Chapter 404 - Resolve Becomes the Will and Shines
"People often say that to become a knight, one needs overwhelming talent. What does that really mean?"
Rearvart slammed his shield on the ground as he struggled to rise. His brow furrowed as he fought against the pain.
Red blood trickled from the tip of the embers he let fall, dropping onto the floor.
Enkrid didn't immediately charge.
Why not? His intuition seemed to tell him that the opponent wasn't finished yet.
Wouldn't a person who suffered such a piercing wound be able to stand?
His intuition, along with the interest sparked by the words of his opponent, made Enkrid pause for a moment. Rearvart continued speaking.
"A squire learns their skills based on willpower. But what about knights?"
There was something about his tone—calm, but there was a palpable sense of agony.
Blood continued to pour from Rearvart's side. Despite groaning in pain, he managed to straighten his back. He continued.
"They are different, much different. They are faster and stronger. For example, like your sword strike earlier, they can release an overwhelming force in an instant."
Enkrid considered rubbing his eyes. The blood pouring from Rearvart's body seemed to grow darker.
That wasn't all.
The pain he had been grimacing from moments ago seemed to fade as his expression relaxed. It no longer looked like he was in pain, but rather, he seemed almost fine.
Though Enkrid was suspicious, it was an inexplicable process.
"Ah, do you know? Malten was more skilled than me, and Betukt was stronger, while Banat's agility was beyond what a human could match."
Rearvart mentioned the names of his companions. Of course, Enkrid didn't recognize them, but instead of answering, he swung his sword. The sound of the strike echoed as his blade cut through the air. The embers vanished as he gripped Silver with both hands.
Crash!
Rearvart met the strike with equal force, the sound of metal clashing echoing, sparks flying wildly.
'What's this?'
Enkrid felt the shock travel up his arms.
After the exchange, as he took a step back, he saw Rearvart swinging his sword again, almost as if recreating the previous strike in the air. He was holding his sword with one hand. Rearvart had blocked Enkrid's dual-handed attack with just one hand.
It was clear he was getting accustomed to his new weapon, repeating the movements as if practicing.
A diagonal strike, a downward slash, a horizontal swing, a thrust.
The moves were basic and simple, but the force behind them was vastly different from before.
Woosh.
The downward swing of the sword created a gust of wind that brushed against Enkrid's cheek.
"This is what I mean," Rearvart said.
As he spoke, blood from his side mixed with the dark color of his sword, forming a deep, red hue. The blood quickly stopped flowing.
His beard grew sharper, spiking out like thorns, and the fine hairs on his face lengthened, slowly covering his features.
Still, his eyes remained unchanged. However, the coldness that had once been there was replaced with a burning heat—an inferno of carnage and desire.
It wasn't pure passion. It was a twisted, distorted, ugly emotion.
"Mastering all abilities to the level of a knight is enough."
Rearvart spoke again.
His words were not wrong.
Once one matched a knight's physical abilities, reaction speed, strength, and agility, they could eventually compete with knights. That would be the path to becoming one.
Rearvart's entire body was now covered in fur.
Just moments ago, he had been human, but now, he was no longer human.
He cursed the world that had driven him to this point. That was why he had to tell his story. He wanted to explain why he had been forced to go this far, why he had done this.
He needed to tell his story.
There were moments when a person desperately needed to share their tale.
For Rearvart, now was that time.
Standing before him was someone who had surpassed him with pure talent.
He didn't know Enkrid, so he believed his opponent had reached this point solely through talent.
If that wasn't the case, it wouldn't make sense.
Thus, these words were spoken.
His arms and hands were now covered in fur. He let his sword hand hang loosely and spoke. His mouth structure had changed slightly, but it wasn't difficult for him to speak.
At first, it had been a struggle to get used to it, but not anymore.
"Sometimes, some people have to risk their lives to become knights. But if death is inevitable, should I still walk that path?"
He was at the edge of a cliff, about to leap off. Should he leap, knowing it would lead to death?
