"Now, this is strange."

Rem tipped his axe as he spoke. The purpose of the spar had been clear, so there was no need to continue. They had ended it without deciding a winner, doing nothing but clashing weapons relentlessly.

Everyone who had vied with Rem for the first spar had shared his intentions, so they all felt much as he did.

'He doesn't burn out?'

Jaxon kept the thought to himself.

"He should be struggling."

Ragna meant the same thing.

The first thing one felt upon awakening Will and setting it circulating within the body was a sense of omnipotence. Literally, the feeling that one could do anything.

In extreme cases, one might even feel capable of grabbing a cloud, pulling it down, and shaping it into a sword. It was absurd and plainly impossible, of course, yet it felt possible.

It truly felt as though anything were possible, and getting drunk on that omnipotence made a person several times more euphoric than any drug. That exhilaration spurred action, ultimately leading them to squander Will without knowing any better. They were so excited that they kept moving without realizing they were tired.

In the process, they also learned to distinguish what they could and could not do. Encrid, at least, had made that distinction.

Oh? This works, but that doesn't.

To cut off a head, he had to walk close enough for his sword to reach.

He couldn't fell a tree by gesturing at it from afar.

Perhaps it was a process of learning to handle omnipotence, as though born anew and learning to walk.

But distinctions aside, what happened when someone overused Will?

They burned out. Their strength drained away, and they crumpled. Trying to keep moving in that state damaged the body.

They would recover with time, of course. But by repeatedly inducing exhaustion, making them expend all their power in a single burst, one could shorten their recovery time and regulate the process to prevent permanent harm to body or mind.

'Not that I thought it would come to that.'

Rem scratched his cheek. Still, wasn't this a little too strange?

Ragna and Jaxon had wanted that first spar so they could help him manage his exhaustion. That was why even Jaxon had made the unusual offer to spar.

This was the moment he would learn to control his omnipotence. Who wouldn't want to guide him through it? The three of them hadn't gone to all the trouble of rolling dice for nothing.

But what was this?

"I'm still fine."

Despite being drenched in sweat, Encrid's presence had not diminished at all. It was still the same. Just as it had been at the start.

"That really is strange."

Rem said it again, while Audin merely chuckled. Having experienced it yesterday, he had expected this. Those three had deliberately avoided watching Encrid move beforehand, saying it would spoil the fun of sparring with him.

That was why they were surprised.

Encrid stood there without a care. He should have collapsed from exhaustion long ago.

"Well, uh, let's move on."

Rem shook out his hands. Thinking about it wouldn't provide an answer.

All manner of things existed in this world, and anything could happen. Rem knew that all too well. So did Ragna and Jaxon.

While he was at it, Rem moved on to the next step. If inducing exhaustion was out, what came next?

Proficiency.

Once a person reached the point of handling Will comfortably, finer distinctions inevitably began to emerge. They might wield it more sharply, or conversely, give it greater weight.

Spells were no different, so Rem understood this well. Shamanic power and the strength of spirits merely took Will's place. His method differed a little, but it was similar.

Yet even this was somewhat unclear. It was hard to put into words.

For someone who had become a knight, Encrid was rather clumsy. His swordsmanship, his senses, his boldness—those had unmistakably improved by leaps and bounds, but his use of Will was blunt.

If anything, it felt heavier and clumsier than before. Not that this meant his skills had regressed.

As a result, no defining trait stood out. He was stronger and reacted faster? A little rough and all over the place, too? Perhaps his greatest distinguishing feature was that he never tired.

Even that assessment of roughness and disorder was only from Rem's perspective. Roford or Pell would have wondered what he was talking about. That was how wide the gap between them and Encrid had become.

Then what should be done about that bluntness? About the roughness? The disorder?

'Does it matter?'

It didn't.

In truth, no one knew what would happen from here.

No one.

And yet none of them thought this was a bad thing.

Still, all of them, Luagarne included, had once wondered something similar.

What would happen if someone like him became a knight?

If Will grew in proportion to how faithfully one kept an oath, and the strength of that oath was a tower tall enough to touch the sky, how great would its counterpart become—the willpower, the formless force called Will?

The answer stood here.

No one could measure it.

There was no predetermined path before Encrid.

"Face the uncertainty. What bars your way is not a wall, but an empty plain."

It felt as though someone were saying that.

Was that so? Encrid had set foot on unknown land. He had just taken his first step. Was it in the right direction? He didn't know. Then did he feel lost, unable to tell where he should go?

