Roman naturally merged with the group.

“People live in the Demon Realm?”

That was Enkrid’s question. A question worth being surprised by.

Demonic beasts and monsters were killers of humans. And the Demon Realm overflowed with all kinds of monsters, including unique specimens. Surviving in such a place was near impossible. Even that hermit village prioritized concealment above all else, using the terrain to its maximum just to survive—yet this one appeared openly to passing travelers?

“Yeah, I was surprised too,” Roman replied casually.

He explained it had been less than ten days since the parasite had taken him. Audin had hinted that if Roman’s Will had faltered even slightly, he wouldn’t have awakened at all.

Of course, Audin had spoken loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. Half of it was praise, but Roman didn’t hear it that way.

“Fine, let’s just say I’m an idiot.”

Roman knew there was no persuading them through words or strength, so he gave up. Rem chuckled upon hearing it—it was clearly meant to tease him.

So Roman instead told them about the strange village he’d seen. It was a decent change of subject—and a successful one.

As they walked, Enkrid mulled over Roman’s words.

The continent was vast. And how much of it was occupied by intelligent races, including humans?

A former scholar, once called a sage, had said:

“Perhaps this world is surrounded by powerful beings we cannot even comprehend.”

The existence of the Demon Realm was the core of that argument.

Even the Great Demon Realm, despite countless invasions, had never fallen. Within it dwelled six demons beyond human comprehension.

And looking around the continent, one could easily see: there were simply too many monsters. The more monsters there were, the more demonic beasts roamed.

And among those monsters, how many had developed into unique variants?

Even in the lands from the Border Guard up to the former Molsen County—before safe routes were secured—monsters thrived within national borders, alongside bandits.

‘Even the bandits had to band together or they’d be slaughtered.’

So the very existence of a village like this was a mystery.

“You said you were caught by a parasite—do you still remember everything clearly?”

The half-giant approached again, asking with a strange intent. Roman nodded in reassurance.

He struggled to pinpoint the location, but still managed to navigate. Without a guide, he’d made it here—he had a good sense of direction. Looking at the red-and-black jagged peaks in the distance, he got a proper bearing.

Of course, whether it was the right direction remained to be seen. Watching him, Enkrid spoke.

“Wanna spar?”

Judging by his gait, his stamina hadn’t fully returned. He walked like someone who’d stayed up two nights in a row—his balance subtly off.

Still, as Rem said, he was tough.

‘He’s holding up well.’

His head must’ve been spinning, his breathing a bit strained. Audin had healed him with sacred power, but he’d still been infected by a parasite.

If he wasn’t in bad shape, that would’ve been stranger.

‘But what you’re made of doesn’t change.’

Being off his game didn’t mean his skill had dropped. At the quasi-knight level, that was a given.

You couldn’t always fight at peak condition.

The fact that he could still perform under such circumstances—that’s what earned the title of quasi-knight.

“Now?” Roman asked. He didn’t seem opposed.

Enkrid drew his sword. Duskforge, Sky, Forged at Dawn—the blade, known by all three names, gleamed faintly blue.

“An engraved weapon.”

Roman murmured. So much had changed since the past he knew.

He’d once resolved to rise ahead of Enkrid—but now he’d been left behind.

Red and black emotions surged within him. Roman gripped his greatsword and thrust it forward.

It hadn’t been properly maintained, its edge dull—but with a sword that size, even a blunt strike was still a weapon.

“What the hell are you doing, stopping mid-walk?”

Rem snapped at them.

And he was right. This wasn’t a campsite—it was dawn, and they’d just started walking again. What were they doing?

Still, he didn’t press it. The others stayed silent as well.

It was entertaining to watch, and they all had a pretty good idea why Enkrid was doing this.

‘Really is fascinating.’

Rem grumbled out of habit, but his thoughts were different. That man—Enkrid—had elevated Pell and Rophod above the level of knights.

Yes, the two had talent, drive, and a thirst for improvement.

