Chapter 107: If It Were One-on-One
Encrid knew his plan had worked.
Turning the battlefield into chaos.
Look at it now—a scene of utter disarray.
A masterpiece of mayhem, perhaps one of the best outcomes among the countless repetitions of today.
Pure chaos.
*It worked.*
He had deliberately triggered a melee, and the result was the slaughter of the Lycans.
Although many soldiers had died, those who had managed to form even minimal formations in small groups held the advantage despite the disorganized melee.
*The soldiers will win this.*
As Encrid took a breather at the outskirts of the chaos he had engineered, Roger charged at him.
He lunged with his spear, its tip looking like a deadly pinpoint.
It was a frightening thrust.
Rather than moving dramatically, Encrid shifted his body just slightly.
His armor was already in tatters, but he trusted in the toughness of the leather armor he wore beneath.
*Whoosh. Scratch.*
The spear tip grazed his side.
There was no sharp pain—his armor had held firm.
Encrid immediately trapped the spear shaft under his arm.
“Hah!”
Roger, seeing Encrid pin his spear under his arm, tightened his grip.
He intended to yank the spear free, tearing apart Encrid’s arm and side in the process.
*You dare hold my spear with your side? I’ll rip you to shreds.*
*Screeeech!*
But just as he applied force, a strange sound came, and a cold chill ran down his spine. Instinctively, he jerked his head back—and not just his head; his entire body bent backward.
His reflexes and reaction speed were astonishing.
*Damn bastard.*
The throwing knife had sliced past his hairline and helmet, grazing the top of his forehead.
It was a glinting blade, cutting through the darkness in a clean arc.
Of course, he hadn’t seen it—it was all instinct.
The chill quickly transformed into anger, and as Roger, fueled by fiery rage, tried to straighten himself—
He realized something.
The weight of the spear in his hand had disappeared.
“It’s time to meet your hair.”
At the same time as the voice reached his ears, a shadow loomed over him.
It was Encrid, who had leaped high into the air and was now descending toward him.
*This bastard.*
Why was he so fast?
His agility didn’t match his build.
The blade came down from above.
It was the last image Roger’s eyes registered.
*Thwack!*
The sword split through his helmet, cleaving his head, and the brain and blood hidden beneath burst forth.
With a dull *thud*, Encrid landed on the ground and began checking himself over.
He had executed his movements exactly as planned: catching the spear, throwing a Whistle Dagger at the enemy’s forehead, and then leaping forward for a vertical slash.
*Not bad.*
He wasn’t severely injured. His side ached slightly from the earlier spear strike, but—
He prodded his ribs with his fingers.
*Not broken.*
Just a bruise, probably.
“Damn it! The commander!”
The cry of a soldier reached his ears.
Some of the enemy soldiers had witnessed Roger’s death. But so what?
Even if their eyes turned bloodshot, they couldn’t abandon their battle with the Lycans to charge at him.
The Lycans were still baring their fangs.
Regardless, this single strike had shifted the battle’s momentum.
Roger’s death caused a subtle drop in the spearmen’s morale.
Though the soldiers still had the upper hand, there were occasional casualties as Lycans exploited gaps.
It happened again just now.
A soldier, having seen his bald commander’s death, became enraged and lost focus. A one-eyed Lycan, having hidden in the shadows, sprang out and smashed the soldier’s head.
*Whack!*
The Lycan used its fists rather than claws.
It wasn’t acting purely on instinct, wielding its claws and fangs—it was deliberately striking with its fists.
That’s what a leader of a Lycan colony should be capable of.
Not just anyone could lead a monster horde.
And it wasn’t that it only used its fists. The one-eyed Lycan also wielded its natural weapons effectively.
In quick succession, it clawed through spears, breaking a few shafts, and killed two soldiers before retreating behind its horde.
It hid behind trees, enemy soldiers, and the chaos created by other Lycans.
It was a hit-and-run tactic, relying on the cover of darkness.
Encrid gave up trying to track it down amidst his allies and silently caught his breath.
Meanwhile, a spearman charged at him.
“For the commander’s vengeance!”
*Such nonsense.*
Your commander died in a one-on-one fight, and now you think you can take me on alone?
If this had been a fair one-on-one duel, they might have stood a chance.
That’s precisely why he had created this chaos.
Encrid deflected the incoming spear shaft with the flat of his blade. He pushed forward, sliding his sword along the shaft.
*Shhhhk.*
The edge of his sword reached the spearman’s neck.
*Slash.*
A well-honed blade sliced cleanly through, and blood spurted like a fountain from the half-severed neck.
Using the centrifugal force of the cutting motion, Encrid spun around and immediately set his sword defensively before him.
*Been waiting for you.*
Behind him, near Roger’s corpse, a Lycan crouched low.
It was the one-eyed Lycan, sneaking around to attack from behind.
Its yellow eyes glinted as it locked eyes with Encrid.
“Are you coming first, or should I?”
The Lycan leader was indeed a more formidable opponent than Roger.
