The troublemaker squad members were all full of personality, but they had one thing in common. They had little interest in their surroundings. Among them, Ragna was the type to be especially oblivious to the gazes of others, not to mention he didn't really care.
'Just filling his belly, just fighting, just living.' Living so carelessly, he also slept a lot. Because that was the kind of person Ragna was, Enkrid had been inwardly surprised to see him step up and volunteer for the reconnaissance team a while back.
That Ragna was volunteering to go out on reconnaissance? Had our lazy squad member changed? That wasn't it.
Ragna was fickle and driven by his moods. He had stepped forward, caught up in the mood at the time, but he probably would have said he wasn't going within a day, no, not even half a day. Of course, Enkrid had expected as much, which was why he hadn't sent him in the first place.
It was for a good reason that Enkrid handled most of the troublesome tasks in the troublemaker squad. In a way, Ragna could be said to have the opposite personality of Enkrid himself. He tended to lack motivation in all things, while Enkrid was the type to carve out time to swing his sword.
Of course, Ragna did swing his sword sometimes. There were times he hung out with Rem, like Enkrid had seen when he returned, and times he was active on the battlefield. Of course, each time, Ragna would mutter, 'It wasn't intentional.'
Enkrid knew this Ragna, so it was strange to see him showing interest. 'What's this all about?' It was a truly rare occurrence.
He would occasionally ask or demand things. But he wasn't the type to watch someone intently for days on end and carefully formulate a question. Enkrid lowered the hand that was scratching his forehead.
Among the squad members, Rem was on the more active side, but that bastard Rem also only dealt with people from beyond a certain line. You could see it if you looked closely. He was the type to not let people inside that line.
In a way, you could say he was a more difficult type than a lazy bum like Ragna. Still, Rem said what needed to be said. Ragna was the type who often didn't even say what was necessary.
This was a question from that Ragna. That's why it was strange. For a moment, he looked into Ragna's eyes.
A quiet silence passed between them. Enkrid stared intently as if in a staring contest, then soon raised his head. He saw a sky without a single cloud.
It had been raining often lately, but now he saw a clear blue sky without even a small cloud. His chest felt wide open. Looking at the sky, thoughts like why this guy was acting this way, for what reason he was asking such a question, and whether his own suspicions about the intent were correct, all vanished.
Enkrid gave up on worrying about it. He asked, so I will answer. Whether facing a sword or a person, I just do my best in all things.
'Since when have I worried about such things.' Even doing my best in all things, what I wanted was always far away, so I always lived a life of yearning. Ragna had asked.
Why go that far. He was probably talking about how I swing my sword whenever I have a spare moment. He was probably talking about my attitude of never treating anything carelessly.
He was probably asking about the mindset that doesn't give up despite my wretched skills. So Enkrid answered the question with a question.
"If I were good with a sword, what would it have been like?"
Outside the temporarily constructed encampment. In a place without a speck of shade, with the sun enveloping them both, Ragna's gaze rested on Enkrid's face. Enkrid opened his mouth again.
"What would have become of me then? What could I have become?"
Enkrid's voice was smooth. Like a well-made instrument. At least, that's how it sounded to Ragna.
It was not a voice excited by fever, nor was it a disheartened one. Like reading a fairytale to a child, it was leisurely and calm.
"Right now, I swing my sword to survive. But I don't want to live like that."
As he spoke, Enkrid swung his sword. Vertically, from top to bottom.
Whoosh.
The blade cut through the air, spreading its unique scent. The scent of the battlefield, mixed with the smell of steel, tickled the tip of Ragna's nose. Enkrid continued what he was doing, whether Ragna was beside him or not.
Training with his sword. From top to bottom. From bottom to top.
Diagonally, then to the side. Soon, facing an imaginary opponent, he performed a backhand cut after feigning a bind, the act of locking swords and pulling. Ragna stared blankly at his squad leader without a word.
A bottom-rank soldier of the Naurilia Kingdom. Ragna knew that the troublemaker squad leader's skill was not at a level that should be stuck at the bottom rank. But that didn't mean he could be called a high-level swordsman or warrior either.
If he jumped into the mercenary business now, at best he would be slightly better than average. A mid-rank mercenary could not be called exceptionally skilled. Ragna had once been deeply involved in the mercenary world, so he knew their standards well.
When it came to swords, he also had a natural insight on par with Frokk. He gauged his squad leader's skill and could also see his limits. 'It's already too late.'
