Chapter 323 - The Realization

The realization hit like a lightning bolt, but in the end, it was the body that had to execute it.

As he jumped up to greet a new day, Krais, surprised, asked him again, "What's going on? Were you sleep-deprived?"

When Enkrid stared blankly into space without responding, Krais continued to murmur, "It's probably because your body's worn out. You need to rest properly."

"Is that so?"

Enkrid nonchalantly responded, then reflected on what he had just realized. Could it be done? It seemed possible. That feeling, that sixth sense, sent a tingling sensation through his whole body.

"Why does it feel like your head is getting worse by the day?" Krais mumbled from the side.

Enkrid ignored him.

He had to invest another ten days and two more days beyond that.

In the repeated days, he had to embed the swordsmanship he had learned into his body.

"...What is this?"

Ragna, who had helped him through the process, asked in rare surprise.

"What?" Enkrid responded.

"When did you come up with this?" Ragna asked.

"It just came to me suddenly."

"Is this talent, then?"

Ragna murmured to himself, though it didn't seem like he was really curious.

Enkrid continued refining his swordsmanship, consulting with Ragna, and engaging in light sparring with Sinar. The fairy's movements were distinctive, especially the ability to read the opponent's intentions—it was beyond conventional understanding.

When Enkrid asked about it, Sinar answered, "It's a fairy's talent."

That skill was definitely worth learning. In fact, Enkrid had already realized he had been using part of that ability.

The rest was just training. That was the thing Enkrid excelled at. He kept honing his swordsmanship and, just as importantly, persistently sought to learn and mimic the fairy's skills.

It didn't feel wrong to call it stealing, since Sinar had freely shared it.

"By twisting it a bit, you can read emotions, almost like telepathy. And then, you can project it into battle."

Above all, Sinar was one of the better explainers—far better than Rem, Ragna, Jaxen, or Audin.

She was almost like an angel compared to them. Even Audin, who did some explaining, preferred teaching through action rather than words. This approach wasn't always ideal for the learner.

Based on Sinar's explanation, Enkrid kept repeating the practice of imitating the fairy's skill.

The eerie shackles of foreboding helped once again.

The sense of evasion was about confronting one's instincts directly.

Where did those instincts come from? They came from the things happening right in front of you. The warnings given by the sum of what touched your senses in an instant.

That's what sixth sense was about.

The sense of evasion was an evasion technique that used the sixth sense.

But what about the fairy's ability?

Enkrid couldn't imitate the species-specific talent directly. Instead, he used a different method.

It started with his eyes.

After learning the Isolation Technique from Audin, he developed a keen eye for assessing his opponent's abilities. He then added concentration on top of that.

He viewed the opponent as a dot, focusing his attention.

The body trained with the Isolation Technique was always prepared to move.

He kept his attention fixed on that one point.

Then, he honed his sensory techniques and sharpened his focus.

He saw with his eyes and felt with his senses.

This became the foundation for mimicking the fairy's talent.

"You're doing it now."

When he used his new ability in front of the fairy, it caused surprise.

Although the expression remained unchanged, his pupils expanded very slightly. To the untrained eye, it would have been unnoticeable, but to Shinar, it was visible only with intense focus.

Enkrid himself was fascinated. The more deeply he focused, the more clearly he could see—this was a method he had learned after practicing the previous technique of spreading his focus. Now, he was learning how to dive deeper into that focus.

"I'm just copying it."

"If trying to copy it were enough, it wouldn't be called a species' secret technique."

"Is that so?"

"When you meet the fairy clan, you might want to show them this skill."

"Meeting them?"

"You should at least show your face before we have kids."

The fairy society was based on a clan system, somewhat like a community-based upbringing. It was said that the village and homeland served as the parents and extended family.

"Isn't it frowned upon for humans and fairies to mix?"

"It's fine. As long as there's love, it'll work out."

Enkrid, about to respond with a playful comment, was caught off guard and laughed despite himself.

"You laugh a lot," Sinar remarked.

It seemed like a compliment about how pleasant his smile was.

Enkrid let it pass, focusing again.

Now, it was time to concentrate. The fairy's secret technique allowed you to perceive the opponent's breathing, movements, and even the smallest changes, without missing anything.

A knight was still human.

Even he wasn't a god, so there were tiny gaps, minuscule openings.

Enkrid had already made up his mind.

'It's impossible to fully recover my body.'

In that case, he had to work with what was lacking.

What was lacking? He decided to fill that gap with sheer strength.

