Enkrid had barely survived receiving the knight's sword, leaving him in a near-dead state. Yet, after two days of fever, his monstrous recovery ability kicked in, and he improved sowhat.
Of course, he wasn't back to full strength.
"I can't even grip properly."
Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that his shoulder had dislocated when he parried the knight's strike. Had he resisted longer, it might have strained every muscle in his arm beyond repair.
Though his body remained far from ideal, he couldn't simply skip the victory celebration. In truth, it wasn't so much a choice as a necessity—those around him wouldn't let him rest quietly.
"Commander!"
One by one, soldiers Enkrid knew began to visit his tent.
"Care for a bite of eel?" offered a cook.
"You were incredible," remarked a reconnaissance officer.
Even soldiers who usually teased him found their way in, so looking sheepish but showing up nonetheless.
"It was an honor to fight alongside you," they all said in unison.
Enkrid gazed at them in silence. The initial excitent they had brought into the tent quickly dissipated as he said nothing. The room grew still, and the cold winter wind seeped in through the entrance, raising goosebumps.
Did we go overboard?
Yeah... we probably did.
The soldiers began to exchange uneasy glances, fidgeting.
"Uh, Commander?" Helma finally broke the silence.
Enkrid looked at her without a trace of humor in his eyes. He didn't need ti to gather his thoughts—these were the thoughts he always carried. But he wanted to take a mont to look at their faces, to ensure his words were more than empty phrases drifting into the air.
He had learned this from Krais: when you speak, speak with sincerity. Look at your audience, acknowledge them, and an every word.
Enkrid did just that.
Though his cold deanor might have felt like a chilling wind to them, sincerity mattered more than warmth.
"It was an honor to fight alongside everyone," Enkrid finally said.
It wasn't just the knight's sword that made him speak of honor. Fighting alongside these soldiers had brought him sothing greater—sothing beyond honor.
Why wouldn't it? These were n and won who had taken up arms to protect their families, friends, and lives.
Sure, so might have joined for a handful of coins, but even those soldiers ended up fighting for the comrades beside them. Brotherhood on the battlefield wasn't a cliché—it was real.
These soldiers were the sa as him, risking their lives to scout, fight, and secure victory. Without them, he wouldn't have been able to achieve what he had.
How could it not be an honor?
And so, without hesitation, he spoke with all the respect he felt.
"It was an honor."
The tent fell silent again, but only for a mont.
One of the soldiers slapped his own head with a loud thwack.
"Damn it, I'm such an idiot," he muttered, his voice dripping with regret.
This particular soldier had been one of Enkrid's critics. Helma burst out laughing at the sight.
The soldier turned to Helma with a determined expression.
"Go on without , Captain. You have my blessing!"
"What nonsense are you spouting, idiot?" Helma retorted, grabbing the man in a headlock and pulling him under her arm.
The soldier gasped for breath but didn't ask to be let go.
Wait, is it okay to call 'Captain' when I'm not their commanding officer? Enkrid wondered.
A middle-aged man holding a bottle of wine chid in, "It's fine. A captain's a captain!"
As it turned out, this man was the actual commander of their unit. Yet, even he didn't hesitate to refer to Enkrid as "Captain."
And it didn't stop there.
Nurath appeared next, whispering to Krais, "Is the Captain okay?"
Nurath, Garret's personal guard and aide, technically outranked Enkrid, who should only be called a company commander. Yet she, too, called him "Captain" without hesitation.
Listening to everyone, Enkrid began piecing together the situation.
"Hey, Captain! Tell us so stories. We're dying to know what you've been up to," Garret himself said.
By now, Enkrid understood the source of their admiration. From the first day of battle, when he charged alone into enemy lines, swinging his sword, the tide of the fight had shifted.
Though he had disappeared and faced nurous ordeals, what had stuck in the soldiers' minds most vividly was clear. It was that unforgettable scene of him standing alone against overwhelming odds.
It was the sight of one person's back.
A single blade swung by one man.
It was the force created by Enkrid.
"Guardian's Blade!"
That was how soone who witnessed his combat had coined the peculiar nickna, which quickly spread among the ranks. Thanks to the dic who fixed his dislocated shoulder, another strange moniker arose.
