Swoosh.

One of the soldiers, recognizing Crang, lowered the sword he had been swinging, pressed the grip with his left hand, and bowed his head.

“Your Highness.”

Some of the soldiers who recognized him followed suit, offering a military salute and bowing their heads to the master of the royal castle. Only a very few simply stared at him blankly.

“Carry on.”

Crang spoke in a brief tone, as if he paid no mind to the dignity of the royal family.

For a while, some nobles had told him to correct such speech and behavior, but Crang had reportedly refused, saying he would instead use sincerity as his weapon and get closer to the army and the people.

Even so, Crang did know how to show majesty and speak in the name of the royal family when the situation required it.

‘I’ve seen him exude an even greater aura.’

Enkrid had witnessed it himself.

When they first met, when the civil war ended, when he later saw him in the city of Oara, and even after becoming a knight, it had been the same.

Crang could, when needed, seize the attention of everyone around him in an instant.

What should one call such an ability? There was nothing to say except that he was born with it.

For someone seated on the throne, it was only natural to watch one’s words and add refinement to one’s manner, but that didn’t apply to a man like Crang.

Common sense created by ordinary people simply didn’t work on those who lived outside the norm.

He was someone who proved a ruler’s leadership with his own charm, majesty, and aura.

This moment was a glimpse of that side of him.

“This is the royal training hall, a place for those who strive to protect the royal family. Thus, continuing what you were doing is itself proof of your loyalty. Isn’t that right?”

Adding that last line, he smiled warmly.

The soldiers bowed their heads, their eyes shining brightly.

Those were unmistakably the eyes of people who had fallen for someone.

Soldiers filled with loyalty and devotion.

If necessary, they would risk their lives to carry out the king’s orders.

Matthew and the female warrior wielding a trident tilted their heads slightly behind the king.

They were familiar faces.

Back when the civil war was being stopped, they had been among those locked in the room, struggling to save Crang.

Even with Enkrid’s difficulty remembering people in this endless repetition, forgetting such individuals was unthinkable.

And though he wasn’t present now, Enkrid hadn’t forgotten the name of Rearvart, whom he had briefly glimpsed before dinner.

The very Rearvart who, during the civil war, had been a hero of salvation and had called Enkrid his shining hero.

He had since become a respectable fighter within the Royal Guard.

Enkrid had even promised, in passing, to check his skills later.

“These damn lunatics.”

Marcus was also there behind the king.

Normally, Aisia would be assigned as escort to the king or Marcus, but she seemed to have stepped away for now.

That was fine—this wasn’t a place where a heavy guard was needed.

This was the royal training hall.

The people gathered here might look like mere soldiers to Enkrid’s group, but their actual status was at least Royal Guard.

They were the core forces among the security units stationed at the outer castle or the royal palace garrison.

To put it simply, the minimum rank here was that of platoon leader or higher.

Marcus swept his eyes once around the training hall.

‘From noon till night.’

These men already had a reputation for being obsessed with training, but they still couldn’t compare to true madmen.

They hadn’t rested, yet it wasn’t as if they were forcing themselves—anyone could see they were enjoying themselves, training on their own initiative.

Palace soldiers had been swept up in that atmosphere.

And the rumor had spread so that every soldier with permission to enter the royal training hall had gathered here.

“I lost.”

Among them was a man like this—slightly smaller in build than Audin, with a face that made him look a couple of years older than Enkrid, though he was actually not yet thirty.

He was one of the soldiers under the Marquis of Octo, a man confident in his own skill.

More precisely, he was one of the talented warriors sponsored by the marquis.

He had come to test his abilities, only to take Pell’s palm strike to the jaw, lose consciousness, and just now wake up.

Enkrid had just finished pointing out the shortcomings he had seen.

“Get more real combat experience. Face all kinds of opponents—from mud-slinging brawls to duels fought for honor.”

The man had abundant talent.

But that was all—just talent.

He would need time to be beaten, to # Nоvеlight # realize, to roll, to ponder, and to reflect.

And if he couldn’t endure that time, that would be the end of it.

That was the limit of those who have only talent.

“Shall we go inside and talk? But you can’t drink drenched in sweat like that. Go wash up, Enki.”

