Standing in the training ground, Encrid gripped Aker's hilt.

To an onlooker, he would have seemed to be standing awkwardly in a corner, talking to himself with his hand on his sword. In other words, it was hardly behavior that made him look sane. Not that it mattered, since no one but the lunatic unit's members came here. And even if someone had been watching, he would have acted exactly the same.

His eyes blazed like flames again.

“Talk. You aren't still here just to chatter, are you? Show me what you've got. I'll give you my opinion of what that knight of a past generation left behind.”

Encrid spoke a little quickly. His excitement stirred his presence. The moment it occurred to him that he might gain something from the demon sword Aker, he couldn't contain himself. He would learn what lay within this sword, even if he had to break it.

His presence made everyone over by the barracks turn toward him. There he stood, filled with the same yearning and fervor as when they had first met him, making all their worries seem needless.

“Who did I think I was worrying about?”

Rem let out a short, incredulous chuckle as he sat on a stump stool sharpening his axe.

“Did a guide's luck find him?”

Ragna had been dozing in the shade opposite Rem. He lifted only his head to speak. That presence was enough to jolt him wide awake, but after blinking briefly, he went back to sleep without even clearing the crust from his eyes.

Jaxon merely watched steadily, his back against a pillar. He would never say it aloud, but privately he agreed with the barbarian.

Worried that someone had lost his yearning? Who, exactly? That man was the same as ever. He hadn't changed. Not since he had first been assigned to the squad, or since he had learned the sensory arts from Jaxon.

'The same.'

A man fashioned from fervor and yearning.

“You've returned, brother.”

Audin smiled as he spoke. He had been studying scripture with Teresa. The holy book said that opportunity came to those who desired it. Teresa pondered those words several times.

'A wish that never gives up.'

That was what she had seen in Encrid and learned from him, both before and now. But was the tenacity to never give up all one needed? To her, he looked happier now than when he had become a knight.

He enjoyed the process of achieving something more than the achievement itself. He wanted learning more than completion. Where, then, did that yearning come from? Anticipation. The expectation of enjoyment, of being immersed in exhilaration.

That was Encrid now. Gaining a small insight, Teresa quietly began to pray.

My yearning, my joy, my exhilaration—I offer it all to the Lord.

A faint light flowed from her shoulders. Its particles were so small that no one would notice unless they were right in front of her, and they soon vanished.

So no one saw it. Audin, too, had turned his gaze toward Encrid and missed the light, but because he possessed divine power, he felt the change in Teresa. He looked back at her. She was absorbed in prayer. He had witnessed a miracle right before him: the Holy Spirit had left its mark upon a half-Giant who had once been a Cultist.

“The Lord bestows great mercy today.”

Teresa nodded at Audin's words. Though she couldn't say exactly what it was, she knew she had gained something. She could discover it gradually. There was no need to demand answers in haste. She had always been patient, but true faith had deepened that patience.

“Have you seen the light? Then run toward it.”

Luagarne spoke. She had been training harder than ever before in her life. The whip in her hand trailed on the ground. She had stopped swinging it about because her body was producing too much oil, then looked at Encrid and spoken. Those words were also meant for herself.

She was old even for a Frog. In human terms, she would have been past middle age. Of course, humans and Frogs were different species, so measuring their ages the same way was meaningless. Yet one thing was similar.

Training at that age?

Age came for everyone alike. Luagarne had reached the stage when Frogs began to grow old. She was past the age for training. And someone might well add: why would a Frog train when the limits were already plain?

Frogs were a born warrior race. Their strength was exceptional, and their skin rendered most weapons useless. Mediocre swordsmen wouldn't even dare face one. Most Frogs simply repeated what they had learned in actual combat.

That alone was enough, and their talent-reading eyes made them all too aware of their own limits. A limit was something that could not be surpassed. Frogs knew that far too well. Their talent-reading sense worked on themselves just as it did on anyone else.

But what if there was a man right before her who had crossed that wall of limitations countless times—truly countless times?

Luagarne had never felt this way in all her life. It wasn't a desire to teach, but a desire to grow. And she was enjoying the present. Even if she made no further progress, she would be satisfied. She had learned that from Encrid.

The muscles in the Frog's arms trembled from overwork. Savoring the trembling, Luagarne puffed out her cheeks.