"They're also calling you the Blade of Endurance," Krais ntioned, his sharp ears having picked up the new na.
A lofty title for sothing as simple as enduring pain remarkably well.
While these new nicknas circulated, Madman Commander was still the most common label attached to Enkrid. But nicknas ca and went, destined to fade in ti.
The victory celebration lasted two days.
During that ti, Enkrid allowed himself to rest, feeling the importance of recovery. In other words, he ate, drank, and relaxed.
"Eel!"
"Trout!"
From seafood of all kinds to roasted suckling pig, fine wine, and even expensive whiskey, the feast overflowed.
"To the Guardian's Blade!"
"Let's eat and drink until we drop!"
Garret proved to be a far stronger drinker than Enkrid had anticipated. Although Enkrid prided himself on his endurance, Garret drank several bottles of strong spirits and still sang with a clear, vibrant voice.
It wasn't the first ti, apparently, as a few soldiers chid in, chanting in rhythm with his song:
"Hurrah!"
The world calls us forth!
"Hurrah!"
We sell our blades for gold!
"Hurrah!"
Yes, we sell our blades for gold!
"Hurrah!"
We are rcenaries!
"Hurrah!"
We sell our blades for gold!
"Hurrah!"
And stake our lives on loyalty!
Enkrid had heard this rcenary tune before during his travels, but never perford so crisply. Garret's voice was a gift—like a well-honed blade, precise yet smooth. It resonated powerfully when necessary, then softened to wrap the listeners in its embrace.
As the soldiers roared, Garret concluded the song and approached Enkrid, seated quietly among them.
"We've already written a song for you," Garret said, grinning.
Enkrid tilted his head, puzzled. A song for him?
"I'll sing it for you later," Garret laughed, patting his belly.
His deanor, paired with his charming looks, made it clear why Marcus had placed him in charge. His character was impeccable, and there was no concern about betrayal, as Krais had once feared.
Reflecting on that now, Enkrid realized how needless those worries had been.
"Sure, I'll hear it then," Enkrid replied, now a few drinks in and imrsed in the joy of victory and camaraderie.
He had parried the knight's sword, spoken of honor, and now celebrated with comrades he could call friends. It was, undeniably, enjoyable.
So soldiers muttered among themselves, remarking that even Enkrid seed more human tonight.
Of course, I'm human, he thought. Not so monster.
"Maybe they don't know," Krais, sowhat drunk, said loudly. "But the Captain's gonna wake up tomorrow morning and train as if none of this happened. I'd bet anything on it—he's insane!"
He punctuated his words by slapping his thighs for emphasis, an exaggerated gesture that amused the soldiers.
"Really?"
"Bet on it!" Krais replied, casually collecting coins from the curious soldiers.
Enkrid ignored the conversation after the first few lines, knowing full well that Krais was just stirring things up.
As he sipped his drink, he caught Ragna's gaze across the room. With a slight nod, Enkrid raised his glass in acknowledgnt.
Thank you.
The gratitude wasn't just for Ragna but for everyone. Without their help, he wouldn't have forged the crushing blade he now wielded.
What if Ragna hadn't been there? Enkrid supposed he would have found a way forward on his own. But there was no denying that Ragna's presence had expedited the process.
He knew now that he needed soone like Ragna. If Ragna ever decided to leave, Enkrid would likely question his decision sincerely. That was why he spoke so casually about Jaxen's return—it simply felt natural.
Is it selfish of ?
To keep people around him. To keep them close.
Is it the right thing to do?
Do I rely on them as a barrier to hide my own inadequacies?
This was an extension of thoughts that had haunted him in childhood, though they seed pointless now.
Inadequate? Hardly.
Enkrid clenched his fist, then relaxed it. The pain was subsiding mont by mont, thanks to the regenerative abilities rooted in his Isolation Technique.
His body had changed.
The blade he wielded had changed.
Though his mindset wasn't drastically different from the past, the changes were undeniable.
No, he corrected himself.
He's gained things.
It was friendship.
Comrades.
Sotis a ntor, and at other tis, mbers of the sa unit fighting alongside him.
He would ask them if the need arose, especially at critical junctures. No, he would tell them—if they wished to leave, they could.
