Chapter 175
Encrid could sum up Ruagarne’s fighting style in just two words.
Boom and Bang.
She charged forward without hesitation, barreling straight into the gnoll horde. It was a charge devoid of thought—perhaps even less thought than the rotting brains of ghouls.
A knight charging on a proper warhorse was called a cavalry charge.
And Ruagarne’s rush?
‘That’s close enough.’
The effect was undeniable. She ignored the wounds from the enemy’s weapons and lashed out—her right hand wielding a whip, her left hand a sword.
Crack! Crack!
Each time the whip snapped through the air, it landed on gnoll skulls, shoulders, and exposed bellies.
Crash! Boom! Bang!
Skulls burst open, spraying black blood and brain matter in all directions.
As for the hyena beasts, she made quick work of them with her sword.
Thrust! Thrust! Squish! Thud! Crunch!
The sounds of stabbing, slicing, and flesh giving way echoed repeatedly.
One after another, the snarling beasts with their short muzzles collapsed, black blood pooling beneath them.
Kiiirgh! Gurk!
Foaming at the mouth, the dying creatures fell behind as Ruagarne surged ahead.
With that single charge, she had already slaughtered nine gnolls and fifteen hyena beasts.
But then the remaining gnolls began to group up—five, six, or even seven of them at a time—coordinating against her.
“Grrk!”
Ruagarne puffed out her cheeks and whipped her weapon fiercely.
The whip didn’t strike its target directly. Instead, it coiled around a gnoll’s neck.
With a powerful yank—
Whoosh!
The gnoll was sent flying.
Ever seen a gnoll soar through the air?
Well, now they had.
It crashed headfirst into the ground with a sickening thud.
And in that brief moment, Ruagarne’s whip and sword continued their grim work, severing heads with ruthless efficiency.
She killed and killed again.
An enraged Frok was truly something terrifying.
She was a spectacle of raw strength and instinctive combat prowess.
Guuuugh!
A gnoll’s pained scream echoed loudly.
Meanwhile, Encrid advanced, step by step.
Ruagarne was a Frok. She had channeled her rage into battle and shown what she was capable of.
Her strength was indeed remarkable.
But now that Encrid had begun to see something—something tangible forming in his mind—
‘Is she truly unbeatable?’
The Froks were a warrior race, but not all of them were the same.
Hadn’t Ruagarne said so herself? She was a scholar.
She wasn’t entirely committed to combat.
At this moment—
‘I don’t think I’d lose.’
The thought surfaced unbidden.
Was it arrogance? Or confidence built from experience?
Every battle was unpredictable, but if he had to fight her—
‘It’s possible.’
That conviction settled within him.
“I can teach you proper swordsmanship, but knights and your band of lunatics… Well, they’re quite the challenge.”
Ruagarne, ever the pragmatic judge of skill, spoke plainly.
She knew exactly where she stood.
“I’m more curious than competitive.”
What Frok wasn’t curious?
Her large, round eyes gleamed, catching the light as she spoke.
When Encrid explained his battle strategy, Ruagarne puffed out her cheeks, tilting her head in confusion.
It was a very human-like gesture—one she had picked up from living among them.
Her expression screamed: What kind of insane plan is this?
“We did it yesterday too,” Encrid replied.
The moment he said it, his heart, his body—his entire being—heated up.
It was an urge.
Like the desire to run wildly through a sudden downpour.
Like the urge to roll through freshly fallen snow.
Like wanting to set everything ablaze with his sword.
More than anything—
He wanted to swing his blade.
“So just watch my back.”
It was a request directed at Ruagarne and Esther.
This village was doomed anyway.
The gnolls had brought ladders.
It was already over.
So what should he do?
‘Break what they believe in.’
What were the gnolls and cultists relying on?
Numbers. Tools. Ladders. Sheer overwhelming force.
And at the same time—
He had to let loose this fire inside him.
This burning, boiling urge to fight.
“This will be a short but intense battle.”
Muttering like a poet recalling a verse, Encrid stepped forward.
As Ruagarne continued to draw attention with her rampage, he approached the very heart of the monster horde.
At that moment, Ruagarne finally took a breath and pulled back.
By then, she had already slain nearly thirty gnolls and hyena beasts combined.
Her body was covered in minor wounds—cuts along her arms, legs, and stomach.
She was strong.
But was she so strong that no one could surpass her?
Perhaps not. Perhaps she could be challenged.
Encrid came to a stop amid the gnolls, hyena beasts, and ghouls.
Guuuuugh!
Kiaa! Kaa!
The gnolls and hyena beasts snarled.
Kiyaaaak!
And the first to greet him—
A ghoul, shrieking its welcome.
As he looked at them, a thought crossed Encrid’s mind.
Was the strength of knights truly beyond reach?