But—
In seventy-eight repetitions of today, there hadn’t been a single easy one.
Even when Encrid let his guard down, he didn’t go down without a fight.
“So, let’s end this quickly.”
As claws tore through the air, aiming for him, Encrid’s blade intercepted. In a flash of exchanges, his sword met the Lycan’s claws.
After several parries and counterattacks, Encrid’s blade severed the one-eyed Lycan’s arm.
*Superiority of weapons.*
He had never felt it more keenly.
The blade forged with all his Kronas shone brilliantly.
It shattered the Lycan’s claws with each swing, and in the gap created, he sliced through its arm, gaining the upper hand.
The one-eyed Lycan slashed vertically at where Encrid had stood, splitting the ground as he sidestepped and spun.
Shifting his weight from his head to his groin, Encrid channeled centrifugal force from his feet through his knees and waist. With that added strength, he unleashed a powerful slash—a northern-style heavy blow.
His spinning blade cut through moonlight and the Lycan’s neck in a single motion.
*Swish.*
There was no resistance to the strike.
The blade hit its mark perfectly, decapitating the Lycan.
*Swish.*
The sound of the sword cutting air.
The sight of the Lycan’s head flying off.
It all happened in an instant.
Silence didn’t follow.
Few witnesses remained to see it.
Had the spearmen maintained their formation, Encrid would have been the one to die.
The same would have happened if the Lycan horde had overwhelmed him.
But in one-on-one combat?
*I won’t lose.*
That’s why he had created this situation.
Besides, he had experienced this commander, this one-eyed Lycan’s habits and fighting style, countless times.
Of course, knowing someone’s habits only mattered if you had the skill to capitalize on them.
Encrid’s spinning blade created the illusion of moonlight swirling around him.
But it was just an illusion.
Quietly stepping back, Encrid caught his breath.
The day wasn’t over yet.
There were still walls to scale.
“Hey, doesn’t that seem a bit off?”
“Was it always like this?”
Torres, who was circling around the battlefield instead of cutting through the chaotic center, observed Encrid’s movements—cutting down Roger, slicing the neck of the one-eyed Lycan.
And he couldn’t help but think—
*Something’s changed.*
They’d sparred at least a dozen times on the way here.
The Encrid he remembered from those sessions was not the same as the one now.
*What’s different?*
Had his skills improved drastically? That didn’t seem right.
*His sword strikes… they’re colder somehow.*
He seemed more composed as well.
“Was he always, uh, this good in combat?” Finn asked from the side.
It was rare skill—something anyone could tell at a glance.
“He fights like a dream,” Finn muttered in awe, her eyes narrowing as she suddenly extended her left foot to kick a rock. With her opposite foot, she skillfully sent the rock flying upward into her hand, and then, while running, threw it sideways.
*Thud!*
The rock struck the back of a soldier’s head with a solid crack.
As the soldier staggered forward, a Lycan took advantage of the opening and clawed his back.
*Whack!*
It wasn’t enough to puncture through his armor in one blow—his armor was sturdy. But it forced him to roll aside, breaking formation.
With that, two Lycans darted into the gap.
When the formation broke, the Lycans gained the absolute upper hand.
Torres glanced briefly at the disruption before looking away again.
Even in the chaos, Finn throwing rocks like that was strange, but…
What Torres found even stranger was Encrid. Something about him felt off—unnatural. It poked at him in a way that defied description.
It was… odd. Incredibly odd.
*Why?*
The more he thought about it, the more things stood out.
*First, his skill.*
Torres had no desire to fight a Lycan bathed in moonlight like those here—not alone. He might win, but he might also die.
What if, in trying to stab the Lycan’s neck with a dagger, its claws caught him somewhere critical?
*Ugh.*
The thought sent shivers down his spine. A grim imagining.
But Encrid?
*Does he have a heart of stone?*
His boldness went beyond simple courage—it was audacious. He dodged between enemy soldiers and raging Lycans with acrobatic precision, cut down an enemy commander in one strike, and—
*He also took down that one-eyed Lycan.*
After deflecting the Lycan’s claws with his sword a few times, he had sliced its neck cleanly. His skill was so refined it almost hurt to watch, making Torres feel a pit in his stomach.
The way Encrid’s spinning slash had seemed to curve like a whip…
*What the hell is this guy?*
That’s when Torres realized what was different about the Encrid from their spars and the Encrid now.
*His skill is on another level. It’s his mastery.*
There had been awkwardness and clumsiness before. Torres remembered giving him advice—telling him to fight more and patch up those gaps in his defense.
But now, he seemed to have reached a state of perfection.
At least, that spinning slash had.
*In just a few days?*
Was he a genius?
No, Torres had trained alongside him long enough to know the truth.
Encrid’s talent for physical movement was mediocre, at best. In fact, Torres found it embarrassing to compare him to others.
*But now…*
Every swing of his sword seemed to fell an enemy—be it a soldier or a Lycan.
Even after killing the commander and the one-eyed Lycan, enemy soldiers and Lycans occasionally charged at him, only to have their heads crushed by a single downward strike.
