One of the Squad leaders under the command of the Royal Capital Defense Force, Rearban, knew Encrid. They had spent a few months together during Encrid's time in the Capital.
Of course, he recognized his face.
It wasn't the kind of face one could easily forget.
Encrid came into view of Rearban, who was standing at the front, and naturally, their past conversations resurfaced.
"Do you want to become a Knight?"
He had laughed.
"It would be better if you found another path."
He had even offered him sincere advice.
There was no reply. Encrid simply swung his sword. He was always in the same place.
Whether it rained or snowed.
"Teach me how to wield the sword."
He was the kind of man who never stopped begging for instruction.
It was remarkable how confident he looked doing it.
More people started to mock him.
More people started to shun him.
There was even a time when a mercenary, who had just picked up a sword, joined them.
The mercenaries often gathered at a particular tavern, and Encrid was there, too.
At first, the novice swordsman was hesitant, but his skills improved rapidly.
The kid had talent.
Soon, he surpassed Encrid in skill and mocked him during their sparring.
"Seriously, swinging that sword around and you're still only at this level? I don't get it. Maybe it's time to give up?"
The face of the guy who laughed while sneering was vivid in his memory.
What was his name again?
He couldn't remember. But he vividly recalled the expression Encrid had when facing that guy.
Encrid neither got angry nor fell into despair. He was indifferent. Calm and composed.
But was he, really?
Was his heart not crumbling and rotting away inside?
Rearban had observed him. Not with any particular intent, just out of curiosity.
The next day, Encrid was swinging his sword again.
More and more people began to look down on him.
"Why do you keep hanging around that guy?"
Someone asked Rearban that, seeing him near Encrid. It wasn't as though he was defending Encrid.
"None of your business, is it?"
It just happened that the people who gathered around were irritating.
Even after that, Encrid didn't change.
Even when he was beaten close to death.
Even when others surpassed him.
He swung his sword, over and over.
For what?
'A Knight?'
Was that even a reasonable thought?
A third-rate, at best a second-rate swordsman, aiming to be a Knight?
Among those whose talents reached the heavens and who were called geniuses, only a handful.
That's what it meant to be a Knight.
"Get your head straight."
Rearban had said it half out of pity, but of course, Encrid didn't listen.
Back then, Encrid was somewhat famous.
For his childish sense of justice and recklessness.
For his unchangeable, mediocre talent.
Those things were all that defined the name Encrid.
Rearban looked at the enemy soldiers arrayed far away.
The first thought he had upon seeing that army was to flee.
'We can't handle this.'
Their numbers were overwhelming. It was a well-disciplined army. The Count's forces, now called rebels. They would soon be the ones he had to fight.
His long experience as a mercenary and his time with the Capital Defense Force told him the truth.
If they fought here, they would die.
It would be a meaningless death.
'Why am I standing here?'
Was it for some juvenile sense of justice?
Or was it for a handful of gold coins?
Neither, really.
Even when he gave up being a mercenary, there hadn't been any grand reason.
He had gotten married and had a child.
There was a woman who spoke of love while gazing at the moon and the petals.
There was a child who called him 'Dad'.
"Why do you go to such lengths? Your hand is bleeding."
Rearban had asked Encrid. Why did he go that far?
Why did he train as if his life depended on it?
Why didn't he back down, even after getting beaten?
Deep down, Rearban knew the answer.
It was protection.
'Guard the ones behind you. Don't turn your back on honor. Stand firm in your beliefs.'
Those were the reckless words Encrid would always speak.
Even if he didn't say it out loud, his body would shout it out.
While helping to clean up after the incident at the Royal Palace, Rearban had seen a few corpses.
One of them was the bastard who had beaten Encrid and done all sorts of terrible things to him.
The man, who had tormented others under the title of 'instructor', was scattered across the ground in pieces.
'Should I say it was a good death?'
The name of the one who killed him was Encrid.
A name defined by mediocre talent.
Rearban was dazzled. Even though the sunlight wasn't blinding, it felt like it.
There are people in this world who shine so brightly, they are almost impossible to look at.
It doesn't matter if you call them heroes or stars that radiate brilliance.
