As Encrid emerged from the world of consciousness Aker had created, he felt the wind stir his hair.

The sun had yet to slip behind the western mountains, so he could not have spent long inside. His highly developed senses could track the passage of time—an internal clock. That clock told him little time had passed.

'It felt like quite a while in there.'

That was how it had felt, but reality was different. It was a world where only consciousness roamed. Did that make what he had learned there meaningless? Surely not, though he would need time to adjust before reproducing it with his body.

Eyes open, Encrid assessed his condition without changing his earlier posture. He stood awkwardly, sword in hand.

'I'm not hungry.'

He felt no particular need for more food, nor was he sleepy. The prolonged, intense concentration had not left him dizzy, either. In short, he felt fine. Despite standing and holding his sword the entire time, his arms and legs were not tired from so little exertion.

"Every time I look, you're doing something stranger."

Rem approached, his axe at his waist and both hands hanging at his sides. Having reached a knight's level through spells, he could glimpse some of what the sword had done. Above all, he had seen Encrid suddenly close his eyes with the sword in hand and begin twitching. Realizing something was happening, he had used a spell to assess his condition.

That was how Rem knew Encrid's consciousness had flown away. More precisely, it seemed to have synchronized with the sword and become trapped inside. The others, too, had assessed Encrid's condition in their own ways, and every gaze was fixed on him.

Encrid glanced over them and their watching eyes before speaking.

"I'm playing with Aker."

"That's what it looked like to me."

"Right. I'm going back in."

As he spoke, he loosened his sword hand and shook out his legs to relax his muscles. Then he sat on a suitable stump stool in the corner of the training ground.

Normally, entering Aker's world required the knack of lowering one's consciousness as though sinking underwater. But Encrid had met the ferryman so often that he was extremely proficient at such things. None of those visits had been voluntary, but he had roamed the boundary between dreams and consciousness more than once or twice. He reentered Aker's world without an invitation.

* * *

"This seems like the moment to be surprised, but I won't bother. Like you said, time is precious."

Aker tossed out the remark in the middle of their fight. Normally, all sorts of questions should have come first. For instance:

Had he ever taught Encrid how to enter the world of consciousness? Did Encrid know that his Will was harder to control because it welled up like an inexhaustible spring? How had he returned so quickly? His mind could not be immune to wear, and while Aker understood that it was as tough as steel, how was that possible? He seemed to have survived hundreds of brushes with death—had he struck some sort of deal with the goddess of luck?

Questions like those. Things that could not be explained, things that remained unexplained. That was the sort of human Encrid was.

But Aker decided not to ask anything. He discarded the pointless questions. Why? Because facing this bastard had brought something to a boil inside him, too.

"I won't go easy on you just because you're struggling."

Aker spoke through clenched teeth. The thought-form recognized a resolve rising within him.

"Good. Thank you."

Encrid's calm answer somehow grated on his nerves. Both the tone and the words themselves.

"You bastard."

Aker grinned, thinking that at least he would not need to teach him psychological warfare. A thought-form, a being with no substance—yet Encrid had lit a fire even in this ghost's heart.

A month passed in reality. Inside the sword's world of consciousness, created from thoughts, an immeasurable span of time went by. The thought-form had much to teach. That was his lingering attachment, so he gave it everything he had.

"What good will mastery in here do you? Just get the knack. You'll have to go over it all again with your body once you're outside anyway."

"Right."

Encrid requested spar after spar without resting, and Aker obliged, teaching as they fought. By then, Encrid had realized there was no need to pant in a world of consciousness. He was not truly fighting with a physical body here. As Aker said, all he needed was to get the knack.

So that was what he did. He tried to focus solely on grasping the knack of each lesson. Of course, it was not easy. Only after repeating the same action dozens of times, hearing an explanation, and repeating it again did he roughly grasp the basics.

"You're a bit... how should I put it? Slow."

Or:

"How did you become a knight? Why are you so bad at picking things up?"

It would have been understandable had Aker said such things along the way. Encrid was used to hearing them. But Aker did not.

A month was a short time. Aker was too busy pouring out everything he knew to leave even the smallest regret. He ignored unnecessary questions. His pupil's talent was simply another irrelevant matter. Would mentioning it change anything? It would not.

