Chapter 662: A Usual Day

Enkrid knew that swinging his sword a few times wouldn’t suddenly lead to some profound awakening.

So he would take it one step at a time.

For now, that meant giving it a name.

“Let’s call it Flow.”

Its foundation would be built on Oara’s Connecting Sword.

And eventually...

“In every moment, let it come naturally.”

The meaning: like a river that flows without ceasing, tirelessly moving onward.

Its execution: to swing the sword as naturally as breathing.

Then what about the training method?

That’s where Enkrid stalled.

As always, he hit the limits of his talent—yet that, too, made him happy.

The madman named Enkrid was someone who felt joy in being able to surpass even invisible walls.

Now the wall was visible and within reach.

And this was only the beginning.

He had already glimpsed what lay beyond—it was the path all his squadmates had advanced ahead on.

Not a change in quantity, but in quality.

That realization sent a shiver down his spine and a thrilling jolt to his heart.

It reached his head and exploded into uncontainable exhilaration.

“Ah.”

He was so excited it drove him mad.

Of course, it wasn’t as if a clear path had suddenly appeared.

All he could do for now was swing his sword.

So Enkrid did exactly that.

Clumsily, doggedly, he swung his sword.

With only one thing he knew how to do, he did that one thing—and yet a smile never left his face.

Like a child in love for the first time, he just kept swinging his sword.

“...Is he insane or something?” the Ragged Saint muttered worriedly from the side.

Why was he suddenly talking to himself, then going out and swinging his sword while grinning?

Seriously—what was that?

It was terrifying.

It was fair to ask that sort of thing.

Enkrid didn’t even hear the muttering, but everyone else nodded in agreement.

“Of course he’s insane. That’s just how he is,” said Rem.

“He’ll snap out of it. No need to panic too much.”

“It’s fine. It’s just a phase,” Audin added.

Hearing Rem, Ragna, and Audin respond like that, the Ragged Saint snorted.

He couldn’t help himself—he had to say it to them too.

“You’re the last ones who should be saying that.”

Enkrid had only met him recently, but the Ragged Saint had seen plenty of Rem and Ragna.

He’d even watched his adoptive son change.

The ones who used to talk about killing each other were now working together like nothing had happened.

It was ridiculous.

Why were they like this?

He knew why.

Because of that lunatic up front, swinging a sword with a goofy smile.

“Right... he’s the center of it all.”

Everything revolved around that one person.

The knight order, the city, the people.

Was it impressive?

Yes, it was.

With a lunatic like that at the center, it made sense that others like these would gather around him.

As he stared at the sword-swinging madman, a flurry of thoughts stirred in the Ragged Saint’s mind.

Regret, remorse... they all blended in.

What if he’d had someone like that in his youth?

Someone who could even bend Overdeer and himself?

What if it had been someone everyone could acknowledge?

He had known one such person—someone whose talent seemed blessed by the gods.

His words carried weight, and his body radiated divine power and unmatched skill.

Sometimes he felt like a younger brother.

Sometimes, an older brother.

He had the authority to lead and the warmth to care for others.

Charisma, leadership, strength—he had it all.

And as great as his abilities were, his ambitions were just as large.

If they’d protected him when he became pope... would anything have changed?

The Ragged Saint already knew the answer.

“Nothing would’ve changed.”

That was the tragedy.

It was Legion that drove him away, and Legion that made him defect.

The greatest genius Legion ever produced lost his family, his lover, and left for the Demon Realm, dreaming of revenge.

He didn’t cry blood.

He didn’t scream.

He simply abandoned everything and walked away.

“If this is the will of the gods, then I will reject it.”

That was the last thing he said.

“He was a fool.”

He was too exceptional to be pope.

Too bright.

Naturally, people grew jealous.

They wanted to drag him down.

After that incident, Overdeer the Holy Knight erased his own opinions and swore to obey whatever the next pope wanted.

Now that the pain in his heart had been stirred, the Ragged Saint had another realization.

“Divine power wasn’t the important part. He should’ve known how to embrace others. He should’ve been someone who could sacrifice for them.”

A person acknowledged by all must be that kind of person.

The Holy Knights could fight.

Others could wield divine power.

But the one at the top shouldn’t be recognized for skill, but for character.

“Hah...”

The Ragged Saint knew himself well.

He wasn’t suited to be pope.

He didn’t want the responsibility.

He’d always preferred saving the sick child right in front of him.

The Holy City needed someone with a different kind of vessel.

And Border Guard... it needed someone like that.

Someone who didn’t press down on people from above, didn’t dominate them, didn’t rule over them.

“He’s no king.”

He simply had a different purpose.

“Didn’t he say his dream was to be a knight?” he asked, directing the question vaguely at Audin.

He already knew the answer—he’d heard it before.

Specifically, the kind of knight you’d hear about in a bard’s song.

He couldn’t laugh at that.

Not because of Enkrid’s current state, but because he’d once lived a similar dream.

Watching him walk the city, he could tell.

Enkrid wielded his sword to protect what stood behind him.

That was all.

And with just that—he’d made it this far.

That made him a madman.

“What an absurd bastard.”