The beginning was wrong. From the moment he first held a sword, he should have been faithful to the fundamentals. A lack of talent had snatched away his opportunity.
What about the squad leader now? It was just as he'd said. A desperate struggle to survive; the techniques he honed for that purpose were now holding him back.
Among the things the squad leader possessed, only two were decent. The thing taught by Rem, the skilled savage. And then the thrust he showed after his skills suddenly improved.
Excluding those two, his fundamentals were lacking, leaving only techniques that always relied on shortcuts. Those shortcuts were the problem. Ragna fully exercised his insight, but instead of saying it out loud, he asked about the part that was bothering him.
"If you become good with a sword, what will you do then?"
Enkrid stopped swinging his sword. Beads of sweat on his forehead trickled down, gathered at the tip of his chin, and dripped to the ground. The sweat that fell on the dirt he stood on was quickly absorbed.
Sunlight, sword, wind, sky. Embracing it all in his heart, Enkrid voiced the dream he had in fact repeated countless times to himself.
"A knight. I want to become a knight who runs toward the end of the battlefield."
"Why?"
Ragna asked back. To him, it was a natural question. Ragna could see the path.
A path where the destination was clearly visible even without experiencing it. Would such a path be enjoyable? If, upon actually reaching the destination, there was nothing to do and nothing he wanted to do, there was no way he would have the will to walk that path.
That was Ragna. He was a wanderer who saw the destination and the path, but did not want to walk it, could not walk it.
"Does there have to be a reason for wanting to become something?"
Enkrid asked back. This was his ideal.
His romance.
It was his life and the days he had lived through. At the same time, it was the dream of his youth that had captivated him. How many times had he mulled over his dream?
There is no reason for wanting to become something. But he had no intention of letting it end with just wanting.
"I want to live according to what I believe is right. I want to raise my sword for the poor and sick, for honor, and for the people I love."
What is a knight? Is it merely a killing machine that kills well and fights well? Knights were often called that.
A combat weapon specialized in killing things. But if the knight Enkrid dreamed of was merely that, he would not have been able to swing his sword until now. One who expresses their will through honor, faith, and the sword.
A sword that embraced a chivalry that most no longer sought. As Enkrid spoke, he thought of Krang. Why was there power in his words?
How did his words draw everyone in? Now, he felt he understood a little. It was because they were filled with sincerity and truth.
That was the foundation. So Enkrid too spoke with all his heart. To Ragna, it came as a shock.
Of course, Enkrid didn't know, as he showed no sign of it on the outside. Ragna asked himself a question. If you want to live according to what you believe is right, why do you need a sword?
Because without strength, it is difficult to realize what you believe in. An emptiness always lingered in his chest. That was the source of his feeling of powerlessness.
But now, while talking with Enkrid, another flame ignited in his heart in place of that powerlessness. Holding the flame that had begun to bloom in his chest, Ragna sank deep in thought. He even sat down on a patch of grass to one side of the plain.
What is a knight, and what is a sword. His worries followed one after another, leading to a conclusion. 'I won't know unless I walk the path.'
He found the justification he needed to walk the path. Enkrid left him be and swung his sword again. Between the silence, only the sword, the sky, and the wind moved.
Because they were some distance away, the noisy sounds of the soldiers in the encampment could be heard from one side, but otherwise, it was quiet. The silence was not long.
"Do you want to learn the sword?"
Ragna opened his mouth, his vacant gaze fixed on a sharp stone embedded in the ground.
Fwip!
Along with the executed thrust, sweat scattered in the air. Enkrid froze in that position. He answered while steadying his breath, his eyes still fixed on the tip of his sword.
"Yeah."
His tone was plain and calm. If there was an opportunity to learn, he would not miss it. For Enkrid, that was a matter of course.
Ragna spoke, and was surprised by his own words. 'Why did I...?' But he soon realized the reason.
Half of it was the desire to show the proper path to his desperately struggling squad leader. The other half was for himself. 'If the squad leader is by my side.'
I find myself moving with all my strength without realizing it. Seeing how Enkrid lives is a stimulus. Ragna needed a stimulus.
A stimulus to make him walk the long, tedious path. The squad leader's existence was that stimulus for him. If he was around, I would at least train, however clumsily.
The moment I see him improve, an unprecedented vitality springs up in me. I sparred with the squad leader, tried to go on reconnaissance in his place, and even warmed up through Rem. It was a rare thing.
At least, it was for Ragna himself. So what would happen if I taught the squad leader? It was an act closer to selfishness than altruism.
