Chapter 428: Dreams and Dreams
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 428: Dreams and Dreams
A knight’s martial prowess often defied the boundaries of common sense.
The Knight of Azpen, whom he had encountered before, was a prime example.
Encrid stood with sword in hand, lost in thought.
‘What if I had seen his blade back then? What if I had anticipated the strike?’
Even if he had predicted it, could he have actually blocked it?
To Encrid, the time spent in meditation was just as vital as the time spent moving his body. He immersed himself in the memory, painting a vivid image in his mind’s eye. The Knight of Azpen rose before him, the trajectory of his swing drawn in sharp, clear lines.
‘It wasn't some grand technique.’
It was a simple swing. It was just too strong, too fast—so overwhelming that the very idea of blocking it felt like a fool's errand.
Was that the essence of a knight’s strike? Something possessed of such speed and power that it remained unstoppable even if you saw it coming?
Would witnessing a knight’s true battle be even more astonishing?
It was a passing thought.
*
What is a knight?
It is a collective term for those who have shattered the limits of humanity.
The King of the East was not a knight, yet his martial prowess rivaled theirs. He displayed that power now without reservation. While he hadn't revealed his full hand, the display was enough to leave any bystander in awe.
A troll swung a stone axe lashed together with thick vines.
It was too slow. The moment the troll’s shoulder twitched, the King’s spear was already in motion.
Crack!
The spearhead didn't just pierce the monster's head; it shattered it. The thrust, driven by monstrous strength, left nothing intact.
The King’s spear pulverized one beast’s skull and swept out in a lethal arc. With a series of dull thuds, every troll caught by the shaft or the spearhead had its head cracked open.
To kill a troll, one had to either incinerate the body or decapitate it. Decapitation, ultimately, was about severing the connection between the brain and the heart. Crushing the head achieved the same result.
Anu’s spear proved that point with brutal efficiency.
Thrusting, slashing, striking, and whipping.
At first, he moved as if merely warming up, but within the span of a few breaths, his spear blurred with increasing speed. Yet, despite the velocity, every strike aimed precisely for the trolls' heads.
He was like a swift swallow snatching a fish from the water—a swallow born for the hunt. There was not a single wasted motion, nor a single missed target.
It was a demonstration of technique intended for Rem, who was watching from the sidelines.
Anu slaughtered roughly twenty trolls, each falling to a single blow. Black blood splattered his clothes, but considering the scale of the carnage, he remained remarkably clean.
Rem, who had split the heads of three trolls himself, stood in a daze, staring at the King.
The King, Anu, withdrew his spear and tilted his head, looking at Rem.
‘Isn't it about time he looked impressed?’
Usually, that was how it went. Witnessing his spearwork typically began with shock and ended with profound admiration. But the light in Rem’s eyes was highly irreverent. He looked utterly dissatisfied.
"Having fun playing hero all by yourself?"
His tone was as sharp as his gaze. The King blinked, momentarily stunned.
"It would seem so, my Lord," Asaluhi, who had been watching, approached and whispered. He took the spear, thoroughly wiped the blade and shaft, and wrapped it carefully back in its cloth.
The adjutant could guess the King’s intention. He had clearly wanted to dazzle the man by showing off his peerless skill. Why else would he draw his second weapon against mere trolls?
Rem started to grumble but bit his tongue. If someone wanted to show off, the best response was simply to let them.
"I'm still a bit stiff, so I'm going to keep going for a while before I head back. Let's do our own things. Separately."
Rem turned and strode away with long, easy steps. His attitude suggested he couldn't care less that they were in the heart of the Pen-Hanil Mountains. To Rem, this was the only natural reaction. He didn't care if the King found it absurd.
If he could only reclaim the sorcery he had left behind in the West, he could easily replicate what the King of the East had just shown. There was nothing to envy. Those who reached the level of knights used Will; while his own methods were different, in Rem’s mind, the result was the same.
"I will ask you one thing."
The King called out to Rem’s retreating back.
"Ask away."
"Why are you here? Why do you stay by his side? What is it you want that keeps you in this city?"
Rem answered without a second thought.
"It's fun."
Why had he run away from the West in the first place? It was to find amusement. Currently, Rem’s greatest amusement lay in watching where Encrid—a man who had crawled up from the very bottom—was headed.
It wasn't some grand, noble reason. He stayed simply because he felt like it, because it was entertaining. It also implied that he would vanish the moment he found something more interesting.
The King nodded at the answer.
"I see."
It was a simple, straightforward philosophy.