No.

Encrid smiled. What lay before him was not a wasteland without signposts, but a broad road that needed no signposts at all.

He simply had to walk.

That was why he smiled.

"Well, it's good to see you smile."

Rem smiled with him. Jaxon gave a faint smile, and even Ragna broke into one.

'I need a better feel for this.'

A single spar seemed to have shown Encrid what he needed to do next. Once, that would have been unimaginable.

He used to swing his sword and run aimlessly because he didn't know what to do. He had even climbed steep mountains barehanded to improve his grip.

It wasn't that none of it had helped, but he hadn't understood what he was doing. Hadn't that been why he would take his Krona and seek out sword instructors?

Encrid wasn't rejecting the road he had traveled or the time he had spent. He had simply realized that he was no longer at a level where he needed an instructor as he once had.

'The knack of handling Will.'

To put it into words, he had gained a new sensory organ and was learning how to use it. Yet something that ordinarily wouldn't be very difficult had become difficult for Encrid.

That was because his Will was so vast. His vessel was different. He wouldn't master it all at once. He already knew that.

Still, it didn't matter.

"Whew."

As he stood in the sunlight, feeling the sweat trickle down, a breeze swept away the heat.

"May I ask how it feels, my betrothed?"

Sinar had approached without him noticing. Encrid looked at the Fairy, and the memory of her arm scattering like dust rose before him.

It wasn't only her.

He remembered Rem's deepening wrinkles. Jaxon watching him with a contorted face. Ragna staring at him, motionless. Audin radiating light as blood flowed from his eyes, nose, mouth—from every opening in his face.

Those memories, those faces, those expressions, those actions that only he knew.

"A bunch of idiots made it take a while, but it feels good."

He spoke while looking around at Rem, Jaxon, Ragna, and Audin. Roford and Pell had left. Esther stood off to the rear, and Odd-Eyes was there too.

His gaze passed over those two as well. Everyone was looking at him.

It was an absurd joke.

He was here because of them. He said it precisely because he knew that.

Sinar gave a rare, faint smile. Encrid's smile, with its undisguised joy and delight, was a wonderful sight.

"Bullshit."

Rem answered with a snort of laughter. Audin prayed, Jaxon gave a disbelieving chuckle, and Ragna raised his sword. It was his turn to spar next.

Encrid took his stance again.

No burnout. No exhaustion. No intoxication with omnipotence, either.

His rough fighting style would sort itself out in time. Ragna simply wanted to fight him. Watching alone wasn't enough.

Jaxon stepped back, lost in thought.

'A difficult opponent.'

He could injure Encrid by striking at an opening. Poison might give him an advantage, too.

Both were awkward to use in a spar, though. If his opponent were the barbarian, he could simply let those techniques fly.

Many of Jaxon's techniques were difficult to use in sparring. That was why he had withdrawn. Now that he had seen Encrid wouldn't burn out, there was no need to drain his strength through a spar.

He had only made the uncharacteristic decision to join in because he'd thought it better to handle this himself than leave it to the barbarian or the man with no sense of direction.

Thinking that, Jaxon took a dagger in each hand and got in line.

His actions contradicted his thoughts.

"I'm next."

So did his words.

Watching his Captain could kindle warmth even in an assassin's icy heart.

Encrid was still smiling. More precisely, his smile brimmed with anticipation.

No one would know. Whenever he watched Rem and Ragna fight, he had dreamed of standing there himself.

And here, now, that dream had come true in full.

He raised Aker and took his stance.

- Hey, that one's pretty good.

It was an effect of the Will circulating throughout his body. The sword absorbed that Will and conveyed its meaning. The blade's humming vibration became words that entered his mind.

Encrid ignored it and concentrated.

A moment later, Black Thunderbolt fell silently from overhead.

Beyond his five senses lay his Sixth Sense. Yet even with foresight showing him a step into the future, seeing the strike and the blade's arrival were simultaneous.

His Aker surged upward, radiating white light.

CLANG!

The two swords met, tangled, and parted. The exchanges that followed, the footwork—everything was at a knight's level.

Ragna won the spar.

After Ragna, Jaxon attacked. That bout ended in a draw. Jaxon was the first to call it quits and withdraw, and Encrid finally admitted that pinning down his footwork was difficult.

Had he fought either Ragna or Jaxon to the bitter end, however, there was no telling who would have won.

Rem came at him again, axe in hand.

