Chapter 433 - There Was Never a Need for Permission

Chapter 433 - There Was Never a Need for Permission

The mad wanderer, seeker of dreams and lunacy, encountered three knights.

The first was a knight of Aspen.

His every skill was swift and powerful.

Even knowing his strikes, there was no way to block them.

Perhaps now, Enkrid might deflect a casual blow without much effort, but back then, it felt impossible.

This knight's physical abilities were leagues apart from ordinary men. His swordsmanship reflected that difference.

Next was the might of the mercenary king, Anu.

He had not revealed everything he was capable of. What he displayed was merely a fragment.

Moreover, Anu was a beastkin. He hadn't even transformed, yet his demonstrated techniques were formidable.

Even so, there was much to observe, feel, and learn, for the mercenary king fought as though teaching, unveiling his art bit by bit.

He displayed mastery.

From incomprehensible movements came spear strikes at unimaginable angles.

The last encounter stood right before him now.

A strike so devastating it forced the opponent's blade backward.

Ragna's swordsmanship was a one-hit, one-kill style.

His blade was designed to deliver certain death, embodying the essence of heavy swordsmanship.

Not all knights are the same.

What did the mercenary king mean by "experience"?

Where did this difference originate?

"From honing what one possesses."

To believe the path you walk is the right one and to take one more step forward rather than looking back and hesitating.

The king's words lingered vividly in his mind. His teaching was clear.

At that moment, Enkrid realized something with certainty.

Heaven, talent—none of it guaranteed him what he sought.

"A genius among geniuses."

One in ten thousand.

From those gathered, another rare one would be chosen—a knight.

"So what?"

Would anything change because of that? No. Life was the same as always.

He had never needed permission, not from the heavens, not from talent, nor from anyone else.

But what if there was a way despite that?

Enkrid felt he understood. A clue was in sight. That brought a smile to his face, and words escaped his lips before his brain could catch up.

"Again."

His arms trembled. If he didn't brace his core, he felt he'd be pushed back. It was like standing against a storm, without even a cane for support.

Or like scaling the icy peaks of a glacial mountain with nothing but rags for clothing.

"No, not quite."

He had a cane, and though meager, he had garments covering his body.

Enkrid steadied his mind.

What he had built up until now was his cane and his clothing.

There is no tomorrow for someone who denies what they have built and doubts themselves.

Thus, believing in himself was the first step.

The mercenary king's words carried that meaning too.

To walk the path one believes to be right and to not turn away from what one has built.

Enkrid laughed and looked at Ragna, asking with his eyes, "Are you really going to end this with just one swing of your sword?"

Ragna assumed his stance as if the answer was obvious. His black blade pointed skyward, splitting the sunlight and standing perpendicular to the ground.

He intended to repeat the same motion over and over again.

An attack that couldn't be stopped, even if known—the very impression Enkrid had when he first faced the knight of Aspen.

Ragna's strike, even with restraint, was devastating.

The black lightning struck three times, and each time, Enkrid managed to block it—or more accurately, endure it.

His right arm nearly tore, and his left was on the verge of breaking.

"That brute."

Rem, who had been observing, almost voiced his thoughts but stopped himself. His throat itched, and scratching it, he muttered under his breath.

"I can't blame him."

He understood that it was hard to go easy on someone like Enkrid.

Even with trembling arms and a swaying body that looked ready to collapse, Enkrid gripped his sword again.

His eyes were unyielding, burning with a spirit that refused to die.

Could anyone face such a person lightly?

If Ragna had exerted even a bit more strength, Enkrid's arms would have been shattered.

So it was hard to fault Ragna's restraint.

"Haha, the lazy brother seems to have grasped something profound," Audin remarked with genuine admiration. Witnessing knightly swordsmanship was a rare occasion.

Even Audin couldn't replicate such feats immediately, even if he lifted restrictions. Time and harsh training were required.

That didn't mean the heights were unattainable.

Rem and Audin remained composed.

But others were not.

Enkrid was surrounded by talented individuals.