But if that was enough to make a knight, there would be ten times as many knights on the continent.

‘Even if there are more than there used to be.’

It was still a rare class.

Ragna stood silently, hand resting on Sunrise, observing the two.

The man called Roman had many bad habits in his swordsmanship. If it came down to a real fight, more flaws would become obvious. Things you didn’t need to be told to see.

‘How will he fix those habits?’

It wouldn’t be easy.

Lua Gharne watched with interest. Shinar and Jaxon weren’t particularly engaged.

Pell, Rophod, and Teresa, however, focused intently. To them, anything they witnessed could become a lesson.

Then Roman’s greatsword moved, slicing down on a diagonal arc with a graceful curve.

‘Fast and forceful—but too focused on the follow-up.’

That was Pell’s impression.

‘His thinking is slow.’

That was Rophod’s.

Enkrid saw it the same way.

So—what to do?

He stepped forward with his left foot and swung his sword. The motion was identical to one used to slay a monster, but—

‘Controlled power.’

Jaxon had once seen Enkrid cut a parasite off someone’s head.

To say it hadn’t sent chills down his spine would be a lie.

‘Precision beyond delicacy—sheer mastery.’

He’d practiced it in the air after seeing it once, and even trained it in a dream last night.

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

The ferryman had called him several times, but Jaxon was too entranced by that cut. Now, after a few more attempts, he could replicate it.

And Enkrid was thoroughly enjoying every step of the process.

Bang!

A vortex—more precisely, a slash imbued with constrained rotation. A strong blow struck with a shoulder pivot.

Roman’s sword was knocked back in one hit.

“Again. Let’s do it while walking.”

Enkrid repeated the same thing over and over. Roman had to keep swinging his sword, without any instruction.

No advice. No feedback.

Each blind swing was struck down in a single blow.

Was this just showing off?

If so, his face and demeanor didn’t match.

Even the spectators acted the same.

Roman tried to read his intent. There had to be a reason for this.

Was this really a sparring match—or just punishment?

Then Enkrid smiled.

Is that all you’ve got? That’s it? That’s it?

At the same time, Roman heard that voice. It should’ve been a hallucination—but it felt too real. It struck straight at his heart.

After about fifty bouts, his shoulders ached, his elbows burned—honestly, there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t hurt.

His head still spun from the parasite’s damage.

Yet along with Enkrid’s smile, that word—that’s it—kept echoing in his mind. Over and over.

Crack.

Roman bit his tongue.

Fine. You think you’re so great. But the time I’ve spent getting here hasn’t been easy either.

I’ve carved through flesh and staked my life to get stronger.

To honor Knight Oara and uphold her words.

The fury welled up. Blood gushed from his bitten tongue, the pain waking every nerve in his body. His eyes went bloodshot.

In one blow.

Pivoting on his left foot, he summoned a swing he had practiced endlessly. The one he used to mimic a knight’s strike.

He’d even contributed to Enkrid’s own development of the Vortex technique.

To strike like a true knight, a quasi-knight had to compress and release ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) every muscle, pouring their Will into the blow.

Once, it was Roman who had taught this.

Hit.

That desperate wish drew out his Will. Roman swung his sword with all his strength. It felt like smashing through a dam that had been blocking his chest.

For the first time in forever, he unleashed a strike with full force.

BOOM!

The air cracked. Roman’s blade crashed downward.

Enkrid received it with the Sword of Coincidence, deflecting it smoothly.

Ting. Thudududud. Thunk.

Roman’s greatsword failed to fulfill its purpose. The blade sagged, powerless, and hit the ground with a pitiful sound.

Then—with a loud crack—a fracture ran through the blade’s middle. It shattered.

“Urgh!”

Roman coughed up blood—black as tar.

“Here.”

Audin was already at his side, laying a hand on his back. Teresa followed closely behind.

They were cleansing the parasite’s leftover energy.

Surviving the infection hadn’t ended it. The demonic energy—what people called magi—still lingered in Roman’s body.

