Chapter 430 - Squadmates, Fiancé, and a Mage

Chapter 430 - Squadmates, Fiancé, and Mage

How long had it been since the sword in his hand felt so heavy?

In the first year of wielding a blade, the sword always felt cumbersome. Swinging the weighty steel a few times left his arm muscles trembling, and the sharp ache between his thumb and forefinger lingered throughout the day.

That was a time when even a wooden sword felt burdensome.

Now, it was several times harder than back then.

"Heavy."

It felt as though dozens of iron weights had been tied to the blade. If he loosened his grip even slightly, the sword tip seemed ready to crash down and embed itself into the ground. His arm muscles trembled violently.

It was unbelievable. Thanks to Audin's training, Enkrid had rarely felt his strength lacking.

But there was no time to dwell on such thoughts.

All his focus was consumed by the weight of the sword.

"So heavy."

It felt like he might drop it any moment. Even raising the blade slightly felt as arduous as scaling a winter mountain with bare hands.

The rain that had briefly soaked his body earlier evaporated in the heat of battle, replaced by a relentless cascade of sweat. Soon, Enkrid's entire body was drenched again.

Sweat poured down in streams, trickling off his chin and dripping continuously to the ground.

"Incredibly heavy."

At this rate, he would inevitably lose his grip. It was remarkable he had managed to fight while holding such a weight.

He hadn't caught his breath in what felt like an eternity. It was as if he had been running non-stop for hours, leaving him gasping for air.

The sweat soaking him only increased, drenching his body like he had plunged into a bath with his clothes on.

Yet, the hardest part was undoubtedly the lump of steel in his hands. The famed blade, Aker, which once felt like an extension of his hand, now seemed like a writhing snake trying to escape his grip.

"Why is it so heavy?"

He couldn't understand. All he had done was deflect his opponent's spear.

As Enkrid struggled to endure, a whisper came from Anu, who had approached his side.

Although the time he had been holding the sword felt long to Enkrid, it had only been a moment in reality.

Just the time it took to exchange a few words.

"Can you withstand it? The Bull loves to burden others."

While Enkrid couldn't grasp the full meaning of the words, he understood one thing.

"If you let go, that's your limit. If so, you won't achieve what you desire, even if you die."

The statement about death implied that he needed to embrace death to progress.

Even without the king's words, Enkrid already understood this.

He couldn't let go of what was in his hand now.

There was only one clear truth.

Although the thought of dropping the sword crossed his mind, Enkrid also knew he wouldn't do so.

"If I would let go just because it's heavy..."

Then he wouldn't have taken even the first step toward his seemingly impossible dream.

"Did you aim to become a knight? Then see, experience, and accumulate much. All of it will aid your path."

The king finished speaking. His words were ambiguous—at least, to the current Enkrid—but Anu's tone was nothing but kind.

"Don't forget what you've imbued into your sword, and the path will open."

Those few words lingered in Enkrid's mind, even as sweat poured down and his sword trembled.

"Thanks."

The king gave his shoulder a final pat before departing.

Enkrid looked down to see the sword tip dipping slightly.

Neither Will of Rejection, Heart of the Beast, nor his intensely honed body through techniques like Isolation or Sense of Evasion helped him now.

The king's Bull had made his weapon feel unbearably heavy, a mystical act born of Will.

Recognizing this, Enkrid still managed to lift the sword tip once more.

Just because everything he had learned seemed ineffective didn't mean his will would break.

If he was going to quit, he wouldn't have started.

The blade tip slowly rose. Finally, with great effort, Enkrid raised the sword properly and, in that moment, the weight vanished.

The weights imposed by the king's Bull disappeared entirely.

It was only then that Enkrid realized his palm had been torn apart. Blood dripped from his hand, soaking the leather-wrapped hilt of Aker and staining it dark.

The injury had occurred when the Bull had twisted Aker's blade and tried to wrench it from his grasp—a wound endured to protect a knight's weapon.

Acknowledging this, Enkrid wavered and collapsed.

"Foolish."

A voice came from someone catching his body. It was Esther's.

And with that, Enkrid lost consciousness.

