Cypress was old. He had met many people. Because of that, he knew that everyone of real caliber never neglected training.
Every knight of rank was the same. Those who grew complacent in their talent and slacked off were weeded out and disappeared.
If you watched long enough, the outcome was always the same. Those who strove survived, and the rest were cast aside.
'Ingis is the finest raw gem I've unearthed.'
Watching Ingis's growth, Cypress judged as much. He valued the knight named Ingis highly.
Was it because he was born with exceptional talent?
No.
Because his bloodline was special?
That too, no.
Then what was the greatest reason for evaluating Ingis so highly?
'Iron Mask Ingis.'
Every one of his days was the same. He never complained of boredom. He was skilled at repetition. His expression did not change. His heart was firm, upright, and faithful. The way he never grew intoxicated with talent—his steadiness—was his greatest strength.
'Diligence.'
That was Ingis's virtue. Of course, as Cypress had said time and again, his talent was overflowing as well.
'Then what do you call that?'
Cypress grinned faintly as he looked toward the center of the training ground.
There were two men radiating divinity as if in place of holy relics. Both had builds that could easily be mistaken for bear beastmen.
One of them, he'd heard, was of giant blood.
Then that meant the other was pure human—and even that was astonishing.
Now and then, among the soldiers, quiet murmurs could be heard wondering if perhaps they didn't have some bear beastman blood mixed in, and honestly, that was understandable.
Two huge holy knights carrying the War God's symbol like a flag naturally became the center, and around them a space formed. Around that space gathered the Mad Order of Knights. Dawn had not yet broken. It was early morning, the deep-blue hour before sunrise.
Cypress, wearing only a worn linen shirt, looked at the gathered men.
A man with brown hair, long arms, and a well-balanced build spoke loudly enough to be heard.
"Effort? That's nothing but the pitiful struggle of the talentless."
He was Pel, once a shepherd from the wilderness. Despite devoting himself to training more than anyone, that was what came out of his mouth. He was a madman. There was a reason the Order bore its name.
Words spat between heavy breaths lost their persuasiveness. Beside him, someone muttered, "Cut that crazy talk already." His name was Lawford.
His face too was soaked with sweat. The beads gathered at his chin and dropped to the ground.
"Now that the rain's stopped, it's better."
That came from a man from the West, swinging his axe.
His opponent was a half-sleepy swordsman who rubbed his eyes, came out yawning, and at once swung his sword toward the axeman's head.
"I'll cut out that tongue to make mornings quiet."
That was what could be heard.
The two moved back and forth around each other. Wherever they stepped, dirt fountains shot up. It was a battle for space, a struggle for advantage.
Even though they weren't fighting in earnest, anyone could tell it wasn't easy to step between them.
"Such energy for so early in the morning."
Since they'd begun taking the place of sacred relics, the bear-like human and the half-giant had given up sleep altogether.
A knight could stay awake for several nights, though that didn't mean it was pleasant.
Yet everyone around them kept at their own work without complaint.
Swish.
The sight of a Frog cracking her whip and training was rare, and the sight of a white-haired Dragonoid swinging his sword was no less unusual.
And what of Crang, a king of a nation, dragging over a chair to sit beside them and watch?
'The situation is dire.'
Reality was harsh.
Cypress knew better than anyone how unfavorable the current state of the war was. And surely the others knew too. They'd gone over it again and again in tactical councils.
'One winged horse.'
The southern army had over twenty airborne mounts, yet these men began their day as if nothing were wrong.
At their center stood the man who woke earlier and sweated more than anyone else. His name was Enkrid.
"Splendid, brother."
The holy knight Audin watched with a smile. Dawn light streamed in. From the sky once covered by storm clouds, the sun rose. Sunrise.
"You haven't changed."
The king's voice could be heard. Cypress understood what he meant.
That must be Enkrid's usual state. Wherever he was, he swung a sword, moved his body, and sweated.
'Beyond diligence—'
There was severity, relentlessness.
Even if a typhoon hit, he would do his work. Such a nature showed in him.
'It'd be a lie to say I don't covet that.'
Of course, it was already too late. He was already the leader of the knights wearing dark-green cloaks instead of red ones.
If Cypress inwardly admired and marveled, Burnion, watching the same scene, felt a strange emotion. Leaning on his long spear stuck into the ground like a staff, he looked on.
After days of continuous battles, fatigue covered his body, yet as he watched that man, part of that fatigue faded. It vanished. It flew off beyond the veil.
And then the thought came to him.
'He hasn't changed.'
Enkrid was the same as ever. Nothing had changed. Even after becoming a knight, he still woke before anyone and sweated more than anyone. To Burnion's eyes, the past overlapped the present. It was simply astonishing. His resolve had not faded in the least, regardless of skill.
'He was like that before too.'
Every mercenary under him had once been fired up just by looking at that man.
"When you watch him, somehow, you just want to swing something."
He remembered the comrade who'd said that. Now they were all gone, dead.
Along with the past, his comrades came to mind, and naturally his thoughts reached one conclusion.
'Ah—revenge.'
Such a sweet word, yet such a difficult one. The harder the target, the more so.
For Burnion, he saw before him a man who could carry on his will even if he died. Kindness continued; bonds were not erased.
He remembered vividly the conversation they'd had while walking the line together.
"What happened to your old mercenary band?"
Enkrid had asked.
"All dead."
"All?"
"All."
Burnion had spoken of the past—of a job gone wrong, a twisted situation, and in the end, a demon of the Demon Realm pulling the strings.
Those who'd been brothers, family, were all dead. The krona he'd had, he sent entirely to the families waiting for the mercenaries. A few had made families of their own; perhaps that was the only comfort.
After finishing all that, Burnion had come to the Southern Front.