Rem, Jaxen, and Audin stood out, but the rest were no less formidable.

Theresa, half-giant, pondered deeply. She replayed what she had just witnessed in her mind.

It was a bolt of black lightning—a calamity in the form of metal, impossible to block.

"Could a shield stop that?"

Even if the shield were indestructible, could the arm holding it withstand the impact?

Theresa clenched her teeth, a line forming across her jaw as she strained her masticatory muscles.

Just as despair crept in, she saw Enkrid collapse, unconscious but unbroken.

Seeing him replaced her despair with something else entirely.

"I can do it too."

It was a refusal to lose and a determination not to give up.

Dunbakel and Ropord felt the same. Their thoughts churned with determination.

Lagarne's eyes sparkled with emotion, brimming with tears.

"Why is that Frog crying?" Rem asked.

"She seems overwhelmed," Audin replied. He was correct. Lagarne felt something swelling in her chest.

It was an unshakable inspiration.

"How could someone do that?"

She had witnessed Enkrid's growth and was aware of his lack of talent.

The Frog's abilities, coupled with Lagarne's experiences, made her acutely aware of his limitations.

Yet he kept moving forward.

She saw something far greater than the absence of envy.

Even without the heavens' permission, even without talent, he advanced with sheer will.

It shone brighter than a falling star and burned hotter than a raging fire.

It was pure determination.

"There was never a need for permission."

Enkrid had conveyed that truth with his entire being and proved himself through his actions.

Lagarne spoke.

"He'll become a knight."

The sudden declaration was met with no objections.

The mercenary king hadn't entrusted Enkrid with something out of certainty.

It was more of a gift, offered to someone who dared to dream through his blade.

And now, the Frog, who sought the unknown while remaining grounded in reality, felt a certainty that required no explanation.

That man would become a knight.

While Lagarne was moved and the others lost in thought, it was Fel who was most shaken.

"What was that?"

Never before had Fel considered the possibility of being surpassed in talent.

But now, for the first time, that confidence wavered.

His confidence diminished as he witnessed what unfolded before his eyes. What he thought was a solid mountain seemed to scatter like a light pile of dirt blown by the wind.

"Is my talent truly insignificant?"

Fel was paralyzed, unable to move, overwhelmed by shock.

***

If his arms were ruined, then training his lower body was the solution.

"There's no such thing as rest for you, is there? That's a good mindset. The faster blood circulates through the body, the quicker it heals."

If a properly trained physician had heard that, they would've called it madness.

When the body reacts with inflammation, the first step is to rest, not overexert.

But there was no such physician here, and Audin wasn't entirely wrong.

Enkrid's body wasn't weak enough to break down under such conditions.

Over time, combined with his Isolation technique and regenerative instincts, his body had adapted to specialize in recovery.

It took seven days for his arms to fully heal.

Exactly a week later, Enkrid grasped his sword and called out to Ragna.

"Stop slacking off and come out here. Today, I'm going to fix all of your bad habits."

In the center of the training grounds, Ragna, who was more diligently swinging his sword than ever before, turned his head and calmly replied,

"You could've just asked for a normal sparring session."

Feeling slightly awkward, Enkrid scratched his cheek and said,

"It's a habit of mine."

It was a habit he had developed from calling out Rem and the others. Habits like that don't disappear overnight.

After all, yelling "You mad savage, come out here so I can break your nose!" at Rem was essentially a request for sparring rather than an actual provocation.

"This time, I'll try this."

Ragna, holding his sword parallel to the ground, announced his intent.

Previously, he had brought his sword down vertically; this time, he intended to swing horizontally.

If the previous attack felt like lightning striking, this one carried the impression of a collapsing wall.

Though it wasn't faster than before, there was no escape from its reach. It was like watching a massive boulder rolling toward you.

It seemed to declare, This is what it means to strike as a knight.

This time, two of Enkrid's ribs cracked.

Still, he didn't die.

A few days later, when the pain in his side subsided and he was back in one piece, Shinar returned. She glanced at Enkrid sweating in the training grounds and, for once, showed some emotion.

