Chapter 363 - An Unreasonable Demand

"Carry on."

The marquis sat down as he spoke, and his two guards stood behind him like statues. Their menacing presence lasted only a moment. Neither smiled, but neither showed any displeasure, either. They were impassive, as though simply doing their duty. Ragna thought the two guards held themselves quite well. They were neither overly rigid nor arrogant. They would know how to use exactly as much strength as they needed, when they needed it. He could see that. While Ragna studied their stances, Rem read their presence. They seemed menacing because they were somewhere dangerous, not because they were offended. That was how it looked to him. So Rem judged that there would be no fight with the guards. Next, the marquis. He looked like an old man with nothing to do. 'Doesn't he have anything better to do?'

He kept his mouth shut. The man had come to see Encrid, so it wasn't his place to interfere. Rem couldn't help a wry smile at the thought that he didn't need to step in. 'Is this right?'

Did it suddenly feel awkward? No. It felt so natural that only his mind found it strange. Respect the man because he was Encrid's guest?

Rem realized that, somewhere along the way, he had started following Encrid. Not that it bothered him. It had happened naturally, before he even noticed. Esther sensed magic from the visitors, but judged that none of them was a mage.

'An artifact.'

A mage's desire and curiosity stirred within her, but she easily suppressed them. Acting as she pleased would put Encrid in a difficult position. WHOOSH.

Right beside her, Encrid drove his halberd down forcefully. Without even answering the marquis, he did as the man said and continued training. "What's the point of keeping your balance if there's no force behind the blow?"

Rem offered the advice as he stepped back. The axe at his waist swung, tapping his thigh. One of the guards glanced at it, but they were merely sizing each other up without a word. It wasn't enough to turn into a confrontation. Rem focused entirely on Encrid. "Then what?"

"Your foot."

He meant to extend his left foot farther forward and shift more weight onto it. But wouldn't that send him pitching forward? 'What, did you sell off your Heart of the Superhuman?'

Rem hadn't actually said it, but that was the answer Encrid would get if he asked why again. Their brief exchange gave him a small flash of understanding. 'If I have strength beyond normal limits, I can use it to attack, too.'

Strength beyond the limits. Tremendous power. It would be arrogant to think he alone was capable of such things. He had to assume his opponent could do them, too. What Rem was teaching him was a technique called Giant Cleaver. Despite the name, its finer points concerned how to deal with weapons wielded with a Giant's strength. It was Rem's own technique and training method. One he had created recently, at that. Turning unique experiences into techniques. Hadn't Encrid already demonstrated that right before his eyes? The Captivating Sword was a delight simply to watch.

Rem did the same. He used experience as his foundation and gave concrete form to what he learned from it. Then he systematically laid out steps and a sequence to ingrain that concrete "result" into the body. He could simply test it on Encrid. Rem, too, learned as he taught, developing it further. Encrid knew what Rem was doing. He was reminded that his friend with the broken brain was a genius, too. Not that it changed anything. It was simply a fact. Learning and mastering things was so much fun that he had no time to care whether the bastard was a genius.

So he simply kept learning, practicing, training, and repeating, always in earnest. Rem took sheer pleasure in watching him. "Harder."

Encrid moved as Rem instructed. To withstand a Giant's attacks, he needed to know what they could do. Strength beyond the limits was called superhuman strength. What could someone possessing it accomplish? The marquis could only marvel at someone who trained so earnestly while leaving him waiting. Jaxon watched that marquis in silence. No killing intent, no presence, not the slightest trace of him. He merely watched. Jaxon thought Black Blade's leader was most likely one of the nobles.

'But surely not someone on the level of the Marquis of Fertile Lands.'

If the leader held such a position, wouldn't he have made his move in earnest? Apart from Count Molsen, the marquis effectively wielded the greatest power both inside and outside the palace. Jaxon knew this because he had already finished investigating the palace's internal power struggles. 'It's not him.'

