“Weren’t you going to et a fairy?”
Jaxon asked. Like he often did when surprised, his tone dropped into informal speech. Even from the rooftop, his voice pierced the air clearly. It carried a certain force—cold fla, perhaps.
Chilly, yet full of heat. Challenging.
His eyes burned, but his voice was low and sharp.
“There was a demon instead.”
No matter what Jaxon said, Enkrid’s tone stayed flat. A little bewildered, perhaps.
“So?” Jaxon pressed.
“...I struck with all I had and killed it.”
Normally, he wouldn’t have spoken that way. These days, he could give more detailed explanations—he no longer had to sound like a madman. He’d systematized his thinking.
But that kind of °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° language wasn’t suitable when facing people with energy sharp as a blade. So the old words he’d once said to Ern ca out by habit.
Still, it wasn’t the kind of thing these people would complain about.
“Not wrong,” Ragna agreed, standing up.
With a few steps forward, Ragna drew his sword.
Shiiing.
A sound as clear and cold as frost.
He threw the scabbard aside with his left hand and gripped the sword with both.
“Move aside, sulking pup. It’s my turn.”
While Enkrid had been away, Ragna had apparently acquired a fine sword. The blade shimred a pale blue, the color of the sky.
It was forged from Valerian steel, Noir iron, and pure silver.
Thick and long—much like his previous heavy blade—it matched his style.
A gift from the heavens, they called him. A genius. And now, the fire in his eyes was visible for all to see. He made no attempt to hide it.
Enkrid stared at Ragna, and Ragna spoke.
“If you can’t block this, you’ll die.”
When you train with a sword, losing a limb is to be expected. That’s how Ragna learned.
He spoke seriously, yet there was a slight curl to his lips—anticipation, joy, and excitent, all mingled in the reckless way of youth.
Just from his expression and posture, Enkrid could read his emotions.
He’d always been good at it, but spending ti among fairies—who practiced emotional restraint—had sharpened that sense further.
So when Ragna said it with so much excitent, Enkrid responded with a serious question.
“You’re not going to hold back too, are you?”
Ragna replied with his sword.
There wasn’t even a visible preparatory motion—just a sudden, sharp thrust that split the air.
Clang!
Enkrid raised Penna vertically, blocking with the flat of the blade, and leapt sideways.
Boom!
Air tore as Ragna’s prepared second strike cut through where Enkrid had been.
The opening thrust followed by a cutting slash.
None of it was light. Yet on the surface, it looked like Enkrid was dodging with casual ease.
He predicts and reacts.
If there’s a miscalculation, he recalculates instantly. If that fails, he blocks with force. Even if it looks forced, the result still seems like everything flows his way.
He changes tactics in real ti.
It was as if he computed every variable and stayed focused through the chaos.
But is that even possible?
If you’re looking up, you can’t see your feet. What Enkrid was doing was like seeing both at once.
He makes the accidental look inevitable.
He fought with a macro-level understanding of the battle.
Normally, this would be nonsense. But when soone is doing it right in front of you—there’s nothing to say.
Rem saw the result before the fight truly began.
Before Enkrid arrived, if Rem and Ragna fought ten tis, they’d draw all ten. It was hard to judge a victor. If Rem had been overwheld, Ragna would be too.
The Wavebreaker Sword didn’t allow for counter-strategy. Everything got blocked. Even Ragna wouldn’t be able to break through. It would co down to endurance.
Unyielding.
And once that mont ca, the bottomless Will would welco the fool who tried.
When Rem fought Enkrid, it felt like being dragged into a swamp. Slowly subrged, inch by inch.
That was what Enkrid imagined when he thought of strategy—grabbing the enemy by the ankle and pulling them under, until the battlefield itself was in his favor.
Rem had seen it. Ragna felt it.
I’m going to lose.
His genius condensed the process into outco. If the fight continued like this, he would eventually lose.
As soon as that thought ca, Ragna shifted his stance.
He’d shown this move to Rem before. A technique that was nearly impossible to counter.
He tensed every muscle in his body and poured all his Will into a downward strike.
It was a simple, textbook greatsword slash—but for the one on the receiving end, it wasn’t.
It was like lightning hurled by the gods.
It was a technique modeled after Enkrid’s way of pouring Will into a blow—reforged in Ragna’s own style.
To Ragna, it was just a mighty slash.
He widened his stance, raised both arms overhead. All in a blink. The preparatory motion was so short, it made blocking that much harder.
In a battle where your life hangs on a single swing, even a seasoned warrior could only focus on what lay a step ahead.
That’s why knights called their battle sense “foresight.”
Even with knightly insight, this kind of mont couldn’t be predicted. Even if it was—it would be too late. Try to dodge, and the sword would follow.
