Chapter 171
“I wanted to meet you at least once while I was still intact.”
Satisfaction moved Encrid’s lips.
If he moved any closer, the leader gnoll might notice—then again, maybe not.
But Encrid wanted to make his presence known.
Not out of competitiveness or some sense of fair play. What fair fight was there against a monster?
It was simply—
‘A test.’
A means to confirm what he had built up through the repetition of today.
At the sound of his voice, the gnoll leader, who had been standing with two mutated gnolls like personal guards, snapped his head around.
And not just his head.
In the blink of an eye, he had drawn two daggers, aiming them forward.
‘As expected, he’s fast.’
Encrid admired the reaction.
“Guuuk!”
The leader shouted, prompting the two gnolls at his side to react.
“Guwek!”
The cry was guttural, similar to a ghoul’s. One of the mutated gnolls lunged forward, swinging a heavy club from above.
Encrid raised his blood-stained sword diagonally.
Whoosh—
The club came crashing down, a solid strike aimed at his head.
His gaze was calm.
Just before impact, his sword moved.
No—his feet moved as well.
Crunch!
He twisted his blade, stabbing the center of the club and pushing forward. The club’s surface peeled away as if carved by a chisel.
Encrid’s sword surged ahead, slicing into the gnoll’s nape.
A precise cut—first stripping the club’s surface, then cleaving through flesh and bone.
Half the gnoll’s neck was severed.
“Ghaa… ha… guh…”
The gnoll made a wheezing sound, its eyes dulling as it dropped to its knees before collapsing forward.
The second gnoll didn’t hesitate. It lunged, club raised.
Encrid feigned raising his sword but instead stepped aside, dodging left. The club swung past him as his wrist flicked.
A horizontal slash.
His blade traced a clean arc, slicing through the gnoll’s skull.
A fusion of raw strength and technique—this was the result.
The gnoll’s head split halfway, like a cracked pumpkin.
Except, instead of seeds and pulp, its insides were filled with brain matter and blackened blood.
The severed top of the skull clattered to the ground.
“If you run, you’ll die with this in your skull.”
Encrid flicked his wrist.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Thud!
A Whistle Dagger buried itself deep in the head of a gnoll that had been hesitating on the outskirts of the fight.
It struck so deep that the blade wasn’t even visible—only a fresh spurt of blood marked its impact.
The gnoll staggered and collapsed, blood pooling beneath its twitching body.
“Guuuuuk!”
Sensing their leader’s peril, the remaining gnolls reacted.
But Encrid was waiting—for the leader to step forward.
This was a path he had never walked before.
A first-time encounter.
He didn’t know what would happen next.
Would the leader retreat?
If so, he’d simply have to chase it down and decorate its skull with throwing knives.
But if it charged at him—
‘Will I survive today?’
He asked himself, but had no answer.
He had trained and prepared, gauged his opponent—
Yet, the outcome of a fight was never certain.
Especially since this gnoll leader never revealed itself unless Encrid was wounded—unless he had a hole in his thigh, a deep gash, or a stab wound near his navel.
It only showed itself when its victory was assured.
‘A truly cunning bastard.’
It was a compliment, in a way. A creature that only moved when the fight was already decided—how intelligent.
And just as Encrid hoped, the gnoll leader didn’t run.
“Gruuk!”
A sharp sound cut through the air.
The leader moved.
Fast.
Even having experienced it before, even prepared for it, the speed was staggering.
As the gnoll leader pushed off the ground, its body stretched—
Like a shadow elongating under the sun.
Encrid tracked it.
‘Seeing it’ had never been the issue.
The problem was blocking an attack that fast.
The twin daggers in its hands gleamed—blades that couldn’t be allowed to graze him.
Poison.
Even a scratch would mean death. A repeat of today.
Skrt, skrt!
Two slashes.
The first brushed his shoulder—just barely.
Not even cutting the skin.
His armor wasn’t something a mere dagger could split apart.
Only the outer leather showed a faint tear.
The second thrust he dodged entirely.