Crang spoke, heading toward a small reception room set beside the training hall.

A few soldiers blinked at that.

They knew the two had a special relationship, but for the king to come seeking a drink with someone, and then wait while that person washed and readied himself, was unexpected.

“I should do that.”

The knight Enkrid accepted it calmly and moved.

The training that had lasted until the night under the light of two moons came to an end.

***

Crang really did wait for them to wash up.

“Sorry, there isn’t much.”

The Founding Liquor he had brought was enough for only five cups.

Even Crang couldn’t bring out a sealed bottle of Founding Liquor, so he had brought what had already been opened before.

Enkrid drank the liquor poured by the king himself.

The amber liquid caught the moonlight as it filled his mouth.

At first, it carried the scent of fire-heated wood, and though the aroma lingered strongly, it wasn’t unpleasant.

Strong yet subtle.

Subtle yet strong.

A contradiction in liquid form.

Swallowing it, he felt a piquant warmth as though flames were soothing his throat.

Hot, but not scalding.

Once swallowed, the aftertaste was entirely different from the first impression—a sensation like biting into a whole fresh fruit and holding the concentrated juice in the mouth.

Even this concentrated aroma wasn’t unpleasant.

Strong, yet smooth.

“This is no ordinary drink.”

Enkrid voiced his admiration.

“It’s called the Founding Liquor.”

Crang smiled softly, satisfied.

“Shame there’s so little.”

Rem smacked his lips at the small amount.

He somehow wrangled himself a cup, and his eyes gleamed with a fierce light.

To someone who didn’t know, he might look like he was itching to kill someone, but those who knew him would recognize that gleam as the look of a man enchanted by a drink.

“Rophod, I see you’re doing well. Your face looks brighter.”

Crang greeted him casually.

It was surprising that he knew his name, but considering his current affiliation, perhaps not so strange.

Still, there was something remarkable about the king calling his name so easily and showing such familiarity.

Even without ever having had a private audience with him, the king’s friendly manner felt completely natural.

“I heard your wife and child in the West are doing well, Rem.”

“Sounds like your ears are sharper than mine.”

Rem smacked his lips again and nodded.

“I hear they’ve been asking if you’d return, saying there’s no holy knight like you in Legion?”

“I said that where my heart lies is where my lord is, and where my will turns is where the crusade lies.”

Crang spoke to Audin as well, then looked over at Ragna, who was muttering to himself while holding his sword, and let it pass with a smile.

He acknowledged Jaxon with just a glance.

To Pell, he asked how the shepherd’s life was; Pell replied that he was now a member of the order, not a shepherd.

Rem interjected to ask since when, but everyone else accepted it as fact.

“And Lady Shinar Kirheis?”

Shinar, due to issues with her life force and stamina, had been asleep for two days straight.

She had said she needed to enter the Fountain of Life in the fairy city, and when told she should go ahead, she had refused.

“Resting.”

“A pity. Just seeing that face would be a pleasure.”

It was the kind of remark Crang would make—a joke, without any actual romantic intent.

“If my wife heard that, she’d come into the bedroom with a dagger.”

Enkrid answered with a joke in kind.

Half the conversation was trivial banter.

They made no mention of talk about unrest in the capital or anything like that, until Marcus cut in.

“They said they wanted to hear it directly, so I didn’t say anything.”

Enkrid looked at him, asking with his eyes what he meant.

“That.”

Marcus emphasized once more.

Catching on, Enkrid spoke.

“Ah, that I saved the villagers.”

“Not that.”

Only after Marcus cut in again did Enkrid bring up the story of what had happened before, starting with the destruction of Thorn Castle.

“That was disgusting to watch.”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“I only heard about it, but it wasn’t hard to guess what they were doing.”

When he went on to the story of Balrog’s labyrinth, Marcus’s eyes showed a strange heat.

Now, how surprised would he be?

“...Sir, you said you caught what?”

Matthew was the first to ask, his eyes about to pop out, and the guard with the trident slapped her own cheek.

Slap.

“Want me to do it for you?”

The sound rang so crisply that Rem made the comment without missing a beat. Marcus’s expectations turned toward Crang.

The king had his head lowered, looking at the reception table.

What, was he too shocked to speak?

