Enkrid was cleaning his sword with an oiled cloth after tending to his boots and gloves. Dealing with the monster herd had attracted traveling merchants. That meant Enkrid would soon have a new sword.
He had the Valery Mountain steel from his broken sword melted down. To that, he added Noir Mountain wrought iron. It was a process of mixing two of the continent’s most renowned high-quality irons.
“Only I can do this, I tell you.”
The blacksmith boasted loudly. He had every right to. Though he couldn’t forge a magic sword, his skill in handling iron was no less than that of a mage.
He could be called a renowned craftsman within the Border Guard. Of course, one could also say he was only famous within the city. Still, that was something.
In the end, that craftsman had forged his sword. Even Ragna, who was picky about weapons, especially swords, gave a half-nod of approval.
“It’s passable. Though it’s not good enough for me to use.”
The reason it was only a half-nod was because he had added those words. Enkrid carefully wiped the blade with the oiled cloth and flicked a finger against it.
Ting.
A rather pleasant resonance echoed. For Enkrid, this was the first sword he owned that could be called a masterpiece. How could he not be satisfied?
Yet Ragna, who was never easily satisfied with swords, would grab any piece of scrap metal lying around and use it. Enkrid had even sharpened a chipped arming sword for him once, since Ragna couldn't be bothered to do it himself. If not for that, he would have just carried around the chipped sword.
“Aster, that’s not a toy.”
After finishing his sword maintenance, Enkrid gently chided Aster. There were a few items he had taken after killing the corpse-lover in the sewer. He had told Krais he wanted to sell them off.
But one of them was a headache to deal with even in the back alleys, so he was just holding onto it.
“The cover was wrapped in human skin. Was there really a mage in the sewer?”
That’s what Krais had said when he was given the items. But the way he asked back sounded as if he didn't believe Enkrid had killed a mage in the sewer.
“You didn’t believe me?”
“I did, but now I believe you a little more.” …That sounded like he hadn't believed him.
“So that one’s a bit difficult to dispose of, but the staff and the rest, yes, they sold well.”
There are many people in the world who desire rare items. That’s what Krais said. It was a field Enkrid had no interest in.
So, he sold a black wooden staff and a few stones. The staff was said to be a crude item made by a mage. The stones were related to alchemy, but nothing remarkable.
Krais had brought the promised tribute from the Gilfin Guild, the krona from killing the mage, the proceeds from selling the items, and the payment for completing the request. Enkrid poured all of it into buying the sword. The Noir Mountain wrought iron had been ridiculously expensive to begin with.
He didn’t regret the krona spent.
‘It would’ve been better if I had a little more Valery Mountain steel.’
“All that money for a single sword.”
Krais had said as much, but Enkrid was satisfied. For someone who lived by the sword, what could be more important than his weapon? Even if it was a consumable, if he could gain an advantage in a life-or-death battle, would he be stingy with his krona?
“This should be enough.”
That left the grimoire. Feeling uneasy about the human skin, he had wrapped it in a thin cloth and stored it away, and Aster had found it and taken it to her spot. What would happen if she peed on it?
What was a grimoire? It was said to be a treasure in which a mage records and fills with all they have over a lifetime. It was important enough to be given a grand name, pursuing the way of magic.
And now, that grimoire was being used as a mat by a young black panther.
‘Is it okay to leave this here?’
It seemed unlikely she would pee on it, at least. Aster never relieved herself in front of the Squad Members. He didn't know if this was a feline trait, but she always went somewhere hidden to take care of her business.
She also washed herself frequently. Enkrid stopped paying attention to the grimoire. He didn’t know how much it was worth.
But if he reached out to take it now.
“Hiss!”
Aster hissed, a rare occurrence.
“Leave her be. She seems comfortable.”
Rem chimed in from the side, and Enkrid could only nod. And so, after dealing with the dying mage’s legacy and turning it into a sword, Enkrid remained devoted to his training. He even started his day a little earlier, waking before the sun rose.
