The appreciation for the white stone was brief, and so was the heartfelt confession about Shinar. Kraiss asked,
"Who did you bring this time? You went to the Pen-Hanil Range, fought the Salamander, and won, didn't you?"
The Border Guard's standing army had also fought the flame-born aberration. Kraiss had received full reports of everything. At his words, Enkrid nodded calmly. It was true he had brought someone back, and true he had fought the Salamander.
Then, is that a relief for now? Probably. Kraiss thought so, and then, when he was introduced to Temares, he was surprised again—and even more so when he heard that he was dragonkin.
And upon seeing his appearance, he muttered,
"I wonder if that means he's obliged to work at the salon."
It was a truly Kraiss-like remark. Temares, at least on the outside, had beauty as unique as Shinar's. His vertically slit eyes held mystery, and his delicately arranged nose and lips placed him among the ranks of the handsome. Though his figure looked slender, he was tall, with long limbs. Ragna judged his arms perfect for wielding a longsword, and Audin said his physique was well-balanced. And then there was that lemon-colored blond hair, gleaming white as it caught the sunlight.
It gave off a bright and warm feeling, yet his eyes were alien.
'This will sell.'
If he debuted at the salon, he'd gain explosive popularity comparable to Enkrid or Jaxon. He might look slender, but the visible split in his forearm muscles would be another point of attraction. Just seeing such a well-balanced body would be a pleasure in itself.
'Face and body are talents too.'
Kraiss believed that. Only, it was a shame that those born with such gifts always turned their attention elsewhere.
'If he'd just debut, everything would work out.'
That's how Kraiss saw it. Naturally, Temares showed not the slightest interest.
"My duty does not lie there."
He cut him off and turned away. Dragonkin possessed mind-reading. From Kraiss, he sensed a pure and intense desire—but it wasn't something he intended to indulge. Kraiss smacked his lips regretfully.
"Weren't you worrying about demonic revenge a moment ago?"
Abnaier asked from behind, watching him.
"I was."
Kraiss replied casually. His eyes shifted between Enkrid, Jaxon, and the dragonkin, and then turned to Rem and Audin. Those two had their own peculiar charms as well.
"And now?"
Abnaier asked again.
"I still am."
"Doesn't look like it."
"When there's something more important, I can put that aside for now."
The worry remained. But now, Kraiss had learned to swallow it before speaking. Originally, anxiety and worry were said to be like holding a cup full of water and never setting it down. The things that must be done are already decided. In that case, he just had to keep doing what needed to be done, and for a while, set down the glass filled with worry. That's what Kraiss did. The salon, as an excuse, was one of the things that let his mind rest.
There was another reason his anxiety had calmed so much.
'They all come back in one piece.'
He had once again confirmed the power of those called calamities.
'The legendary Salamander.'
And if he later turned this feat into a song and had it sung at the salon? The thought even gave him leisure. Kraiss had freshly reassessed the might gathered around Enkrid. No one knew in what way or form the strength of this knight order would reveal itself in the future.
Anyway, the group returned, and the Salamander—unknown to anyone—had nested in the fairy city.
Shinar, complaining of fatigue, asked several times to be carried on someone's back, and Enkrid ignored her while suggesting to the dragonkin that he take a day's rest.
"All you ever think about is fighting, huh."
Shinar made a heartfelt protest, but no one paid any attention. This wasn't the first or second day Enkrid had been like that. All of this was familiar and natural to them. The dragonkin felt no mystery in it. By nature, he had no interest in matters unrelated to his duty. Yet now, he found himself curious about one human. Thus came the question.
"You truly do love to fight."
It was evident from the outside, and clear even when reading his mind. As he spoke, the dragonkin also knew the man didn't merely love "fighting."
"Seems you prefer the challenge more than the fight itself."
Mind-reading—reading the heart. A unique talent of dragonkin, based on insight. He sensed what this human, Enkrid, truly desired.
Which made him all the more fascinating.
'His Will is high and radiant.'
At its foundation was the mental strength to face repeated trials without breaking. It was a form he had never seen in any human or other sentient being.
'How can such a thing exist?'
He must have encountered countless barriers that could only be overcome by pouring out everything he had—and survived them.
'As long as he doesn't die.'
In theory, it was possible.
Indeed, the dragonkin's insight had something exceptional. He didn't know that Enkrid was repeating the same day, but he had glimpsed its essence. He had no thought to dig deeper or uncover secrets.
He saw not the process but the result. That alone intrigued him.
***
The dragonkin race, by nature, possessed several special traits. To divide them: first, Dragon Speech; second, dragon scales; third, dragon eyes.
If Dragon Speech naturally subdued an opponent through Will, dragon scales referred to altering one's skin into a hardened armor impervious to ordinary blades, and dragon eyes meant eyes that could read the Will of others.
Indeed, their eyes resembled those of reptiles, giving them an unusual look. Yet they were called the eyes of dragons not for appearance, but for their insight.
Temares could read his opponent's Will and the very start of their movement the instant he looked upon them. Dragonkin were born with innate insight.
The day after the incident with the Salamander, at dawn, the dragonkin rose early and quietly watched Enkrid sweating through his training.
A shining Will stirred the dragonkin's emotions. Though it didn't show outwardly, Temares found pleasure simply in observing this human.
And beside him, watching the same human's dawn training, Luagarne, the Frog, somehow felt as though she had gained a companion.
"Dragonkin usually don't take interest in others' affairs, do they?"
She asked, watching Enkrid, Audin, and Teresa punish their bodies with devices made of forged iron.
Enkrid's usual training partners at dawn were Audin and Teresa, though sometimes Lawford and Pel joined in. Of course, other members joined as they pleased.
"Yes, brother."
