The white blade dropping from above multiplied to fifty in an instant. A slackened mind and eyes imbued with Will counted the number of blades.
"Should I block it?"
Dodge?
It was the process of standing at the crossroads and choosing one side. He didn't drag it out. All of this—moving and deciding—happened so quickly that an ordinary person or even a quasi-knight would struggle to follow with their eyes.
But what if you looked from within the soundless domain where thought accelerates and time seems to stretch?
Temares wedged Baika into a gap only his own eyes could see. The sword that had been falling with fifty afterimages turned into a thrust.
If you put that process into words: he was slashing, then stopped, shifted his weight to his right foot, extended his elbow, and changed into a thrusting posture.
You could say he brute-forced the change of direction in the middle. Still, if you looked only at the direction of that force and the motion of swinging the sword, it didn't stray much from fundamentals.
Enkrid saw a point swell suddenly right in front of him. He drew back the sword he had extended to block and raised it like a shield. Only the two blue eyes were exposed over the blade.
Ting.
Compared to how fast they moved, the sound was small. That was because they weren't fighting at full power to begin with.
The tip of Baika touched the body of Dawn Tempering and immediately withdrew. If he had filled it with Will, it would have become a "cut-off" strike that breaks weapons, but right now he instead let all the strength go slack.
"See? The flaw I mentioned."
Temares pulled back his sword, Baika, as he spoke. Enkrid looked at the white dot stamped on the blue blade of Dawn Tempering.
"I blocked it, but."
If the fight had continued, he would have been driven onto the defensive. Enkrid and Temares were both knights. It was easy to project how the following exchanges would go.
"To seize the initiative again—"
—or to escape a defensive spiral, he would have to overextend. That alone is a loss. Accumulated damage pulls you closer to defeat than to a winning tide.
Of course, it would be hard to say the bout was decided on this alone.
"There's definitely a gap."
The words Temares spoke with his sword were clear.
Think briefly, decide quickly.
This was a part Enkrid needed to shave down. You could call it the moment he recognized what he lacked.
"I thought I'd learned to decide in the instant by watching Rem before."
There was still more to shave off.
"Ah, seriously."
Enkrid muttered. Temares reads the other's mind. He peered into the madman's insides.
"You're loving this to death."
That was exactly the feeling. Enkrid didn't finish the sentence, but the feeling got across.
Temares, in that sense, was a lapidary. A jeweler who carves people instead of gemstones.
His insight was specialized for finding the gaps the opponent possessed.
Enkrid wanted Temares to use that specialized ability to find his gaps.
The result of that wish was now. The lacking parts were being exposed. Then what do you do?
Now he just had to diligently fill those gaps again.
Is it easy? It isn't. But it's fun. That's why he's smiling.
"Add instantaneous judgment, intuition-based decisions, and—on top of that—the cleverness to turn everything to profit."
The dragonkin even offered advice. Enkrid had become a man with a learner's posture. He listened, understood, and reconsidered it over and over.
Even if he looked back on all his past time, Temares had never seen a talent this fine.
No—was it a little awkward to call him a talent?
For a knight, his uptake is poor. You have to repeat the same thing several times. The gap from those around him is clear.
"Anyway, that dopey grin."
So it was with the man who might as well be called a gray-haired bandit.
"You're like water, Lizard brother."
So it was with the bear beastman who enjoyed provoking others without a care.
"Interesting."
So it was with the man lying on his side biting into an apple, and with the red-haired man watching the spar in silence.
Their gifts were out of the ordinary. Just by watching, they grasped their own shortcomings and compensated for them. The contrast with the human named Enkrid was clear. That didn't leave the dragonkin feeling regretful or frustrated in the least.
He was matter-of-fact. His long suit was repeating what a heedless mind should do. His race was one whose lack of affect was a strength.
In a way, you could say he and Enkrid were a good match.
"If it's needed, we repeat."
The dragonkin's thought and Enkrid's aligned.
As always, they couldn't fight in earnest. Wavebreaker or Killing Embers and orthodox swordsmanship, the Sword of Flash and the Sword of Chance, and on top of that, Vortex.
