Knight Jamal's realization struck him like lightning, but it was up to his body to put it into action.
As he sprang up to face the new day, Krais, startled, asked from beside him.
"What's going on? Did you have a nightmare?"
When Encrid stared silently into the air, Krais continued mumbling.
"They say it happens when your body is weak. You just need to rest well."
"Is that so?"
Encrid responded absentmindedly and mulled over his realization again.
Could it work?
It seemed like it could.
A sensation, a gut feeling, electrified his whole body.
"Why does it feel like you're getting worse by the day?"
Krais muttered to himself beside him.
Encrid ignored him.
He needed to spend ten more days and two beyond that.
He had to properly embed the sword technique he had realized in his body amidst the repetitiveness of 'today'.
"...What is this?"
Ragna, who had assisted in the process, was unusually surprised.
"Why?"
"When did you come up with this?"
"It just came to me."
"Is this what they call talent?"
Ragna muttered to himself. He didn't seem particularly curious.
Encrid honed his swordsmanship, consulted with Ragna, and lightly sparred with Sinar, using only their hands.
There was something special about a Fairy's hand movements.
Especially their knack for reading the opponent's intentions—it was, well, beyond what you'd call common sense.
Curious about it, he asked.
"It's a Fairy's skill."
That was more than worth learning.
In fact, Encrid realized he was already using part of that skill.
What remained was training, and that was what he did best.
He kept doing just that.
Sharpening and refining his swordsmanship while persistently learning and mastering the Fairy's abilities.
It wasn't even appropriate to call it stealing.
Sinar had willingly explained everything.
"If you twist it a bit when reading emotions, you can do something similar to mind reading. You can reflect that in a fight."
More than anything, Sinar was one of the better explainers.
Compared to Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, or Audin, Sinar was practically an angel.
You could even call her an archangel.
Audin sometimes explained things in his own way, but his philosophy was that you learn faster through your body.
In other words, he preferred teaching through physical demonstration rather than verbal explanation.
That wasn't always the best for the learner.
In any case, based on Sinar's explanations, Encrid repeatedly tried to internalize that skill into his body.
The Shackles of Foreboding helped once again.
The Sense of Evasion—that was about confronting one's own instincts.
Where do those instincts come from?
They come from what happens right before your eyes.
They are warnings from the totality of what briefly passes through your senses.
That's what gut feeling is.
The Sense of Evasion was a technique that utilized those instincts for dodging.
So, what about the Fairy's ability?
He couldn't mimic the inherent trait of reading emotions as a species.
Encrid employed other means.
First, it was the eyes.
After learning the Isolation Technique from Audin, he had developed an eye for gauging his opponent's skill.
To that, he added focus.
He zeroed in on the opponent in front of him, concentrating.
His body, trained by the Isolation Technique, was always ready to move.
With a pinpoint focus, he observed his opponent.
On top of that, he sharpened his sense techniques repeatedly, honing them to a fine edge.
He observed with his eyes and sensed with his instincts.
This was the foundation for mimicking the Fairy's abilities.
"You, that thing you're doing right now..."
When Encrid showed off his skill in front of the Fairy, the Fairy was surprised.
Though his expression remained unchanged, his pupils ever so slightly dilated, a subtle change only visible if one focused intently on a single point.
Even Encrid himself found it fascinating. He had to focus more deeply and intensely on his opponent than ever before to notice it.
After learning how to expand his focus more broadly, he returned to his original method and learned how to dive even deeper into it.
"I was just copying."
"If it were that easy to imitate, we wouldn't call it a racial secret."
"Is that so?"
"When you meet the Fairy Clan later, it wouldn't hurt to show them this skill."
"Meet them?"
"Before you have a child, you should at least show your face once."
The Fairy world was structured similarly to a clan society. He had heard they also practiced communal child-rearing, so the village itself was like their parents, relatives, and family all at once.
"Wouldn't a Human-Fairy hybrid have an unfortunate life?"
"It'll be fine. Surround them with love, and they'll be alright."
Encrid, who had tried to respond with a joke, found himself on the receiving end instead and laughed involuntarily.
"You laugh well."
Sinar commented upon seeing that.
It sounded like he was saying that Encrid's smile was pleasant to see.
Encrid let the remark slide and returned his focus to the task at hand.
The Fairy's racial skill allowed one to never miss even the tiniest changes in their opponent's breathing, movements, or the slightest of shifts.
Knights were human too.
They weren't Gods, so there were always small, minute openings, no matter how slight.
Encrid planned to exploit them.
'My body's full recovery is out of the question.'
So, he had to make do with what was available.
What he lacked, he would make up for with strength.
