CHAPTER 149

Between the tall leaves behind the platform, petals of red and pink flowers fluttered in the air.

Yellow flowers blossomed brightly in the flower garden behind the training ground.

The scent of sweat mingled with the presence of a flower garden in a place of swords and spears.

They say it was a remnant from the time when the Border Guard was still a trading city.

Maintaining that flower garden was something akin to the duty of the Battalion Commander who was responsible for the city.

It was a testament to the city's safety, they said.

Spring had come after a long winter.

Perhaps these flowers hadn't been seen in a while.

"They are a symbol of this city's safety."

A florist had said those words.

Several florists in the city were responsible for maintaining the Border Guard's flower garden.

Seeing the flowers brought to mind the importance of relaxing one's shoulders.

It's important not to be too tense.

Loose, but not slack.

Even if it didn't quite fit, sometimes it's necessary to relax while looking at flowers.

As Encrid relaxed his shoulders, he noticed that the shape of the petals resembled straight swords.

What was the name of those flowers?

Red leaves that were sharp, he clearly remembered their nickname.

Sword Flower.

They were called Sword Flowers.

They were said to bloom only in the magic of spring.

As he looked at the Sword Flowers, a question arose: 'How can I make a cleaner cut when bringing the sword down vertically?'

With that question, a journey of thought began in his mind to find the answer.

That mustache.

A man who walked a path entirely different from Encrid's.

Something refined that he hadn't even felt in Ragna's sword.

A sword built through both talent and effort.

It resonated with him.

So he wanted it. He wanted to possess it, to absorb it completely.

He still longed for it, feeling a thirst.

Like a traveler in the desert craving a sip of water.

For Encrid, it was swords and Knights, dreams and skills.

'Slowly.'

If you run too fast, you're bound to trip and fall.

Moreover, has anything ever gone well when done hastily?

Even without talent, there's something to be seen when you don't despair and lose hope.

It's about not being hasty and not being leisurely.

A middle ground between two opposing speeds.

Loose but not slack.

That's why you can run as fast as you can at your own pace.

With these thoughts, Encrid moved towards the platform.

At the end of his thoughts stood the platform.

And in front of it was Marcus.

They stood facing each other and looked into each other's eyes.

There was a silent exchange. Marcus's eyes softened into a gentle smile.

It was a look as if he was up to some amusing prank.

The training ground was quiet.

How to describe it?

The atmosphere itself was different.

A warm afternoon breeze blew in between the rays of sunlight.

The petals swayed in the breeze.

It was a peaceful and serene afternoon.

It reminded him of the time when the divinity of Audin touched his body.

That sense of tranquility enveloped the surroundings.

"I have been pondering." 

Marcus spoke.

His voice resonated quietly, not loud enough to reach across the training ground, but audible to those nearby.

"What do you mean?" 

Encrid replied, standing straight.

"What should I give to satisfy a soldier who has achieved such a commendable feat?" Marcus mused.

Encrid's mind briefly considered a good sword or something like Krona.

Would that truly satisfy him?

Probably not.

It might bring some joy, but if he were to go a step further?

'A magical armor?'

Encrid now roughly understood the value of the leather armor he wore, and that its worth was gradually diminishing.

Magic isn't eternal, after all.

He had heard that magical equipment has its limits, although he wasn't sure if that was true until he experienced it himself.

The lifespan of the leather armor wasn't much longer.

Even the leather gauntlets seemed to be somewhat magical, otherwise, how could they be so strong?

Without these gauntlets, he might have lost an arm while fighting Frog, not just injured his wrist.

'The thought alone is dreadful.'

Losing just a wrist would be better than losing an entire arm, but both options were undesirable.

In retrospect, there were countless things to be cautious about.

Losing one's life? As terrible as it sounds, sometimes it could be a relief.

But if one were to survive with a severe injury, facing the uncertainty of tomorrow...

'It gives me a lot to think about.'

Yet, Encrid hadn't been deeply troubled by these thoughts.

He wasn't the type to overthink, nor did he have the luxury to do so.

'Idle thoughts.'

These weren't just relaxing thoughts but distractions.

