Chapter 669: The Irresistible Commander

If there’s a beginning, then there must be an end.

Whether it’s indulging in fine food out of gluttony, getting lost in the rhythm of music, or two people exploring each other’s bodies—everything comes to an end.

Enkrid wiped the nosebleed trailing from his arm. The euphoria faded. He wasn’t thrilled by victory itself—he’d simply enjoyed the process. Now, calm returned.

Just as he’d calculated from the start—Penna had been enough.

“I thought you’d drop out halfway.”

The female swordsman spoke. She was kneeling on one knee, looking up at him.

Those who’d been hiding in the shadows, waiting, sensed the mood cooling and came out to spectate.

A child with wide, sparkling eyes raised their voice and asked,

“Did you win?”

The answer came from the swordswoman.

“Yeah, I lost.”

There had never been any bloodlust or killing intent. It wasn’t a battle to the death—it was a measure, a test.

You could call it a rough spar.

Enkrid hadn’t gone all in with his sword either.

Victory in battle isn’t decided by skill alone.

It struck him again. Comparing himself and the woman in front of him, he held the upper hand in raw ability.

But what if this had been a real fight?

She didn’t show all her cards.

Of course, neither had Enkrid.

“Why don’t you get tired?”

The swordswoman asked. Enkrid looked closely at her face again and tried to recall his memories.

“So that’s where I saw you.”

“Huh? You know me?”

They’d crossed paths briefly in the past. He hadn’t remembered her right away because the moment had been short. But now her features stirred something deep in his memory.

Despite the years, she hadn’t changed much in appearance—and that helped the old memory surface.

It had been the day Ger and Pete died, back when he was still doing mercenary work. That was when he got saddled with the nickname, The One Who Gets His Comrades Killed.

She was the one who killed the bandits.

She’d appeared when he was barely holding on, Ger and Pete having sacrificed themselves.

In hindsight, that nickname had followed him for a long time. Because of it, he’d shifted from being a mercenary to a guide.

“Back then, I thought you were a man in disguise.”

Enkrid said. It was probably the short hair. Her breastplate had covered her chest, and with only her face visible, her gender had been hard to tell.

Now, her hair was much longer than it had been back then.

A fleeting encounter from his mercenary days had returned to him here and now.

“Hmm, I’m seeing you for the first time.”

The swordswoman said.

Enkrid had seen many people in his life, but it had been a long time since someone had looked at him with such unfiltered eyes.

She only seemed impressed by his swordplay—his looks didn’t seem to register at all.

“We crossed paths once, briefly.”

Enkrid said as he sheathed his sword.

She wasn’t hostile, and she’d once saved his life—even if unintentionally.

“Huh? No way. I remember faces really well.”

Something about the way she spoke—Enkrid couldn’t explain it—but it reminded him strongly of Ragna.

“Why’d you come at me?”

He asked. It had been so long ago that he didn’t expect her to remember, and besides, it wasn’t a fight with killing intent.

“Watching you... kinda got my blood boiling.”

She grinned, showing her true feelings without filter. A smile that spoke openly.

It might’ve sounded insane to someone else.

That’s it? That’s the whole reason? would’ve been a natural response.

But Enkrid understood immediately.

Sometimes blood boils, and that’s enough of a reason.

“Insane.”

Venzance, who had arrived at some point, shook his head. That kind of reasoning sounded utterly crazy to him.

Living through arrows and blades on the battlefield had taught him that surviving this long was mostly luck—getting stabbed by a stray sword or shot by a random arrow was just part of life.

One time, it was Enkrid who saved me.

When he’d been lying there, full of resentment, under a burning tent—Enkrid had carried him out on his back.

Enkrid glanced at Venzance and acknowledged him with a look.

The Guard Captain had shown up after hearing the scale of the disturbance. He must’ve rushed over as soon as he got word.

Venzance signaled to a few archers. The soldiers who had been surrounding the area with crossbows began to lower their weapons.

Enkrid and the swordswoman had noticed them gathering and surrounding the area with crossbows—but they’d ignored it.

The guards and Venzance knew they couldn’t actually stop them. But they couldn’t just stand around either. So this was the only proper course of action.

The Border Guard’s Peacekeepers weren’t there to subdue knights—they were there to buy time.

And this scene was the perfect demonstration of just how dangerous knights were on the continent.

A walking catastrophe.

That’s how Venzance thought of knights. If one of them started swinging without thinking, dozens—maybe even hundreds—could die right here and now.

Of course, after that, the woman would’ve lost her head to Enkrid’s blade too.

But no one would ever dispatch a knight to carry out a massacre.

They were too rare and valuable for that.

And even they were still human—if you fired hundreds of arrows, one of them might hit. Even # Nоvеlight # if they were wearing steel plate, they couldn’t block a ballista shot.

Maybe someone like Audin could, but the average knight couldn’t.

They could dodge once, twice—but eventually, they’d get hit or die. That’s why scenes like this were rare. Almost nonexistent.

So what the woman had said was likely the truth. She had come here for another reason, but upon seeing Enkrid, her blood had boiled and she attacked.

Enkrid, meanwhile, was reviewing why he’d felt such exhilaration during their clash.

She wasn’t sloppy. She’s not a fake.

He understood it from experience.