Encrid normally listened attentively to anyone who spoke, but once engrossed in the sword, he shut out all sound like a madman. He did nothing but indulge and crave. The sight of him swinging his sword with drool running from his mouth overlapped with the man before her now.

And so Encrid stood still, listening to no one. Whether the others watched him or not, he was listening to Aker.

HUM.

The sword vibrated, conveying meaning through determination.

-You have fulfilled the fourth condition.

Encrid liked the lack of excuses.

-Shall we talk face-to-face now?

Before he could open his mouth, the sword conveyed another message. The second had followed on the heels of the first. Without so much as blinking, Encrid watched green and white light flow from Aker's blade. The light spread wide, erasing everything around him.

Then a breeze blew.

RUSTLE.

The breeze stirred ankle-high blades of grass. He stood in a field of grass that stretched endlessly onward.

It was around midday. A rounded shadow protruded slightly to the right of his feet. Its short length meant the sun was directly overhead. The light was moderately dazzling, and it was neither hot nor cold. The sunshine stung a little, but the breeze offered just enough coolness.

“This is our first time meeting like this, isn't it?”

A man stood barely five paces before Encrid. He rested a sword identical to Aker at an angle on his shoulder, without a scabbard. His appearance was ordinary: light brown hair and brown eyes.

Yet common features didn't make him look commonplace. The sword on his shoulder seemed ready to strike at any moment, and both legs stood firmly planted on the ground. There were no readily apparent openings in his stance.

“Who are you?”

“Aker.”

Aker narrowed his eyes. Why ruin the moment by asking my name when you already know? That was what his eyes seemed to say.

Encrid lowered his hand. In it was a sword exactly like his opponent's. He had no other equipment—no armor, no throwing daggers. The same was true of the ghost who had identified himself as Aker. Two swords and two people—no, one person and one ghost. That was all.

“You look as though you've just thought something insulting.”

“Not at all.”

“I think you have. I'm inside your consciousness, and we share some of this.”

The light-brown-haired ghost Aker raised his left hand and tapped his temple.

“That seems unfair.”

“Don't worry. All I can pick up on is a little emotion.”

As he spoke, the ghost held his thumb and forefinger close together before his face and closed one eye.

“What would I be worried about?”

“I only mention it because you're already preparing to fight.”

Aker grinned. A smile appeared. The breeze blew. Grass stirred. The ghost sneezed, “Achoo!” Yet his stance didn't falter. There was no opening.

What would happen if Encrid stabbed now? Aker would react. He saw a brief glimpse of what would happen next. His opponent would wipe his nose as he dodged the stab, then immediately swing his sword upward. He would turn that vertical rising cut at an angle, trying to anticipate Encrid's movement.

Should he take that into account and close the distance as he stabbed? He couldn't do that. If he stabbed, his opponent would swing his sword to knock the weapon aside rather than dodge.

He saw two futures at once. And that wasn't all.

If Aker met the stab point-to-point instead of knocking it aside, he would briefly lock the weapon in place and punch the flat of the blade. That wouldn't break the sword, but it could momentarily jolt Encrid's sword hand. If he was shaken like that, he would begin the fight with his rhythm stolen.

'Hmm?'

Encrid saw three responses from his opponent simultaneously. Then a fourth, and a fifth. More possibilities kept appearing. Aker's stance hadn't changed, but his response changed with every moment.

“I didn't think you'd start with talking, even if I said we should speak face-to-face. What do you think? Interesting, isn't it? Some dismissed it as a cheap trick, but it served me well when I was alive. Once you know how to use Will, you can do things like this. It's a way to shut down foresight.”

Will was determination. The formless power fashioned from determination could also generate presence. Suppose someone formed the determination to hit the man before him on the head. Without realizing it, he would assume a stance suited to that blow, turning his shoulder to make it easier to raise his hand. His opponent, in turn, would unconsciously prepare to guard his head.

Foresight was the insight to read movement and presence. What Aker's thought-form had just done was mix the willpower called Will in various ways, tangling his presence into something complex and presenting it to his opponent, disrupting that insight—the eyes that saw the future.

Where Rem rendered foresight meaningless by swinging his axe unconsciously, Aker divided his consciousness into dozens of branches and displayed them to his opponent, interfering with his senses.

“This isn't easy.”

Encrid almost murmured the words.

