Chapter 419 - Following the Heart
Chapter 419 - Following the Heart
"Will you be at Border Guard?"
At Krais' question, Enkrid nodded.
"I thought so and prepared accordingly. If you need anything else, just let me know. Loyalty!"
Ever since seeing the general and the treasure, Krais' eyes had gleamed like gold coins, and he constantly uttered the word loyalty.
Enkrid didn't blame Krais for this. No matter what people said, he was a man who got the job done.
The lodging had changed. It had expanded, with more rooms added. A new training ground had been built in front of it.
Though there had been a dedicated training field for the Madmen Unit before, this one was completely different, built from the ground up.
Smooth stones were laid out evenly across the wide land.
On one side, green leaves glistened with morning dew on neatly planted trees.
Dawn was breaking. It was summer, the season of early sunrises.
Trees, flowers, and the rising sun.
Watching the leaves sway in the wind, Enkrid drew his sword.
He repeated his usual training routine. There were no sparring sessions scheduled for today.
"I'll see you when my axe is complete," Rem grumbled, grinding his teeth.
"My greatsword isn't ready yet," Ragna said with a furrowed brow, declining as well.
"Do you intend to stab and slash with that? General Brother?"
Even Audin subtly refused, showing his disinterest.
"I'm out."
Dunbakel evaded the matter entirely.
"I've just got a new shield fitted," said Teresa, turning him down too.
"Even though my ankle has healed, I'd need three of them to match you right now."
The hope named Luagarne dissipated as well.
Shinar didn't even make an appearance.
"It's not feasible yet."
Even Fel shook his head when Enkrid considered calling him, adding that he couldn't win yet. He didn't seem interested in fighting at the moment.
This was disappointing for Enkrid. After all, the only thing he'd done was test Aker, the newly acquired masterpiece sword.
During the test, he had split Rem's axe blade and halved Ragna's temporary sword, but that was unavoidable.
A new sword had to be tested, didn't it?
"Don't you think it's a bit unfair?" Rem sneered, but Enkrid replied calmly.
"Properly equipping yourself is also part of your skill."
"The king just handed it to you... Forget it," Rem muttered, giving up on retorting. It was better to use his magic one more time than to argue with Enkrid.
"Come at me, you rogue barbarian of the West," Enkrid teased Rem a few more times, but Rem ignored him, knowing better.
Enkrid soon cleared his mind of distractions and focused on his training.
"Slash, thrust, cut."
As he imagined an enemy, his sword stirred the wind, causing the leaves to sway.
"There is something to learn from everything you see."
Profound realizations weren't always necessary. Through repetition, he minimized small errors and refined his movements.
His thoughts naturally merged with the actions of his sword, incorporating everything he had learned thus far.
Adding a momentary Will into the continuous motions of thrusting and cutting.
"One breath, two actions."
Ragna had managed three actions in a single breath.
Enkrid had witnessed this when Ragna had cut down the wraith general before the count.
Enkrid wasn't there yet. What Ragna had done bordered on divine skill, surpassing mere talent.
To him, Ragna appeared to wield the sword closest to that of a true knight.
"Repeat, and repeat again."
If a ferryman were nearby, he would have cursed Enkrid for being tediously relentless.
Swift acceleration followed by a pressing blade.
The Capturing Blade envisioned mind games with an imaginary opponent.
The adversaries in his mind ranged from the young prodigies he had met in the past to mercenaries, Rievart, Rem, Ragna, and Audin.
None of these battles were easy.
Though Enkrid was already among the top semi-knights in terms of skill, the outcomes of battles were not always determined by practice.
A blind strike could kill anyone, no matter how skilled.
"Never debate the outcome before the fight begins."
Three of his instructors had imparted the same lesson. Ironically, all three had initially refused to teach him but relented only after witnessing his desperation and persistence.
As he swung his sword repeatedly, sweat scattered in all directions.
To Enkrid, Ragna embodied what it meant to be closest to a true knight.
The swordplay that had cut down his opponent in a single strike.
The blade that had split through the wraith's tide.
In every aspect, Ragna clearly surpassed the level of a semi-knight. Thus, Enkrid had asked him:
"Have you reached the rank of knight?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I've never been there, so I don't know."
Despite Ragna's words, his confidence was evident—a self-assurance only a genius could possess.
His attitude conveyed his belief.
He hadn't been there yet, but he was certain he would reach it.
Ragna's demeanor and actions exuded an unshakable conviction.
Enkrid was acutely aware of his own lack of talent, surrounded as he was by geniuses like Ragna.
Rem, too, was a genius, as was Audin.
Even Dunbakel and Teresa had grown immeasurably stronger, their talents undeniable.
What about Fel? His ability to assess opponents' skills with his eyes alone made him worthy of being called a genius.
Even Squire Ropord, though Enkrid couldn't fathom why he followed him, likely had talents surpassing his own.
Rievart had become a poet lost in despair and hopelessness.
He sang of despair and danced to hopelessness, lamenting his talent while treading a path of heresy.
"Despair and lose hope!"
The ferryman's ghostly voice echoed.
Enkrid ignored it all. Such trivial distractions couldn't disturb his stance or shake his resolve.
It was a time when sweat poured freely.
From one side came the sound of soft, deliberate footsteps. Enkrid stopped mid-swing, turning his gaze toward the source.
The figure approached from the direction of the breaking dawn. Against the backlight of the rising sun, a shadow drew closer.
Soon, the sunlight brightened the surroundings, revealing reddish-brown hair swaying naturally with two swinging arms.