It had come out mixed with the blood he’d just vomited.

If Audin had rushed in with pure divine power, Roman’s mind would’ve been destroyed. But the timing now was perfect.

Audin looked to Enkrid.

“You planned this?”

“Halfway.”

Luck had played its part.

Roman raised his head from where he’d been doubled over.

No one knew what that meant better than he did.

At the same time—

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

Enkrid asked. And Roman knew exactly what he meant.

Roman had strayed during training. He had etched into himself Knight Oara’s sword style—a smooth, flowing technique.

It wasn’t about ending the fight in one blow, but drawing elegant lines.

Thanks to that, a man who once mimicked knightly strikes now had a solid foundation.

In Enkrid’s eyes, he’d drawn a proper arc—but was that the right path?

Roman had a naturally powerful physique.

His nature leaned toward single, decisive strikes.

Will is shaped by your nature.

That’s what experience had taught Enkrid.

Rophod lived for others—observing, thinking alone. That isolation didn’t break him because it matched his nature.

Pell was the opposite.

He’d charge forward, breaking free of the shepherd’s mold to seize what he wanted.

Will is shaped by intent—by temperament. Go against it, and the path to knighthood becomes distant.

“Thank you.”

Roman spoke. Then passed out again.

“We’ve picked up another deadweight,” said Rem.

“What was that earlier?”

Enkrid asked again. Rem grinned and added lightly,

“Wasn’t it just the right moment?”

What Roman had heard—Is that all? That’s it?—hadn’t been a hallucination. Rem had used a spell to whisper directly into his ear.

“Quite the talent you’ve got,” Enkrid said, genuinely impressed. Whispering was one thing—but reading Roman’s mental state and knowing precisely when to push him, that was something else entirely.

“Don’t mention it.”

Rem chuckled, and Ragna gave a slow nod.

“You really are talented at the most pointless things.”

Was that a compliment or provocation?

“...What the hell did you eat this morning?”

The usual back-and-forth ended, and the two crossed blades and axe in both the realm of the mind and the physical world.

Before they knew it, dawn had broken. The sky was brilliantly clear.

Roman had been slung over Teresa’s back. He came to around mid-afternoon and said,

“My mind feels clearer.”

“Does it?” Enkrid replied.

There were no more sparring matches.

Lua Gharne puffed her cheeks and clung tightly to Enkrid’s side. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

“I’m curious—how did you get so good at teaching?”

Enkrid was chatting with Frokk, who brimmed with curiosity, satisfying the man’s constant hunger for information. Roman, meanwhile, led the group to the village he had seen.

How to put it—it was probably the strongest first impression of any place they’d encountered so far.

“So, do we just wreck everything and kill them all?”

Rem asked, playing off the atmosphere. Ragna placed his hand on Sunrise.

Enkrid looked toward the statue standing in the middle of the village—brazenly unhidden.

Atop a tall wooden pole sat a pitch-black circle. A black sun.

It was a symbol—a mark used by certain cults.

It was no different from publicly declaring we worship the Demon God.

“I thought you said this was a village?”

Shinar, being a fairy, was sensitive to the energy monsters emitted.

And in places where the spirit of the forest didn’t reach, fairies couldn’t draw out their full strength.

“It is a village. They just live... in a rather peculiar way,” Roman answered.

Once they stepped inside, it became clear—this wasn’t just some eccentric village.

People moved about. Their clothes were ragged, closer to beggars in a city—but they didn’t look like captives forced to live here.

One of them blinked, then approached.

The biggest difference between Enkrid’s group and the approaching man?

Skin tone. Neither pale nor dark—but a soft shade of violet.

“You made it back alive,” the man said, looking at Roman. Then his gaze shifted to the rest of the party.

“Brought quite a few guests, I see.”

He gestured behind him.

The village welcomed the rare visitors. Though, truthfully—it felt a little awkward.

After all, this was a village that worshipped the Demon God.