That's where the Heart of Great Strength came in.
The Heart of Great Strength would serve as the driving force to push his injured body beyond its limits.
He couldn't afford to worry about the damage that might result from overexertion.
If he fretted over things like that, he wouldn't survive today.
Once everything was more or less prepared, Encrid suddenly realized something.
There was no need to drag out today.
No, there was no reason to prolong it.
Was this arrogance?
Or was it hubris?
Or perhaps a misunderstanding?
He didn't know.
He wouldn't know until he faced it.
So, he pressed on.
Encrid passed through yet another day, waking up again to greet the morning.
It was 'today'.
It was the day he would turn today into yesterday.
As Encrid rose and rubbed his face dry, Krais asked him.
"What's up? Not feeling well?"
"I'm not feeling great, but I'll manage."
"What does 'not feeling great' mean?"
"It means I'm in pain, but I can still move."
"Oh, right."
Krais tilted his head in confusion as he watched his Commander's eyes flicker strangely.
Was he on something?
No, that couldn't be it.
"We move tomorrow."
As Encrid muttered to himself, a fiery resolve burning within him unlike ever before, Krais exclaimed loudly.
"Ah, don't we have a priest around? Your head's hurting, right? You must have hit your head on a cliff while escaping the enemy, didn't you?"
Krais's loud voice echoed.
Something was definitely off with this man.
"If you fall head-first off a cliff, you'd be dead."
Sinar pointed out, but Krais's expression didn't change.
The Commander, who should've been responding, closed his mouth, moved around briefly, and then lay back down.
Something was truly odd.
Even after that, Krais experienced a string of strange incidents.
Despite saying he could move, the Commander didn't get out of bed.
He gave orders and instructions, but didn't lift a finger.
"What on earth is going on?"
"You said you could move. So why is the Fairy Company Commander feeding you porridge?"
Even Dunbachel tried to help, but lacking the delicate touch, Sinar had stepped in. And with all the constant requests, Krais was getting grumpier in his responses.
"Just resting."
"Well, from what I can see, you're resting like your life depends on it. Did you schedule your death or something? We've got nothing left but to survive and win, so why are you acting like this? You're making people uneasy."
It seemed like Krais's sense for detecting ominous things was kicking in.
Who tries this hard just to rest? There had to be something wrong, he wasn't the type to behave like this without a reason.
"I'm training on how to rest properly."
With this smooth line, Encrid managed to silence Krais. The ability to say the right thing at the right moment is called wit, and Encrid's wit was exceptional.
"He hit his head, and he's on something. Definitely."
Krais came to his own conclusion.
Until the sun set, Encrid did exactly as Krais said: he rested as if his life depended on it. It was part of the process to get his body into the best condition possible.
"Is the sun setting?"
"Huh?"
"Go check for me."
"Yeah, it's getting close."
After sending Krais to check the time, Encrid finally got up once the sun had set.
He then began warming up his body, testing his joint flexibility, tensing and relaxing each muscle fiber.
He adjusted his armor and the position of his sword belt.
He prepared both physically and mentally.
In his mind, he sharpened a single blade.
Everyone quietly stared, wondering what he was doing. He already didn't seem normal, but today, he seemed even more unusual.
"Commander, are you really sick?"
Krais eventually asked seriously.
Encrid responded with sincerity.
"No, I'm going to be."
Even if he succeeded, it didn't seem like he would come out unscathed.
Riiip.
Just as Krais was about to say something else, the tent was torn open.
A man with brown hair and an ordinary appearance stepped inside.
"Sorry about this."
The same familiar script as always.
"Just stop my strike this once. That's the least I can do."
He spoke similar words again.
There was no need to seek the other person's understanding. This was purely for himself.
The moment Encrid had been waiting for came right after that.
He was the first to move.
The enemy's attention turned toward him.
It was time to show what he had been preparing.
* * *
"Sir Jamal, I ask for your help."
"Do you realize what you're asking me to do is damaging to my honor?"
Avnair struggled to find the right words to respond.
"You know why this is a bad idea, right? No, you must know. So, you're saying you're going through with it even though you know, huh?"
Knight Jamal spoke, his words filled with weight.
They were also barbed.
Sharp even, but Avnair bit down hard on his teeth.
Even if it struck a nerve and stung, there was no other choice.
"Please, I beg of you."
"This will settle your 'request'."
"I understand."
Jamal neither furrowed his brow nor spat out any curses. There was no need for that. It was already something that couldn't be undone. However, that didn't mean it was something he felt satisfied with.
"Just once. I will swing my sword only once. You do understand that this is my best offer, don't you?"