And if so, did that mean he could never reach it?
No one knew the future.
But for now—
A short, fierce battle.
That much, at least, he could show.
Countless enemies. Monsters and beasts, too many to number.
And among them, those carrying ladders.
Thirty of them?
Fine. Thirty.
He acknowledged it and drew his swords.
Shing!
One in his right hand.
Shing!
One in his left.
He was still more accustomed to wielding a single blade.
But right now, this was the better option.
With multiple enemies to face, Encrid raised his swords.
—
‘What is he planning?’
Ruagarne didn’t ask.
There were many reasons for that.
For one, she was a Frok.
Even surrounded by gnolls and beasts, she had confidence in her ability to escape.
If things went south, she could sacrifice an arm and still get out.
And her arm would grow back anyway.
That was why, when Encrid suggested charging into the enemy, she hadn’t bothered questioning him.
And beyond that—
It was because of Encrid’s change.
‘Why did he change?’
He had only been gone for half a day. Yet his posture, his presence—everything—had shifted.
‘How?’
Ruagarne, as a talent evaluator, instinctively assessed his steps, gestures, and stance.
‘How?’
The same question echoed twice in her mind.
Growth in skill could happen suddenly, but this was different. It was distinct from anything she had ever witnessed before.
“Appointments at the salon,” she muttered absently.
Geniuses were always like this. One moment they wasted their days, and the next, they had inexplicably improved.
Ruagarne had seen it before.
That was what it meant to be a genius.
But wasn’t there always a sign before it happened?
Yes.
She had always been able to see it.
The subtle shifts that came before a breakthrough.
Growth always followed a pattern.
But now—
‘Nothing.’
There was no sign. No precursor.
Absolutely nothing had changed—except that everything had.
Was that even possible?
Especially since, by Ruagarne’s standards, Encrid didn’t even qualify as a genius.
So how?
Again, the same question. It was why she stood here now—to confirm whether Encrid had truly changed, or if her own senses were somehow failing her.
‘If things go south…’
She could always grab him and run.
Beside her, Esther flexed her claws, stabbing them into the ground. The panther seemed to be thinking the same thing.
A mix of worry, expectation, curiosity, and the allure of the unknown filled the air.
Then—
Her worries vanished.
Shing. Shing.
Encrid drew two swords.
And he moved.
Straight into the mass of gnolls, beasts, and ghouls.
His purpose was clear.
‘The ladders.’
He charged directly toward the ones carrying them.
Ruagarne had intended to target them as well.
But she wasn’t a knight.
Nor was she one of her war-obsessed kin.
Numbers mattered.
The ladder-bearers were the ones hiding in the rear. She could easily slaughter those rushing forward, but chasing down the ones retreating?
That required a group effort.
The problem was simple.
There were too many.
Gnolls were a trivial enemy for a Frok. She could kill them half-asleep.
But this was beyond overwhelming.
Ruagarne was no knight.
Even for a Frok, stamina had limits.
She could take down a single cultist.
But handling this entire horde?
Impossible.
That was common sense.
Breaking common sense was what the continent referred to as knightly power—or even knight-class.
And right now—
Whoosh. Slash. Crunch. Tear. Slice. Rip. Stab. Squelch.
Encrid’s sword shattered common sense.
‘Ah.’
It shouldn’t be possible to improve without warning.
Even for a genius, that was absurd.
How?
Encrid’s blades moved exactly as needed, precisely when needed.
He stabbed and cut. He slashed and pierced.
A swift, downward stroke split a gnoll’s skull open, its dark blood splattering.
With a horizontal sweep, he severed a gnoll’s spear shaft.
The creature lunged, jaws wide to bite his shoulder—
A flash of steel.
A single stroke split its head in two.
A bisected skull couldn’t bite.
Its corpse collapsed, the halves of its head flopping apart.
The weight behind each strike—
Ruagarne recognized it.
It was the same force he had shown in their sparring matches.
But back then, his attacks had been clumsy, his power spilling out without control.
Now, he wielded it with balance, using just the right amount, never wasting movement.
A vertical slash. A forward thrust. His feet never stopped moving.
When a ladder-bearer entered his range, he destroyed the ladder with a single swing.
Immediately, six ghouls pounced on him like a writhing mass.
Even if they died, they were determined to cling to him.
The cultist’s mind-control magic was in effect.
It made no difference.
Before they could even reach him, Encrid shifted his stance—
His left foot stepped forward. His right foot slid back.
His swords whirled.
Whoosh! Crash! Crack!
Bone, muscle, tendon—none of it mattered.
A wide spinning slash carved through all six ghouls in a single motion.
Arms, legs, heads, torsos—all tumbled to the ground.
And then—
Thunk.
He stabbed one of his swords into the ground.
A sharp, mechanical whine filled the air.
