Chapter 111: Puffed up Cheeks

“I can’t just leave them behind.”

The Elf Commander had unexpectedly taken all the troublesome squad members—now platoon members—under her wing.

Encrid wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen the empty barracks himself. Of course, Krys, who had been away from camp for several days, wouldn’t have known.

That’s probably why Krys had asked for Ragna.

“At least you didn’t get dragged along during deployment.”

Since Encrid had stayed behind, maybe Krys had used that as an excuse to stay as well. Or perhaps the Elf Commander had deliberately left him behind.

Either way, Krys remained, while the rest of the squad was gone.

That meant Encrid had to resolve this alone.

It wasn’t as though he could summon the squad members who were already deployed on the battlefield.

And mobilizing the standing army for something within the Gilpin Guild?

“Not a chance.”

Even if there were someone willing to help, who could he possibly rely on? Maybe the Elf Commander? But even if she were still around, that would be a gamble.

What about Torres? As a border defense platoon leader, it might be difficult for him, but he could possibly assist on a personal level.

“Then again, the border defense troops were also preparing for imminent deployment.”

The fact that the unit had given Encrid an entire day off after his debriefing was already a testament to their acknowledgment of his efforts.

Did that mean the mission’s rewards were that significant?

Encrid lightly shook his head from side to side.

His mind was cluttered with unnecessary thoughts.

Focus. Just do what needs to be done.

And here, that meant…

“We’re going to rescue Krys. Yeah, that bug-eyed guy.”

He muttered this while stroking Esther, who had nestled snugly against his chest. Esther’s sideways glances, filled with curiosity, prompted Encrid to explain again that it was their big-eyed friend they were going to save.

Saying his objective out loud made it feel more tangible.

Hearing this, Esther gazed at Encrid with her blue eyes, like clear lakes.

Encrid, whose eyes were a similar shade, returned her gaze.

“What?”

Of course, Esther didn’t reply. How could a leopard speak?

Still, her eyes seemed to say something. Almost as if asking, “Are you sure rescuing him is the only reason?”

“Partly,” Encrid admitted, revealing a sliver of his inner thoughts.

The werewolves, the Gray Dog Division of Azpen, and even the mage.

On the way here, he wanted to test his skills through Torres and Finn.

The burning desire to do so boiled over uncontrollably.

Where do I stand now? What’s my current state? How far has my swordsmanship progressed?

“How much have I improved?”

He didn’t know. He had no sense of it.

That was just how it was.

Only by facing challenges could he gain clarity, but every day was new for Encrid.

He was like an explorer discovering uncharted territories daily.

A pathfinder carving out fresh trails.

A climber scaling mountains for the first time, and a hunter in unfamiliar terrain.

He moved forward guided by markers, yet was unaware of his own location.

Which is why he did this.

The moment he heard that Frok had appeared, he had calmly assessed his condition and taken a full day of rest.

Because he saw Frok as someone who could help him gauge his position on this path.

“Will my sword work this time?”

The last time he faced Frok, a single hit had left his ribs crying out in weakness.

How would it go now?

Not all Froks were the same, but still.

“Even so.”

There was no better opponent for comparison.

If he failed, Frok would simply become the wall obstructing his “today,” but that was fine. He was okay with it.

This was something that wouldn’t have happened if any of his squad members had been present.

And so, it was something Encrid had no choice but to handle alone.

Was it coincidence?

Good fortune?

Or perhaps misfortune?

Misfortune was always like an old friend following him around.

And navigating through it was a task left to those who swam in its turbulent waters.

Thinking of Rem and the other squad members, Encrid suddenly realized how narrow his perspective had been.

“Ridiculous.”

At one point, he had thought of his squad members as mid-level soldiers.

Mid-level? How laughable.

None of them could ever be confined to the army’s rank system.

He knew better now.

If even one of them were here, there would be no reason to fear someone like Frok.

“But right now, I’m alone.”

He couldn’t abandon Krys.

Nor did he want to retreat.

As he stepped forward with his left foot, he recalled the days of sparring with Rem.

With his right foot, he remembered the lessons learned from Jaxson.

His left foot held Audin’s teachings.

His right foot, Ragna’s.

With every step, he revisited all that he had learned.

From the countless instructors he had met, and the endlessly repeated “today.”

Knowing that Frok was his opponent did not scare him. Was this the Heart of the Beast at work?

Calmness. Boldness. Even a growing thirst for battle welled up.

Encrid’s pupils flickered like flames.

Smack.

Esther lightly pawed at his chest, as if to say, “Not yet.”

“I know.”

Encrid responded, then continued walking until he reached the mansion.

There, a bald Gilpin awaited him.

“Where to?”

“The drawing room.”

Where was that again?

Following the Gilpin’s lead, Encrid entered the mansion, stopping before the door to the drawing room.

“Am I charging in with death on my mind?”

Or was he simply drunk on his thirst for battle?

He didn’t know. The answer lay beyond the door.

