Direction.
What purpose, what goal defines one's existence.
Screee.
A hawk that had been playing in the green plains flew overhead. The hawk's cry passed between the two of them. It was a winter afternoon, not too cold.
Standing by a wall within the unit's compound, Enkrid answered the proposal with a question.
Torres hesitated.
After thinking it over and over, he opened his mouth.
“The soldier ranking system is bullshit, but it did set one clear standard. What is a special-grade soldier.”
His voice was quiet, low, and thick. It seemed it would be quite suited for singing low-pitched hymns. His usual thoughts organized themselves to answer the question.
Torres's words were mixed with sincerity and conviction.
“It refers to a level that has reached the limits of a human. I hear you cut down on your sleep and swing your sword on the battlefield until your hands blister, right?”
As he spoke, Torres pulled Enkrid’s hand. Enkrid obediently let his hand be taken. Torres turned over Enkrid's palm and said.
“Look.”
It was a palm where hard calluses had formed over and over, to the point of bursting. The proof of his effort, of swinging a sword through countless days, remained on his hand.
“There are many guys who put in this much effort. But it's rare to find someone whose talent follows suit. Truly rare.”
Torres shook his head slightly as he spoke. He was right. It was a fact Enkrid knew all too well, having crawled and scraped along the ground because he lacked talent.
“A place where soldiers who possess both effort and talent, who have reached the limits of a human, gather! That's the frontier garrison. You want to improve your skills? Join our unit. It will fill what you lack.”
He had asked for its direction, but the answer was about filling his inadequacies. From that, Enkrid found his answer. Looking into the man's eyes, full of passion, desire, and faith, Enkrid opened his mouth.
“I'm sorry.”
It was a refusal. It could have been a perfect opportunity. On the path toward a dream that was torn but not forgotten—no, a dream that could not be forgotten—it was truly a perfect opportunity.
But Enkrid could not go. The frontier garrison could be a staircase to a higher place, but the top of the stairs would not be the world he longed for.
‘Stopping at the limit won't do.’
Just reaching the limit is not enough. The butchers of the frontier, a group with the most outstanding killing ability among the units stationed within the Border Guard. But hadn't the member of the garrison before him, still glaring, said it with his own mouth?
That the frontier garrison was for those who had reached the limits of a human. Enkrid's dream was higher than that. Of course, for someone who hadn't even reached the limit to say he would surpass it was nothing but an arrogant thought.
Still, he couldn't set out on a journey expecting to stop halfway before even reaching the destination. Enkrid shook his head.
“You should know the specialty of our unit, right?”
It turns ordinary soldiers into excellent killing machines in a short time.
He knew.
There was no half-assed training. It was a group that cultivated soldiers to a much higher level than ordinary soldiers. However, the method was the problem.
In truth, there was one question implied in Enkrid's query. Among those who were in the frontier garrison, had any of them become knights?
None.
They learn and master the most convenient and efficient methods of killing. It wasn't for nothing that they were nicknamed the butchers of the frontier. To use swordsmanship as an analogy, it was a style that prioritized tricks and irregularities, not fundamentals.
One could not become a knight with only tricks and irregularities. Knowing that, it was a path he could not take.
“You're an idiot.”
But in the eyes of others, this was how it could appear. Torres relaxed the intensity in his eyes.
“I hear that often.”
“Ha, I never dreamed I'd be rejected by a man, not a woman. May I ask why?”
Should I tell him? Will I just be ridiculed again? Whenever he spoke of his dream, it seemed he had heard nothing but ridicule.
Ah, no. ‘Krang was serious.’ Other than him, there was no one. Rem had been thrilled to have found a pretext to tease him.
The others hadn't reacted very well either, it seemed. A few of the instructors, in particular, had shown him exactly what it meant to look at someone like they were crazy.
“I wish to go to a place higher than the frontier garrison.”
And yet, Enkrid said it plainly. There was nothing to hide, nothing to conceal.
“Higher?”
“I want the Red Cloaks.”
It didn't necessarily have to be the Red Cloaks. But it was a fitting metaphor. After all, Naurilia had only one order of knights.
They were the King's Guards, draped in blood-red cloaks, and the symbol of Naurilia's military might. They were also the only unit permitted to use the royal emblem. Embroidered vividly upon their cloaks was the symbol of the kingdom: the emblem of three crossed swords.
The three crossed swords and the mythical Sun Beast, with its round head and mane of fire. These two were the symbols of Naurilia. He was saying he wanted to become a knight.
Torres understood that well enough. And that's why he was flustered.
“... That's a bit much.”
Torres had gotten a glimpse of Enkrid's skill. It was outstanding. For someone who awakened to his talent at thirty, he was on the outstanding side.
But that was it. In truth, his skills were barely enough to be accepted into the frontier garrison. It might be a different story for Enkrid's squad members, whom he had met in the barracks earlier.