Rem disappeared into the mountains. When the King finally finished his hunt and returned with only his adjutant, Big-Eyes greeted him with a cheeky remark.
"Did you bury Rem out there? If so, gold coins won't cut it. You'll need at least gold bars..."
"He said he wanted to play a bit more on his own," the King cut him off and strode inside.
His gaze fell upon Audin.
"Audin, was it? Why do you remain here?"
"My Lord Father told me to do so."
"Lord? Father?"
There was no need for a long conversation. Asaluhi whispered to the King, keeping his voice low.
"Is he not a fanatic, sire?"
The King suspected as much. No matter the question, the only answers he received involved following God's teachings or divine providence.
The King nodded and shifted his gaze. He saw Ragna fast asleep, snoring loudly, and the half-giant passing by the front of the barracks.
"Why do you remain here?" the King asked her.
"I owe him my life," Teresa replied in her characteristically metallic yet strangely pleasant voice. Her expression was devoid of any playfulness. A life debt was a weight no one else could carry for her.
"My desire is to explore the unknown. Look at him—what a fascinating human he is. On top of that, he's handsome. Easy on the eyes. Unlike you, wouldn't you say?"
This was Frok Luagarne’s answer. The King of the East took great pride in his appearance, but knowing Frok’s eccentric aesthetic standards, he merely offered a dry retort.
"Is something wrong with your eyes? Take another look at my face, Frok, you visually impaired fellow."
"Are there no mirrors in the East?" Luagarne shot back instantly.
Next was Dunchabel.
"If I back down here, I'll probably spend the rest of my life running."
The King’s offer for her to become his adopted daughter had been half-jest, half-serious. If she came to the East, he could give her everything, but she had rejected every proposal.
"You know I am a beastman as well, do you not?" the King asked.
"I don't think anyone here is unaware of that, except for that idiot over there."
Dunchabel gestured toward Squire Ropode. Since he was at it, the King continued his rounds, asking everyone in sight.
"I came here to set myself straight. Where else would I dare go?" said Ropode, whose eye was swollen as if he’d been in a brawl.
"I am the Shepherd of the Wilderness. I only came because I had business to attend to," Pel replied, hiding his true thoughts.
The King of the East caught a glimpse of an undeniable competitive fire in Pel’s eyes. The Shepherd’s gaze was fixed on none other than Encrid. Not Ragna, not Rem, but Encrid. It was unusual, but not incomprehensible. Encrid possessed a temperament that made one want to clash swords with him just by looking at him. The King felt it too.
The King then saw the elf, Sinar, approaching.
"We are promised to be engaged," the elf replied.
"It's a joke," Encrid’s voice immediately followed.
Encrid remarked once more that the elf’s sense of humor was difficult to grasp. The King didn't bother to probe Sinar’s true feelings. Her answer made it clear enough that she had no intention of following him.
The King stayed for several days and eventually met with Sachsen.
"I can roughly tell where you're from. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call your skills master-class."
Few possessed eyes that could see through Sachsen’s hidden depths at a single glance. Yet, Sachsen was not surprised. Staying by Encrid’s side meant all sorts of bizarre things were bound to happen. Was he himself not currently doing things he could never have imagined?
As his lover had once said: “I didn't know you would change like this.”
Those words had made him contemplate his own nature.
‘Have I changed?’
He didn't know. But one thing was certain: Sachsen had found the place where he belonged, and he liked it. Thus, his answer to the King’s question was incredibly simple.
"Because this is where I belong."
The King didn't press further. After asking them one by one, their answers were all different. They remained for their own reasons, yet those reasons ultimately converged on a single person.
Meanwhile, Ragna finally woke up on the fourth morning. He had done nothing but sleep for over three days.
The King watched him. Ragna walked with his usual stride, but the King could see that the boy had crossed a threshold. It didn't mean he had instantly become a knight—no one became a knight in a single bound. That was not how they were made. Unceasing effort had to be layered upon heaven-sent talent.
But there was a change in his momentum that only the King, in this place, could truly recognize.
‘No, I wasn't the only one.’
Indeed, even when the King had shown his skills to Rem, the sorcerer hadn't been surprised. Rem had been the first to notice Ragna's change. The man who had been unimpressed by the King’s own spearwork was now gritting his teeth, his face full of grumpiness.
Audin was similar. The man who had held his ground even under the King’s subtle pressure fell into deep contemplation upon seeing the newly awakened Ragna. He immediately began to offer a silent prayer, clasping his hands and bowing his head.