Encrid’s hands blurred.
Throwing knives.
Whistle Daggers.
Ten daggers sliced through the air, scattering like a whirlwind.
Every single one embedded itself into the skulls of ladder-bearers.
Gnolls might have learned to use tools, but that didn’t mean they valued them.
As their bearers died, ladders clattered to the ground—
And their own allies stepped on them.
The hastily crafted wooden structures snapped underfoot.
“Guuuuugh!”
A mutant gnoll charged.
Bigger than the others, with a grotesquely large head.
Three more surrounded him, while a hyena beast lunged between them.
But—
Encrid’s figure vanished.
Ruagarne didn’t miss it.
Yet even she saw only an afterimage.
‘A charge technique?’
It was the kind of speed lesser knights used.
Just before they could trap him, he reappeared—
Behind one of the mutants.
Both swords crossed over its chest.
Thunk!
The twin blades sank into its heart.
A mutant gnoll’s heart was tough.
Its cheeks puffed out, as if trying to endure.
But Ruagarne knew better.
She was an experienced warrior.
And yet, even with that experience—
This was the first time she had ever seen a human like this.
The unknown stirred something deep within her.
Encrid pulled his swords free.
Schlup!
Black blood sprayed.
“Grrgh!”
The mutant died.
Another hyena beast lunged.
He kicked it—hard.
Smash!
It tumbled across the ground.
A downward strike from his pommel crushed its skull.
Kraah!
A ghoul shrieked, clawing toward him.
Its nails were coated in venom—a lethal weapon in their own right.
But—
Crack.
Encrid’s sword struck lazily, almost as if he was bored.
The ghoul’s skull cracked, and its entire top vanished.
There was a saying—ghouls had no brains.
Turns out, that wasn’t quite true.
They did have brains.
They were just… small.
Barely the size of a finger.
The time Encrid spent fighting wasn’t even that long.
Not half a day.
Not even a few hours.
Barely enough time to drink a cup of tea.
The kind of moment that wouldn’t even shift the position of the sun.
A blink of an eye to a long-lived dragonkin or elf.
And yet, in that fleeting moment—
Encrid had destroyed more than half the ladders.
He had turned nearly a hundred monsters and beasts into rotting piles of meat.
The ghouls? Nearly eradicated.
Ruagarne, a Frok, didn’t shiver at the sight.
But she did feel it.
Her heart—her heart hurt.
A mix of awe, admiration, and the thrilling joy of witnessing the unknown.
The ecstasy of discovering something inexplicable.
Something standing right in front of her.
A cruel kind of happiness.
“Ahh…”
She exhaled, her voice carrying the beginning of a battle hymn. A Frok’s war song.
But before the song even properly began—
Encrid stumbled back.
And collapsed.
His knees buckled, and he drove his sword into the ground to keep himself upright.
Even that movement was unsteady.
Then, he spoke.
“Help me—”
What? What?
Ruagarne was just getting emotional!
She had more singing to do!
More tears to shed!
The guy who just fought like a junior knight—why was he suddenly—
“—quickly.”
His lips had gone blue.
Ruagarne reacted instantly.
Her whip lashed out.
Crack!
It coiled around Encrid’s wrist, and with a sharp tug—
Scrape—!
He was dragged across the ground, cutting through dirt and gore.
Ruagarne’s eyes flicked to the mess of corpses littering the battlefield.
Without hesitation, she flicked her wrist.
Whoosh!
Encrid lifted into the air.
She caught him.
Thud.
With bent knees, she absorbed the impact as he landed against her chest.
“Let’s go.”
From within her arms, the black-haired, blue-eyed man muttered weakly.
Ruagarne’s surge of emotion had been cut short.
But the thing she had felt—it didn’t disappear.
She nodded.
Ruagarne nodded, and ran.
The remaining gnolls and beasts lunged, but they had already decided to flee.
And then—
“Fire! Fire!”
Arrows rained from above.
Even as the creatures roared and clawed at the wooden walls, the barrage didn’t stop.
Some still managed to raise ladders—
“What the hell are you standing around for?!”
Krys’ voice snapped through the chaos.
The former mercenaries under Deutsch—now a makeshift militia—surged forward.
They shoved the ladders down.
They fought.
Ruagarne and Esther rejoined them, and soon, fewer than ten ladders remained.
Meaningless.
“Insane. Completely insane.”
Deutsch Pullman muttered as he watched the monsters retreating from the walls.
Ruagarne agreed.
‘Yeah. Insane.’
Encrid had fought like a knight—
For a brief moment, almost like a junior knight.
With no warning.
No prior signs.
In half a day, the man she had dismissed as talentless had changed.
And for the first time in a long time—
Ruagarne’s heart raced like it did when she was young.
For a fleeting moment—
She felt like a girl again.
