah, hah, hh..."

One ragged breath followed another.

"I saw my late father."

Encrid looked at his hand. It seemed his control of his strength still wasn't perfect.

A female warrior was waiting nearby for her turn. If the man he had just fought was a hunter who used every means available, like the twins, this woman was more like Rem.

Her hair was tied back, and she held a large axe behind her well-muscled shoulder. She had just watched someone nearly die from a single blow, but paid it no mind. Encrid liked that about her too.

"You don't look like you'd die even if I swung as hard as I could. Can I go all out?"

The female warrior asked, and Encrid nodded.

He then deflected her heavy axe strikes with his blade alone and struck the back of her neck, knocking her unconscious.

Encrid realized there were quite a few capable fighters within the fence enclosing the tribe's camp. From the look of things, their numbers were growing.

"He's that impressive?"

Unfamiliar faces kept coming over, saying they wanted to see the Hero who had killed the Giants.

"Mind your manners. Act up and you'll fucking die."

Geomnarae warned the swaggering warriors from nearby.

"Got it."

They readily nodded.

Encrid's achievement was astonishing, but they each had work of their own to do: sharpening their weapons with whetstones, meditating, sparring, training.

It was plain to see. The entire tribe was preparing for battle. In other words, killing the Giants hadn't been the end.