The man possessed a bearing found only in someone born and raised a noble. The marquis could not be Black Blade's leader. Black Blade's head had entered the palace as the leader of a bandit gang. He couldn't have shed every old habit. While Jaxon was observing the marquis, one of the guards looked at him. He had given away not even a trace of his presence, yet the guard had noticed him?

The man had some means of his own. Not the same kind as Jaxon's. Well, it would take someone that skilled to keep assassination threats at bay. Everyone currently holding their ground in the capital was effectively under threat of assassination. 'Will?'

The man hadn't learned sensory arts, nor did he have the air of a fellow assassin. If he could detect Jaxon's gaze nonetheless, it could only be Will. Jaxon had ways of concealing himself further, but there was no point now. He looked away. Though it hadn't become a confrontation, a peculiar tension lingered when the marquis spoke.

"Won't you even offer me a cup of tea, Vice Baron Gardner?"

"Pardon? Yes, of course."

Caught in the middle, Andrew sweated as he ordered tea and refreshments. There were only a handful of attendants and servants in the mansion. One maid recognized the Marquis of Fertile Lands and approached with trembling hands. To the young maid, the great noble before her was different from Andrew. Andrew, too, could hurt her if something displeased him, but he was the master she saw every day. She had grown used to him, and knew he wasn't that sort of man. But the person sitting there now was a great noble. With one gesture or a single word, he could quite literally cast her life and her family into ruin. His higher status also meant that her master couldn't protect her. She didn't fully understand all of that, but instinctively, she was afraid. Trembling, the maid finally spilled the tea. Instead of filling the cup, it trickled down the side. It ran across the table and dripped onto the marquis's lap. He calmly rose and moved to the next chair. Unable to speak, the maid went pale and shook before dropping to her knees. "F-for-forgive me."

Encrid had just finished training.

"Your hands aren't steady yet."

The marquis spoke. Mac brought a handkerchief to help the helpless maid, but the guard was quicker. He immediately took a clean handkerchief from his coat and wiped the moisture from the marquis's lap. Encrid's gaze settled on the marquis. Unconcerned by anyone watching him, the marquis spoke.

"Vice Baron Gardner."

"Yes."

"You would do well to pay attention to your maids' training."

"... Yes." Meanwhile, Mac cleaned the table. The maid kept trembling throughout, until Andrew sent her inside. She headed toward the mansion on shaking legs. It seemed a wonder she could walk without collapsing.

Andrew poured the tea himself, and the marquis nodded. He had shown no particular kindness, but neither had he scolded her harshly. The marquis lifted his cup and took a sip. Kin Vaisar quietly sat beside him.

"May I have a cup as well?" she asked.

"Would you oblige?"

The Marquis of Fertile Lands added his request to hers. Refusing was hardly an option.

"Of course." Andrew nodded. Meanwhile, Encrid walked over and sat across the table. The small commotion was over. He neither made a great show of courtesy nor acted rudely. He simply sat. Perfectly ordinary behavior. Watching him, the marquis brought his cup to his mouth. Steaming tea wet his lips. "What do you think would have happened if I had comforted that maid?"

The marquis asked with his cup in hand. His lips smiled, but his eyes did not. Encrid found it difficult to tell what sort of man he was. He had met all sorts, but people like this were hard to read. If Krang was a sun shining alone, the marquis was a watercourse. One whose direction and changes could never be predicted. "One of two things. She would have felt relieved or uneasy."

Encrid roughly wiped away his sweat with his forearm and rested his hands on the table as he answered.

"Oh? Why uneasy?"

"She might think you were comforting her to her face, only to hurt her behind her back."

"Are you saying that maid sees only the darkness in the world?" "Or she might tell someone about this later and hear something like, 'You spilled tea on him, and he comforted you instead? You'd better be careful.'"

Encrid conjured an imaginary older friend of the maid. His imitation was terrible, of course, but it conveyed his meaning well enough. There was no shortage of old nobles who said everything was fine to a maid's face while secretly lusting after her body. So it was better to seem somewhat displeased than to comfort her. Once it was over, the maid would feel relieved instead. She would think she had paid for her mistake.