Enkrid knew that at any moment, a silent dagger could fly from those hands, and that the man's entire body concealed countless hidden blades and weapons.
If Audin's body was a steel cudgel, then the one approaching now was a living weapon—a lethal entity capable of ending a life with a mere breath.
Enkrid's improved skills had sharpened his perceptions. Things once invisible to him were now clear—like the subtle "readiness" in Jaxen's movements.
Each step, each gesture, held concealed meaning.
Adjusting his footing, Enkrid shifted his stance and tightened the sword belt around his waist. His hand rested naturally on his sword, Aker—a renowned blade named after the knight from the founding myth, a royal treasure.
"Should I break it?"
"It's been given to me, so there's no helping it."
If Jaxen were to make a move, Enkrid felt certain both Aker and himself would come out worse for wear.
Assassins categorized their craft by a hierarchy:
Overt killing intent was third-rate.Subtle, restrained intent was second-rate.Approaching with no trace of intent was first-rate.Approaching with ordinary presence? That was the mark of the exceptional.
Jaxen carried himself as usual, but Enkrid's heightened senses and intuition told a different story.
"You've improved significantly," Jaxen remarked as he approached.
"Still a long way to go," Enkrid replied, relaxing his stance further. To unleash speed in an instant, one had to remain loose.
"To become a knight?"
Enkrid nodded.
Jaxen stopped walking. The sunlight cast a shadow over his face, the dark silhouette making his expression seem colder than ever.
"I have a question."
"Ask."
"Why didn't you join the Order?"
***
"Are you finally coming back?"
In the past, during the era of the old master of the Daggers of Geogr, there was an unwritten rule about infiltration missions.
After completing such missions, anyone who might suspect the infiltrator's identity was to be killed.
In the present day, this was no longer a strict rule.
But when the target was none other than Geogr's master, the situation changed.
The Dagger Master of Geogr was meant to remain shrouded in mystery, a hidden existence.
"Should I take care of it?"
His lover and the master's daughter posed the question.
Jaxen didn't answer immediately, his lips slow to move.
"If it must be done, I'll do it myself."
His lover nodded. That made sense.
The bigger issue was not the overdue missions but the lack of discipline arising from the master's prolonged absence.
Plenty of opportunists were waiting to exploit the vacuum. Even a cursory consideration brought more than five names to mind.
"No, perhaps ten."
Despite this, Jaxen respected the master and followed his will.
For reasons he couldn't quite articulate, Jaxen had remained here. He could have left before the civil war began or even after, avoiding the return to the Boder Guard.
There were countless opportunities to eliminate those who doubted his identity along the way.
Why, then, had he not tried? Why hadn't he acted, regardless of success or failure?
The questions loomed, inscrutable and vast.
"May I ask why?"
This time, the query came not as a guild member to the master but as a lover to her partner. Jaxen hesitated before answering.
"I think I'll find out if I ask."
"Find out what?"
"Why he didn't become a knight."
To her, it was a random comment, but not to Jaxen.
"Master."
The words of the previous Dagger Master echoed in his mind throughout his journey back.
"Having skill without owning heart is just a killing art, you fool."
Was that really something to say to someone who came to learn the art of killing?
"Does being good at killing make you happy? Is it fun for you?"
He didn't feel it often, but sometimes, it was indeed enjoyable.
"Don't smile like that. Seeing you smile makes me think I made the wrong choice."
Jaxen never bothered to ask what that choice had been. From the beginning, the master had often spoken in riddles.
"If you hold something precious, even the killing arts can become the sword that protects."
Jaxen had once asked him in return, "Then what are you protecting, Master?"
"My daughter and family. The fools who live for me. Fences to keep monsters like you from being unleashed upon the world."
Half of it made sense; the other half, not at all.
In truth, it didn't matter.
Jaxen's sole priority was gaining the strength necessary for vengeance.
Now that his vengeance was complete, should he find a new target?
Should he continue hunting down those remaining, one by one?
Was that the right path?
Whether it was right or wrong seemed secondary—it felt like something that simply had to be done. That was why he was still here.
"Jaxen Benshino, heir of Benshino. Do you want to become a maniac killer? Is perfecting the art of killing your only goal? Is that your dream? Is that everything to you?"
The master's words echoed endlessly in his mind.
***
Enkrid fell silent at Jaxen's sudden question.
"Why?"
He had never considered it deeply.
In hindsight, he could have stayed in the capital and joined the Order. Who would have refused him?
Krang would have established a new Order for him if needed, and Aishia had subtly suggested he don the red cape.
Even Okto, now a duke, had made it explicit.
"Why not remain in the capital and join the Order? I believe it would be an excellent opportunity for you."
The Marquis of Baisar had sought to strengthen their ties, while the Duke of Okto openly hoped he'd become a pillar of the land.
Enkrid had dismissed all such offers. At the time, he'd only wanted to return home and practice swordsmanship in peace.
"Just because."
Knowing this wasn't enough, Enkrid elaborated.
"I acted as my heart led me."
If he were to delve deeper, it was because the knightly ideal he sought didn't exist at the capital. Enkrid had not found chivalry.
He had seen the capital's Order but found no chivalry, honor, or loyalty within it.
Help the weak.
Wield your sword for justice.
Spare children from war.
Defend those who guard your back.
The virtues he sought were now overlooked there.
There was no need to don a red cape to walk his chosen path.
"My ideal of a Knight Order wasn't there," he added simply, his words concise yet meaningful.
"Dream big, Krush," Rem might have teased.
But Jaxen only frowned at Enkrid's reply.
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