If the path ahead promised death, as it did now?
I will use this day.
It was a resolve to utilize even curses as a tool, a shift from his previous passivity to an active approach.
That didn't an he would stop trying his utmost to escape death when possible. But if he couldn't influence even that day's events, then he would let them go. That was the proper way.
Enkrid didn't dwell on this.
There was no inner turmoil, no hesitation.
He simply decided.
"Let's drink and feast till we drop!"
From one corner of the room, Helma shouted, her top discarded save for a chest wrap. Her scars and well-defined abs were clearly visible, seemingly unaffected by the cold.
"Be my woman!"
One of the soldiers made a drunken attempt at flirting, only to be promptly knocked down with a blow to the head and stomach. He rolled to the side and emptied the contents of his stomach.
Yeah, sure, she's all yours, Enkrid thought, chuckling softly.
For today, at least, he set aside unnecessary thoughts.
He focused on resting.
"As much as your body needs rest, so does your mind, brother," Audin had once said.
For this single day, Enkrid chose to let go of his ponderings. He thought of nothing and simply existed in the present, relishing the fleeting monts of a day that would never return.
Enkrid laughed, ate, and drank freely.
"You'll hear people calling Chef, Chef soon enough," one of the soldiers muttered as he approached, clearly tipsy.
"And why are you telling this?" Enkrid responded.
"Co promote my cooking!"
This guy has so business sense, Enkrid thought. Though not as sharp as Krais, it wasn't bad.
"Fine, I'll help."
"An honor!" the soldier exclaid.
Two other soldiers who overheard suddenly chid in.
" too!"
"It's an honor!"
What's this? Imitation?
Drunk and silly, they'd lost all sense.
Enkrid laughed and gave each of them a light knock on the head.
"Ow!"
They laughed as they took the hits. Poorly copying others, even in jest, was bound to invite such responses.
The next morning, after just two hours of sleep, Enkrid resud training.
Though he didn't push himself excessively, his movents to warm up and build heat looked surreal to the soldiers waking up groggy from hangovers.
How does soone eat, drink, and party like that, only to wake up and train at dawn?
It didn't seem logical, but Enkrid's body was now more comfortable in motion than at rest. Naturally, Krais had pocketed a tidy sum from his bets.
After three days of rest, Enkrid prepared to leave.
Though he still struggled to walk properly, Garret offered him a carriage.
Just before departure, Garret approached Enkrid.
"Commander Enkrid," he called.
"Sothing you wish to say?" Enkrid replied.
He expected yet another request to recount his battles and experiences—a tireso but manageable task. The middle-aged man's eager gaze, however, was sowhat unnerving.
Garret had ntioned composing a song for him, though Enkrid hadn't yet heard it.
"How about becoming the commander of Green Pearl Battalion?" Garret suggested.
Leaning casually against the carriage, he yawned, speaking as if it were no big deal.
Enkrid had turned down similar offers before—so even better. For instance, he had refused the position of commander for the Border Guard, despite its prestige.
"No, I'm not interested," he replied without hesitation.
Garret chuckled knowingly.
"Figured as much."
"Then why ask?"
"I'm retiring," Garret said.
"Then why even bother?"
"Because the next guy's going to have a tough ti."
When Enkrid silently questioned the aning behind his words, Garret elaborated.
"Being in this position ans constant pressure from the central command. Marcus is holding them back for now, but who knows how long that'll last?
And with the way things are going, doesn't it remind you of a pack of dogs?"
Dogs?
"Are you saying a rebellion is brewing?" Krais interjected from behind.
Though the conversation initially seed like private musings, even Enkrid could grasp bits and pieces of it. The repulsion of Aspen's external threat was a victory, but it might also spark new challenges.
Still, it wasn't sothing to worry about imdiately.
For now, Enkrid cared little.
The knight's blade.
He was too busy digesting the new strength he had acquired.
And so, half-asleep, he rode the carriage back to the Border Guard.
Unsurprisingly, a few familiar faces greeted him upon arrival.
"You're back?"
"Wanderer Teresa welcos her commander!"
"Brother, was your journey peaceful?"
Enkrid smiled faintly. He was ho again.
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