Audin spoke as he swung a short iron ball with handles up and down. The motion made the tight muscles of his upper body ripple.
'A trained body.'
Even to dragonkin eyes, that body looked so. Between the large muscles, countless smaller ones filled every gap—a mass of flesh like forged steel.
Naturally, Enkrid's body was no less. Though their builds differed, the quality was clear.
Audin's affirmation came because Enkrid always trained within reason. After yesterday's battle, today's dawn training was merely light exercise to loosen the body.
Luagarne threw out her question and waited patiently ahead, and Temares, after two days, replied in the tongue he'd grown used to.
"That's right."
A bit of a slow friend.
Lua thought so, but didn't mind. When it came to things beyond their own interests, Frogs were as indifferent as dragonkin.
If they shared one trait, it was that they accepted others just as they were.
"Then why?"
Still, she asked again. Curiosity was the Frog's weapon.
"Interesting."
A short, solid reply.
Hearing it, Lua thought,
'Even a dragonkin can be charmed.'
A fitting nickname, she thought. All those titles—Demon Slayer, Balrog Killer—should be thrown out.
Enkrid's title should be the Enchanting Knight. It suited him. After all, even demons now sought him.
Of course, such courting from demons was unwelcome. They had attacked outright and awakened the Salamander. If their power had been even a bit lacking—
'A grim reality would've come.'
To avoid that, Enkrid would once again drench himself in sweat today.
Luagarne realized anew the reason Enkrid endured each day.
'He can only protect what's behind him and reach what he desires if he never wastes a single day.'
He knew that with his mind and with his heart. That was everything.
As Enkrid sweated profusely, Temares too gradually warmed his own blood. Dragonkin had such a knack.
Standing still, he tensed and released his muscles, keeping them ready to move at any moment. Blood heated, muscles loosened—combat readiness.
"I'm ready."
Temares said. Enkrid nodded and stood before him. Thus, the two faced each other in the training yard after just one day. What more needed to be said? Nothing.
They drew their weapons. At once, the blue light of dawn mingled with the white blade.
Clang!
The blades, filled with Will, met, and a gust spread around them.
Three or four times Enkrid aimed for openings with thrusts and cuts, but the dragonkin's defense was solid. Enkrid relaxed his grip slightly and asked,
"What's that sword?"
A blade that had met dawn several times yet remained unscathed. The material didn't seem like ordinary metal.
"I pulled one of my own bones and forged it."
Temares answered. Dragonkin's engraved weapons had a certain fiery nature.
"Does the bone grow back?"
"There's a useless one near the tail."
When Enkrid asked if making weapons from their own bones was common among dragonkin, he nodded again.
None of the stories exchanged during sparring were dull. The two spoke intermittently as they crossed blades again and again over several days. It was the kind of sparring that left both satisfied—Enkrid and Temares alike.
Still, they never crossed a certain line; by the Mad Order's standards, it was a light sparring.
"He's got some skill."
Rem said after watching their first bout. On the second day, Ragna raised an eyebrow and remarked,
"He's improving."
Jaxon only observed silently, his thoughts unreadable, while Pel and Lawford showed sparks of competitiveness.
"Maybe I should show off my axe too."
Rem joked like some third-rate bandit, joining in midway, and Pel, Lawford, and Teresa each took a turn as well.
"He really doesn't have any smell. Strange. Are all dragonkin like that?"
Dunbakel said, finding it curious that this dragonkin had no scent but a palpable presence.
Somehow, Temares ended up clashing with everyone once.
And what was the atmosphere in the city during that time?
Peaceful. As if the previous battle meant nothing.
The reason for such composure was simple. The standing army had fought flame-shaped aberrations, but didn't see it as such a great feat. That was all.
The Pen-Hanil Range had always been a place where monsters appeared morning and night. So if ice creatures suddenly swarmed down tomorrow, they'd simply shrug. In winter, white-furred giants called Yetis would descend from the peaks. They were few in number, so they drew little notice.
Once, the appearance of even a single drake would have caused panic, but not anymore.
The standing army's level had changed completely, and now the Mad Order of Knights was stationed here.
If a drake appeared, the real question would be how intact they could bring back its hide—a measure of the might now residing in the city.
Even without the Mad Order, the elite among the standing army could handle it with ease.
Of course, caring about the full value of drake or monster hide was something for Kraiss and those managing the city's budget.
The soldiers themselves simply fought.
"Still, to think you actually took down a Salamander."
Only Garret Gyro, knowing the truth, was deeply astonished.
'It's different.'
The Border Guard was utterly unlike other cities. Unlike the duchies under Naurillia or Octo—wealthy trade cities known for comfort.
Was it simply because they'd had no battles with Azpen?
'Or is it because of that wide-eyed Kraiss?'
When you look beneath any phenomenon, the cause is never just one. The world isn't that simple. But there is always one major cause.
'Enkrid.'
Now Commander of the Mad Order, he enjoyed teaching what he had learned. He made the grueling "hell runs" for stamina feel natural.
Added to that were Kraiss's efforts and several geographical factors.
'They've faced endless incidents, adapted, and overcome each one.'
An old proverb of the continent surely held true in this city.
'If you survive, you grow stronger.'
Be it mercenary or merchant—it's the same.
'This city—'
It had survived, and become solid as stone. The atmosphere was not what it had been in his time.
'It's not my place to say anything now.'
Garret Gyro was a wild man. He was no politician, no soldier, no bard.
Though he made a song about the Enchanting Knight who stopped the Salamander, having suffered one ordeal didn't grant him newfound talent in composition, and his song never caught on.
"A shame. I should've been the one to tell the legend."
In any case, Garret left, and the Border Guard gained yet another new sentient being.