“My mother tried to cut my dick off. Said if she had a daughter, she could try to marry her off to the honorary Hero.”

The westerner with leaf patterns on his face said it without a trace of embarrassment. His mother was the woman who had joked about giving Encrid her daughter the moment she recovered from the curse. The way he told the story of her trying to cut off her son's equipment because she had no daughter made everyone burst out laughing. Even Encrid chuckled at the unexpected joke.

Making people laugh wasn't really his purpose, so the man continued.

“Lucky fish have a distinctive smell, and there's a species of Velopters that likes it. Sometimes, when someone goes missing or disappears, we use that smell to track them down. They're useful for that sort of thing, too.”

Lucky fish was the name of the dried fish he had just given him. It was food, certainly, but it was also an emergency ration that people saved for the direst circumstances. In other words, something like a good-luck charm. It seemed much like carrying around an oddly shaped rock and calling it a lucky stone, but the West had a story behind the name.

“In the old days, a lot of people went missing while hunting. Even finding their bodies was difficult, but without a proper funeral they couldn't go to the Sky God's side. Finding the bodies was quite a task.”

Back then, they would use the scent of lucky fish to find the dead. People rarely went missing these days.

Life scattered far apart had been difficult, so some people had gathered to live together. They fell in love, had children, and made families. Those communities became tribes. That was the origin of the western peoples. Their origin from an anthropologist's perspective, rather than a mythological one.

“It's a gift.”

The man smiled brightly again as he spoke. There wasn't a shadow in that smile. It held the joy of having something to give, the happiness of offering a gift. Encrid accepted the cloth pouch. Beside him, Dunbachel tried a piece and nodded. She said it was delicious.

“Does it suit a Beastman's palate, too?”

The man laughed heartily as he spoke. All shadow, all darkness had vanished from his laughter. And not just his. The shadows had vanished from everyone's smiles. The black soot Encrid had seen when he first arrived was gone. Everyone but the children had harbored darkness behind their smiles. Now it was gone.

That alone made Encrid happy. It brought the city of Oara to mind, and the story written upon it. A city where children smiled. A place where people could live like sunlight freed of dark clouds.

Then he looked at the present again. People, children, laughter, gifts. A moment of happiness. As his eyes took in the present, the past passed through his mind.

[“Why do you take up a sword?”]

[“Why go that far?”]

[“It's foolish.”]

[“I've never met anyone like you.”]

People who condemned him, worried about him, reasoned with him, tried to stop him, laughed at him. There had been so many. The ferryman was right. He had many people around him. He liked that.

If someone asked him now why he had never given up on his dream, Encrid would answer like this.

“Because I like seeing people smile.”

At this moment, he could think of no other answer.

Clouds veiled the sun, scattering its light softly. Sunshade clouds. Sunlight that was bright and warm, but never blinding. A rare sight found only in the West, where rain was infrequent and clouds drifted in broad expanses across the sky. Beneath the sunlight that wrapped everyone in its comforting embrace, Encrid gazed quietly at all he had protected with his sword.

* * *

Some came to learn how to train. Others came clamoring for a spar. Between his own training and teaching them, evening arrived.

Dinner was beef simmered until tender. The stew, cooked with firm radishes, was delicious. As he passed the time that way, Rem came to see him that evening.

“Well, they say I'll have to stay more than a month.”

Encrid had just washed and dried himself and was putting on the thin clothes Jiba's mother had given him. The leather felt rough, but not scratchy.

There were people who worked iron in the West, but the metal was precious here. Smithies and craftsmen were few and far between. There were no local sources of iron ore, either, so they had to go beyond the West to acquire it.

Instead, they were exceptionally skilled at making things from leather and fur. Enough to make him curious about their tanning methods. The garments they made by stretching leather thin and treating it with chemicals were one reason continental merchants visited the West. For the same reasons, they were also skilled at grinding bones into knives and making things like obsidian spears.

“And?”

Encrid asked as he dressed in clothes considered precious even in the West. Hadn't someone said this leather was processed differently from the start?

“I'm saying we'll have to wait.”

Rem repeated himself. Encrid shook the remaining water from his hair and answered.

“Yes, and?”

“We need to go together.”

“Where?”

Rem blinked. The man never got drunk, yet sometimes he said the craziest things. At times like this, someone needed to talk some sense into him.

“Where do you think?”

Rem jerked his chin as he spoke. Clearly, he meant the journey back.

“Why?”

Encrid blinked as he asked. Wasn't Rem staying here? After rolling around with Ayul every night, all lovey-dovey? Where did he think he was going? According to Geomnarae, they were making up for all the time they'd missed.

“I've got to beat up that directionless bastard.”

Ah. Now he understood at once. Rem couldn't stand taking a beating without paying it back in kind. But even if he recovered his spells as he'd said, could he manage that? Ragna was a knight now.

“Those eyes look awfully doubtful.”

“They aren't.”

“They sure as hell are.”

“Quibbling over words? You've grown weak. If you've got something to say, say it with your axe.”

“... Just go the fuck to sleep.”

Encrid's change of subject made it plain he had nothing more to say, so Rem left it at that with a dismissive reply. He meant for Encrid to cut the crap. Encrid understood perfectly and didn't drag the argument out. No matter how you looked at it, the two were a good match.

“Since we've got time to spare, let's take a trip tomorrow.”

Coming to the West had been a trip for Encrid, but not for Rem. There was plenty to show him here. He felt a little cheated that Ayul had already shown him some places, but there were still more left. If he hadn't been busy picking flowers and taking care of this and that, he would have shown Encrid all the places Ayul had taken him, too. He wasn't angry, just a little disappointed. After all, he was the one who had brought Encrid here.

“All right.”

Encrid answered without hesitation.