Enkrid was still polishing five sword arts, and if he used them in full, even a spar would inevitably become violent.
On top of these five sword arts, ten combat arts.
This was what Enkrid was focusing on most right now.
The dragonkin's presence further refines the things he has been honing. He couldn't help but be glad about that.
"Did you see it well?"
Rem spoke from the side. For those at the quasi-knight level, it was a string of motions far too fast.
They could see the result, but seeing the process was hard. That's why the three from Azpen couldn't bring themselves to nod.
"What? You'd rather die than ask for instruction from a knight of the enemy nation?"
When Rem finished the jab, one of the three from Azpen hurriedly spoke.
"When did we ever say that…?"
Of course they hadn't. He was saying it because he was Rem.
"You did. I heard you. I read minds."
Rem tilted one corner of his mouth and smiled fishily. He singled one guy out to bully. After finishing a fight and resting a few days, a toy had arrived. Out of respect for the giver's sincerity, it was only polite to play with it.
In the West, receiving a gift and not using it was a grave discourtesy. Rem had been born and raised in such a place.
"Well then, shall we have you die?"
The killing intent, mixed with sincerity, squeezed the hearts of the three from Azpen. Of the three, only one clenched his molars and drew his sword.
Sreung.
"Is this why you called us? Because you fear the consequences later? Because you're afraid of us growing?"
"Mm-hm, I was so scared I couldn't sleep at night. Okay, what did you say your name was?"
Rem's mockery was like ripened fruit. No one loses sleep because of a nameless opponent. The sneer was no different from a blow that flipped a man's insides over.
"My name is Greenhorn. I started in Gray Dog and rose to quasi-knight."
Rem liked that kind of soft, tender rookie. Because he was fun to smack around.
That feeling showed on his face. He lifted his axe, letting out a goofy "uh-hee-hee" laugh. Greenhorn's complexion turned pale at the sight.
This crazy bastard just looks like he wants to kill someone. Come learn swordsmanship at the Border Guard? Has my country thrown me away?
All kinds of thoughts tore around his head. Greenhorn shook off the idle thoughts in an instant.
"Ah, screw it."
When it's time to fight, you fight. He wasn't the type to use his head in the first place. Then in front of that axe-wielding murderer, he just had to swing his sword.
Greenhorn's mindset showed in his sword. Unlike the other two, he had picked things up here and there over shoulders and reached quasi-knight. So he was full of rough, ferocious temperament.
Greenhorn swung. It was the best he could do. Fastest and strongest.
"Oh."
Rem pursed his lips. Still, one of them is usable.
Of course, the skill was still far off. At the moment the axe touched the blade, with a deft modulation of strength, he glued the edges of sword and axe together and yanked. Greenhorn's sword stuck fast to the axe.
"Why is this sticking?"
Surprising. Flustering.
But if he froze, he would only be beaten. If the other pulls, you push. Greenhorn gripped the hilt with both hands and shoved with all his might. Naturally, it didn't work.
Kararararang! Thwack!
With the axe in his right hand, Rem rode along the blade and crashed his left fist up into Greenhorn's jaw. It was timing and speed he couldn't evade.
Greenhorn's body crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. Catching his head on his instep and lowering him to the floor, Rem spoke.
"You two should just go."
Of these three, the one he'd just floored had the weakest current skill. You could tell at a glance. But temperament? The only one worth raising was this one.
"This bastard stays."
No one cared much what Rem did.
The dragonkin in particular didn't spare them a glance. With no interest, he didn't even hear their chatter. His attention was on two things.
One was directed at the duty-obstructor, and the other—
"Where are we going today?"
The dragonkin asked. Naturally, it was to Enkrid.
"To the city."
Whether it was inspection or patrol, he wasn't curious. He would just follow, of course. The dragonkin sheathed Baika and stared at him.
The existence of this dragonkin who followed him wherever he went didn't feel burdensome. And even if it did, measured against how helpful it was to Enkrid himself right now—
"It more than warrants enduring."
In the past, he had risked his life and poured out hard-earned krona just to learn a single sword stroke. By contrast now, all he had to do was permit the following. It was far easier. It didn't particularly weigh on his mind, either.