Fighting until death on the battlefield closest to the Demon Realm was his reason to live.
Enkrid had once belonged to the same mercenary band as Burnion. After hearing the whole story, the one who would succeed that will had said,
"Hold out ten years—no, five."
"Why?"
"Won't you take revenge?"
He said it as if it were obvious. As if, of course, he could.
"I will."
Burnion hadn't cried. He had already shed all the tears he would ever shed when his mercenary band died.
"I will."
He repeated it, and instead of tears, felt pain tearing through his heart.
"I was a member of that band too."
Enkrid's words shook through his entire body, leaving behind a trembling ache in his heart.
Kindness returned, and the bond still remained. Enkrid was more than capable of inheriting Burnion's will.
"Thank you."
Burnion said, and Enkrid replied flatly.
"If you're grateful, live hard."
At those words, Burnion shed a single remaining tear and laughed aloud. It was the same line he'd said when he'd saved Enkrid.
"You forget my name but remember that, huh, you crazy bastard."
"Burnion's too common a name."
"And Tom is special?"
"If you guess Tom, one out of ten's right."
The two laughed together—just like in the mercenary days.
As Burnion drifted into sentiment, the soldier Lapild saw the apostle of the War God he served showing unrestrained reverence. His attitude said only one thing—
That no matter what happened, he would never cease training.
"As long as blood runs in my body, I will fight."
Those had been Lapild's words when he first joined the Southern Front. What had he done to keep them?
His blood boiled. The enemy had yet to raise their heads, and the army needed rest—yet still, his blood boiled.
'I want to fight.'
Lapild murmured a prayer beside Audin. Hearing it, Audin smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Brother Lapild, struggle is survival. It is instinct to live. Hold to it."
Only two days had passed since the rain stopped. A short rest.
"You've taken my place."
Cypress laughed heartily.
Enkrid turned his gaze toward the sound of laughter, sweeping his eyes over the soldiers watching him.
Their eyes burned—hot, alive.
Not only Burnion and Lapild.
Nearly half the Southern defense forces had gathered in the center. The troops stationed on the Southern Front were elites—the wall guarding Naurillia itself. Such was their existence.
"Give up and it'll be easier."
"Quit it."
"Stop the stupid struggle. There's an easy life to live—why throw it away for this?"
Such criticism and mockery were things he had heard countless times before becoming a knight. Those people never made it this far.
These men—this army standing here—were his past self.
'Those who never gave up, who kept a dying ember in their chests and fought on.'
At that sudden thought, Enkrid stopped swinging his sword. He reversed the blade and drove it into the ground.
Thud.
The sword pierced the muddy earth. Such a simple action drew all eyes. Everyone froze their hands and feet.
He suddenly remembered the first time he met Crang. Every step, every gesture of that man had been different.
Leaving the sword planted, Enkrid placed a hand atop the pommel. Before he knew it, silence had fallen around him. Only the sound of breathing filled the air.
With his hand resting on the pommel, Enkrid lifted his head. He hadn't unleashed any great force, but the words he spoke carried weight.
In the quiet, his voice rang out with meaning.
"No one here came because they wanted to die, right?"
It was a question asked without expecting an answer. Everyone only closed their mouths and watched.
"Then fight to the death. For what you wish."
It was a short speech. Between the silence, only the heat of the soldiers' hearts rose.
"So we shall."
The soldier Lapild murmured his answer. He renewed his resolve.
Clap. Crang clapped his hands.
"Good."
He was one whose words could shake a man's heart. Because they carried truth and sincerity.
"My dream is to die in bed."
Cypress added a joke.
Even in the early morning, most of the knights in red cloaks had come out to watch.
Some placed hands on their sword grips; others simply watched. The younger ones, in particular, showed their zeal.
Could anyone not know the fame of the Mad Order of Knights?
Their burning fervor heated the camp. They used that power to rebuild their positions.
Luagarne and Aurelia revised the strategy several times.
"Let's clear the center of the camp."
"That would be best."
Following the plan, the Southern Front became busier than ever before the enemy even appeared.
"You Royal Guards think you can stand idle? If you can't fly, lend your hands."
Crang gave his order.
"Our duty is to protect Your Majesty."
"Exactly. So move. Helping them now is protecting me."
Crang's intent was firm. The head of the Royal Guard was a man who declared himself the king's protector in the harshest times.
He was also one who respected Crang's will.
"Move. Guard His Majesty in pairs, taking turns."
For the captain of the Royal Guard, that was the line of compromise. He had cut down their rest hours. Thus even the Royal Guard went out to work.
Enkrid's daily routine was simple.
Morning was a series of training and tempering, and the rest of the day he spent riding and flying on Odd-Eye.
Neigh!
Odd-Eye never knew exhaustion, yet Enkrid was equally faithful to rest.
"It'd be shameful to stumble when it's time to fight, Odd-Eye."
Later, during a break, Enkrid asked Crang a question.
The king of a nation was eating stew from a bowl just like an ordinary soldier.
"What if there's poison in that?"
"If the gods wish to take me, then I'll accept it."
In truth, Crang's body, having accepted a portion of the Sun's Radiance, rejected most poisons. Not that the other soldiers knew that. Because of it, they all seemed moved when they heard his words.
Their king sat and ate and talked with them. A plain, unpretentious king.
"Why only the Royal Guard and the Kingdom's army?"
If it were Aisia or Marquess Marcus Baisar, they could easily have followed as well.
"Preparation."
Crang's answer was brief. Enkrid merely nodded.
After that, it was back to flight practice until nightfall. Since that horse flew through the sky rather than ran on land, training was essential.
For days, the army's fervor stayed the same. It did not waver. Even at the moment when the enemy finally advanced, it remained unchanged.