‘But not them.’
They were impossible for other reasons. They were all problematic individuals. No matter how much trouble they caused, a soldier had to be someone who would listen to orders.
In that respect, they were substandard. A blade that could also wound its wielder could not be called a good weapon. It was something to be discarded.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
He'd been cleanly rejected.
Torres nodded.
He didn't want to say anything to crush the other man's hopes. Still, he had to say this.
“You'll regret it.”
“Perhaps.”
Enkrid answered with sincerity. Not every choice is always the right one, so he might indeed regret it. The Platoon Leader of the Frontier Guard, Torres, turned on his heel and walked away without even accepting a military salute.
He looked as if he was sulking, but his shoulders seemed rather light. Enkrid watched Torres walk away and turned around. As he trudged back toward the barracks, Enkrid recalled a conversation he'd had with Ragna.
“Are you talking about the knights of the Red Cloaks? You're curious as to how they moved like that?”
The shock he had received from seeing the knight of the Red Cloaks had not been small. What is a knight? How can they move like that?
It would be a lie to say he wasn't filled with questions. And besides, wasn't that member just an apprentice knight?
“It is a little too early for you to know now.”
Ragna had said, and Enkrid had waited silently for his next words. As he expected, Ragna continued.
“A knight does not deal only in physical strength. A very special power resides in their bodies. How to handle that power is not a topic for us to discuss now. Knowing about it would only be a hindrance.”
“Just point me in the right direction. I want to know if I'm going down the wrong path or not.”
It might have been an unreasonable request. But as his skills improved, Enkrid was realizing anew that none of his squad members were ordinary. Among them, he had learned the basics of swordsmanship from Ragna, and in doing so, he noticed something.
If he had to pick the person in the squad closest to being a knight, it would be Ragna.
“The fundamentals are a feast of simple and brutish techniques. You must know from fighting, Squad Leader. Which would be faster for building your skills? Relying on that mercenary sword you learned? Or training the fundamentals?”
Why are tricks called tricks? Why are irregularities called irregularities? If it was just a matter of fighting well, the Vallen-style Mercenary Swordsmanship was several times better than learning heavy-sword fundamentals.
“It is for advancing further, the true path. You must walk the right path. I believe that answers your question.”
It was more than a sufficient answer. Swordsmanship that advances through the fundamentals. Walking the right path by overcoming countless walls that block the way.
That was what he had to do now. Enkrid had come to that conclusion.
“Grrr.”
As he entered the barracks, he was greeted by the sound of a beast. The room was a mess. A bed pushed to one side, an overturned table, and in the middle of it all stood Big Eyes, his face scratched and on the verge of tears.
“Agh, of all places, my face.”
“It's quick.”
“Panther meat doesn't taste good, but meat is meat.”
Behind Big Eyes, Ragna added a word, and Rem added another. A beast, a black panther. A young panther with blue eyes, the same one who was a comrade-in-arms in a previous battle.
It had disappeared so suddenly, he thought he'd never see it again. Somehow, it seemed to have found its way here. The panther, its fur standing on end, was glaring at Ragna and Rem, but when Enkrid entered, it spun around and leaped right into his arms.
Rem scratched his head with the thumb of the hand holding his axe and asked. If he had been just a little later, that axe might have lopped off the panther's head.
“Was it the Squad Leader's pet?”
“Hm, so that's what it was?”
Ragna, the man who was endlessly serious and solemn when speaking of knights, had returned to his usual lazy self. He put away the sword he'd been holding, scabbard and all, and threw himself onto the pushed-aside bed. Seeing this, Rem lowered his axe as well.
“It was yours, Squad Leader? That thing is quite fierce.”
Big Eyes cautiously glanced at the panther and asked.
“Did you get scratched?”
“I was trying to pat its head.”
As Big Eyes assessed his wound with his hand, Rem chuckled beside him and said.
“He got like that trying to stick his hand under it to check if it was a female or a male.”
“Kaaak!”
The clever panther, as if it understood the words, stuck its head out and bared its fangs. Startled, Big Eyes tried to back away, but stepped on a scattered leather waterskin, slipped, and fell. Seeing Big Eyes land on his butt with a thud, Rem burst out laughing.
“Are you okay? Your face?”
Enkrid let out a small laugh and asked. This was the guy who always went on about how his face was a blessing to the Naurilia Kingdom.
“Ah, it's fine. I'll just have to get some divine healing or apply some medicine so it doesn't leave a scar.”
Divine healing for a scratch like that. It was something you wouldn't do unless you had krona to burn.
“Uh, right.”
He gave a rough answer and looked at the panther nestled in his arms. The creature that had been baring its fangs had now quietly raised its head. He had thought it wasn't that light or small, but holding it in his arms, it felt light and small.
“Did you come to play?”
Enkrid asked.