Enkrid dreamed. It had been a long time since he had a true dream, rather than one dominated by a boatman.

"Thinking of living by the sword? Forget it. You'll die young."

"Even the most talented don't last past fifty as mercenaries."

These were words spoken before he had even properly articulated his dream. They were warnings to abandon his ambitions and discard the rickety boat meant to navigate the sea of dreams.

But he didn't.

Despite the scorn and doubt, his small raft had transformed into a seaworthy caravel with sturdy oars.

"To become a knight, what must I do?"

Everything else blurred as an Aspen knight appeared before him.

"Block it once, and I'll spare you."

Was that what had been said?

Dream or not, the meaning mattered more than the words.

Block it once.

The knight of Aspen swung their blade—a strike of pure speed and power.

Unable to parry, Enkrid struck first.

The knight retreated to protect their honor.

Using that moment, Enkrid practiced his moves, refining thrusts, cuts, and parries.

From the king of the east, Enkrid also witnessed a multitude of techniques.

If the king had wished, he might have easily killed Enkrid.

Yet, even in defiance, Enkrid had no intention of dying easily.

Eventually...

"You fool!"

The boatman tore through the dream, entering it as if he were part of it all along.

Ignoring him, Enkrid thought deeply and reached a faint realization—a signpost pointing the way forward.

"Different."

The king of the east and the knight of Aspen had walked different paths, wielding different techniques.

They were utterly distinct.

With this final thought, Enkrid woke.

Pain radiated faintly throughout his body, his grip throbbing dully.

Raising his hand, he saw it was tightly wrapped in bandages.

Through the dim light of a nearby lamp, he noticed someone sitting in the chair beside his bed.

"Shinar?"

"Now that you've called my name, we just need the ceremony," came the fairy's teasing response.

Enkrid didn't laugh. It was hard to humor a fairy's jest so easily.

"What are you doing here?"

"Observing."

He didn't need to ask what she was observing. With one leg crossed, her elbow rested on her knee as she propped her chin, watching him closely.

"You collapse every time you fight."

Shinar continued speaking.

Enkrid shrugged, feigning indifference.

"If you recover, I can show you something interesting."

"What are you talking about?"

Shinar, still seated, allowed a faint smile to emerge—one she rarely showed to anyone.

With that smile, her posture shifted. She uncrossed her legs, lowered her arms, and unsheathed her sword to thrust. The speed and angle defied comprehension.

The blade pierced Enkrid's heart from beyond his perception.

A reflexive cough of blood threatened to rise. Every muscle in his body tensed, momentarily overriding the aches of his battered frame.

Death loomed near.

Was this the end? Would he close his eyes and perish like this?

But it wasn't.

"How does it feel?"

At Shinar's words, the sword piercing his heart crumbled into grains of sand.

Her posture hadn't changed; she remained seated, arms loosely at her sides.

It had all been an illusion—or rather, a reality brought forth by the intensity of her aura.

"What was that?"

"Do you think I left your side for no reason?"

Even through her teasing tone, Enkrid quickly grasped several truths.

Having experienced the prowess of knights twice now, it was easier to understand this time. What Shinar had just shown was the raw might of a knight.

From a corner, the panther approached and nestled into Enkrid's embrace, as though protesting Shinar's presence and demanding she leave.

"I'll wait for you to recover," Shinar said.

Enkrid's heart pounded furiously. The desire to rise, grasp his sword, and face her blade surged through him, ignoring the muscle pain echoing through his body.

Thud.

Esther tapped his chest lightly with her paw.

It felt like a silent command to restrain himself.

"I know," Enkrid replied, understanding her intent. He knew full well that his current state made sparring, even light training, impossible.

For now, patience was the only option. He would dedicate himself to recovery, and once he was back on his feet, he would challenge Shinar and wield his sword again.

"What do you think of your fiancée?"

Shinar had erased her smile and now asked plainly. Enkrid had no choice but to answer.

"She's the best."

"Good to hear."

With that, the fairy stood quietly. Her movements, as always, left barely a trace as she exited the tent.