They stand firm in their place and prove themselves.
'Encrid.'
He repeated the name silently.
He watched as Encrid stepped forward into the fight. It was clear. Even though it was dazzling, nothing obstructed his view of him.
Rearban couldn't make out the ebb and flow of the battle with his own eyes. But there was one thing he understood.
It was fierce. Incredibly fierce. As if Encrid had thrown his entire life into it.
Blood spattered. Sparks flew into the sky.
The enemy facing Encrid dropped their sword and drew a secondary weapon from their waist. It was a machete. Encrid swung his sword to meet it.
Clang!
A deafening sound exploded. The shockwave seemed to ripple out like concentric circles.
Goosebumps covered his body. Every hair on his body stood on end. Rearban forgot the despair he had felt when facing the enemy and could only watch Encrid's back.
He was alone. Alone, he stood against the enemy force that no one dared to face. He cut down many, and then he swung his sword at the next one who stepped forward.
A burst of light erupted between the two combatants.
Encrid's body flew backward, tumbling to the ground. His opponent merely took a few steps back, thudding heavily with each step.
Rearban could see Encrid, who had rolled across the ground. He knew that Encrid was not the kind of person who would stop just because he had fallen.
Thud.
Rearban struck the ground with the butt of his spear.
Thud.
And then he repeated the action.
"For Naurillia."
He muttered. Words that would not be heard. Words that would not reach anyone. They were simply for himself.
For the country, for the people, for his wife, for his child—he stood in this place for all of that.
To protect those behind him.
The soldiers around him began to follow his actions, striking the ground with their spear butts one by one.
Thud, thud, thud, thud.
The disjointed rhythm naturally fell into sync. It wasn't a command from the Commander. They had all been moved by the sight of the battle unfolding in front of them.
"For my own shining hero as well."
Rearban muttered silently as he struck the ground with his spear.
And then, Encrid, who had fallen, stood up.
It looked as though some words passed between the two fighters, but Rearban couldn't hear them.
Thud, thud, thud.
Only the sound of spears hitting the ground echoed.
* * *
Relentlessly pressing forward without a breath, it was Lierbart who first introduced a new variable.
He abandoned his sword and swung his machete.
Encrid neither slowed down nor tried to catch his breath.
He swung Silver with all his might. Though his form wasn't perfect, it was a strike that unleashed the Heart of Great Strength.
A sword strike that surpassed the limits of human strength.
The moment their weapons clashed, an invisible force exploded from the machete's blade, striking Encrid's abdomen and chest.
It was too sudden and too close to deflect.
Encrid gritted his teeth, absorbing the blow with his body as he finally brought his sword down.
That was the result now.
His body flew backward while his opponent took a few steps back.
As Encrid tumbled through the air, the world seemed to spin around him.
He was aware that he had been knocked back, so he quickly regained his balance.
However, even after he stood up and regained his stance, the sky continued to spin. The ground swirled too. His opponent's figure seemed to stretch and warp. Something hot surged up from inside him, and he spat it out.
"Blegh."
He vomited a handful of blood, and the dizziness vanished, making him feel better.
"What... was that?"
And then, he asked.
"It's a magic sword."
Lierbart replied.
Encrid didn't think it was unfair.
As Encrid stood up, the thudding sound that had been reverberating through the air for some time now filled the atmosphere.
It strangely resembled the beating of his own heart. Oddly enough, it sounded like a battle chant.
'My chest feels a bit sore.'
His head was spinning, but did that really matter?
No, not at all.
After asking and answering himself, Encrid picked up his sword.
He was determined to see this to the end.
Lierbart glanced at his dented shoulder plate and breastplate.
'Is this the difference in talent?'
Lierbart set aside his fleeting thoughts and looked at Encrid.
His opponent seemed larger than before.
It could be the difference in willpower, but it was more likely the presence of discipline.
Of course, he could push forward and end it here, but there was no need.
Giving a day's respite wouldn't hurt.
Even for the sake of what the Count truly desired, it would be wise to grant another day.
For these reasons, Lierbart chose to purely acknowledge his defeat.
