Chapter 454 - Knight's Oath

Chapter 454 - Knight's Oath

"Give up."

The ferryman spoke, his tone devoid of effort. Whether his advice was sound or not seemed irrelevant to him.

"Does today burden you? A different tomorrow awaits. Go there and settle. That is all you need to do."

It was an attempt at persuasion, yet even the ferryman himself lacked conviction in his words. He knew they wouldn't work; thus, his delivery held no sincerity. It was as though he was saying it because he felt he had to, not because he believed it would have any effect.

But sincerity was unnecessary. The madman standing before him was untouched by despair or defeat, his gaze fixed only on the future.

When told to remain trapped in today, Enkrid instead looked only at tomorrow.

"Do as you wish. What can you possibly achieve? I sought to bless a mortal with freedom from death, yet you repeat only foolish acts. Abandon suffering and immerse yourself in joy. That is your path."

Still, the ferryman said what needed to be said. That was his role. Just as Enkrid fulfilled his own.

"See you next time."

A parting. A clear declaration that he would not leave. It almost sounded like a demand to be sent away quickly.

Within the ferryman's antiquated demeanor, another self briefly surfaced. Unconsciously, his grip on the oar tightened. The urge to smash Enkrid's head with the lamp and then bludgeon him with the oar flared—but the antiquated self suppressed it.

"Struggle in pain once more."

Instead, he pressed his lips firmly together and spoke.

"Thank you for the encouragement."

With those parting words, Enkrid turned to face a new tomorrow.

A shriek pierced the air, a sound that could only come from a screaming spider. It shattered the silence of the night, marking the start of today—the hours between midnight and dawn.

"Good morning."

Enkrid greeted the day cheerfully, flexing his abs as he sprang upright from the bed and stepped off.

He had turned the living area into an impromptu barracks, likely out of habit from his days as a soldier. It was more comfortable this way. After all, what could be better than having a training ground just beyond the door?

"What's so good about it? Care to explain?"

Rem voiced his irritation.

"Every day is a good day when you wake up."

Though it was still dark outside, and their awakening had been prompted by a scream, Enkrid insisted as he began preparing his gear.

As he moved, he mentally reviewed his plans—recapping, organizing.

Reflection wasn't just for battle. Repeating the rhythm of the day helped prepare him for what lay ahead, encompassing everything from his mindset to his objectives.

Sir Oara had vowed to protect her homeland. That was her dream, her goal, her knightly creed. It was her responsibility and duty—a solemn oath.

Through the repetition of today, Enkrid had come to understand Oara's vow.

She would face anything without fear, greeting even death with a smile.

That was her oath. That was why she always smiled.

If she lost that smile, her sword would lose its strength. What would it take to ensure that never happened?

To end the repetition of today, he had to protect the city. And to do that, he had to safeguard her smile—her dream.

"A smile means you never lose."

That was Oara's belief. She intended to lose to no one.

'If her condition is fine, she might just pull it off.'

Nothing was certain, but there was no harm in trying. He would do as always and see it through.

Enkrid assessed the situation, categorizing and prioritizing what needed to be done through instinct. He briefly missed Krais, but his absence was not a hindrance. After all, he could manage without.

"Let's go."

Fully armed, Enkrid spoke with determination. The resolve to advance, to fight, to protect—it came naturally to him.

Enkrid wants to become a knight to protect those behind him. This was no different.

Just because Oara was a knight, or better at fighting than him, didn't mean she wasn't someone to protect.

That wasn't how he saw it.

Enkrid was arrogant in such matters. He would protect her, as he respected her desires.

"Run, all of you."

Oara had once told them to flee, claiming she couldn't protect them. Yet she had held her ground, biting down on the arm of the creature—a fragment of Beelrog—and fought back. Even after losing her smile, with fists and feet, she had continued battling monsters.

At the very least, he would ensure she could fight without holding back.

Enkrid made this his new goal.

"Think you can manage that?"

It was as if the ferryman's words lingered. Though not actually spoken, they echoed with the same meaning.

It didn't matter. Permission wasn't needed. It never had been.

He hadn't sought the ferryman's advice so much as used the conversation to organize his thoughts. Now, his plan was clear.

