"That coward, that dirty bastard, curse him, that son of a bitch!"
The Black Blade lieutenant spat blood as he cursed Marcus.
Of course, there was so misunderstanding. This ordeal had begun with Shinar, and Enkrid had swiftly resolved it.
Still, the more they dug, the clearer it beca that the Border Guard regulars were involved.
So, who gave the order? Who was behind all of this? One na constantly surfaced.
Marcus.
A nobleman, tied to the royal court, rumored to covet the Grand Duke's position in the North.
"That damn bastard!"
No matter how many tis he muttered it internally or shouted it aloud, his anger wouldn't subside.
Frustration and resentnt consud him to the point of madness.
He wanted to throw himself on the ground, scream, and flail. That's how enraged he was.
Only after a long while did he manage to calm himself down slightly.
The lieutenant gritted his teeth. But rushing to kill Marcus was impossible.
The Border Guard was a place where assassins disappeared without a trace.
Even attempts to kill Enkrid had never succeeded.
Did they even manage to leave a scratch on him?
Despite sending in n ard with poison, why had they all failed?
Was it because the opponent was just that skilled?
The Black Blade considered the possibility.
The lieutenant believed as much.
At the very least, Enkrid seed to be at knight-candidate level.
Enkrid's feats had been both exaggerated and underestimated.
But none of them believed that Enkrid had truly reached the level of a squire.
To claim that soone who had been wielding a sword in the dirt had suddenly grasped "Will" and started using it was unbelievable.
While there were occasional prodigies, if Enkrid were one, why hadn't he gained fa sooner?
Unless he had been hiding sowhere, which wasn't the case.
There were traces of him everywhere.
He had been a rcenary, paying lowly instructors with krona to learn swordsmanship.
He was a man who, when not using his blade, repaired city walls for spare coin.
Soone like that couldn't have reached knight-candidate status.
The Black Blade was logical. Their doubts were well-founded.
Furthermore, Count Molsan had manipulated the flow of information to obscure Enkrid's true capabilities.
As a result, the Black Blade couldn't accurately assess him.
They weren't dismissive, though.
They recognized that sothing had changed for the late-blooming Enkrid.
But believing he had truly attained knight-candidate status? That was too much.
Surely, there had to be a benefactor.
And among the nas of possible benefactors, the most suspicious was...
Marcus, that scheming son of a bitch.
"Now it's war!"
The lieutenant shouted alone in his study.
It wasn't just his thought.
The Black Blade's leader had issued similar orders.
Mobilize the forces.
Seek the help of cultists.
Burn down the Border Guard.
Though not a lord or a landowner, the Black Blade, a bandit group wielding unusual power and influence, prepared to unleash their might.
They spent the dark gold they had hoarded and called upon their connections.
mbers of the bandit group assembled.
Among them were rcenaries willing to kill their own parents for the right price.
In this way, a force of over 500 gathered on a small hill west of the Border Guard.
Could such a force breach the Border Guard's walls?
It wouldn't be easy, but the Black Blade's strength lay in subterfuge, not direct confrontation.
And that's how they operated.
The bandit group's rampage—ostensibly a land war initiated by Marcus to seize nearby territories—had widespread consequences.
It marked the beginning of a civil war, dragging countless others into the conflict.
Marcus, stationed within the Border Guard, hadn't foreseen any of this.
Right before the declaration of territorial conflict, he had said:
"How many villages are there? Send forces to occupy them all. From now on, we're not just the Border Guard regulars—we're the Domain Border Guard."
"And who is the lord?"
"The first lord is ."
In response to the captain's question, Marcus confidently pointed to himself with a thumbs-up.
Soon after, Tarnin, the piggish baron responsible for the neighboring territory, declared war.
"To act without royal approval! Your greed knows no bounds, and you have no sha! Marcus, beg for forgiveness imdiately! If you do not repent, I shall cut off your head and offer it to the gods!"
The baron's rallying speech, delivered to his gathered troops, quickly reached Marcus's ears.
"That pig must've lost his mind."
Marcus muttered as he leaned on his desk, resting his chin on his hand.
It was the start of the civil war.
Of course, it didn't lead to imdiate fighting.
Like most territorial conflicts, Baron Tarnin began by sending a ssenger.
Such wars often started with argunts and escalated reluctantly into battles.
"What's his ga, though?"
This ti, however, things were different.
Baron Tarnin had gathered rcenaries and skilled fighters from sowhere, instigating and provoking Marcus's forces.
It seed like a fight could break out any mont.
But instead of attacking, Tarnin's forces dug in and held their ground.
Why? Who benefited from rely holding the line?
Marcus wasn't a fool. Rather than attacking now, it was more advantageous to let Tarnin and his backers waste their resources.
Marcus sought to unravel his opponent's intentions, analyzing and strategizing carefully.
What is that pig Tarnin's specialty?
Eating.
What is Fool Tarnin's strength?
His thick skin makes blades less effective.
What power does Baron Tarnin's domain possess?
Absolutely none of significance.
What does that bastard rely on?
The Black Blade bandit group.
Marcus sorted out the sequence of events and confird the situation.
But why was Tarnin acting this way?
Gathering troops, of course, cost money. They had to be fed and housed.
And there were rcenaries, too. Their wages needed to be paid.
If they weren't paid silver coins, so rcenaries might simply turn around and carve star-shaped holes in Tarnin's belly.
'Then why?'
Despite assembling his forces, Tarnin showed no intention of attacking.
All he did was spout nonsense about conducting training.
Marcus waited. There wasn't much he could do for now.
He had indeed invaded Tarnin's domain.
His plan was to quietly seize a few villages, establish a semblance of a territory, and then seek royal approval afterward.
'But it feels like there's soone behind that pig Tarnin.'