Ragna’s footwork was deceptively fast. Even compared to Rem, who played across the vast western plains.
Retreating wouldn’t be enough. When Rem faced it, he’d rushed forward just before the sword ca down—to halve the force of the strike.
It was dangerous. They’d almost killed each other. After that, they stopped sparring. One of them was bound to die if it continued.
Now Ragna was about to swing that sa strike at Enkrid.
It was a mont where anyone would think: There’s no opening.
“...Damn.”
Audin murmured.
Just as Ragna was gathering montum, Enkrid stepped far back.
It was hard to say whether Ragna had completed his stance first or Enkrid had withdrawn first. It was almost simultaneous.
Ragna could still chase him and swing. It was the move he’d developed using Oara’s Continuous Sword technique.
But the power would be diminished. Enkrid had retreated just enough.
A tactical retreat.
He’d read and predicted the form of the fight. It reminded so of Acker’s Spiderweb Swordsmanship, but it was even more refined.
Acker’s thod trapped and pinned down the enemy—but what Enkrid had just done was to nullify everything, no matter what the enemy tried.
Is he just thinking faster?
No. He had two tracks of thought.
Rem noticed. So did Jaxon. And now Ragna and Audin noticed too.
Their eyes sparkled.
Ragna finally swung. Enkrid responded by sweeping his short sword sideways.
Two blades imbued with Will collided with a trendous sound.
BOOM!
It was as if air itself shattered.
Lightning struck from the sky—only to be stopped by a volcanic eruption from below.
Sky-blue streaks and pale moonlight-colored lines clashed and parted.
Neither wanted to take the full brunt of it, so the blow only glanced.
It was a spar. Each took a step back.
As they passed one another—one to the left, the other to the right—a gap opened between them.
That was the end of the fight.
Ragna had spent nearly all his Will. He needed to recover. Enkrid did not.
“Shall we continue?”
Enkrid asked, raising Penna upright in front of his face.
Ragna stared into Enkrid’s blue eyes for a mont, then let his sword droop and stepped beside Rem.
Seeing Rem and Ragna standing side by side was comical in a way—especially to those who knew how much their relationship had soured while Enkrid was gone.
“Now then, our two sulking brothers can step aside,” Audin said, walking forward.
His eyes blazed with the sa hunger. Joy, excitent, and anticipation burned in his gaze.
Had he always been like this? Or had Enkrid changed him?
It didn’t matter anymore.
They were all brimming with competitive spirit, desperate to fight like madn.
Golden light shimred from Audin’s body. It clung like sand, flowing over him and back up his legs. The golden grains covering him were a sign of his divine power.
“This is my current strength,” he declared.
Audin moved.
From his clenched fist, light exploded.
Whoosh—! The light condensed into a single point and shot toward Enkrid’s face.
It was a punch—his left foot pivoted, hips twisted, and the blow was unleashed. With divine power and a hardened body behind it, the strike looked like a spear made of light.
Crash!
Enkrid blocked it too.
The spear of light didn’t end with one blow. It scattered, storming forward like falling starlight.
Fists, feet, sotis claw-like fingers tried to grasp his body.
Enkrid blocked and moved, again and again.
To the untrained eye, it looked like a one-sided assault from Audin. He pressed forward, while Enkrid gave no ground.
When Audin finally closed the distance, Enkrid dropped Penna, grabbed Audin’s arm, twisted it, and slamd his knee into Audin’s chin.
Crack!
Audin blocked with his palm, but couldn’t stop Enkrid from stepping back and reclaiming Penna.
Every movent flowed like water.
From dropping the blade to reclaiming it—it all seed calculated.
Yes, battle involved chance and luck—but Enkrid made it feel like everything was part of the plan. Even failed calculations looked preditated.
He split his thoughts, accelerated them, and fought by computing every variable in an instant.
I can’t win, Rem thought again.
Audin likely felt the sa.
Even if he had the most solid divine power among them, there were clear limits.
From the side, Rem watched. His axe trembled.
The sentient weapon spoke to him.
I get it. But you’re not trying to kill him, so I won’t interfere. This is play, after all.
The axe believed it could kill—but Rem had no such intention. The axe misunderstood his desire to win for a desire to kill.
But they were not the sa.
If Rem unleashed the axe’s full power, he might find a way.
But he didn’t want to.
Even though he had lost—he didn’t feel bitter. On the contrary, it was exhilarating.
Audin seed to feel the sa.
“I lost,” Audin said—he was the only one of the three to admit it out loud.
Then, dripping sweat, he asked:
“How do you feel?”
Looking now, Enkrid had endured just as much. His entire body was soaked in sweat.
So were Ragna and Rem.
Audin’s question held many anings.
They all thought back to when Enkrid had first arrived as their squad leader.
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