And Enkrid didn't bother wondering about the reason. 'Why is he being like this?' He hadn't even asked for anything, yet the man was readily offering to teach him the sword.
Even when learning the Heart of the Beast, it was only possible because he had pestered Rem. And what about when he learned something from Jacksen. Everything had happened because he had been the one to approach them first.
But this time was different. After staring at him for a few days, the man had suddenly approached, thrown a few questions at him, and now said he would teach him the sword. He thought it was a good opportunity.
So he didn't want to ask for the reason. Even when they sparred, Ragna had kept his mouth shut about swordsmanship, beyond the movements needed for that moment. When it came to the sword, Enkrid was like a starved hyena.
He had asked countless times during sparring and charged in even more, but Ragna had avoided answering. But now, he was suddenly offering to teach him.
"Then, first."
Ragna brushed off his backside and stood up, then mumbled with his lips. It seemed he was choosing his words. Enkrid calmly waited, the tip of his sword lowered.
While he waited, the words Rem had said came to his mind.
"It's a bit... for me to teach the sword."
Rem was good not only with an axe but also with a sword. Enkrid had seen him slice and deeply thrust at enemies with his sword several times.
"I swing purely by feel, and that's not something you can teach. So, Squad Leader, it's better for you to learn more systematically."
It didn't seem like he was saying it because he really didn't want to teach. Nor did it seem like he was being stingy with his skills. If that were the case, he wouldn't have taught him the Heart of the Beast.
Back then, he had just accepted it and moved on. As Enkrid was lost in thought, Ragna spoke.
"That thing you learned from the savage bastard, Beast's Entrails or Conscience or whatever." ......
It's Heart of the Beast. How does that become 'Beast's Entrails'? If Rem heard this, he would probably swing his axe immediately.
"And that one thrust."
Ragna continued, then looked straight into Enkrid's eyes.
"Other than that, it seems you'll have to build everything up again from the beginning. Is that okay?"
For a moment, Enkrid couldn't understand and tilted his head.
"I mean, you have to rebuild your foundation from scratch. Can you do it?"
Ragna knew no other way to teach and learn the sword. For a moment, Enkrid found it hard to accept.
"Why?"
The Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship. No matter what others said, he thought it was an excellent technique and swordsmanship.
"Because if you keep using that mercenary swordsmanship, you won't be able to get any better than you are now."
After that, Ragna continued his explanation. His examples were crude and his explanation wasn't clear, but Enkrid understood quickly. The core point was one thing.
That his current state had a clear limit. He could still improve by training as he was now. But the pace would be slow, and he wouldn't be able to surpass his limits.
When asked why, he said it was because he had learned too many miscellaneous things.
"The point is, your fundamentals are lacking."
He had never expected to hear such words. Whenever he paid silver coins to visit some training hall, they always emphasized the importance of fundamentals, so he had accepted it and invested a good amount of time. Thinking about it carefully, it made sense that he would hear something like this.
He was always in a position of paying money to learn. Enkrid couldn't just spend all his time building fundamentals. So until now, he had practiced what he thought were the basics—cutting and thrusting—on his own.
That was the problem. A brief realization came to him. A momentary thrill came over Enkrid, shaking his entire body.
The hand holding the sword trembled. Because he could see a path. Beyond the wall and darkness that had always blocked his sight, a crude but open path had appeared.
This momentary bliss was something he wouldn't trade for any other joy in life. As he stood there, his hand trembling, Ragna spoke in a careful tone.
"Now you just have to choose. Whether you'll build anew, or be satisfied with where you are now."
Ragna thought Enkrid would give up. To throw away what you've built up until now and start anew meant starting over from the very bottom. Then his skill level, roughly mid-to-high in the mercenary world, would fall back to a low-rank level.
Could he endure that? Especially for someone who makes a living by the sword in the middle of a battlefield? It might be different if he had multiple lives.
Even if he wanted to, it wouldn't be easy. Because when the moment of death actually approaches, the techniques his body is used to will come out.
"You'll have to risk your life a few times."
Ragna said.
His tone was rough, but laced with concern. Enkrid nodded his head. His meaning was ambiguous, and when Ragna asked with his eyes, Enkrid opened his mouth to finish.
"I'll just build it anew."
"Really?"
It was an answer that surprised Ragna instead. Because there seemed to be not a hint of hesitation in his answer. Even though his hand had been trembling just a moment ago.
He had thought it was from anger, frustration, and despair. Enkrid's reaction was the complete opposite.
"Yeah."
He was purely delighted.