With that simple realization, the Ragged Saint dropped to his knees and began to pray.

He clasped his hands and sought his lord, repenting past regrets and wishing for light to shine upon this lunatic’s future.

“...You do realize praying doesn’t undo what you said, right?”

Right beside him, Rem rested a hand on his axe.

Didn’t this old man just cross a line?

Didn’t he just lump them all together with that madman?

Technically, he’d said “you’re the last ones who should say that”, but Rem was perceptive.

To him, that meant “you’re all the same kind of lunatics.”

And that sounded an awful lot like a challenge.

Westerners might revere their elders, but that old man wasn’t from the West—so it didn’t matter.

“Still, it wasn’t wrong, was it, my barbarian brother?” Audin tried to calm things down.

“A stray cat always takes the wildcat’s side.”

Rem did more than gesture at his axe—he actually laid his hand on it.

His downward weapon responded to the warmth of his palm.

He didn’t intend to actually use it, but the threat was real.

“You are the last ones who should say anything,” Ragna added, ending the fight with one sentence.

Of course, he’d conveniently left himself out of the insult.

“You blind bastard with no sense of direction—you’re included too, you lazy shit!”

Rem pulled his axe and swung.

He drove it straight down with full wrist force—like the weapon had grown out of his arm.

Ragna calmly drew his sword to block, pulling his greatsword as if it were a dagger, stopping Rem’s blade with only a partially drawn edge.

Clang!

Sparks flew as fire flickered in the eyes of two wild beasts.

“My wild mad brothers, truly,” Audin muttered as he shoved between them.

Golden light formed on his fist like a clump of sacred sand.

Rem immediately jumped away.

Ragna raised his sword vertically like a shield and backed off.

The three of them began circling and clashing atop the battered training yard.

Meanwhile, Enkrid was off to the side, muttering to himself and swinging his sword.

Watching him, Rophod and Pell shook their heads—then locked eyes and immediately started fighting.

“What are you looking at?”

“Not your rotten eyeballs, that’s for sure.”

“Let’s take one out then. I think you can spare it.”

That was the kind of conversation they were having.

Lua Gharne arrived late, saw the chaos, and grabbed Teresa, clearly delighted.

“Hey, you half-blood giant—if your skills have improved, want to have some fun?”

“Not a bad offer, Sister.”

Teresa’s rough, resonant voice now carried even more impact.

It was a voice that stirred the soul.

And with the Ragged Saint kneeling in prayer off to one side, draped in jewels...

...it was just another ordinary day.

A few more days passed.

It was the day after Rophod passed the basic training instructor role to a squire named Clemen.

“Am I really doing it?” she asked.

“Yes. You are,” he said.

Clemen was officially a squire of the Mad Knights.

Enkrid had trained her a few times and knew well how fierce she could be.

And he liked that fire.

In any case, Rophod and Pell had both cleared their schedules at Enkrid’s request.

A day of promise, perhaps.

Enkrid woke early and took his time warming up.

“Good.”

Spring was fully here, but the early morning was still cold.

That slight chill felt just right.

He liked the feeling of moving just enough to start sweating.

He liked the heat building in his body.

Audin had come out before dawn and began training beside him using the Isolation Technique.

Soon after sunrise, Rophod and Pell joined them.

Enkrid didn’t believe brute force could make impossible things happen.

Instead, he trained steadily, methodically working through everything he needed to do.

He had built a system and organized the temperaments in his mind.

And now, in front of him stood two people with perfectly opposite dispositions—Rophod and Pell.

Excellent test subjects.

“Don’t you want to be knights?”

It was a question that didn’t really need asking.

Both of them trained to a ridiculous degree every single day.

What else would drive them?

“No point in saying it out loud,” Pell replied first.

Rophod nodded heavily.

“Yes.”

Enkrid had thought about it again and again on his way here.

Could a structured system lead someone down the path to knighthood?

It was time to find out.

He didn’t know it, but this was a path that other military groups had once walked.

Considering the impact knights had on the battlefield, it would’ve been strange not to try.

Of course, Naurillia had wanted to do the same—but Count Molsen, cultists, and bandits had gotten in the way, tangling everything before they could even begin.

But lately, things felt different.

Not just catching a breath—but as if a brief peace had arrived.

“Maybe we really did wipe out the cultists. The ones acting solo disappeared, and even the number of monsters and beasts dropped,” Kraiss commented while monitoring the continent’s situation.

Then he added:

“If we could live like this, I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”

Kraiss /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ had been born into a world of war and Demon Realm incursions.

To him, this kind of peace felt unfamiliar.

Even though it was peace wrought by the sword—and even though some of it had been achieved by his own hand—he still felt that way.

In such times, investing in training was wise.

Kraiss had seen it coming, which was why he’d doubled down on developing the unit.

Of course, he hadn’t expected even the cultists to be wiped out so cleanly.

In this age, quality mattered more than numbers on the battlefield.

Naturally, training knights became the top priority for every military force.

Rophod and Pell both tensed slightly.

Enkrid, Rem, and Audin gathered around them.

From afar, it almost looked like the two were being enclosed in a ring.