It was subtle—a slight lift of her left eyebrow—but Enkrid knew it was a sign of surprise.

"Did you go far?"

"Missed me, did you? My battered fiancé."

"Is that phrasing something you picked up from Audin?"

"I'm not exactly at an age to be learning from others."

Enkrid nodded and gripped his sword.

He hadn't forgotten what Shinar had shown him when he was down.

If it hadn't been for Ragna, he might have spent his days endlessly wondering when she would return, unable to forget her even in his sleep.

Shinar smiled, a rare expression she reserved only for Enkrid.

He didn't fall for the enchanting charm of her inhuman beauty.

As soon as her smile faded, she closed the distance.

Thud!

Perhaps it was thanks to Ragna.

Shinar's attack was slower than a black lightning strike and easier to block than Ragna's all-encompassing horizontal slash, which felt like a charging fortress wall.

But her sword moved like a butterfly.

Even when blocked, it would curve and drop from above. When that was barely deflected, it would suddenly return and aim for the stomach.

Blocking and dodging were all he could manage.

Even though he remained vigilant, an invisible blade targeted the back of his head.

She struck downward with her sword while another blade simultaneously appeared from behind.

How could a sword come from the front and back at the same time?

It was a technique she had demonstrated before—a secret skill of the fairy clan, harnessing the energy of the forest.

"There's no escape," Shinar declared.

Enkrid laughed again.

He had no intention of escaping.

In an instant, he twisted his body to the side, blocking Shinar's blade with the Acer in his right hand while striking down the invisible blade with the Gladius in his left.

Flick! The incorporeal blade vanished weakly, though he couldn't entirely block Shinar's main attack.

After a few more similar strikes, he accumulated a few scratches.

As expected, he lost. This time, he narrowly avoided having a hole pierced through his thigh.

"If she'd aimed slightly higher, you'd have become a whole new species—neither man nor woman," Rem quipped.

"I almost made a grave mistake," Shinar admitted with a rare hint of remorse after the spar.

"It's fine," Enkrid said, brushing it off.

Thus, an unusual yet ordinary routine continued.

One day, he sparred with Ragna.

Another day, with Shinar.

In his spare time, he learned various techniques from Rem.

He also spent time with Audin or pestered Jaxen, who didn't seem as busy as before.

"The Invisible Thrust isn't about making it unguardable; it's about making it undetectable," he was told.

Though it wasn't strictly necessary to learn, knowing diverse techniques was always helpful.

That was why he trained in everything.

The fairy's blade might have been invisible, but it was caught in the net of his senses.

"Ultimately, is the goal to strike without being seen or felt?"

It was an insight he gained from intuition before Shinar demonstrated her secret again.

Such repetition was Enkrid's specialty.

While honing his left-hand writing, he also dodged the daggers Jaxen threw to sharpen his reflexes.

It was a monotonous yet relentless cycle of training.

For Enkrid, it wasn't difficult.

And so, time passed.

The Ferryman appeared in Enkrid's dreams.

He had nothing particular to say but seemed to criticize whether such repetitive days were enjoyable.

"If that's all, you might as well settle for a comfortable life," the boatman seemed to imply.

But before the boatman could speak further, Enkrid asked,

"When will a new wall come?"

Those burning eyes, seen countless times, reflected the depths of his soul.

It wasn't merely a question—it was desperation.

The boatman, who was the source of the ominous feeling, couldn't tell him that the one who cast the curse had already met their end.

Hadn't he boldly told Enkrid to be cautious?

Oblivious, Enkrid asked again,

"Is it just around the corner?"

It was a question driven less by hope and more by sheer defiance.

The boatman couldn't answer.

"Or tomorrow, perhaps?"

Enkrid pressed further.

The boatman silently cursed him.

This mad bastard.

Unable to risk saying something that might diminish his stature, the boatman said nothing more and sealed the world they shared.

In the end, Enkrid woke from his dream after meeting a suddenly silent boatman.

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