A Platoon Leader only had to stand duty once every ten days. Usually, it was a four to six-hour shift of surprise inspections on the patrol guards or the night watch. Since he no longer had to stand regular duty, he had more time and could start his day a bit earlier than before.
Enkrid’s day began two hours before the regular soldiers’ wake-up time.
“Kkyareung.”
One such morning, after placing Aster, who had been nestled in his arms, on the floor, he went outside. The cold had not yet fully subsided, and the dawn air was accompanied by a biting wind. Was this what they called a winter gale?
Facing such a wind, Enkrid first steadied his breathing. He began with the ‘Technique of Isolation.’ He moved his body to generate heat.
He put a load on his muscles with equipment made of heavy stones. As his body warmed up, Audin would come out of the barracks, stand beside Enkrid, and also begin the Technique of Isolation.
“Good morning, Platoon Leader Brother.”
Was this a show of respect? The title of Platoon Leader was now added before ‘Brother.’ Hearing it reminded him of the company commander’s words about filling the ranks of his Squad Members soon.
“Focus.”
As he fell into idle thoughts, Audin immediately chided him.
“Got it.”
One couldn't perform the technique properly with a scattered mind. How to focus on breathing and muscles. That’s what Audin emphasized.
Enkrid did so. It was a process of training and retraining his body again and again. Of course, he didn’t just do the Technique of Isolation.
His thought that he needed to organize what he had hadn’t changed.
‘Heart of the Beast, Sense of the Blade, Single Point Focus, Technique of Isolation.’
Swordsmanship, including the Heavy Sword Style. The application of swordsmanship. The eye to discern an opponent’s level of training and specialty by looking at their body.
Predicting attacks based on Sixth Sense and intuition. In terms of swordsmanship, he also had the Vallen-style Mercenary Swordsmanship he originally possessed.
‘Can I use it, or should I discard it?’
There was no need to discard it. That was the conclusion Enkrid reached. How one utilizes what one has depends on individual capability.
‘If my capability is lacking, I just need to build it up.’
Boldness is always necessary. Its value is proven by simply not closing one’s eyes at a critical moment. Enkrid saw the Heart of the Beast as the foundation of everything.
‘Calmly.’
So, one day he would train his Sixth Sense. Another day, he would try mixing his senses and concentration.
‘Mix them and carve them into my body.’
A single sword thrust is a culmination of various experiences. Learning by feel, recognizing with the mind. And then hammering it back into the body.
Of course, it was not easy. In this process, Enkrid slowly began to establish his own pattern and method.
‘Training alone is not nearly enough.’
What was needed was real combat. Real combat combined with training and practice.
If possible.
‘Real combat where I fight with my life on the line.’
“I told you before. You gain a lot if you fight with your life on the line and survive. But since you only have one life, it doesn’t make sense to build skills that way.”
The words Rem had spoken half-jokingly were the truth. He now understood the importance of life-or-death combat. Of course, the important part wasn't dying.
It was repeatedly overcoming death. Knowing the need for real combat, Enkrid took on requests. From trivial to violent.
He didn't discriminate.
“What did they ask you to find?”
“My cat.”
It was a request from a noblewoman. Was it wrong for a unit to take on such requests? No, he did it because it was also a necessary task.
Enkrid didn't pick and choose his requests. In any situation, at any moment.
‘I believe everything helps with my training.’
He told himself that and truly accepted it as such. Enkrid found the cat that had climbed a tree.
“Let’s go quietly.”
The cat looked ready to flee. He could see it in the realm of Sixth Sense, of intuition. Absurdly, this too became a realization.
He made the cat’s instincts move as he intended. He shot out his killing intent and Aura to make it jump from the tree. He caught it with a soft thud in his arms, then subdued it with a look.
He could do things like this now.
“It’s because you’ve opened the Gate of the Sixth Sense.”
Jacksen added.
Now, Jacksen no longer bothered Enkrid at all hours. The time for being tormented by killing intent was over. It was meaningless now, anyway.