Enkrid stepped outside, merging into the cacophony of the city.

"Rem."

"What?"

"Do you think you could fight like a knight for a short time?"

Rem stared at the madman's eyes. As always, they were disturbingly earnest.

Sometimes, Enkrid's madness burned brightly, and this was one of those times. Whatever he had decided, it was undoubtedly insane.

"Do you think it's possible?"

Knowing the answer, he still asked, those blue flames in his eyes blazing brighter.

"You know, being a knight means…."

"It's about Will," interjected a passing officer. Enkrid nodded, acknowledging the explanation.

He quickened his pace, walking ahead of the unit.

"Will is a force of resolve. I can use it, too," Rem admitted. "But it's not my specialty. Even if I tried, the truth is, some things just can't be done."

Enkrid shifted his gaze. The next target of his burning determination was the Frog.

"Lua."

"No."

Luagarne's answer was curt. To her, Enkrid showed no sign of impatience.

"Why ask?"

"Just because."

Enkrid's reply was simple. His intent didn't need to be explained.

To ensure Oara could fight as she wanted, he had to be able to hold his own—even just once, even for a moment. Could a single strike turn the tide of battle?

"Let's run."

With that, Enkrid took off.

Repetition had taught him much.

"Roman!"

At the gate, Enkrid called out to a junior knight wielding a massive greatsword like a club.

"…What?"

Roman turned, having just crushed the skull of a spider-like beast with the pommel of his sword and kicked its lifeless body aside. Black ichor pooled at his feet, staining his clothes and face.

Roman's grim expression matched his battle-worn appearance, but Enkrid saw hope in him.

"That strike you did—how do you do it?"

Roman blinked a few times, processing the absurdity of the question.

Then, finally understanding, he asked with disbelief:

"Is that really what you want to know right now?"

Roman questioned with his mouth and his eyes.

"Are you seriously out of your mind?"

Enkrid nodded.

"Yes, I want to know."

"Master, I think this guy's lost it," Roman exclaimed, raising his voice.

From atop the wall, Oara burst out laughing.

"Just tell him already."

"Why should I reveal my secrets?!"

In the meantime, Enkrid thrust Spark into the incoming spider beast. Extending his left foot forward, the blade flashed like lightning. In an instant, it pierced the spider's head and withdrew.

By now, Enkrid had memorized their patterns through repeated battles. These creatures liked to surround the few with many. Before it got to that point, there were a few core ones to eliminate. Enkrid punctured one's head and threw his remaining Whistle Daggers, all three of them.

Today's repetitions brought mastery of technique. This was no exception. Enkrid wasted no time. He used battles against these beasts as both training and survival. His strikes grew sharper, as one of his knives pierced through another spider beast's head.

Following this, he hurled a spear, disrupting the charging monsters' rhythm. The creatures, usually bothersome and strategic, began rushing head-on like mindless fools.

"Hah!"

A short-haired woman wielded a relatively slender, long spear and began thrusting. The shaft bent like a whip, multiplying its blade into dozens as it pierced through the spiders' torsos and heads indiscriminately. A silent scream echoed as black blood dripped from the grotesque, metallic-jawed mouths of the creatures.

The poison-coated spear tips had done their job. Enkrid's eyes focused on her spear and technique.

"A technique effective against multiple foes," he thought.

She was a semi-knight, displaying overwhelming strength against weaker enemies. It was nothing new to him, so he observed briefly and moved on.

"Seems like we have some breathing room now," Enkrid said after clearing a cluster of spiders.

"You really want me to spill everything, huh?" Roman grumbled.

"Do you hate the idea?"

"You're seriously insane," Roman retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Come on, just share it."

Enkrid was relentless. Given time, he would have asked once or twice a day. But this situation was different. His desire to learn and master something wasn't just personal—it was a way to assist Oara in the fight.

There was no better solution, so he persisted.

"Teach me."

He asked as he killed more spiders.

"Someone take this guy away," Roman snapped.

"He's not the type to leave just because you tell him to," Rem chuckled, splitting a spider's head with his blade. It had been a while since Enkrid had acted so recklessly.

Jaxen once relented after repeating the second day in the infirmary, teaching Enkrid a sensory technique. He had done so knowing Enkrid wouldn't give up.