When Encrid executed a deliberate horizontal slash, it didn’t cut through armor but instead landed with such force that ribs and internal organs were pulverized.
Even without the blade directly piercing the body, the shock still delivered devastating damage.
That was what a horizontal slash in the northern heavy style truly was.
*Don’t they fear him?*
If Encrid were his enemy, Torres wouldn’t want to face him.
Of course, Torres wasn’t the only one thinking this.
With the commander and the one-eyed Lycan dead, a few more enemies fell before the rest stopped attacking Encrid entirely.
Even the Lycans, frenzied under the full moon, began to avoid him.
They saw him but bypassed him.
Circled around him.
*I’d do the same.*
With the focus on the soldiers and Lycans fighting each other, the battle was reaching its end.
Encrid stood alone, illuminated by moonlight, quietly observing the remaining skirmish. It didn’t even seem awkward—it felt natural. He calmly caught his breath, unbothered by the chaos.
Seeing this, a chill ran down Torres’ spine.
It wasn’t just the sight of Lycans and enemy soldiers avoiding a single human that unsettled him.
Another question arose.
*Fine, let’s say his skill makes sense.*
But what about this situation?
There were too many oddities.
The encounter between the Lycan horde and the Gray Wolf soldiers.
The way Encrid had known something was lurking near the tunnel.
*How does he know the commander’s name?*
That, more than anything, didn’t make sense.
It couldn’t simply be a coincidence.
Once a question arose, more followed, like a chain reaction.
And that was where Torres found himself now.
As they circled around the battlefield, these thoughts kept resurfacing.
“What’s with you?” Finn asked, scanning the battlefield while running alongside him.
She was reading the flow of the battle. It wouldn’t matter who won—someone would need to finish off the survivors.
Initially, it seemed the humans had the advantage.
Now it looked like the Lycans might win.
The Lycans were avoiding Encrid altogether, treating him like he didn’t exist.
But the humans weren’t. They’d targeted Encrid a few more times, reducing their numbers further.
This entire situation was created by one man—Encrid, a platoon leader of some independent squad. A man with a striking build and face.
*What, is he some kind of tactical genius?*
That’s what Finn thought.
“This is all so weird.”
Torres muttered again, running alongside her.
They seemed to get along well, yet neither could make sense of what was happening.
“Focus. We need to deal with the remaining enemies,” Finn said, pulling out a hand axe and flinging it mid-run.
*Whoosh!*
The spinning axe embedded itself into a soldier’s chest.
Staggering backward, the soldier collapsed with a groan.
“That must’ve hurt, bastard,” Finn said, continuing to run.
Torres, still muttering about how strange everything was, eventually joined up with Encrid.
Though it had taken some time due to their detour, they’d followed his instructions to regroup within range.
“I have to ask you something,” Torres said.
There was something he needed to know—something urgent.
Setting aside Encrid’s mysteriously improved skill, there was a more pressing question.
“How do you know the commander’s name?”
There could be no plausible excuse for this.
Encrid was calm. As if it were unimportant, he answered, “By chance.”
“Chance?”
What were the odds of randomly knowing the enemy commander’s name?
“Krys mentioned there was something odd about one of their men,” Encrid added.
It was a lie.
But how could they verify it? They couldn’t. And it sounded plausible.
“Ah.”
“He mocked him for hiding his bald head all the time.”
Not a city-level powerhouse, but still an enemy. And his behavior had been strange enough to attract attention.
Rumors could spread through various channels, especially with soldiers stationed in places like Azpen.
It wasn’t impossible. Just improbable.
“So, this situation… you planned it?”
“Of course not. Who could have predicted the Lycan horde would show up here?”
Encrid’s expression seemed to say, *What kind of question is that?*
It irritated Torres greatly.
“Does it matter? I just had an idea,” Encrid said.
Finn, suspecting he might truly be a tactical prodigy, leaned in to listen.
Torres, finding Encrid’s calm tone unsettling, listened as well.
They had to hear him out.
“Let’s scale the wall. Right now, no one would expect anyone to climb it.”
The tunnel had clearly been a trap set by the enemy.
And they’d narrowly escaped it.
If they climbed the wall before the enemy soldiers returned to the city?
“Brilliant,” Finn said, immediately agreeing. It made sense.
The plan had been refined through countless repetitions of today.
If it seemed half-baked, that would have been strange.
“Tch.”
Though Torres clicked his tongue, he too agreed.
The plan was already in motion.
What Encrid proposed now felt like a sharp dagger—one that could stab the enemy without them even realizing it.
“Let’s go.”
And so, before the fight between the Lycans and soldiers had fully ended—
The three of them moved.
“They’re running!” a soldier yelled, as he drove a spear into a Lycan’s head.
But no one could pursue them.
The remaining soldiers numbered just twelve.
They could maintain formation, but truthfully—
None of them wanted to face the man who had slain Roger.
“Damn it.”
And so, all they could do was curse.