The gnoll leader had swiped with its right, then stabbed with its left—but Encrid twisted, making the stab hit empty air.
His reaction speed was incredible.
The moment he saw it, his body moved.
A technique similar to a Valen-Style misaligned slash, but with a different rhythm—blazing fast.
‘It works.’
Just as he had hoped, he could dodge.
He couldn’t ensure the attack wouldn’t graze him, but he could prevent being cut or stabbed.
‘Perception of Evasion.’
It felt less like perception and more like reaction speed training.
The name seemed off.
A stray thought flickered and vanished.
His body focused solely on dodging. If he pushed further, maybe he wouldn’t even be grazed.
But was that necessary?
Probably not.
It was time to move forward.
Today was a day to survive—to see tomorrow’s sunrise.
“Krugh!”
The gnoll leader growled, its eyes burning red with rage. Its yellow pupils were tinged with crimson.
It had missed.
But it didn’t stop.
The gnoll whirled and lunged again.
This time, it lowered its stance, aiming for his thighs—an angle that was difficult to evade.
One dagger angled slightly inward, targeting his inner thigh, while the other kept a staggered rhythm.
A single mistake could cost him dearly.
Encrid didn’t think.
He didn’t process.
He didn’t react.
The moment he saw it, the moment he recognized it—
He moved.
It was a small difference—but a significant one.
This was almost the first time he had applied this in an actual swordfight.
His coordination had evolved—what changed was his reaction speed.
It was a new world.
A step toward something greater.
At least, that’s how Encrid felt.
The difference in reaction speed influenced his reflexes.
And his body, honed tirelessly through Isolation Technique, translated that change directly.
In other words—
The moment he saw it, he struck.
Whoosh. Thud. Crack!
The instant the gnoll leader lunged, a blade like a flash of light split the air vertically.
And, of course, it wasn’t just the air it split.
Crack!
From the gnoll’s skull to the middle of its spine—cleaved in half.
Its hands twitched, as if still unaware of its own death.
Its left hand stabbed at empty air, futilely.
Its right hand, however, lunged exactly as intended—toward Encrid’s hip.
Encrid simply bent his knees, allowing the dagger of the dead gnoll to strike harmlessly against his armored torso.
Thud.
The dead have no strength.
The blade barely scraped the surface of his leather armor before falling away.
Despite being split in two, the gnoll leader’s body kept moving for a moment—then finally, its halves slumped to the ground.
Its entrails and blood splattered across the floor, a perfect line of crimson spraying behind it from the sheer speed of the cut.
He had aimed for the head—but the gnoll had reflexively dodged, forcing him to slice diagonally from the shoulder instead.
“Hah.”
Exhaling, Encrid felt exhilaration.
‘I’m advancing.’
The thrill of growth—the moment of proving his progress.
Dodging poisoned daggers with Perception of Evasion.
Cutting his opponent down in a single stroke with honed reaction speed and coordination.
Tracking the enemy’s movements, his instincts sharpened to their peak.
“Guuuuuk!”
Of course, it wasn’t over yet. Gnolls and monstrous beasts still filled the area.
Now, the real problem was escape.
“Hah!”
With a shout, Encrid swung his sword forcefully.
Two gnolls stood in his way.
A proper sword form? No time for that.
He had trained in the best sword style for slaying monsters—
Northern Heavy Swordsmanship.
The North was a land of monsters and beasts, a frozen wasteland where only the strongest survived.
Their swordsmanship had evolved to be the most effective against such creatures.
And Encrid had learned it.
Whoosh. Slash! Crack!
Ankles, knees, waist, shoulders, wrists—
A perfectly executed centrifugal strike severed the gnolls into halves.
There would be no reunion for them in death.
Cutting them down, Encrid broke into a sprint.
‘Can I escape?’
Dodging all day? Possible.
But escaping after exhausting himself in battle?
That was a different challenge.
One thing this fight had taught him—endurance was key in prolonged battles.
And now, after taking down the gnoll leader in a brief but intense clash, he still had to cut a path back to the settlement.