The question was, who?
The maneuver orchestrated by the shadowy force behind Tarnin soon struck a heavy blow.
It hit Marcus squarely on the back of the head.
"...Ha."
[Due to the growing chaos in the North caused by territorial conflicts, Marcus, faithful friend of the royal palace and pillar of the Centerfold family, is hereby commanded to...]
So began the letter.
Marcus was a gambler. He knew how to seize the mont in a ga of chance.
But the contents of the letter effectively tied his hands before the ga had even started. It was a sche to keep him out of the decisive mont, leaving him with no way to escape.
"Ha."
A hollow laugh was all he could muster—he had been completely outmaneuvered.
***
"Had your fun without , huh?"
As soon as he returned, Rem greeted him. Enkrid couldn't help but think that so things never changed with him.
"I was on a mission."
"Oh, you must've had a blast. And ? Stuck here babysitting so abandoned beast-woman while teaching her. How delightful, huh?"
Rem's long-winded complaint boiled down to one thing: he wanted a sparring match.
Off to the side, Dunbakel stood with both her eyes swollen. It didn't look like she'd been spared much tornt.
Enkrid felt a pang of pity. If he didn't step in, Rem would undoubtedly take it out on her again today.
Besides, Enkrid himself wasn't injured, just a little tired.
"Co at , you trash-talking barbarian."
Enkrid's joke made Rem grin widely.
"Let's settle the score!"
And with that absurd remark, the sparring began.
"Still the sa, I see!"
Rem crossed his axes and swung, displaying an intimidating presence he claid to have learned from the rapier-wielding swordsman. Enkrid found it absurd.
Could you truly mimic sothing just by watching?
Of course, the execution was entirely different, though there was no way for Rem to know that.
Enkrid declined the intimidation tactic and responded with his blade instead.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Their weapons clashed, golden sparks flying between them.
Teresa, uncharacteristically quiet, sat cross-legged nearby, patiently awaiting her turn.
It was a normal day.
The next sparring match would be Teresa's. She had devised and honed several techniques while training with Audin, and she was eager to test them on Enkrid.
Her heart pounded with excitent.
The days had felt dull in his absence.
Even as she polished her skills and strengthened her body, a sense of emptiness lood, like a landlord with nothing in the storehouse.
"Why are you so down?"
Noticing her slightly listless deanor, Audin asked.
Teresa reflected on her feelings for a mont before responding.
"Wandering Teresa says this: If our leader doesn't return, what will beco of us?"
Audin chuckled heartily.
"He'll return."
Audin, a man who always spoke in the na of the divine and valued deep contemplation over certainty, displayed an unusual clarity when it ca to Enkrid. He had no doubts.
And the mont she saw Enkrid return, Teresa's heart raced like never before.
Her face turned red.
How could it not?
"Her new technique."
A challenger to test it against. Soone who could embrace her fighting spirit. The one who had pulled her away from the cult. The only person who could truly match her sword and shield.
Others could spar with her, but it wasn't the sa.
Enkrid was different. Teresa didn't try to pinpoint exactly what made him so.
What mattered to her was the process of fighting him. The act of sparring with him. Standing before him, sword and shield in hand.
For that, she would burn her very life away if necessary. Blazing with that fire, she would cut through and kill any foe who dared to block his path.
She would not leave enemies standing before him to hinder his way forward.
She would make him turn back to face her.
With this newfound resolve, Teresa knelt on one knee and prayed.
It wasn't in the way of the cult, nor did she invoke the na of any god, but it was undoubtedly a prayer.
"Are you asleep? Who's next?"
Rem interrupted her, but soon the captain, freshly risen, called out. Teresa stood, raising the knee she had bent.
She smiled, lifting her shield to guard the front.
"Wandering Teresa is here."
Should it be called an enjoyable sparring match?
At least, Enkrid thought so.
Rem enjoyed it, and Teresa charging at him was also fun.
Even Dunbakel, who insisted on fighting with two swords, was an interesting opponent.
"You're still clumsy."
"I know!"
Despite knowing, Dunbakel stubbornly insisted on wielding two weapons.
Enkrid couldn't help but wonder why as he watched.
"She's crazy. Crazy. If you run into a high priest while wandering around, kidnap them or sothing. Everyone here needs treatnt."
That was Rem's assessnt. Apparently, Dunbakel had been deeply impressed by Enkrid's fighting style, inspiring her to use two weapons.
Enkrid let it go. It wasn't his place to say otherwise.
And so, Enkrid returned as he always had.
"But why haven't you improved at all?"
Rem's question carried a hint of dissatisfaction.
Was his skill stagnant?
That might have been true. Had nothing changed?
No.
During those two months, Enkrid had plenty of ti to think.
Climbing cliffs, riding horses, walking, running, entering villages.
The battles were brief, but the marches were long.
Along the way, Shinar would crack fae jokes, Finn would chatter about trivial things, and Jaxen would occasionally mutter:
"Whatever you desire, pursue it. Suppressing it will only harm you."
Enkrid found that odd.
'I've never suppressed anything.'
He ant it sincerely, though others might not see it that way.
Despite his capabilities, Enkrid wasn't tied to worldly rewards.
Then, what did he desire?
Jaxen's question pointed directly at that.
Enkrid knew what he wanted and was following the milestones toward it.
Walking and walking over those two months had, in a way, cleared his mind.
Enkrid re-evaluated his training thods.
What he had, what needed growth, what could be honed further to yield results.
Previously, he had been preoccupied with absorbing and adapting to his surroundings, but no longer.
In those two months of walking, Enkrid had solidified his training thods.
It was ti to put them into practice.
"I'll need you to lend a hand."
The beginning would be with the stray cat, Jaxen.
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TL here! Thank you for reading!
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