He also admitted that if they continued fighting, he would lose.
"You've won."
That's why he said those words.
It was an unexpected statement. Encrid merely stared at his opponent.
"The Goddess of luck is still with you today."
Lierbart said, his voice tinged with deep regret. More than regret, his words carried a bitter resentment toward the world.
"But it doesn't matter. Nothing will change."
"You're done talking?"
Encrid's words cut off Lierbart's monologue.
"This is it for today. The thrill is gone."
The thudding sound of spears striking the ground still echoed around them.
To Lierbart, that sound felt like it was saying, 'Protect this man, Encrid.'
Most importantly, people had gathered closer during their fight.
Rem, Ragna, Asia, and Dunbachel were nearby.
On the other side, Malten, Benukt, and Banat were present.
All the key players from both armies had gathered.
'No, there's one more.'
He thought.
A figure possessing assassination skills beyond the elite.
With senses far surpassing human limits, Lierbart pinpointed the location of this individual.
Under the shadow cast by a horse's figure. Someone was subtly hiding using the horse's body.
Once the figure made eye contact with Lierbart, he stepped out to the side. It seemed he didn't mind revealing himself.
Naturally, it was Jaxon.
"It would be a waste to burn everything here. You should know that battles aren't just fought with swords."
Lierbart said before turning away. He gestured toward his loyal black horse, which had been with him for years, and the horse approached.
Lierbart picked up his fallen sword, packed his gear onto the horse, and mounted it.
"Boring, aren't you?"
Encrid taunted.
But Lierbart didn't respond.
"It won't be boring next time."
He replied.
For someone who had just admitted defeat, Lierbart's spirit was completely unshaken.
Their eyes met.
Lierbart cursed the Goddess of luck as he thought of her.
Encrid looked at his opponent, wondering if this was really the end of it.
His instincts told him:
This wasn't everything.
"The battle is tomorrow. It will begin at dawn. This is the honor I show you for defeating me."
With those words, Lierbart turned and walked away.
Encrid watched him.
Would it be right to strike him in the back now?
No, that didn't sit well with him.
He didn't do things he didn't like.
It didn't feel like the right course of action.
And it wouldn't mean anything either.
He knew this instinctively and rationally.
If the enemy started a full-on assault now, their side would be at a disadvantage. He should be grateful that the enemy was withdrawing and hand them a silver coin as thanks.
Thud, thud, thud.
A unit was striking the ground with their spear butts. Their morale was high, but that was all.
Even with raised spirits, their numbers wouldn't increase.
If they engaged in an unorganized skirmish without proper preparation, the smaller force would be at a disadvantage.
To increase their chances of victory, they needed time.
Encrid understood that.
To buy time, regroup, and form a solid formation would give them at least a slight advantage.
This instinct led him to step forward.
So, fighting Lierbart now would be pointless.
Encrid also turned away. With both of them walking away, the distance between them quickly widened.
"Why did you come out to meet me?"
Encrid asked when he saw the group waiting for him halfway between the main force and himself.
"To chop some axes of revenge into your corpse if you died."
Rem said.
"That no-breath technique was impressive."
Ragna added, holding an apple core.
"There's not a single one of them that's easy, huh?"
Dunbachel remarked while glancing at Encrid's back.
Finally, Asia stared at Encrid for a moment before saying,
"You're one hell of a bastard."
The exact meaning wasn't clear, but he got the gist.
It was said in recognition of his skill.
What had Encrid shown?
It was proof that, when facing a Junior-Knight, three days like this would be enough. And he had etched his name into the minds of everyone who had witnessed him.
Without morale, there would be nothing left for this unit.
And Encrid had built that morale.
Thud, thud, thud, thud!
The sound of spear butts striking the ground in time with the beating of his heart echoed. Encrid listened to that sound as he returned to the main force.
No one spoke to him, but everyone was watching him.
* * *
"How was it?"
"Strong. He's better than I am."
"So?"
"I have to kill him."
"Do it then."
Lierbart returned to the Count, who asked and spoke in a bored tone.
The full-scale battle was postponed until the next morning.
That was fine.
In fact, it was exactly what the Count wanted.