Simply dodging and holding his ground wasn’t an option anymore.
“Can’t we just fight again tomorrow?”
He muttered the meaningless words as he dodged, knowing full well the gnolls wouldn’t answer.
Instead, a monstrous hyena lunged at him from behind, jaws wide open, aiming for his back.
Without thinking, Encrid instinctively drove his elbow into the beast’s skull.
Thud!
It crashed to the ground.
Without breaking motion, he smoothly plunged his sword into its head.
At the same time, two more beasts and a gnoll closed in.
With a swift horizontal slash, he struck all three.
One of them, a gnoll wearing something akin to leather armor, staggered back a few steps after being struck.
He had failed to cut through in one blow.
His breath was unsteady, and he hadn’t put enough force into the attack.
His stance had faltered—but more than that, he had been pushing himself too hard, activating the Heart of Monstrous Strength for prolonged combat.
‘This is annoying.’
If he overexerted himself, his hands would start trembling.
Still, a short rest would fix that.
For now, it was time to dance again with Perception of Evasion.
“Guuuugu!”
The gnolls cried out—it sounded like they were screaming, “Kill that human! Tear him apart!”
Encrid remained indifferent as he retrieved his sword and moved his feet.
Dodge what had to be dodged. Parry what needed to be parried.
A master of both offense and defense.
Anyone watching from afar might think him a seasoned combat expert, but from a distance, no one could truly see his movements.
Killing the leader had given him a sense of satisfaction.
Not just exhilaration—he felt like he had overturned a game the ferryman had rigged.
How?
What had been the true barrier all along?
To Encrid, the wall had always been the idea that he had to take injuries, endure poison-laced daggers, and fight monstrous hyenas while wounded.
No—
The real challenge was to win without being injured at all.
And he had overturned that notion.
Was it impossible to kill the leader without taking damage? No—it was possible.
He could have taken that route.
But he didn’t want to.
Even if that was how things were supposed to be.
‘That bastard’s grin…’
He just couldn’t stand it.
He might have acknowledged the gnoll’s cunning, praised its cautious approach—
But he hated that smirk.
So what should he do?
It didn’t take much thought.
He didn’t need Krys’s help for this one.
The solution was simple.
Block the gate, secure the defenses, lure the leader into a fight.
Everything had been orchestrated.
The result—
The leader was dead.
And no one from the settlement had fallen to the gnolls or the monstrous hyenas.
Well, if anyone had died to a thrown rock, that was unfortunate—but from what he had seen, no one had.
It had never been about protecting the settlement.
It had just turned out that way.
If there was any reason for it—
It was simply because he really didn’t like that gnoll’s smile.
Besides, wasn’t this a much more efficient way to fight?
Of course, to bring things to a proper conclusion—
He needed to survive.
He conserved his breath, saved his strength.
After failing several attempts to cut through with Northern Heavy Swordsmanship, he switched to more precise attacks, keeping things efficient.
But the path was still blocked.
A critical moment.
Should he hold his ground and wait for an opening?
Or should he burn the last of his strength, ignite the Heart of Monstrous Strength, and carve a way through?
Neither option seemed particularly promising.
Encrid felt it instinctively.
There were no better options.
Caught in that brief moment of hesitation—
“Clear the way!”
…What now?
It came from the village entrance.
Thud, thud, thud!
The village’s main gate creaked open. A portion of the thick log wall had been pushed aside, creating a passage.
Thanks to Esther and Encrid’s chaos, the gnolls that had been pounding at the gate had turned their attention elsewhere, leaving the entrance momentarily clear.
Having witnessed everything, Deutsch Pullman couldn’t just sit still.
“If you’re coming, move your ass! But if you’re backing out, drop your gear and get lost!”
A proposal fitting for a mercenary leader.
Anyone afraid to risk their life had no business being a mercenary in the first place.
His subordinates wasted no time. They surged out of the village.
Deutsch Pullman followed, swinging his glaive with force.
Behind him, ten veteran enforcers—men who had suffered alongside him since their mercenary days—charged into battle.