The creak of the tent's hinges signaled her departure.

"Not sleeping? Causing a ruckus the moment you wake up, huh?"

"Seriously, what's with all this noise? I was finally resting in the tent."

"Pray for swift recovery; it helps," Audin quipped.

Snore.

That was Ragna, whose snores echoed loudly. Though Ragna rarely snored unless utterly exhausted, tonight, his snores served as an odd lullaby.

"How long have I been out?"

"Half a day," Krais replied.

"Get some more rest. Ignoring your body's warnings is unwise," Audin chimed in.

Esther tapped his chest again. It was a clear message to rest. And she wasn't wrong. Enkrid closed his eyes, resigning himself to recovery.

Sleep soon overcame him as drowsiness settled in.

From one side, Jaxen silently approached, placing a small jar of ointment next to his bed.

"It's medicine," Jaxen said before returning to his place.

Enkrid noted, with some surprise, Jaxen's rare return to the tent.

Dunbakel, Teresa, Fel, and Ropord, though stationed at separate quarters, stood guard near the tent as if protecting it.

Unaware of this, Enkrid fell into a deep sleep once more.

Esther had been absent from the barracks often since arriving at Border Guard.

Had Enkrid paid more attention, he might have noticed. However, he was wholly absorbed in wielding his sword—a constant state for him.

Esther roamed the Pen-Hanil River, its surrounding lakes, mountains, and forests. It was part of her effort to restore the damaged spell world from her battle with the Count.

At the same time, she tended to the Bonehead creature she had acquired earlier. She even summoned a few spirits she had contracted in the past.

"Do you see me as your prey, ghoul?"

Occasionally, she encountered groups of ghouls.

The outposts and security measures Krais had established scattered the monsters, forcing them into groups for survival.

It was only natural. Small, solitary monsters could no longer survive, so those with instincts to endure banded together.

Esther easily disposed of such ghoul packs. While she could enslave them with necromancy, doing so would be a pointless exercise—one she instinctively avoided.

"That would degrade me rather than elevate me," she mused before incinerating six ghouls with a single gesture.

The ghouls, engulfed in flames, screamed before collapsing into burnt remains.

"I'm working hard too," she muttered.

She understood her reasons. Standing beside someone constantly striving forward demanded a commitment beyond mere determination.

"Simply regaining my former strength would be an insult to the title of a battle witch."

So she would push forward. She had the perfect opportunity to do so.

Exploring hidden ruins and monsters within the Pen-Hanil mountain range, she honed her craft and rediscovered what she had learned in her youth among the six magic schools of the tower.

Ragna might be a genius of swordsmanship, but Esther was a genius of magic.

She knew her path, discerning what was necessary and what wasn't.

"That fool."

Recalling Enkrid being defeated by the so-called King of the East, Esther smirked to herself.

He would continue to grow, crossing paths with devils and wizards like the Count. His path was paved with such challenges.

And she would be the one to clear away magical obstacles from his journey.

This was how she sought to assert herself. How could a battle witch contribute nothing while standing beside him?

"That's unacceptable."

This was a matter of pride.

She also wondered whether Enkrid would achieve what he sought. What lay at the end of his path?

Such questions never arose with the King of the East, yet they intrigued her now.

As Esther refined her magic and sorted the useful elements from the six schools, she encountered a soldier on her way back to the unit.

She didn't know his name, but he caught her eye, rolling dice and unconsciously manipulating mana.

He had a knack for magic.

Initially, she intended to pass by, but she changed her mind and approached him.

"You're coming with me."

Interest? No. It was for herself.

"Teaching teaches you too," her master once said, and her own experience confirmed it.

So she made her decision.

The soldier, known as the Border Guard's top gambler, blinked in confusion.

"Sorry, what?"

"If you don't come, I'll subject you to suffering worse than death."

As usual, her approach was blunt. And knowing her reputation as Enkrid's mage partner, the soldier wisely refrained from resisting.

The matter of adjusting his assignment was left to Graham, the unit's leader, who simply remarked, "Let her handle it. She knows what she's doing."

Thus, Esther's peculiar tutelage began.

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