During their spar, Audin came to understand Encrid's current state.

'Neither a knight nor a proto knight.'

He had certainly improved, but that was not all. Beyond his more precise movements, quicker decisions, and changed reflexes, there was something else.

As they exchanged punches and kicks, Audin looked into his eyes. Even ordinarily, a certain heat burned there. His determination to press toward knighthood, toward his dream, stood out. But this time, Audin saw something more.

Something like conviction. The conviction of a man who had wandered lost and finally found the right signpost. And there was more to surprise him.

TAP, THUD, CRACK!

While he was thinking, Encrid's fist came at him. Audin blocked it with his elbow, and Encrid opened his hand and swung a backhand. Audin swept his arm across to deflect it, then threw a right punch. Encrid caught his fist in his palm.

He did not stop at catching it. Throughout the exchange, he kept moving his feet, trying to gain a better position.

Did raw strength alone make someone a good fighter? If so, a Giant would be the finest fighter on the continent. Fighting did not work that way. Combat combined many different elements. Accuracy and understanding where to apply force, for instance, were far more useful than simply exerting strength.

Balaf-style martial arts had begun as techniques for the weak to subdue the strong. Audin had added his own insights to them. To execute those techniques properly required a deep understanding of such things as points of force application.

Had Encrid ever excelled in that regard? No. He had been well below average. Yet now he grasped the essence of the techniques and even adapted them. He drew Audin's attention with his fist, stepped into an advantageous position, and immediately tried to twist Audin's forearm with a subtle motion.

Rather than wrench himself free with strength, Audin kicked off the ground and flipped once in midair. His bulk rivaled a bear's or a Giant's, but he moved like a squirrel.

Encrid immediately lashed a whip-like kick at Audin's descending shin.

CRACK.

Audin could not deflect that, so he withstood it through sheer strength. His solid muscles were armor that no single kick from Encrid could penetrate. Enduring it was not difficult.

What surprised him was the sequence that had led to it. The moves and countermoves, the understanding of how force worked, the insight into the essence of a technique.

Being surprised did not mean he had anything in particular to say. Audin simply asked about what he saw.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

Encrid was coming at him with a broader smile than ever. It was only natural to ask.

"Yeah."

Encrid nodded.

Sweat ran from his forehead and dripped off his chin. Audin chuckled and stepped back. He could still manage Encrid if he committed to closing in and using joint locks. With strikes alone, however, he would struggle to overwhelm him quickly.

What if Encrid held a sword? What if they fought to the death?

'I would be at a disadvantage.'

Audin readily admitted it. Of course, a fight to take someone's life did not always yield the same result. Nobody here was ignorant of that truth. Still, judging purely by their present abilities, he was the one falling behind. Audin laughed, both incredulous and delighted.

"Want me to crop that hair for you, alley cat?"

Off to one side, Rem kept picking fights with Jaxon. The Frog was training with whip and sword. Beside her, Teresa spun her shield as she watched the spar. Her turn was next.

"I've learned a great deal from Brother Audin."

Teresa spoke with her shield in hand. Encrid exhaled, caught his breath, and nodded.

"I've improved a little too."

It had been rather more than a little.

And so he fought, then fought some more. While Roford exclaimed in admiration on one side, Pell watched from a corner of the training ground, his eyes trembling wildly.

'What? What is this?'

Pell had never despaired at another person's skill. In sheer talent, he believed himself the best. He was a man who could look beyond the present and assess the future. Given time, he expected to catch up with every one of them.

'The Captain first.'

The gray-haired one next, perhaps? He had even made plans.

Seeing Ragna become a knight had nearly broken his spirit along the way, but he had overcome it in the end. He had taken another step forward. Pell thought he had escaped the swamp of despair. Or rather, he had thought so.

'I can do it too.'

When Encrid returned, Pell had meant to spar with him and then offer to teach him a thing or two. Yet what was this?

The barbarian named Rem had returned a monster who could easily fight as well as a knight. Pell could accept that from him. What truly shocked him was Encrid.