So he did only what was needed. The thought-form stayed true to his purpose. That was how Aker proceeded.

"Show me the swordsmanship you've learned. You must have learned the swordsmanship Knight Aker left behind, too."

The thought-form Aker was separate from the man who had been Knight Aker, and spoke of him accordingly. Encrid nodded.

The game of moves and countermoves, the Righteous Sword Technique, the Nameless Sword Technique. Those were the names of the sword arts. Encrid demonstrated how he had developed and modified them in his own way.

He also employed the method for sealing off foresight: projecting dozens, hundreds of presences to confuse an opponent and keep his intentions from being read.

"Do I look like some fledgling who just became a knight? That trick only works on amateurs."

When Knight Aker had lived, there had been more knights than there were now, and battles had been more frequent. Founding a nation would have required turmoil rather than peace, and the continent had been more chaotic then. Anyone who fell for such tricks was called a fledgling.

It had not been like the present, when knights watched one another warily and hesitated to fight. Many historians and scholars now called that period the Age of Strife. The Demonic Realm had been relatively quiet, but humans, Beastmen, Giants, Fairies, and dwarves had risen in competing factions and fought.

As Aker spoke, he met Encrid's sword.

CLANG! CLANG!

Metal rang between them in quick succession.

Stepping through the grass, Encrid drove his blade forward to force his opponent back.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play it?"

Aker muttered as he dodged, blocked, and counterattacked.

"You've made some improvements of your own, eh? Still, want to learn the latter half of the Nameless Sword Technique? That would be best, wouldn't it?"

Encrid had no time to nod. Was it right to stop breathing just because he did not need to? That might be fine for Aker, a being of thought, but not for him. He needed to fight as though using his actual body.

A flash of inspiration illuminated his mind. Even so, he kept his ears open to Aker's words.

"This sword art was originally called Aker's Web. Aker liked spiders. He even raised them himself."

As he learned the latter half of the Righteous Sword Technique and how to control Will, Encrid kept trying to wield his Will with his blunt sense for it.

Time was an arrow loosed from a bow; once released, it could not be caught. Time past never returned. Apart from going outside to eat, sleep, and take brief rests, Encrid occupied Aker for the entire month.

Did they not say that every meeting must end in parting? Aker knew his time was running out. Each time Encrid returned to reality, he too felt the blade in his hand losing its luster and the once-solid grip growing soft.

Now he could crumble the blade with his fingers. The famed sword Aker, once hard and keen, was gone. All that remained was an old sword on the verge of falling apart.

Then, on an otherwise ordinary day, Aker's body began to fade amid the grass in the world of consciousness.

"I'll be going, then."

Encrid nodded and looked at Aker's face. Starting at his cheeks, it was turning into grains of light and scattering. From his cheeks to his hair, and soon his entire body, he dissolved into tiny particles. In one sense, it was a beautiful sight; in another, a cruel one. Thought-form or not, Encrid was witnessing the extinction of a being.

And Aker smiled. Regret? Sorrow at parting? Not a trace of either showed on his face. His smile was utterly peaceful, without the slightest hint of pain or suffering.

"Thank you," Aker said.

They had never had time for deep conversations, so Aker had said little about himself. He had offered a few brief stories here and there, but there had been no opportunity to speak of his lingering attachment or his goal.

Instead, they had swung their swords. That alone had let Encrid sense what Aker wanted. Still, it did not give him anything to say.

The human shape formed by the thought-form faded and vanished. Grains of light scattered and spiraled into the sky like a small whirlwind. At the same instant, the grassland and the sunlit sky split wide open. Light burst from the fractured sky.

Flickering light. A vision of hundreds, thousands of meteors streaking before his eyes. He was crossing the boundary between consciousness and unconsciousness, awakening into reality once more.

Encrid opened his eyes and lowered his head. Aker crumbled to dust in his hand.

When he looked up, the sun poured its light through the thin clouds as if daring them to block it. It was a clear day, sunlight illuminating everything around him.

["A grassland at noon. Aker loved this place. It was his home."]