"Yes, I understand."
Avnair bowed his head.
A Knight is someone bound by honor. They are those who protect their honor through oaths and vows.
But why must they do so?
It's not solely out of a moral obligation that they must uphold their vows. There is a far more practical reason behind it.
How does one nurture and sustain their 'Will'? How does one strengthen that 'Will'?
There was once a Knight who, through an oath to see the world through only one eye, gained vision sharper than any other Knight.
That Knight was Luper, the one-eyed female Knight.
Willpower is not something that can be seen.
The moment one begins to doubt themselves, that strength weakens.
To express something invisible with force, one needs shackles to bolster their resolve.
Constraints, vows, and oaths—that's why these became the cornerstone of a Knight's existence.
An oath strengthens a vow.
Along with this, Knights cling to their honor.
The title of 'Knight' fades into oblivion if they abandon their honor.
Is there a Knight who has kept their oath while forgetting their honor?
Honor, in the end, is the very foundation of their 'Will'.
It is one of the essential principles.
For the sake of honor, Knights set their own rules.
A Knight fights another Knight.
Jamal was about to break that rule.
Of course, in times of war, it's not always possible to uphold such ideals.
In chaotic situations, Knights sometimes deliberately dive into enemy ranks, mingling with common soldiers to achieve their goals.
But that is an exceptional case.
There exists a belief and honor higher than the rule that Knights only face other Knights.
Loyalty, and a different world of Knightly codes.
But now, Jamal had to strike down someone he knew was neither a Knight nor prepared for this encounter.
'They might as well call me an assassin Knight.'
That was the reason Jamal was reluctant to take on this task.
It was also why he wanted to end it with just one strike.
Of course, even with those words, he wouldn't swing carelessly.
He would assess the situation and strike at just the right level, ensuring his opponent couldn't block it.
Even if it was a task he disliked, this was still something related to his vows.
'At least one forced promise is gone.'
He had already known this would be an unpleasant job.
The only consolation was that it was for Aspen's sake.
Jamal stood before the enemy's palisade, seeking an opening to slip through.
No matter how many sentries they posted, it was impossible to guard every spot.
Avoiding the eyes of ordinary soldiers was an easy task for Jamal.
By spreading his 'Will', he could locate the enemy's positions. From there, infiltrating was even simpler.
Assimilation.
The technique based on 'Will' allowed him to blend his presence and essence into his surroundings.
Any sudden movement would disrupt his presence, and though this technique wouldn't work against fellow Knights, it was extremely effective in this situation.
Since he couldn't use his personalized weapon for such a task, Jamal picked up a short sword he found in an empty tent.
It was a poorly maintained weapon, but it would suffice.
He surveyed the area.
It wasn't hard to find his target.
'Once. Just once.'
He would swing his sword earnestly.
His opponent wouldn't be able to block it.
Jamal knew this better than anyone.
These were words meant to settle his own mind, tied by vows and oaths.
If he didn't reassure himself, his uneasy mind would hinder the growth of his 'Will'.
'There is no wrong choice.'
He steeled his resolve and sharpened his Will.
Jamal was ready.
It was time to get to work.
Not all Knights were the same.
During his days as a squire, Jamal had to give up much in order to gain what he needed.
One of those sacrifices involved taking oaths.
More precisely, it was closer to a contractual obligation.
He would fulfill the desires of others in return for something.
This mission was no different.
Rip.
He tore through the tent and stepped inside.
His eyes swept the room until they stopped on one person.
It was a face that was hard to forget, no matter where you saw it.
Despite the disheveled hair and pressed-down beard, one man's face still shone.
A stark contrast to Jamal's own plain appearance.
"I'm sorry."
Jamal spoke.
The target, Encrid, didn't show any surprise in his eyes and said nothing.
Instead, he moved.
It wasn't exactly subtle, but it also didn't show an overt intention to attack.
Still, it bothered Jamal—there was a hint of aggression.
Jamal didn't linger on these thoughts.
He was merely upholding his vow as a Knight.
Even though it was more akin to a contract, he was doing what he had promised.
He had already mentioned that once would be enough.
He had also given his opponent a chance to escape.
He had sworn to himself that if even one person could stop him, he would turn back.
That was the oath of a Knight.
Then, Jamal decided.
His first move was to split the heart of his shining-faced target before him.
He would aim only for the heart—leaving the face intact for the sake of the target's friends or comrades.
His resolve rose, and with it, his body moved.
From the Knight's hand, the unpolished short sword emerged.
Ting, tidick!
Even the sound of the sword being drawn wasn't graceful, but it didn't matter.
That was what Jamal thought.
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