He had been certain he would soon catch up to the man. If Encrid's improvement came from all those hours of training and hard work, he only needed to do the same. His own talent had to be greater. So that was what he had done.

He had thrown himself into training, forgetting day and night. Whenever Roford challenged Ragna, Pell had quietly joined in, prepared to lose. He had put himself through the grueling exercises of that religious bear Audin too.

It had been agonizing. Never since first taking up a sword had he worked so hard. But hardship would give way to happiness. He could feel himself improving, and that had kept him going. Endurance had tasted so bitter that the fruit he would finally eat had to be sweet. That was what sustained him.

And that was how it had to be. That was how the world worked. That was how the world worked as Pell understood it.

Yet what was this? Looking at Encrid, all confidence in victory vanished. What did it mean to weigh the outcome of a fight and expect defeat from the outset?

Pell had a discerning eye. He knew how extraordinary Encrid's present abilities were. The force in a single sword stroke, the moves and countermoves, the reflexes and judgment. Self-loathing reared its head.

'Is my talent actually worthless?'

A crack opened in Pell's heart. More precisely, the crack that had appeared when he saw Ragna began splitting wider. Without realizing it, his expression hardened. Not even the funniest joke could have made him laugh now.

"My betrothed, you should play with me too."

Sinar and Encrid faced each other. Pell could see them, but his eyes were not seeing the present. What did some Fairy matter?

'What should I do if I have no talent?'

Should he give it all up, go home, and tend sheep? But was being one of the Shepherds of the Wastes something he could manage with such a feeble mindset? No. Then what should he do?

Serve as a soldier? Here? Why? For what? No, not the army. Should he work as a clerk in a general store? Hadn't someone said the inn was short-handed? Guarding a trading company would not be bad either. He sank deep into himself.

Encrid welcomed Sinar's words, but glanced sidelong at Pell, who was drooping all by himself and radiating bottomless gloom. What was wrong with him now?

It was just when Sinar arrived that Encrid turned and noticed Pell's utterly vacant eyes. Turning back to Sinar, he saw green eyes lovelier than emeralds and softly falling blond hair. She was tying it back.

The golden hair gathered in her hands flowed like silk, a beautiful waterfall of gold. She sometimes used her long hair in combat, but had decided it was unnecessary for sparring and was tying it up. Viewed another way, though, the scene was simply a beautiful painting.

Hers was an inhuman beauty, strikingly different from a human's. Ordinarily, one might only gaze at such beauty in worship, but repeated exposure might make one start to see her as a woman. And were the Shepherds of the Wastes not people who took on difficult challenges?

'So that's it.'

His intuition had not stirred, but looking at how events unfolded revealed the pattern. Encrid's eyes lit up.

"I think you should be more careful about calling me your betrothed from now on."

He had become a general, and sometimes spoke casually when circumstances were urgent, but he still felt more comfortable addressing Sinar politely. With both hands raised, she paused in tying her hair and tilted her head.

"Why?"

"I simply think it would be best."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then there's nothing I can do."

What could he do if she refused? Even beating her into submission hardly seemed likely to make her listen. Wasn't she probably the most stubborn person he knew?

Rem, who had been sending Jaxon an endless courtship of challenges to duel, looked at Encrid.

"I told you, go to the temple."

He said it because he had figured out why Encrid was saying those things. The man had gotten the wrong end of the stick again.

Jaxon's gaze also moved between Encrid and Pell.

"Ahem."

It was only a light clearing of his throat, but the meaning was clear. He had just heard nonsense.

"That single word brings someone to tears."

Encrid addressed Sinar again. He was trying to be considerate in his own way. Even while training, he could do this much.

Pell's gaze remained blank. In truth, he could not even hear what they were saying over there. He merely kept muttering, "General store, inn, mercenary, trading company," in turn.

"Brother, why don't you simply spar?"

Audin said it with a smile.

Encrid decided to do just that. This was as much as he could do. Instead, he silently cheered Pell on. He had always respected those with dreams.

'Stay strong, Pell.'

Nothing in this world was impossible.