“See you tomorrow.”

Rem left, and everyone went to sleep. Encrid slept soundly, too. A deep, dreamless sleep.

After waking well rested, he trained his body with the Isolation Technique, then gave the twins a beating when they asked to spar first thing in the morning.

“If we tried the striking method...”

“Wouldn't we get a little stronger?”

The beaten twins spoke in turns. Being twins, they sometimes talked that way. It seemed to be an old habit. Encrid offered them encouragement.

“Give it a try.”

Others asked about techniques or training methods. Some westerners were content as they were, but others gave themselves over to the desire to improve. Quite a few had both talent and skill.

Encrid taught them generously. In all honesty, compared with Rem and the others, he was an excellent teacher. Naturally so. Lacking talent, he had climbed this path one painstaking step at a time, chewing over every detail. He could tailor his teaching to the talented, and to those without talent, too.

Unless you climbed a mountain, you couldn't see the view from the top. But if you leaped to the summit in a single bound, you missed the scenery along the way. Encrid had seen both. He had climbed one painstaking step at a time, chewing over every detail. Of course he taught well.

However.

“You should build up your stamina first. Run. From morning until night.”

“You're trying to feint an axe swing like this, then trip your opponent, right? Work on proper form and the fundamentals. Get up at dawn and keep at it until noon.”

That didn't make him a gentle teacher. Accomplishing what you wanted naturally took effort. Encrid would not compromise on that point. Anyone who didn't want to do it could quit.

Plenty of people did quit. But they neither resented nor blamed him. Even afterward, they would hang around nearby, roasting meat, making stew, or playing games.

The westerners played with twenty cards made of leather backed with wooden slats, each painted with an animal, a flower, or some other design.

“It's a game called Baktu.”

They wagered Krona on it, too. Naturally, Krona was used here as well. Barter was more common, though, and he often saw people put up fine hides or demonic beasts' teeth instead. Some had necklaces strung with teeth.

People on the continent called them barbarians and said they needed civilizing, but these people had a culture of their own, and it deserved respect. That was Encrid's view.

Would that cause friction? It might, or it might not. Such matters weren't something a sword could solve. He could protect people, slay monsters, or march to war, but culture and politics weren't his business. They would work it out themselves. It wasn't his place to intervene or concern himself with it. He simply hoped things went well.

As he passed the time, Rem arrived in the morning sun.

“What are you doing?”

“Just watching.”

Ayul and Juol were with him.

“Luagarne, Stinky, you coming too?”

Rem directed the question behind Encrid. Dunbachel, who had been nodding off on a small rock she was using as a seat, raised her head. The way she immediately recognized that “Stinky” meant her made it seem she was oblivious only when it suited her.

“Where?”

“Taking the Captain somewhere.”

“I'll come.”

Luagarne, who had been listening beside them, interjected.

The westerners were interesting, and plenty of other things here stirred her curiosity. But what stirred her desire most? The human called Encrid, of course. Even now, he was nothing short of astonishing.

'How does he stop curses?'

She understood neither the mechanism nor the reason. He hadn't learned spells to do it, nor did he possess a magical tool. But the curses, well, she could simply accept that he'd somehow blocked them. That wasn't what interested her so much.

What about the improvement in his swordsmanship? How could she explain that?

Even now, he was clearly at his limit. The limit of his talent, the limit of his skill. Further dramatic improvement would be difficult. He might grow stronger and tougher, but the difference would be minor. That was what a limit meant. Yet he had been at his limit when she first met him, too.

And that same human now stood in the gap between knight and proto knight, neither one nor the other. How? She didn't know.

Occasionally, someone had the good fortune to break through their limits. Cases beyond even a Frog's talent-reading eyes? They existed. Some called it a god's whim, others a kiss bestowed by the goddess of luck.

'It isn't luck.'

Even those things weren't luck. At least, that was what Luagarne believed. What was luck? Opportunity. What was opportunity? A moment. What did you need to do to seize the opportunity that came at that moment, at that time, at that very instant?

Prepare. Without preparation, even luck meant nothing. As Luagarne saw it, Encrid prepared every day, always. He wasn't born with talent? Did that matter?

[“I'm going to become a knight.”]

That was what Encrid had said, and all he did was advance toward that goal. Without stopping, without a single doubt. Luagarne shivered with exhilaration again today. It happened every day lately. Every time she saw him, Encrid made the Frog's cheeks puff up.

Where could she ever meet another human like him? Nowhere. Then she'd have to follow him for all she was worth. Did she want to court him and become his spiritual partner? At first, she'd had a little of that ulterior motive, but now it was entirely gone. She simply wanted to stay beside him.

What lay on the path ahead of him, how he would walk it, what his steps would change.

'I want to know.'

That was why her desire to explore the unknown surged whenever she saw Encrid.

“Sure.”

Stinky, otherwise known as Dunbachel, nodded without much thought. She had nothing in particular to do if she stayed.

“Well, let's go, then. It'll probably take about a month.”

Rem spoke. A month? Wasn't that a bit long? Thinking that, Encrid asked,

“Without even telling us where we're going?”

“Didn't I tell you?”

“You didn't.”

“Oh, that's because you were talking nonsense yesterday, Captain.”

The mental fortitude it took to blame someone else even now. That was Rem for you. Ayul nodded as though his explanation made perfect sense. A nod that said it was perfectly possible, even if the man was spouting nonsense.

When the husband sings, the wife sings along, was it? He had heard the West had an old saying like that. Between Rem blaming someone else and Ayul nodding in agreement, the pair were a mildly irritating sight.

Encrid told him to get on with the explanation and waited patiently. Rem stopped arguing and spoke.

“There's something called the Path of Grime.”

It concerned a tale passed down from the past, and a tradition born of it.