“Were you expecting to gobble it up in one go? Have you no shame?”

Despite his quiet muttering, the ghost had managed to hear and answer.

“Do you happen to know how to explain it simply?”

“Am I supposed to teach you just because you demand it out of nowhere?”

“You're not going to?”

Why was this bastard so shameless? And yet all that shone in his eyes was pure yearning. Had he looked like that when he threatened to throw Aker off a cliff? There was no way to know.

Aker might find this awkward, but when it came to learning, Encrid was capable of far more.

“Three conditions were already frustrating enough. Do you think anyone ever passed the hidden fourth? Of course not. You're the first, so I've got quite a lot to say, but you won't even hear the explanation before demanding the technique? Wow. I hate this.”

Aker spoke with a conspicuously forced smile.

Encrid finished preparing to listen to him. The first step in those preparations was testing whether the blindfold that had blocked his foresight actually worked.

He couldn't help it. He had just seen not one burning eye, but four pairs: the Giant merchant's, the craftsman Eitri's, the jewelry-making Frog's, and the little girl's who wanted to become a healer.

The embers in Encrid's heart had never gone out, and this was like pouring oil over them. He blazed fiercely. He wanted to learn anything he could and had to do something, whether sparring or training.

Test my skill now. Look at my sword. I can learn anything. So teach me.

Encrid's presence pressed against his opponent with unprecedented clarity and intensity. It was a novel form of intimidation. It didn't make the other man feel that moving meant death, nor threaten to cut him if he advanced. The desire to learn anything and everything had manifested as intimidation.

Rather than intimidation, it should have been called encouragement that stirred the competitive spirit. It was a presence that made his opponent want to fight.

The moment Encrid suspected that Aker was hiding something, it was only natural that he would take the sword in hand and pester it relentlessly.

“I really.”

CLANG!

“Hate this.”

Concealing his breathing, Encrid raised both arms in an instant. He pointed his sword toward the sky, then stepped forward with his right foot, pivoting on his left as he brought the blade down. It was an honest, weighty diagonal cut.

Aker chose one of the movements Encrid's foresight had shown him. He raised his sword, parried at an angle, and moved sideways. That was how their swords had met with a clang—and Aker had still managed to finish what he was saying.

As the ghost swung his sword, his rounded shadow lengthened sideways. Encrid's gaze followed Aker's feet and blade. His feet moved with his eyes, and he stabbed.

His blue eyes left long streaks of afterimages. Only a knight could move at such speed. An ordinary person would have been cut and stabbed to death before even seeing those afterimages.

Of course, even in this world within the mind, Aker wasn't going to fall for that. Though he was only a thought-form, within the world of consciousness he was the equivalent of a knight. Aker had always been a weapon imbued with this kind of spell.

Foresight showed dozens of futures. Encrid expected his opponent to choose one again, but Aker shattered that expectation. Taking the hilt in his right hand and gripping near the ricasso with his left, he blocked Encrid's sword with raw strength.

CLANG!

The identical swords collided, sending out a shock wave. Grass flattened in a circle around them, then sprang upright.

RUSTLE!

The moving grass made quite a racket. Encrid had shifted his center of gravity and swung down with all his strength, but Aker's defensive stance had stopped his sword.

“Fighting with split-second ingenuity instead of relying on foresight? Not bad, but who are you imitating?”

Seeing his opponent's art, Encrid had immediately tried to copy Rem's way of fighting, only to be stopped. Aker continued.

“This is something like a world of consciousness created by the sword, and there's only one way out.”

Aker expected Encrid to ask what would happen if he couldn't leave. The instinct to preserve one's life was, after all, common to everyone.

Would he die if he couldn't escape? What would happen then?

When Encrid asked, Aker fully intended to tease him by asking what he thought would happen. But just as Aker had shattered Encrid's foresight, Encrid's response shattered Aker's expectations.

“Oh, right.”

He answered offhandedly, not even pretending to listen. His eyes were already steeped in madness.

“Hey. Snap out of it.”

“Oh, right.”

Was this bastard insane?

Only now did Aker have the thought everyone who had dealt with Encrid had already had. In the desert, his awareness of his surroundings had been like looking through sleepy eyes, so this was his first encounter with Encrid's madness.

Had Rem seen it, he would have cackled and said:

“Yep. Welcome, next victim.”