The marquis hadn't grown angry, but he had reproached her for her unsteady hands. That was all. "You're quite considerate."

"People often tell me I'm not very noble."

"... Do they?" Kin Vaisar nearly spat out her tea at the marquis's words. Of course, rather than do so, she merely tightened her grip on the cup. What was this man saying, when he was considered a noble among nobles?

Calling himself "not very noble" here was almost wordplay. Could anyone who flew into a rage over a maid's mistake truly be called noble? "Why have you come here?"

"Why do you ask?"

Answering a marquis's question with a question? Kin Vaisar's heart thumped. Her gaze naturally turned to Encrid.

"Because I want to know what sort of man you are. Will you answer me?" What would he say? Kin knew how Encrid had come here. She could roughly guess why, too. That all but limited his possible answers. He might say he had come to help someone on his path as king, or that he had accepted a commission. Even if he said things looked interesting and he had come to lend a hand, Kin would nod. 'He might answer that way.'

A man like Encrid was more than capable of it. But would the marquis like such an answer? She doubted it. He looked neither expectant nor amused, only impassive. That made him all the more imposing. Encrid opened his mouth.

"I came for a world where children never set foot on a battlefield."

The unexpected answer silenced everyone, Kin included. Encrid continued in an ordinary tone, as though reciting a poem. It was a quiet, composed declaration, a public avowal, an expression of determination. "I came to reduce the number of monsters and demonic beasts. I came to protect those who cherish their people. I came to punish those who use strength to oppress others. I came because I want to protect the weak and safeguard the dreams of those who have them." Empty words. Absurd words. Whatever came to his lips.

No. They had meaning. They held conviction. They were sincere. Words spoken not with his mouth, but with his heart. For a moment, Kin, the marquis and his guards, and the watching Rem, Dunbachel, Andrew, and the others seemed caught in a storm called Encrid.

Words had no power. Anyone could merely speak.

No, words had power. For he had filled them with determination and conviction. While everyone remained silent, the marquis set his cup down with a clack and spoke.

"You said your dream was to become a knight?"

Surely his dream hadn't spread so far. The marquis must simply be well informed. Encrid nodded.

"Yes."

"You have my encouragement."

"Yes." The marquis rose. Why had he come here? Surely it wasn't to confirm that Encrid dreamed of becoming a knight. And now he was getting up?

Kin was taken aback. But a beauty who had stirred men's hearts for years was skilled at controlling her expression. The marquis turned to leave, ending a conversation shorter than his wait. He strode away as though about to leave, then turned before he had taken even five steps.

"Ah, but how can a man who would protect the weak and become a knight simply watch people die in the capital? Things happen every night, you know. Or do you only act when there's a commission?" His tone and movements were rather awkward. He was acting as though the thought had just occurred to him, but his words and actions had been planned from the beginning. He deliberately made that obvious.

So you don't exercise this chivalry of yours, these convictions, without Krona or a reward?

Encrid felt as though he could hear the marquis's meaning laid bare. It was an unreasonable demand. Affairs in the capital were the constabulary's responsibility. Encrid belonged to Border Guard's standing army. Stirring things up here would only earn him a reprimand. Did he have to indulge such an unreasonable demand? Encrid looked into the marquis's eyes. A faint smile appeared in them.

'Ah.'

A provocation. He was provoking him. Encrid could feel it clearly. Can you do this? You don't have to.

I know perfectly well it needn't be you.

But is that really your chivalry?

What was your dream again? A knight? A kniiiight?

Be honest. You're not backing out because you think you can't solve this, are you? In an instant, the marquis's words brushed past his ears. The man hadn't actually said a word, but Encrid heard him. A great noble cloaked in dignity would never really speak that way, but it felt as though he had heard it all.

Encrid had to take the bait. That was how he would prove himself. To put sincerity into his words, he had to back them with action. If all he did was talk, no one would follow him. No one would stand behind him. "Starting tonight, I'll investigate and resolve it."

"I'll leave it to you."

Their eyes met, and the marquis smiled, the corners of his eyes softening. Encrid smiled back.