That meant using the Heart of the Beast.

The Heart of the Beast would provide the necessary force to push his injured body beyond its limits.

The potential damage to his body from the backlash? He couldn't afford to care about that.

If he thought about that, he wouldn't survive the day.

After all the preparations were more or less done, Enkrid suddenly realized.

There was no need to prolong this day any longer.

In fact, there was no reason to stretch it out.

Was this arrogance?

Or was it hubris?

Perhaps a mere illusion?

He couldn't say.

But he couldn't know unless he moved forward.

So, he did.

Enkrid passed through the repeating days and greeted another morning.

Today was the day.

Today was the day that should have been yesterday.

As Enkrid washed his face with cold water, Krais asked him, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

"Just moderately unwell."

"Moderately unwell? What does that mean?"

"It means I'm in pain, but I can still move."

"Oh, I see."

Krais tilted his head, staring at his commanding officer, who seemed somewhat out of sorts.

Had he taken medicine?

No, that couldn't be it.

"I'm going to tomorrow," Enkrid muttered to himself, with a firm resolve.

"Ah, really? Is there no priest around? Is your head hurting? Did you fall from a cliff and hit your head?"

Krais spoke loudly, his confusion evident.

Isn't this guy acting strange?

"If you fall from a cliff and hit your head, you die," Shinar pointed out, but Krais didn't change his gaze.

Enkrid, unsure of how to respond, paused, moved briefly, and then lay back down again.

This was seriously strange.

Later, Krais continued to experience odd behavior from Enkrid.

The man who had said he could move didn't get out of bed.

He ordered things with his words, but his fingers didn't move at all.

"What's going on here?"

He had said he could move, but why was he being fed by the fairy commander?

Dunbakel had tried to feed him, but Shinar stepped in due to the lack of delicacy.

And Krais had reluctantly answered, feeling frustrated.

"So, it looks like you're resting desperately. Are you preparing to die soon? We still have to survive and win, why act like this? It makes people uneasy."

Krais's growing sense of foreboding seemed to have triggered something in his mind.

Who rests this seriously unless something's wrong?

Enkrid, however, calmly shut him down with a natural-sounding remark.

"I'm training in the art of resting."

He had the gift of speaking exactly what was needed at the right moment.

Enkrid's eloquence was impeccable.

"You hit your head and took drugs. It's obvious you should rest"

Krais concluded in his own way.

Before sunset, Enkrid, according to Krais's suggestion, had rested with great determination.

It was the process of bringing his body into its best possible condition.

"Is the sun setting?" Enkrid asked.

"Huh?"

"Go outside and check."

"Yes, I will."

After Krais went out to check the time, Enkrid finally got up just after the sunset.

Then, he started heating up his body.

He tested the flexibility of his joints, flexed his muscles, and then relaxed them.

He adjusted the position of his sword belt along with his armor.

With physical preparation came mental alignment as well.

He steadied the image of one blade in his mind.

Others watched him, curious about his behavior.

He clearly looked like an unusual person.

He was already far from normal, but today he seemed even more peculiar.

"Captain, are you really sick?" Krais asked seriously.

Enkrid answered with genuine sincerity.

"No, I'm about to be."

Even if he succeeded, it wouldn't end without consequences.

Suddenly, before Krais could say anything more, the tent flap was ripped open.

A man with brown hair and an ordinary appearance entered.

"Sorry about this."

It was the same line he always used.

"Just block it once.That's the least I can do to keep my honor intact."

He said something similar again.

He never sought the other person's understanding.

There was no need for that, as his words were meant solely for himself.

The moment Enkrid had been waiting for came next.

It was his turn to step forward.

The enemy's awareness would soon focus on him.

It was time to show what he had been preparing for.

***

"Sir Jamal, please."

"Are you aware this is a blow to my honor?" Jamal asked, unsure of how to respond.

"Do you know why this has to be done? No, you must know."

"Right, so you think it's something that must be done?" Sir Jamal asked, his words sharp as bones.

They were edged, almost like thorns. But Abnaier simply clenched his teeth. He couldn't avoid being hurt by the harshness of the words.

"Please."

"Your 'please' no longer matters in this context."

"I understand."

Sir Jamal didn't furrow his brow, nor did he curse. There was no need for either. It was something that had to be done, after all. But that didn't mean it was something he was comfortable with.

"Just once. I'll swing the sword only once, and then I'll be done. I'm sure you understand that this is the best I can do, right?"

"Yes, I understand."