"For others, a single step may be life-threatening, but for me, it was a step I had to risk my life for."
There was only resentment in Rearvart's words.
"If I was lucky enough to get through it once, was that the end? No, it wasn't. I had to face that cliff again and again. I had to face new ones. So, I gave up."
It could have been a deception. Enkrid had reached this point without any talent.
It was clear that Rearvart's talent was greater than his.
The opponent had lamented his lack of talent, cursed the world, and spoken of his despair.
Sometimes, he must have cursed the goddess of fortune.
Sometimes, he must have cursed fate itself.
And now, this was his present state.
Despite that, Enkrid did not perceive his words as deception.
'Rem has his own path.'
Ragna has his path.
Jaxen has his path.
Audin has his path.
Dunbakel, Teresa, Esther, Andrew.
Everyone walks their own path.
Each person has their own journey.
Even if the opponent sang a song of despair based on their talent, there was no need to accompany that song.
Thus, Enkrid didn't see it as deception.
He didn't resent it.
And he didn't show any emotion toward his opponent.
Rearvart felt discomfort.
Normally, such words would provoke a reaction of some sort. It usually split into two types of responses.
Hadn't it always been that way?
After getting used to this power, he had sought out and killed everyone who had defeated him.
"It's cheating."
Someone had once said that, and that fulfilled Rearvart's twisted desire.
Yes, cheating!
Talent was cheating, and this was the right way to handle it.
"Why should someone like you... make such a foolish choice?"
Someone else had rebuked him, calling his power false.
No, power was the truth.
Now, speak.
Even if a knight comes, do you believe you can surpass me?
Rearvart realized the limits of his talent and changed his body.
He had now seized the knight's might.
"All chimeras were test subjects for me."
Rearvart spoke.
Enkrid didn't repeat what Esther had said to him.
The count's true target wasn't him, after all. But such trivial matters wouldn't change anything.
Even if spoken, it would be pointless.
Enkrid readied his sword.
Rearvart's gaze met his, his blue eyes gleaming through his dark hair.
Still the same steady gaze. Eyes that looked ahead, unwavering.
Rievart wanted to gouge out that eye. He hated that eye so much.
In the end, the more he looked at it, the more uncomfortable it became. It seemed to reproach him, as though it was telling him that his path was wrong. It felt even worse than those who had said it outright; it felt like a painful whip.
So, he would kill him. He would kill him.
"My lord granted me strength like that."
Enkrid shifted his sword into a diagonal grip.
Since Rievart's transformation, the pressure he emitted had changed.
The weight on his shoulders was different.
If the pressure from the Aspen knight felt like strings wrapping around his body, what Rievart now showed felt like a heavy chunk of metal pressing down on his shoulders.
"And that's how I became a knight."
With that declaration, the pressure doubled.
Enkrid did not retreat.
The opponent was speaking of being a knight, while he remained at the level of a junior knight.
But did it change anything?
Still, he would win.
Still, he would not lose.
His resolve became his will, shining brightly.
Whoosh.
It was as if the space itself folded. Rievart's sword had become thin like thread and dropped.
Enkrid raised his sword just in time. It was a hair-raising moment. If he had missed, his body would have been sliced in two.
When their swords met, a loud noise rang out.
Boom!
Enkrid felt his body sink into the ground. His knees wobbled.
No, it was just a feeling. It was only the pressure from the sword that made it seem like that.
Enkrid used his strength to pull his foot from the ground and raised his sword, perpendicular to the earth.
Rievart's sword, as though waiting for the moment, struck the blade Enkrid was holding.
Clang! Thud.
A crack appeared in the middle of the silver blade.
The opponent's sword still looked like thread.
That thread was fast and faint, and the moment it struck, the shock doubled and rushed through his whole body. But it could still be stopped. He could still respond.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
He swung Silver toward the oncoming sword. He resisted. He blocked and blocked again.
If it hadn't been Enkrid here, he would have given up long ago.
What Rievart had said was true.
He had surpassed human limits through the chimera's body.
Thus, he believed he had gained the strength of a knight.