Requests ranged from finding a cat to, “Someone robbed a place and is hiding in the city?” There were requests like this too. Some transient had entered the city and done something clumsy.
“Find him.”
When he took over the Gilfin Guild, he didn't know he would use it like this. But as if he had expected it, Krais skillfully handled the necessary tasks. It was a back-alley gambling den.
The man was a retired soldier with a scar on his forehead.
“You want to fight me? Shit, coming to the outskirts, I’m running into all sorts of things. I hear the Border Guard’s standing armies are something else, right? Bring it on.”
Confidence, but did he have the skills to back it up? It didn't seem so. It was a good opportunity to test the eye he had cultivated.
After feigning being pushed back and testing the opponent’s moves.
‘At best, mid-level to high-rank.’
Based on the Naurilia army’s soldier system. He had no unexpected skills.
“Hah, hah, what are you?”
“The Border Guard’s standing army.”
With those words, he appropriately broke the man’s legs and hauled him away. The captured man would be locked in the unit’s prison. And if someone didn’t pay his fine, he would never get out.
“Just you wait,” he had said.
But it seemed unlikely they would ever see each other again. After that, he was dispatched a few times to an inn to break up a fight between merchant guild escorts. One of them was quite skilled.
Fighting him, Enkrid combined his training of Single Point Focus and Sense of the Blade. Focusing while the gate of his senses was open. He had done it a few times before, but he realized something new.
The difference in concentration changed many things.
‘It’s slowing down.’
Not as much as before, but it had the effect of making the opponent’s sword seem to move slowly. It was because they moved exactly as predicted. And because there was a difference in his actual cognitive speed.
Everything was a continuation of his training. A continuation of honing and refining his skills. As he took on various requests.
“Damn, is he some kind of maniac for taking on jobs?”
Whispers began to spread among the soldiers. It wasn't criticism.
“Does he have ten bodies? He never rests, why doesn’t he rest?”
“He’s not human. Not human.”
It was more surprise than criticism, more admiration than surprise.
“He didn’t become a Platoon Leader for nothing.”
“Shit, I should start waking up a little earlier and practice a few spear thrusts myself.”
Thanks to Enkrid, an unexpected training craze swept through the ranks. He had proven himself with skill. His reputation among the soldiers was good.
He became a Platoon Leader with rumors circulating that he was at least a high-rank soldier. There were also soldiers whose lives had been saved thanks to Enkrid. All these factors combined to create a training frenzy within the unit.
Everyone started waking up a little earlier to train their bodies. Enkrid didn’t pay much mind. He was too busy looking after his own path.
Throughout his training, Enkrid could feel a gentle flame burning in his chest. What was he like when he originally went to the battlefield? It wasn't fear, but it was hard to enjoy.
He didn't welcome the battlefield.
‘I don’t think this is normal.’
Now, he looked forward to the battlefield. He wanted to go out and fight. He wanted to prove himself.
He wanted to show his skills. He wanted to risk his life there and cross the line of death once more. It was indeed a crazy thought.
And.
“Don’t you know there’s a fine line between being extraordinary and being crazy?”
Rem’s words came to mind once again. If the path to becoming extraordinary was only permitted to the mad. Wouldn’t one have to go mad?
On a day filled with training and requests.
“It would be fun to have another go.”
The company commander said after summoning Enkrid to her Private Training Yard.
“A sparring match?”
Naturally, Enkrid did not refuse.
“Very well.”
The situation was the same as before. Would the result be the same? That was unknown.
Enkrid’s eye was still not good enough to gauge the Elf Company Commander’s skill level. But he didn't think he would be beaten as easily as before. Of course, all of this would only be known once they crossed hands or swords.
Soon, the company commander straightened her hand, forming a knife-hand, and said.
“Let’s do it with this today.”
This felt like a test. It was the sparring match with the company commander that had made him realize his own shortcomings before. What he had lacked back then was close-quarters combat.
The things they called wrestling.
Enkrid nodded.
Soon, their knife-hands met in mid-air.
Thwack.
The short sound of impact was their greeting.