If someone walks the path of becoming a knight with a fixed goal and a rigid system, all you get is a fake. The Holy Nation was famous for producing such counterfeits.

If you force someone along a path with a predetermined result, you get hollow belief and fake conviction. That’s not what makes a knight.

From Enkrid’s perspective, that wasn’t enough.

So what about the woman in front of him?

She’d walked her own path and reached this point by herself.

He could feel it from the way she fought.

“If she’s subdued, then take her away, Commander.”

Venzance said. He didn’t seem happy with the situation—but he didn’t forget his duty.

Is there no way to prevent knights from casually entering cities?

Or some method to immediately subdue them if they start acting out?

As Enkrid heard Venzance’s words, he recalled that the woman had come looking for someone.

“Did you find the person you were looking for?”

“I think so. Can’t be more than two with that kind of skill.”

The Border Guard’s Mad Knights had become famous.

Not like their old reputation—this was something new. The woman had followed rumors and finally asked:

“You’re the Heartbreaker Enkrid, right?”

Fuck you, Pell.

Enkrid figured at least half the blame for that nickname spreading lay with Pell’s damn mouth.

The other half, of course, was Shinar.

“I am.”

Venzance answered in his place. Enkrid looked at him—was that provocation?

“It’s not wrong.”

He muttered.

“And there’s the bear beastkin who tears people apart.”

There were rumors the bearkin had ripped apart both manticores and men.

“Correct. Though he’s not a beastkin.”

Venzance replied again. Still wary, but not refusing to speak.

He had enough sense to know this woman hadn’t come to kill.

“And then there’s the barbarian who starts drooling and cracks noble skulls at first sight.”

That one felt a bit malicious. But rumors always grow like tumors.

Still, Enkrid corrected it.

“I don’t drool.”

“Oh, really? And the blood-crazed youngest, right? The one who loves stabbing people in the back? I also heard there’s a fairy here with demon blood.”

More accurately, a fairy who hated demon blood.

“A disguised witch.”

That too—but a bit different.

Esther had even formed her own mage division under him. She wasn’t hiding anything. Still, she was known by the nickname Black Flower.

“And there’s even a madman who slashes anyone who meets his eyes. He’s blond with red eyes, right?”

Correct. Ragna Zaun. And judging by the name...

“My name is Grida Zaun. The blond madman is my brother.”

The woman said.

Enkrid wasn’t surprised.

He remembered Ragna once mentioning that he’d left his family behind.

He hadn’t gone into detail. Ragna wasn’t the type to explain things properly.

But he had said his family name was Zaun.

Their swordsmanship alone made them legendary.

“Enkrid of the Border Guard.”

Enkrid said, extending his hand.

Grida took it and stood up.

“Not bad with a sword. What do you think about me?”

“...In what sense are you—No. Don’t say anything.”

Right beside them, Venzance had perked up his ears, and among the crowd was a hooded figure—likely a fairy—watching from the shadows.

“What do you mean, as a woman.”

Ah.

“Just as I thought—”

Someone muttered.

For the first time in a long while, his old nickname echoed in the Border Guard:

The Irresistible Commander.

The Charmer Knight.

Master of Allure.

Collector of Hearts.

Half the ones shouting were just excited to stir the pot.

Enkrid knew that reacting only made rumors spread. And that showing a reaction only made the fools happier.

So he just quietly memorized a few faces.

Clink.

Among the crowd, a fairy dropped a bottle from her hand.

She looked shocked—and didn’t even pick it up as she vanished between people.

Enkrid watched all the way, then finally said,

“Ragna should be at the barracks.”

“Right. But seriously, you’re not interested?”

“No.”

“Oh, did you lose it in an accident?”

“Lose what?”

“That.”

Grida was, in many ways, just like Ragna. She didn’t care what people thought. She raised a fist and shook it loosely.

“I still have it.”

Enkrid responded quickly.

“Ah, so your preference is...?”

“No, it’s not.”

“You just don’t find me attractive, huh?”

Grida nodded with strange conviction. No sign of hurt feelings—she didn’t seem to care at all.

Then she asked again.

“But when did we even meet?”

They had just spoken with swords moments ago, but now it was just a casual conversation.

Enkrid much preferred this kind of talk over people questioning the state of his balls.

“Back when some campsite got raided and a few bandits got killed. You might not remember—it happened really fast.”

“Like that only happened once or twice.”

“Did you get lost in the meantime?”

Wouldn’t be surprising, given she was Ragna’s sister.

“No, not really. Honestly, I was just wandering around. Looking for Ragna was fun at first, but there was more fun stuff to do. So I pretended to look, but then the family sent more people.”

“So you didn’t come alone?”

“Right. They should be sizing up the place now. If someone got hurt, cut them some slack. They’re all types who can’t wait to swing their own thing around.”

We’d have to see who got hurt.

“Story of my life.”

He said plainly, ignoring the "irresistible" chatter behind him as he walked away.

Venzance dispersed the crowd, and Enkrid picked up his pace.

When he entered the barracks, it was noisy inside.

“You’re finally back?”

Rem was the first one he saw. Next to him was a sullen-faced male swordsman. A scab had formed over the blood dried on his forehead.

“Did you lose?”

Grida asked the man.