He pushed them aside, knowing that it wasn't enough to immerse himself solely in his sword and dreams.

Could he truly become a Knight?

He still had that question, and there was no answer yet.

"So I thought." Marcus continued. Encrid focused on the man's words before him.

He listened intently, with genuine attention.

"I, too, need to give a sincere gift. You can look forward to it, Platoon leader."

The word 'expect' was mentioned.

Encrid knew himself well enough not to show emotions over most things.

Honestly, he had no expectations.

Later, Marcus, the Battalion Commander, presented him with Krona and a finely crafted dagger.

It was said to be a dagger awarded only to those who had rendered great service to the royal family.

Upon receiving it, he found the balance to be poor. It wasn't practical, serving only as a symbol of status.

"By bestowing upon you the Royal Dagger, your status is guaranteed. Show it at any time in the capital, and you will be welcomed as a guest of the Royal family."

Encrid thought it was really nothing special.

Sincerely,

However, the soldiers watching from below the platform felt differently.

"...Encrid."

"Encrid."

"Encrid."

There were no childish cheers or shouts of victory.

The soldiers simply chanted Encrid's name.

It was a murmur, an everyday utterance.

Just words from their mouths.

But when hundreds of soldiers spoke as one...

"Encrid."

It struck his ears like a roar.

"Heh, it seems they're more pleased than you are. Turn around." Marcus said.

Encrid turned around at Marcus's words.

It was quite an amusing sight.

It had been ten days since he returned from the battlefield to the city.

He felt closer to those in the unit than before.

Those who had previously made crude remarks about him had now bowed their heads.

Those seeing him for the first time showed respect and admiration.

He had already been acknowledged on the battlefield.

The Battalion Commander had once called for cheers.

But whom was that cheer really for?

He had thought it was a good experience, but this was different.

The platform was high, just enough for one person to stand on.

So he could look down from above.

He could feel the heat emanating from all the soldiers.

As if that heat took shape and enveloped him.

He suddenly realized that what he had accomplished had brought him to this moment.

"What makes a Knight?"

Skill? They said that merely being good with a sword didn't make one a Knight.

"If that's all you wanted, you should've just been a mercenary."

The words of a fencing instructor from some city still echoed in his mind.

At that time, he had asked.

What makes a Knight?

What do you see and call a Knight?

"Skill is essential."

On top of skill, honor and achievements accumulate, proving one's worth.

"Though things have changed a bit nowadays, in the past, when discussing legends, that was the standard."

Did he just want to be someone who swung a sword well?

No, that wasn't it. Though his dreams started that way when he was young.

As he grew older and realized the limits of his talent...

When he got stabbed in the belly by a sword from someone much younger...

When he lost comrades...

He realized that skill and character did not necessarily correlate.

He swung his sword even though he knew his limits, with a single-minded focus, as if each moment could be his last.

Living each day as if there was no tomorrow.

He threw himself into the relentless waves of time.

Even as he was swept away, he never forgot his sword, holding onto his worn and tattered dreams.

Where did the resolve that sustained Encrid all this time originate?

He believed a Knight was someone who adhered to the standards they set for themselves.

Someone who progressed without forgetting honor.

He resolved to be that way.

Thus, it made sense that standing in such a position, proving himself, would bring him joy.

Feeling honor as he stood before them.

"Interesting."

Encrid murmured softly, though it was hard to discern any emotion from his voice.

Behind him, Marcus sensed something unfamiliar in Encrid's words.

It was the same as before.

Something long forgotten.

Sword and light.

'Is it passion?'

Marcus smiled, thinking Encrid was quite an interesting person.

He was curious about how the gift he had prepared would affect the man before him.

"Dismissed." Marcus said.

Encrid turned and saluted.

He stepped down through the murmuring soldiers who chanted his name. A path opened between the soldiers standing to the sides.

"You must be happy."

He saw his platoon members greeting him.

There was Rem, smirking.

Jaxon, standing casually with one leg propped up, watching indifferently.

Audin, speaking in his usual cryptic way, said, "You looked like an incarnation answering a prayer, brother."

Ragna, who was always bored with such ceremonies, asked, "Are we done here?"