Esther leapt from his chest, bounding along beside him.

As he watched her, Encrid wondered:

“Will they be someone I can reason with?”

The fact that Krys was alive suggested so.

Perhaps they could talk.

But regardless, securing Krys took priority.

If a fight was necessary, then a fight it would be.

What was the point of talking?

Encrid inhaled sharply, then decided to forgo conversation and speak through action.

Bang.

He kicked the door open, rolled forward, and flung his right hand forward as if throwing something.

The Whistle Dagger cut through the air at frightening speed.

Screeeeech!

The piercing sound followed in its wake.

As if expecting it, Frok’s arm flashed like lightning.

* * *

What kind of lunatic was this?

The presence, then the killing intent.

Behind the intent to pierce flesh came an attack, swift and without hesitation.

It was as if the actions had been planned long before stepping through the door.

Bang—the door slammed open.

Frok saw the intruder’s arm move.

The flying dagger was immediately met with a counter as Frok drew his weapon to deflect it.

What would have been an incredible feat of agility for most humans was nothing extraordinary to Frok.

Swish, clang. Thud!

The blade of the flying dagger was struck, ricocheting off and embedding itself in a crude leather decoration on the wall.

The dagger-throwing intruder charged forward, drawing his sword.

Ching!

The blade arced down with a bold trajectory.

Frok curled his fingers around the loop attached to the hilt of his weapon.

Frok’s slick skin made it difficult to grip weapons properly.

To solve this, he had crafted weapons he called “looped weapons.”

When his weapon took the form of a sword, it became the Loop Sword.

By hooking his fingers into the loop and curling them, his three round fingertips met his palm.

From there, it was just a matter of swinging.

Swish, clash!

The clash of steel announced the beginning of their duel.

Sparks flew as their blades collided repeatedly in a relentless exchange.

Frok found himself impressed by the opponent who not only blocked over thirty of his attacks but also managed occasional counters.

“This guy’s fun.”

In one corner of the room, Krys sat. His hands and feet weren’t bound, nor was he injured, but escape was out of the question.

Even in just two days, he had witnessed Frok’s inhuman stamina.

The guy barely slept, always keeping watch.

Krys could eat and take care of basic needs, even sharing meals with Frok.

But escaping? That was a different matter entirely.

“If I ran, what would happen?”

Everyone would die. Every last member of the guild.

And if caught, he’d end up as another corpse alongside the fallen guild members.

That Frok guy was capable of such things.

Spring had barely arrived, yet Frok had shown up far earlier than expected.

Krys had clung to a shred of hope.

If one or two squad members came, they might stand a chance.

Like Rem, Audin, Jaxson, or Ragna.

“Not the squad leader!”

When the door opened, Krys had been hopeful.

But upon seeing who burst in, he was disappointed.

Now, he sat stunned, mouth agape.

“What is this?”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The drawing room seemed ready to collapse under the relentless noise.

Before his eyes were trails of steel.

Blades creating arcs of motion.

And the sparks flying between them.

What’s going on?

The one who had entered was their squad leader, but this squad leader…

“Is fighting Frok?”

And wasn’t even being overwhelmed—or so it seemed to Krys.

Encrid focused on the opponent’s seemingly flexible weapon, angling his blade to the side.

Thud!

The impact spread from his arm throughout his body.

Standing firm against the force would have been amateurish. Instead, he deflected the force.

He mixed in techniques from the Hidden Knife Technique. What once seemed impossible now felt achievable.

Clang!

Encrid deflected the blade to the side, letting it slide past before thrusting his sword forward.

The blade whistled as it cut through the air.

Frok countered with another downward slash.

Clang! Clang!

Block, deflect, evade. And again.

How was this possible?

It was thanks to his experience battling the thorned vines of a mage.

Accumulated experience allowed Encrid to wield his sword, evade, and block as he did now.

His foundation was defense.

He blocked and blocked again.

Frok’s weapon resembled a broad-bladed hunting knife, a common choice for someone like him.

Loop Swords often took such a form, heavy and wide.

Frok, with his extraordinary strength, wielded the blade as though it were a rapier, effortlessly manipulating its heft.

Encrid became wholly immersed in the duel.

His opponent’s sword and his own.

Points connected by lines, lines that curved and descended like falling lightning.

That’s how Frok’s weapon moved.

Encrid met the descending thunderbolt with his own sword.

Unable to deflect the strike, his knees bent slightly under the weight. Yet, even in that stance, he smoothly slashed forward.

Frok took half a step back and stabbed with his blade.

A thrust with a broad blade—a peculiar move.

Even so, Encrid perceived the thrust as sharp as a needle.

His senses danced along the edge of the blade.

What had been sharp before was honed further by Jaxson’s training.

And so, a world emerged where only the swords, Encrid, and his opponent existed.

Time seemed to vanish in this harmony.

Block, block again.

When an opening appeared, thrust, slash, or cut.

He even tried blending techniques from the Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship.