That was something the thought-form Aker had said. For someone who seemed not to speak of himself, he had said quite a lot. He had claimed to know nothing because he was only a thought-form, but he had been chattier than expected.

["You learned Valen's swordsmanship, too?"]

["The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique?"]

["Why would that man be a mercenary?"]

["Wasn't he?"]

["He was a knight. One of the ten best, at that. Do you think those sword techniques are just cheap tricks? They are tricks, but dig a little deeper. You might find a different flavor to them. They were created on the assumption that the user could wield Will."]

It was startling enough to make Encrid prick up his ears, but when he actually heard it, he had no attention to spare. He had far too much to do. Beyond Aker's lessons, he had to struggle to put his own knowledge and realizations into practice. That was why he had kept swinging his sword and attacking without rest.

In any case, everything Aker had left behind had passed fully to Encrid. No regrets remained. Leaving without regret meant that the lingering attachment Knight Aker had left behind had been resolved.

With that, Aker, treasure of the royal house, had fulfilled its purpose. No, it had done more than that.

In what way? Encrid had realized how clumsy his way of handling Will was. To remedy that, he had needed to confront his limits again and again. So he had fought Aker over and over, repeatedly unleashing his Will. While fighting in the world of consciousness, he had replaced the bricks he had previously laid with sturdier stone.

'I think I should have been the one to thank you.'

Watching the falling sunlight, Encrid spoke to Aker in his heart.

Autumn had fully arrived before he knew it. Autumn—a good season for fighting, a good season for war.

With the heat gone, food did not spoil easily and was easier to preserve. If forests or fields lay nearby, it would also be a good time to procure supplies locally. The cool breeze would feel refreshing rather than cold. As the driest season, it would bring many days with thin clouds or none at all. The sky would be high and visibility clear.

Green Pearl would be the stage for war. An open plain with unobstructed views would be a poor setting for tricks. A frontal war lay ahead. Or so it appeared.

After spending a month with Aker and emerging, Encrid was teaching his body what he had learned when Aspen issued a declaration of war.

"Cede half of Green Pearl and two of the cities you have expanded, and we can settle this without fighting."

Those were the words of the envoy who came to the palace.

"You cannot have said that expecting me to accept. Very well, let us see. I shall learn what gives you of Aspen such confidence."

Seated on the throne, Krang displayed his dignity through calm words, neither rebuking the envoy nor showing anger. Aspen's envoy belonged to the Ekkins family, which represented administration and state affairs. He withdrew, thinking that Naurilia's king was a man of considerable caliber.

Aspen made its moves with the clamor of someone shouting at the top of their lungs. The entire continent buzzed as a result. They exploited rumor to the fullest: this time, Aspen would win.

First loose-tongued peddlers, then even the heads of great trading companies spoke of the war. Some predicted victory for Aspen. They had seen the vast army raised by sucking the kingdom dry down to its marrow.

By contrast, Naurilia's response was passive. At least, that was how it looked from outside. Its intention was to move its army later, while Border Guard held the enemy at bay. Naurilia was reluctant to reveal its strength; Aspen concealed none of its own. Stop us if you can—that was its attitude.

Amid these developments, Krais put his own plan, called a strategy, into action.

"We're ready to march."

The big-eyed man, whose future held the running of dozens of salons, spoke to those gathered at the training ground. Everyone was fully armed.

Encrid had obtained a sword made entirely of Valeri steel to replace Aker, so he still wore three swords. A javelin for throwing hung diagonally across his back, bringing his total of large weapons to four.

Beneath his gold-embroidered blue gambeson, he wore drake-scale leather armor. In place of a gauntlet, leather wound around his left wrist, its ends fastening together with clasps. Eitri had made the wrist guard from the leather acquired from the Giant merchant.

The lunatic unit gathered to either side of the fully armed Encrid: Rem with his axe, Ragna with his greatsword resting on his shoulder, Jaxon with lowered eyes and folded arms, and Sinar standing expressionless directly behind him.

"Somehow, this is both worrying and reassuring," Krais said at the sight.

According to his plan, Audin, Teresa, and the others would remain here. The remaining fighters had to move.

"We march out together, then move immediately. Is that right?"

Encrid asked to confirm, and Krais nodded.

It was beginning.