Krais, uninterested unless Krona was involved, simply said, "Nice."

Nearby, Andrew and Mac called his name, faces flushed with excitement.

"Encrid."

"Platoon leader."

Hmm, this was more than just not bad. It would be strange not to enjoy it.

"Let's go back."

But nothing had changed.

It had been ten days since their return, and the Border Guard had been quiet.

The awards ceremony was over. So what was next?

Of course, it was training. He was just pondering how to swing his sword next.

"Hey, tonight we party. Let's eat and drink till we drop!"

Marcus revealed his true feelings on the platform. Was it really okay for the Battalion Commander to be so candid?

Weren't those people behind him nobles?

Sure enough, when Encrid turned, he saw a group of nobles with displeased expressions.

Yet, no one stepped forward to say anything.

What could it be?

Did they threaten to behead anyone who spoke up?

'No, that's something Rem would do.' he thought.

Marcus was a commander from the capital.

He had no reason or need to do something so reckless.

So why were the nobles reacting this way?

Encrid decided to ignore the nobles' affairs. There was no need to delve into it. What good would it do to know?

Knowing wouldn't change anything.

"Party!"

"Woohoo!"

"Sounds good! Great!"

The soldiers shouted, almost bursting his eardrums.

"If they serve us some cheap wine after saying all this, I'd feel like smashing that guy's head with my axe." Rem said with a grin.

But he seemed in a good mood.

The problem was that he wanted to smash a superior's head whenever he was happy.

'Well, it's not my head, so that's a relief.' Encrid thought.

Thinking back, Rem had never seriously threatened to split his head open. He had joked about wanting to see what was inside his head, but that wasn't said in earnest.

"It's a bother." Ragna said bluntly.

Encrid felt like agreeing with Ragna.

He wanted to get back to training.

He was eager to assimilate the techniques of the mustached swordsman he had seen and experienced as soon as possible.

"You can't see anything but stiff things with a stiff mind. You need to rest when it's time to rest." Jaxon said, seemingly perceptive enough to notice Encrid's mood.

"Everyone, take a good rest. I'll be back shortly." said Krais, whose voice trailed off as he ran away.

Whenever a party was held, a gambling den would naturally spring up.

And that meant Krais would be in his element.

He didn't gamble but rather organized the games to take a cut of the profits.

Krais could never understand those who squandered their Krona on gambling.

"Seriously, why throw your Krona at a random draw? If you meet a real gambler, you won't even get a random chance—you'll definitely lose." he would say.

He saw no reason to waste Krona on gambling. It made sense.

Krais disappeared into the crowd of soldiers.

Encrid watched his retreating figure, finding it odd that this big-eyed soldier had come up with such a clever scheme.

"No need to split heads, then, my barbaric brother." Audin murmured from behind.

Up ahead, the Battalion Commander was seen raising a bottle of liquor with enthusiasm.

"This is some good liquor! Today, we're all drinking the same! Any objections? If you have a problem, come to me!"

It seemed he wasn't quite in his right mind either.

Marcus shouted for everyone to enjoy the liquor he offered.

As Encrid watched, Finn approached and said, "Want a drink?"

"Hmm?"

It had been a while since he had even thought about drinking.

There hadn't been an occasion. He had been too busy training. Drinking dulled the body's control, making proper training impossible. Enjoying the party and drinking were two separate things.

So, he was about to politely decline when a voice came from behind.

"No, human woman, that spot is mine. He's my fiancée."

Huh?

"Fiancée? But she's a Fairy." Finn muttered. Encrid took a step back.

The Fairy Company Commander approached silently.

"Drink with me."

Was this an order or an invitation?

As the tension built with the arrival of Finn and the Fairy Company Commander, Esther intervened.

With a fierce cry, Esther leapt into Encrid's arms.

The situation felt strange.

"Damn enchantress." Rem muttered.

Before Encrid could clarify the misunderstanding, the soldiers around them began cheering for him again, this time in a different way.

"Squad Leader of Enchantment!"

Damn it, just when he thought it had been forgotten, the nickname 'enchantment' surfaced again.

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