Then Crang lifted his head, and his eyes shone more brightly than ever. Skin dulled from days without proper sleep or food, dark circles under his eyes — and yet they glittered.

No matter how you looked at it, it seemed more like excitement than surprise.

“That’s killer.”

That was what came out of his mouth.

Crang, too, had once lived wandering the back alleys. The old street habit slipped out.

“Ah, right?”

Enkrid agreed. It wasn’t that he hadn’t understood earlier what Marcus was trying to get him to say. He’d just been teasing Marcus, knowing roughly how Crang would react.

Crang wouldn’t be surprised by this. His scope, his boldness, and his perspective on the world were different.

“You’re not satisfied with just Balrog, are you?”

That was why Crang asked.

It was a night lit only by two moons. With not a cloud in sight, the night sky was not entirely black. Stars shone down, scattering light as if to outshine the moon.

Under the gaze of each and every one of those stars, Enkrid replied.

“A demon won’t be the only one.”

It was the expression of his will to kill every single one he saw.

“That’s right.”

Crang nodded with the same smiling face.

Become a knight. Erase the Demon Realm. Protect those who stand behind him.

The path he walked was toward fulfilling dreams that might sound absurd. Balrog was nothing more than a stopover along the way.

Crang knew that.

“Why aren’t you surprised?”

Marcus’s expectations were crushed.

“I was surprised.”

Crang poured out the last of the liquor into two cups. Enkrid downed his in one go.

“Let me have just a sip.”

Rem reached out quickly, but it was too much for his injured body.

Jaxon saw it, shook his head, and clicked his tongue.

Tsk tsk.

At the sound, Rem bristled, and the two started bickering, with Audin stepping in to break it up. Crang watched and laughed, saying they were the same as ever.

Laughing loudly, Enkrid looked at Crang and said evenly that these were people who would not easily change.

In the midst of it, Enkrid noticed a pattern on Crang’s arm he hadn’t seen before — a tattoo. From the shape and script, it was a complex design that was hard to guess the meaning of.

“What’s that?”

“Recognition.”

A short answer came back.

This was something most wouldn’t have noticed unless they were exceptionally perceptive.

But Enkrid had been operating with his senses heightened to the level of cutting through spells, so he could see it.

‘Something.’

Around his friend, he saw something like a shimmering illusion — a continuous heat that looked like it could set the eyes aflame just by looking at it.

“It’s a good thing. Put your worries aside.”

Crang patted his forearm as he spoke, and Enkrid nodded.

The two did not talk about the undercurrents or other matters. Only when it was time to stand did Crang speak.

“Do me a favor sometime.”

“Anytime.”

“Good, then let’s see each other again soon.”

There was no purpose behind it. Today was just a chance to share a drink and celebrate what his friend had accomplished. Why else bring the Founding Liquor?

Crang was no different from before — a man of unpredictable manner, skill, and capacity.

If it were just about sheer force, he couldn’t stop an arrow, but his abilities would shine in other areas.

“If you give me a whole bottle of that, I’ll grant you ten favors.”

Rem butted in from the side. At that, Crang chuckled.

“I’d like a fine tea instead.”

Marcus added a word from the side.

They had clearly meant to get up, but the trivial jokes went on for a while longer. Simply talking and joking like this was a pleasant time.

The next day, Enkrid received a summons from the Marquis of Baisar. He had just finished training and was eating lunch.

Tap tap, fine rain was falling that afternoon.

Even in the rain, there were those in the training hall rolling and training with full focus.

Enkrid left the inner castle and headed to the marquis’s estate.

“You’ve come.”

It was Kin Baisar who greeted him. Her complexion was unusually dull, not looking in the best condition.

In the Border Guard, she was a woman who never lost her smile and was immersed in her work.

“The marquis?”

“He’s waiting.”

Behind Kin, an elderly butler with white hair bowed his head.

Enkrid made his way inside.

Through a door carved with stately patterns, he met the dying old man in his bed.

The Marquis of Baisar had gray foreign matter clouding his eyes, leaving his vision impaired, and only a few teeth remained.

His speech was slurred because of it, but still clear enough to understand.

“Sir Enkrid?”

The old man asked.

Enkrid answered as he stepped closer to the bed.

“That’s right.”