This man was relentless, obsessive, and utterly mad.

"Get lost, will you?" Roman shouted again, this time looking like he might swing his weapon at Enkrid instead of the spiders. But Enkrid was unmoved, standing firm like an unyielding rock. He was persistence incarnate—unyielding, immovable, and determined.

"Pahahaha!"

Oara clutched her stomach, laughing, while Rem joined in, cackling as he cleaved through spider heads. Even Dunbakel felt a strange sense of relief watching Enkrid's madness unfold.

This lunatic was willing to go to absurd lengths to learn a single technique, whether it was Wave or something else.

Indeed, he was a madman.

After resisting twelve times, Roman finally gave up with a sigh of defeat.

"You crazy bastard, do you think you'll even understand it?"

"Probably not."

Why was he agreeing so easily? Roman felt exasperated.

Oara, who was still rolling around on the wall, laughing until tears streamed down her face, looked like she might die from amusement. Meanwhile, Rem seemed satisfied.

The soldiers, archers on the wall, and everyone else nearby had come to a shared understanding: Enkrid was on a different level of insanity.

"So, you want me to explain it?" Roman grumbled.

"Just let me hear it," Enkrid said.

"Do I look like I'm responsible for you?"

"Nope."

"Stop admitting things so easily!" Roman exploded before launching into his explanation.

"Listen, a knight's swordsmanship is fundamentally infused with Will."

Enkrid nodded. He already knew that much.

Roman continued, explaining why he couldn't block Oara's sword. He had once asked her directly, and her answer had been, "I wove my Will."

It was an abstract reply, but whether it was luck or hard-earned insight, Roman didn't know. He had found a direction and followed it.

"From fingertip to toe, every movement in my swing carried Will."

It wasn't an easy explanation.

"Don't we already do that?" Enkrid asked, frowning. He also infused Will into his strikes, accelerating his thrusts or unleashing a thunderous blow he once dubbed the "Giant's Strength."

Roman smashed an incoming spider's head with his fist, the skull cracking with a loud "thud." He wasn't a semi-knight for nothing.

This marked the arrival of more prepared monsters from the labyrinth. Five trolls, a bipedal spider, and two owl bears emerged.

Though the situation seemed tense, the looming crisis felt much less threatening. Oddly enough, Enkrid's relentless efforts to learn had boosted the morale of the group. Even the monsters' attacks seemed to falter in timing.

Oara descended from the wall, wiping her tear-streaked face with her fingers.

"Haah, I almost died laughing."

The Knight of Laughter was the last person who should be saying that.

"Got anything else to share?" Enkrid persisted.

Even amidst the changing atmosphere, Roman clicked his tongue and relented.

"Do you use Will even when picking up a fork? How about when drawing your sword or positioning yourself?"

Roman's point was simple: Master control over every single motion, down to the smallest muscle movement.

Why? All for a single, perfect strike.

Enkrid finally understood. For the next hundred and sixty-two iterations of today, Enkrid practiced Roman's teaching. It wasn't easy—it felt overwhelming. Even after understanding it in his mind, his body wouldn't respond as he wanted.

This was the beginning.

In the midst of darkness, when one finds a sliver of light, they call it hope. But Enkrid, who had never let go of anything in his life, didn't need hope. He held onto the fire Roman's insight ignited within him.

What was he doing now? Mimicry.

Just as he had once mimicked Ragna's sword, he was now imitating a knight's technique. But could he perfectly replicate a knight's swordsmanship?

The answer was no.

Why?

Because every knight's path is unique.

Each knight's sword was different, shaped by their own journey. This truth, imparted to him by the knights of Aspen, by Ragna, the Mercenary King, and Shinar, guided him forward.

Thus began his journey to find his own path.

Enkrid delved into the study of a knight's strike. It would take him a hundred and sixty-two more iterations of today before he truly reached the realm of understanding—not just intellectually but physically.

"To embed Will into every motion, even a twitch of a finger or a shift in a toe—that's it, isn't it?"

As he asked this, Roman's eyes widened in today's new iteration.

"You're a genius, huh?"

Roman misunderstood, but Enkrid didn't bother correcting him.

It was time to put his newfound understanding into action.

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