Enkrid repeatedly blocked Rievart's sword.
It was close, but he endured.
Seeing the crack in Silver, Enkrid drew out Gladiolus. The thick, sturdy blade, made by a dwarf, didn't break easily even after repeated blocks.
The thread bent, aiming for his shoulder. He swung his sword diagonally to intercept.
If he tried to block and endure, he would be pushed back. He had learned that when fighting the Aspen knight.
Enkrid did what he had learned.
All their exchanges were similar.
After more than thirty clashes, after many narrow defenses...
Rievart took a step back.
There was no way not to question it.
"You blocked a knight's sword?"
A junior knight? Impossible. The level of the sword was different. The speed and power of the attacks were different. How could he endure?
At Rievart's words, Enkrid pressed his cut earlobe with his hand.
It was a wound caused by the tip of the sword grazing him while he was dodging and blocking.
Blood flowed down his neck.
His armor was torn and damaged in various places. Blood flowed through his hair where he wasn't wearing a helmet. His scalp had been slightly torn.
It had been a brutal attack. The sword moved with such freedom, it almost felt like thread. But still, it could be blocked.
It was easier to block than Ragna's brutal strike.
It was easier to block than Rem's ax swings.
It was easier to block than Jaxen's silent sword.
It was easier to endure than Audin's reckless punches.
Because of all those experiences, he could do it.
At least, that's how it felt right now.
"Are you really a knight?"
Enkrid asked in return.
If he were truly a knight, he would know this wasn't enough. Enkrid asked, then realized, and spoke again.
"You've never faced a true knight, have you?"
That was the truth.
Rievart was afraid of defeat and death, and he was afraid of confirming the difference in talent.
That's why, deep down, he wanted to face a knight. He needed to surpass his own limits now. He believed he could overcome them.
Enkrid noticed that.
The displeasure in Rievart's eyes grew into anger.
Just a junior knight?
Enkrid smiled, showing his dimples.
"To me, you're even worse than Ragna."
Who was that?
Rievart didn't ask. He could see through his opponent's intentions.
He was making a jab, referring to when Enkrid had mentioned his companion's name earlier.
"Even Rem, if he tried his best, would defeat you. A knight?"
Enkrid raised his voice at the end. That stirred Rievart's emotions.
What if, after all this, he still couldn't become a knight?
What had he become, abandoning his humanity?
He had killed his family, massacred his house, and walked this path.
He had thrown his fiancée and several family members as experiments.
He had sacrificed everyone who had followed him.
And still, he couldn't become a knight?
"Maybe if you got hit by Audin a few times, you'd come to your senses. How about turning to the gods while you're at it?"
He spoke with panting breaths, his sword arm trembling.
That was what finally snapped the thread of reason Rievart had been clinging to.
"I'll kill you, and then I'll find and kill every one of those people you mentioned."
With those words, Rievart rushed forward, faster and stronger than before.
When he spoke of "those people," his sword was already flying toward Enkrid's skull.
Enkrid barely managed to block it.
Clang!
The sound of metal rang through the battlefield. By now, more eyes were watching. Both sides had stopped fighting, observing the outcome of the battle.
This fight wouldn't determine the outcome of the war.
Still, it was a fight that could not be ignored.
It was a moment to prove whose path was right, whose life was worth living.
They had painted their lives with swords, and since they had reached the present, it was only natural to let their swords do the talking.
Their swords met once again.
Enkrid's body was full of wounds.
A hard hit sent his shoulderpad flying.
He had a scratch on his cheek.
Drops of blood scattered.
His thigh was also sliced.
Still, Enkrid thought the same.
Esther had told him not to lose.
If he lost here, he would be pushed back, and he would have to start over from the morning.
So, if he died, would it be just a repeat of today?
If he lived thinking like that, he would already be trapped in a suitable "today."
'I will win.'
He would not lose.
His resolve was still shining brightly.
Once again, his resolve became his will, radiating light.
It was the manifestation of a new will. Refusal, moment, suppression, and now, the fourth will.
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