Abnaier lowered his head. A knight's identity was tightly bound to their honor. They were the ones who protected their honor through vows and oaths. Why? It wasn't just because it was morally required; the practical reasons were much stronger.

'Will' is the power of the mind, and to maintain it, what should be done?

How does one cultivate 'Will'?

There is a knight who swore to only ever see the world with one eye, a vow that led her to have an eye unlike any other knight—Lupera, the one-eyed female knight.

Will is something that cannot be seen.

The moment one doubts themselves, their power weakens.

To express the invisible with strength, one needs a way to strengthen their will.

Constraints, vows, oaths.

That's why these things became the core of a knight's being.

An oath strengthens through vows. And these knights also cared deeply about their honor.

To a knight, abandoning honor is the same as disappearing. Has there ever been a knight who kept their vows but forgot their honor?

Honor is, in the end, the foundation of the 'Will' that knights have cultivated for themselves.

One of the foundations.

Knights decided for themselves to keep honor.

Knights fight knights.

And Sir Jamal was about to break that rule.

Of course, it wasn't possible to follow that rule during a war. In chaotic situations, there are times when knights intentionally infiltrate through common soldiers to strike.

But that was a special case.

Knights follow a higher belief, a belief and honor beyond simply fighting knights. There is loyalty and chivalry.

Yet, even knowing that his opponent was not a knight and that he wasn't prepared for this, Jamal had to strike.

"An assassin knight, I suppose," he thought.

This was why Sir Jamal hesitated to take this task. He intended to end it with one swift strike.

Of course, despite what he said, he wouldn't strike carelessly. He would judge the level of his opponent, striking only as hard as necessary to ensure the opponent couldn't block.

Even though it was something he didn't want to do, this was still connected to his oath.

'At least one favor will be removed.'

He had known this was something he wouldn't be pleased with. His only consolation was that this task was for the sake of Aspen.

Standing before the enemy's wooden barricade, Sir Jamal began to look for a gap.

No matter how many sentries are posted, there are always gaps that cannot be covered.

Avoiding the eyes of the regular soldiers was an easy task for Jamal.

All he had to do was spread his 'Will' and identify the position of the enemy.

After that, infiltration was simple.

Assimilation.

It was a technique to make one's presence blend into the surroundings, based on 'Will.'

If one makes a violent move, the presence would be disrupted, and it wouldn't work among other knights, but in this situation, it was invaluable.

Since he couldn't use his engraved weapon for such a dishonorable task, Jamal picked up a short sword from an abandoned tent he passed by.

The weapon was poorly maintained and grimy, but that didn't matter.

He examined the area around him, searching for his target.

'Just once. Once only.'

He would swing his sword sincerely.

His opponent wouldn't be able to stop it.

Jamal knew that better than anyone.

It was just a way to calm his own mind, bound by restrictions and vows.

If he didn't do this, his mind would be uncomfortable, and that discomfort would interfere with the growth of his 'Will.'

'There's no wrong choice.'

He steadied his mind.

He sharpened his will.

This was how Sir Jamal prepared.

Now, it was time to act.

Not all knights are the same.

When Jamal was a squire, he had to give up many things to get what he needed. Among those things was a vow.

To be blunt, it was more of a contract.

It was about giving the other party what they desired.

This situation was the same.

With a swift movement, he tore through the tent.

His eyes met the one he had been watching, and his gaze stopped on a familiar face.

A face he won't easily forget, despite the tangled, matted hair and beard.

The light shone from the face of the man, who was completely different from Jamal's own average appearance.

"Sorry about this," Jamal said, his voice low.

The target, Enkrid, didn't show any surprise or speak. Instead, he moved his feet.

It wasn't exactly stealthy, but it wasn't a clear declaration of an attack either.

It was simply... disturbing.

There was the hint of intent to strike.

Jamal didn't continue his thoughts.

As a knight, he was bound to his vow. Despite this task being more of a contract, he had to do what he needed to be done.

He had said he would do it just once.

He had given his target a chance to back away.

He had sworn to himself that he would turn back if he could stop just one.

That was the knight's vow.

After that, Jamal focused on his target, the man with the shining face, and aimed for his heart.

He would only aim for the heart.

Leaving the face untouched was for the sake of their comrades or acquaintances.

His mind focused, his will rising.

As his will rose, his body moved.

From the knight's hand, the unpolished short sword was drawn.

Tiring, clink!

The sound of the sword being unsheathed wasn't smooth, but that didn't matter.

Jamal thought so.

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