Rem, Audin, and Jaxon had a rough idea of Pell's condition. He had been swallowed by the sense of deprivation that came from seeing someone better than himself. Nobody here would understand that better than those three. They had often seen people around them fall apart like that.

Back in the West, Rem had had a few such people around him. He had tried to console them before eventually giving up. Well, they had to actually listen. A few had overcome it in the end. Some had disappeared, and others had abandoned life as shamans or warriors.

Jaxon had killed everyone who tried to prove their skill by killing him, so none of that sort remained near him. Audin had tried to guide every last one, but his results had ultimately been much like Rem's.

Anyone could fall. Some got back up, and some stayed down. That was all there was to it.

Besides, the three did not think Pell would crumble. Fall into self-loathing because of Encrid? Perhaps at first. But after watching him for a week? A month? He was simply a madman. Mad for the sword, mad for training.

Watching Encrid would get him back on his feet. That was only natural. Of course, Pell had an unusually strong streak of the snake in his heart. Jealousy might drive him so mad that he never rose again. But that was no concern of theirs.

Rem did have one thought as he looked at Pell.

'That's unexpected.'

He had expected a Shepherd of the Wastes to grit his teeth and pull through. Instead, Pell was floundering on the ground. He looked like someone thrashing about in fear of drowning in a puddle less than a handspan deep.

Roford, on the other hand, was different, despite looking as though he had grown up sheltered.

"Please teach me a thing or two as well!"

Even now, he was shouting that.

He had thrown himself at Ragna like a madman when the swordsman was here, yet somehow survived. Not merely survived, either. He had improved. He still wanted to better himself and did not hesitate to press forward.

Whatever made the two different was neither Rem's concern nor of any interest to him, so he soon looked away. They each had to sort themselves out. Instead, he watched Sinar and Encrid spar.

Sinar had gone into the forest some time before and returned brimming with spiritual essence. She had told no one, but she had all but staked her life on it.

"If you dislike 'my betrothed,' how about 'my intended'?"

"Have you improved at all?"

Encrid asked out of habit, and that single question brought a faint smile to Sinar's face as if by magic.

"You should be careful about smiling too."

She had no idea why he was suddenly saying such things. Unconcerned, Sinar raised her sword. It was time to speak with blades. The leaf-like Nidle concealed half her face.

Jaxon and everyone else already knew: Sinar was a Fairy who had attained the rank of knight. A Fairy knight.

* * *

The spar ended in Encrid's defeat, yet his expression was brighter than ever. He had learned something, made something his own. He had blocked the spiritual essence sword strike he had been unable to block before, then seized an opening to attempt a wrestling move.

At close quarters, Sinar moved faster than ever. Hadn't they said a Fairy's greatest strength was a light body? She proved it. As she began circling Encrid with light, swift steps, her afterimages multiplied until there were twelve Sinars.

Watching, Luagarne puffed out her cheeks with a croak. By coincidence, Sinar's sword cut Encrid at that very sound. Not one of the twelve leaf swords was false. They merely struck in a sequence that only someone who had attained knighthood could discern.

Encrid opened his Eyes That See One Step Ahead, but could not block them. More precisely, he saw them, but his body could not keep up.

"Your foresight has awakened."

Sinar spoke upon seeing it.

Inwardly startled, Jaxon and Audin looked at Rem. Had this bastard already seen it in the West? That was what their looks meant.

"Shit, now he's improving like crazy."

Rem was visibly surprised too. Which meant this was new to him as well.

Everyone present—everyone except Pell, to be precise—looked at Encrid and knew this was the moment he was breaking out of his shell. He was changing by the day.

"Captain!"

And Krais, whom Encrid had expected back sooner, arrived.

"You're late," Encrid said from where he sat.

Wrapped in a cloak with his hood up, Krais was grinning broadly. Behind him were Nurat and eight swordsmen arranged like a guard detail.

Every one of them was about as capable as Torres, who would be in Martai. Highest-grade soldiers, in other words. One even appeared to be on par with those mercenaries called proto knights.

Most startling of all was the change in Nurat.

"It's been a long time."

She dipped her head in greeting, and the air she carried was markedly different from before.