Feint a slash, halt, and thrust instead.

This, now, was a technique etched into his body. A seamless blend of heavy sword and agile technique.

Frok swatted away most attacks with raw power.

His superior strength as a non-human being played a large role, as did his enhanced reflexes and agility.

Clang! Thud! Thwack!

Some attacks were evaded; others swatted away.

Blades grazed Encrid’s cheeks, and Frok’s fist smashed against his armor.

As Encrid parried the punch and aimed a thrust at Frok’s heart, the latter spun halfway around to dodge.

“Grrr!”

A guttural growl, bubbling with rage, escaped Frok’s throat.

Encrid, however, uttered no battle cry.

He simply focused.

Focused entirely on the task.

“Don’t scatter,” he told himself.

Gather and concentrate.

He didn’t dodge by watching the blade, but by feeling its presence.

And in those moments of heightened concentration…

Encrid stepped into a new realm of awareness.

The fingers hooked into the loop of Frok’s weapon.

The wobble of his broad feet.

The violent muscles hidden beneath his slippery skin.

All these cues, Encrid read.

He moved his hands accordingly, extended his arms, stepped with his feet, and twisted his torso.

The depth of his focus brought clarity.

He forgot the points, the lines they created, and in forgetting, glimpsed the trajectory of the battle a split second ahead.

It might have been an illusion.

But having seen it, he acted.

It was always Frok’s heart he targeted. No, only the heart.

This thrust was no exception.

The thrust carried a resolute intent to pierce.

It blazed through space like light.

Frok retreated, stepping back with his right foot.

Ping. Scratch.

The blade scraped across the armor on Frok’s chest.

Frok’s cheek puffed up in anger.

Whoosh!

Touched the heart?

Frok couldn’t stand it. His blade came down toward Encrid’s neck with even greater speed.

A lightning-quick slash.

A fleeting opportunity.

Encrid withdrew his thrusting blade.

Clang!

The swords, which had been exchanging rapid blows, now clashed mid-air and halted.

“You want to fight me with brute strength? Stupid human.”

Frok snarled like a beast.

Without a word, Encrid reenacted the scene he had envisioned.

“If I do it like this…”

Ting.

From his halted position, he bent his knees slightly, softening his stance.

He absorbed the force of the attack, blending techniques from both the flowing Hidden Knife Technique and rigid swordsmanship.

Frok’s blade, descending with full confidence in his strength, seemed poised to split Encrid’s skull.

“Damn it, Captain!”

Krys’s shout rang out, but both combatants ignored him.

In a single moment, Encrid pushed back against Frok’s force, guiding the sword forward along the edge of Frok’s weapon.

Ting-ting-ting!

Encrid’s blade ran along Frok’s and surged forward.

Frok’s reliance on sheer strength caused his stance to waver momentarily.

Reacting instinctively, Frok raised his right forearm to block his heart.

If Encrid struck for the heart again, it would be another futile attack. So instead…

Encrid’s blade drew a smooth arc.

Slash.

This time, it targeted Frok’s left arm.

Though Frok dodged, a spray of blood erupted. The arm wasn’t severed completely, but the blade had penetrated his slippery skin.

Frok, his cheeks now puffed to the limit, retaliated with his broad blade.

He wasn’t the type to merely take hits.

The broad weapon descended again, this time aimed at Encrid’s raised right hand.

The blade struck the gauntlet Encrid had taken from the necromancer.

Thunk! Crack.

An unpleasant sound accompanied the deflected strike. Though the gauntlet’s surface was cut and damaged, it protected his wrist from being severed.

This was the synergy of Audin’s impact-deflecting technique and the gauntlet’s resilience.

“You’re insane,” Frok said.

His left arm dangled loosely. Even with regenerative abilities, the injury wasn’t pleasant.

Dripping blood, Frok glared with terrifying intensity.

‘Ah.’

Encrid sensed the end of “today.”

His right wrist was weak, unable to hold his sword. He caught it with his left hand instead.

How many more exchanges could he last?

He didn’t know.

But for now, he was satisfied with the last strike.

The strike that had opened a gap by aiming at the heart.

It had been worthwhile.

Frok, a member of a race capable of assessing talent, felt a visceral dislike for Encrid.

Why? Was it because of Encrid’s exceptional talent?

No, it was because he was an entirely unfamiliar type.

Such an opponent had to die.

This human, seemingly at his limit, had still managed to pull off such a feat.

By using Frok’s own attack, feigning a repeated aim for the heart, and…

“Taking my arm like that?”

In that fleeting moment, Encrid had absorbed the weight of the attack with bent knees and stepped forward with a scraping motion of his feet.

He had gambled everything on one move, and it had worked.

If his right wrist were still intact…

“Would I have lost this fight?”

Frok’s puffed cheeks swelled even more. This human had to die.

His blade rose, ready to deliver a finishing blow.

Encrid was calm.

And that calmness infuriated Frok even further.