"Other than me, your ornaments have increased?"
Luagarne said this. If she had no business, she did not leave Enkrid's side.
"They're a metamorphic race."
And there was a golden-haired fairy with them as well. In the city she was called the Golden-Haired Witch, and now she really could do things like a witch.
"Light me up."
Bran, who had apparently come to hang out for lack of work today, held out his smoke, and Shinar snapped her fingers beside him.
Tock.
With a single finger snap, a flame bloomed at the end of the smoke.
Shinar had made a certain pact with the Salamander. Thanks to that, she now handled flame. The fairy who used to freak out at the mere sight of fire thanks to her dealings with demons no longer existed.
"Now, even if there's a fire, I can put it out."
It might not be as far as freaking out, but she still seemed to have a slight aversion to the blaze itself.
"I'll come with you as well."
Jaxon also joined the party. He had business in the city today, too.
"Do that."
To Enkrid, all of this was matter-of-fact. Just ordinary daily life. It was the same for Rem, for Ragna, and for Jaxon.
But it was different for those who were seeing this for the first time—the ones from Azpen. Greenhorn had fainted, but the pupils of the remaining two trembled without rest.
Weren't they "madmen" only in name?
Are they just actual crazy bastards?
Is that a dragonkin? The legendary dragonkin?
Why is a fairy snapping a finger to kindle fire?
Their everyday was a world apart from the world those two knew, a gulf made plain. The two met each other's eyes and decided. Let's go back. This isn't the place.
Greenhorn, having fainted, had no chance to go back.
"Don't kill them."
Enkrid recalled Abnaier's request and spoke, and Rem cocked his head askew.
"Do I look like the sort who kills people at the drop of a hat?"
Ragna picked up the line.
"Weren't you?"
Rem grinned and answered.
"I'll tell you your weakness instead of the lizard. Your head is your weakness. You'd fight better without it."
When those two chatted that chummily, the end was obvious.
Boom!
A thunderous report as Ragna's Sunrise met Rem's descending weapon, the axe. A gale burst out around them, and concentric rings of shock rippled outward centered on the two.
These were weapons swung in earnest by knights. Come near and flesh would be torn and burst.
"Emergency. Move. No one can come here for a while."
The guards protecting the Mad Order's drill yard shouted and moved. Being standing army, their main job was less to block external forces than, when chaos erupted inside, to prevent just anyone from wandering in here and getting injured or killed.
"Thanks for the hard work."
Enkrid patted such a soldier on the shoulder. The soldier was moved. It was encouragement from the very knight-commander.
The ones who might be Astrail or just some half-baked mages had attacked, and the city's residents once again confirmed who protected the city.
There were many who had seen Audin and Ragna fight.
Among them were some minstrels, and they composed and sang songs.
A song called "The Madmen of the Border Guard." That song was now spreading beyond the city, across the continent far and wide.
"Astrail seems to talk more than I expected. Now that we've handled them, there are a few groups sending us goodwill."
That was Jaxon speaking. What happens in the shadows goes through his hands. The Dagger of Geor was a group with that much depth.
"Yeah?"
Enkrid wasn't very interested.
Leaving the barracks and passing through the city, a few familiar faces brushed by.
"Have you visited my library?"
At innkeeper Vanessa's words, Enkrid shook his head.
"Go take a look sometime."
A smiling greeting.
"You built a library?"
Alec, the innkeeper across the way, heard Vanessa. He had taken her for a rival all his life.
So when she adopted three children, he sponsored a place called the House of Angels that cared for war orphans.
Alec's competitive urge flared up again. Built a library? I'll build something greater.
It was a psychology visible just by looking at his face. Enkrid showed a smile.
"Having fun?"
The dragonkin observing Enkrid asked.
"Yeah."
"What about it?"
"The homely warmth of those who stand behind me."
It was a concept the dragonkin couldn't understand. As Enkrid brushed past those acquaintances, in his head he repeatedly reconsidered and organized what he had learned and practiced thanks to Temares.
"The ferryman, and the dragonkin."
The things he learned from those two tangled together in his mind.
Especially the things the ferryman told him in last night's dream—weren't they truly striking?