The King’s gaze shifted to Encrid.
‘He has good eyes.’
Encrid had noticed as well.
Suddenly, the King realized Encrid was an exceptionally peculiar fellow. No matter how many times he was beaten down, he got back up to fight again, like an immortal skeleton soldier.
The King also knew that Ragna was dying to test his newly acquired power right this instant. Because he saw everything, the King spoke.
"If you follow me, you will be able to use that power to your heart's content."
The King cut straight to the chase. His words were like a spearhead piercing an enemy's heart in a single strike—words that would shake anyone. Especially for someone who had just crossed a wall, it was a proposition bound to stir the soul.
The King looked at Ragna with his arms crossed. A natural aura of majesty and dignity radiated from him—an atmosphere only a true king who possessed the martial power of a knight could project.
"There are not many places where you can unleash your power freely. Come to a place where you can satisfy your longing for freedom. This country will not be able to contain you."
It was an invitation to a larger world, far beyond the confines of a mere order of knights.
Encrid, who had been swinging his sword nearby, watched the changed Ragna. Rem was there, as were Audin, Teresa, and Dunchabel. Ropode and Pel were away on duty; Encrid had insisted that no matter their reasons for staying, they must not neglect their mandatory responsibilities.
The eyes of everyone present were fixed on Ragna.
Ragna, with a languid expression, squinted against the morning sunlight.
"It's too much of a bother."
Ragna spoke as politely as he could, but the content of his words was anything but.
"...A bother?" the King asked, his dignity momentarily forgotten.
He had faced hostility many times. But this was the first time someone had called his offer "bothersome."
"Just thinking about the journey to the East is a hassle," Ragna clarified. No matter how good he was at finding paths, it would take over half a year. Normally, it was a distance that could be covered in a fortnight on a fine steed, but Ragna’s sense of "bother" was absolute.
The King let out a hollow laugh. His adjutant, Asaluhi, watched nervously, wondering if his lord might fly into a rage. Fortunately, the King did not.
"A bother, is it," he merely muttered.
Ragna found it too troublesome to explain further. He had reached an enlightenment, and after the process of reflecting on it, his senses had become slightly misaligned. He would have to sweat profusely for a few days to realign them.
Above all, Ragna had no intention of following the King of the East. While his claim of it being a hassle was not a lie...
‘If I must have a single person above me...’
Shouldn't it be the person who led me all the way here?
He looked at the madman nearby, whose eyes were burning with heat as he stared at him. If not for that person, Ragna wouldn't have felt any motivation at all. Even now, everything was a hassle, but looking into those eyes made his spirit soar. He felt like staying up for three days straight to swing his sword and align his senses, just so he could slam his own blade against that famous sword, Aker.
The King stared at Ragna for a moment before turning away.
"It is time to head back, my Lord," the adjutant said. Though the King nodded, he didn't seem ready to leave just yet.
Another day passed.
A light rain had fallen through the morning, but by afternoon, the sun broke through the parting clouds. The sunlight was soft, the air crisp. It was a rare day for summer—neither humid nor hot, but cool and clear.
On such a day, the King was held up by Encrid until evening.
"Can we go once more?"
"We can."
As if he never tired, it was yet another sparring match. The King won by striking near Encrid’s solar plexus with his elbow. He had struck hard, but Encrid’s body was tough; he endured it remarkably well.
After the sparring ended, the King’s gaze drifted toward the sky. Before they knew it, the sun was sinking low, and the world was bathed in twilight. An orange sunset filled the clouds, descending toward the earth.
Amidst the fading glow, the King spoke.
"What do you think is in the East? Gold? Silver? Iron? Treasure? I do not know. No one knows what lies there. And that is what makes my heart race."
In that corner of the training ground, the King spoke of his dream. Encrid listened.
Goosebumps broke out across Encrid’s skin. Following the King’s words, he saw a vision of exploring unknown lands and ancient ruins where anything might appear.
The King spoke, his soul burning with the same intensity as Krang’s.
"Conquering new lands—that is my battle. That is my struggle. What do you think?"
The King asked, enveloped in that heat. Anyone would have been intoxicated by it. It was a speech that commanded respect, a call to believe and follow.
The man known as the King of the East poured out his passion to a single listener.
Encrid replied.
"Do you know the song called 'The Knight of the End of War'?"
Just as the King had spoken of his dream, Encrid spoke of his own. It was a dream that had started from a common, wandering song—faded and torn, yet patched together and held tight against his heart.