The panther understood his words. It blinked, let out a small purr, and rubbed its head against Enkrid's chest. The feel of its fur, softer than silk, was quite nice.
Seeing Enkrid stroking the panther's head, Rem spoke.
“You gonna raise it? At least you won't be bored.”
Rem was surprisingly tolerant of animals. Ragna and Jacksen were indifferent. The preacher squad member, Audin, who had returned after finishing his duty, also had no interest whatsoever.
Only Big Eyes, Krais, remained greatly interested.
“It's a female.”
“Hm?”
“Do you think I would have gotten away with just a scratch on my face?”
Big Eyes crossed his arms and said triumphantly. Is that so?
How impressive.
“Yeah.”
Enkrid replied and was tidying up the area when Rem righted the fallen table, perched on it, and asked.
“Now that you're a high-rank soldier, it seems like everyone's looking for you. How about it? The frontier garrison doesn't sound too bad.”
Enkrid sometimes wanted to peer inside that sly man's mind. Just when you thought he was fooling around all day, he would strike at the core like that.
“Not going.”
Enkrid stated his conclusion first. He didn't want things to get needlessly noisy over this.
“Why?”
It was Jacksen. His words were short.
“-sir.”
He belatedly added the honorific.
“Just because.”
What was there to explain in detail. He was about to leave it at that, but Rem challenged him.
“Are you serious? No matter how moronic the soldier ranking system is, high-rank and above is beyond a decent level. And you rejected the Royal Direct Army in a situation like that?”
“He must have had his reasons.”
Ragna, who seemed to have guessed the situation from their previous conversation, interjected, which only made things worse.
“... Damn it, is that bastard pretending to know something? He looks like he knows something.”
“Why?”
Jacksen asked again. This time, the honorific did not follow. His gaze was quite insolent.
“Lord, grant wisdom to these ignorant souls.”
As Audin poured oil on the fire from the side, the atmosphere flared up. It was an atmosphere that could not simply be ignored. If left alone, a meaningless sword fight would break out.
Enkrid knew this kind of situation all too well from past experience. The temperamental squad members always sought solutions through a show of force.
“Because the frontier garrison is the end once you reach the human limit. It's a unit for that purpose.”
“And that's a problem?”
There was no need to be heartbroken that this was a problem. When he had discussed the path to becoming a knight with Ragna, Ragna had added this at the end.
“If you have innate talent, a gift from the heavens—in other words, a genius—you don't really need to learn the fundamentals until they're engraved on your body. It will come naturally.”
Knighthood is a genius's game. From among those born with a talent for martial arts, only a handful are selected. Among the talented, they search for the geniuses born with even more talent.
Only such people can become knights. So, should he not even dream? Is it something he shouldn't even desire?
Even if it was torn and ripped until not a trace was left. If he hadn't discarded it, that dream still remained in his heart. And so, Enkrid dreamed.
“It is a problem. My goal is higher.”
They all stared blankly at him. Enkrid's mouth opened. Very ordinarily and casually.
In the same tone and voice one would use to say that boiled mutton would be served for breakfast tomorrow.
“I'm going to become a knight.”
Before, it had been the subject of ridicule. In fact, Enkrid's dream had always been the subject of ridicule. So this reaction was awkward.
“You'll have to overcome a few walls, but hey, if you want to do it, you do it.”
Rem spoke first. Ragna showed the burning gaze he sometimes revealed. Jacksen asked back, “Is that so?”
Big Eyes's mouth fell open with a “whoa” and he couldn't close it. Audin clasped his hands and prayed.
“Though dreams and hopes be vain and unseen, Lord, grant your grace upon the effort to hold fast and not forsake them.”
There was no need to be moved by the prayer. In truth, even if they had ridiculed him, nothing would have changed. Enkrid was that kind of person.
More important than the ridicule or contempt of others was the dream he held.
High-rank soldier.
A rank that is properly recognized in the soldier ranking system. In fact, this was just the beginning. Both building his skills and making a name for himself to become a knight.
Kyareung.
The panther let out a cry and gently tapped Enkrid's cheek. It felt like a cheer.
“It's clever.”
Rem laughed heartily at the sight. No matter how much he told himself it didn't matter, Enkrid's heart tingled. It was the first time he had received support instead of ridicule.
‘There are so many firsts these days.’
No matter what anyone said, it was a pleasant moment.
For two days, Enkrid spent his time training as usual. On the third day, he went out on market patrol duty.
Shunk.
And he was stabbed in the stomach with a dagger. It was a fatal wound. It felt like a red-hot iron skewer was churning his insides, tearing them to pieces.
“You son of a...”
Enkrid, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth, let out a laugh of disbelief. It was a truly unexpected blow.
Kyaaak!
In the middle of the market, the scream of a passing waitress rang out. The dying Enkrid heard the scream as the last thing before he closed his eyes.