The sparring continued until sundown, yet Encrid's Will never once ran dry.

"You've become a monster."

Rem had it right. Everyone nodded in agreement. Among them, a croaking Luagarne was positively streaming oil from her entire body.

She was that overwhelmed with emotion.

* * *

"I place my trust in you."

The words came from the occupant of the throne atop three steps, beyond a red carpet edged on both sides with gold thread.

The man standing before the throne raised his deeply bowed head and replied.

"I shall reclaim the lands unjustly taken from Aspen."

The face he raised had a black nose and ears like a wolf's. His pupils, too, were distinctly unlike a human's. Naturally so: he was a wolf Beastman.

"Then, I take my leave."

The wolf Beastman general turned away.

Once honored as Aspen's guardian deity, the old general had since been sidelined to an insignificant post. When he emerged from the audience hall, two humans and a Frog were waiting for him.

"Where's Abnaire?"

The wolf Beastman asked the moment he stepped out. Seemingly displeased by something, he cleared his nose with a snort.

He had left the audience hall, but only a single door separated him from the throne. Even so, he was utterly uninhibited. Those who knew this was simply his nature kept their mouths shut. Even the servants pretended not to notice.

"It would be best to refrain from speaking that name within the palace."

The neatly dressed man answered. Though he held the rank of knight, he knew very well that the Beastman before him was not someone to challenge lightly. His tone was therefore exceedingly polite.

Were all knights equal? Of course not.

The knight of Aspen, who had once gifted Encrid, Ragna, and several others a stroke of his blade, understood that truth well.

"If you were going to throw honor and everything else away anyway, why didn't you kill them before coming back?"

The Beastman spoke in a growl. Did he truly mean that he should have? Half yes, half no. If he had chosen to act that way, he should have stood by it without shame. The general was condemning him for letting it leave soot upon his heart instead.

"Because of my oath..."

"Your excuses and justifications will get you killed. Didn't I teach you that a knight who fails to uphold his honor leaves a stain upon his heart, and that stain will be his ruin? Have I lived so long that my memory's failing? Have I?"

The wolf Beastman cut him off and launched into a lecture. Anger flashed through the man, but he did not talk back. Saying anything more to a master already giving him shit for making excuses would only prolong the nagging.

And excuses? It wasn't an excuse, but the truth. His oath had left him no choice.

Honor or no honor, his sword would never weaken. Its defining nature was clear.

Even with the man keeping silent, the wolf Beastman could roughly read his thoughts.

"Tsk."

Apparently displeased, he clicked his tongue and turned to the next man.

"You, don't overdo it. Fight drunk on omnipotence, and you'll die. There are plenty of people in this world who know how to fight."

"Yes, sir."

He answered, but he wouldn't take it to heart. That was the sort he was. Even now, confidence seemed to overflow from him. The determination he harbored caused his Will to drift faintly into his surroundings.

A fool who couldn't even properly contain his own Will. Tsk.

Last was the Frog—the very Frog who had once gifted Encrid a kick in the side.

"The preparations?"

The wolf Beastman asked with a tilt of his head, and the Frog nodded.

"More or less finished."

The Frog would be somewhat outmatched against a knight head-on. But in a war, rather than a fight, it wouldn't matter if the opponent was a knight.

Combat and war were very different.

Entirely different.

The wolf Beastman knew that distinction well. That was why he wouldn't be the one discussing strategy and tactics, and why he needed Abnaire.

The fellow had once been called a genius strategist.

Execute him for responsibility for the defeat?

That was what the so-called nobles who resented Abnaire's status had said. Bullshit on that scale was a disease. Why kill a talent like that, those crazy bastards?

The Beastman general had only outwardly requested his execution, then taken him under his command.

Abnaire had asked to withdraw from the world, saying that even after all those preparations, he had failed to kill a single human. A few good beatings had made him crawl back out.

HHRUMPH!

The wolf Beastman snorted once more. His breath was so forceful that one side of the curtain covering a window stirred.

"Let's go."

The Beastman led, with the two humans and the Frog following. They matched his long strides.

The palace corridor was wide enough for five people to stand comfortably abreast, yet it looked narrow as they walked through it.

Outside, two more adjutants awaited him. In the clear sunlight, both bowed their heads in respect.

One of those two adjutants could also be called a knight, albeit under certain conditions. The wolf Beastman had personally raised and trained that one.

Excluding the Frog and including the Beastman himself, that made four knights.