Chapter 176
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As he brought forth what he had learned and practiced, he resolved to do just that.
The moment he made up his mind and moved, his body followed instinctively.
He could see everything and react accordingly.
The countless days spent honing himself through the Isolation Technique became the strength that supported him.
‘It works.’
His body moved as he intended. He adhered to only one swordsmanship style.
Northern Middle Swordsmanship.
The foundation was divided into Balance, Heavy, Circular, Swift, and Fluid, a fundamental structure from which swordsmanship across the continent had evolved.
For example, Mitch Hurrier employed a technique combining Balance and Fluidity, with a hint of Circularity.
Ragna, on the other hand, focused on Circularity, with a slight touch of Swiftness.
That was Northern Middle Swordsmanship.
Of course, what he had learned was only the basics. The techniques were simple, yet they were enough.
With that foundation, he refined and polished his skills.
‘Visible.’
He saw the enemy’s attack patterns, perceiving them with his eyes and hearing them with his ears. His senses intertwined, throwing open the Gate of the Sixth Sense, allowing him to see even more.
Blades rained down upon him, their order of arrival categorized and distinguished. He could grasp every single one of them.
And his ability to perceive and respond reached a speed akin to light.
‘Left, here.’
It was only natural that he had time to think.
At this moment, Encrid was faster than the surrounding beasts and monsters. He saw them beforehand, and his body followed suit.
Thus, he moved even more. He advanced a step ahead of his enemies and swung his sword one more time.
‘Strength.’
The Heart of Monstrous Strength would break his body if activated for too long. So he used it in short bursts, instantaneously.
His endless repetition of today’s battles had not been solely about sharpening his coordination.
Through the process of dodging and dodging again, his body had naturally undergone training and discipline, culminating in this moment.
His heart pounded loudly, infusing strength into his muscles.
‘Three times? No, I can swing four times.’
With one heartbeat, he unleashed four strikes empowered by monstrous strength.
Slash!
Every strike landed without resistance.
His blade split open the heads of four Gnolls, each of them cut precisely in half down the center.
His body moved as he willed.
His sword advanced as he desired.
With his body’s coordination doubling his reaction speed, everything he had learned unfolded seamlessly.
At that moment, Encrid thought of Rem.
How was he able to charge through the heart of the battlefield unscathed?
How was such a feat possible?
If this level of skill was the answer, then he himself could now do it.
Thus, he cut and cut again, split and split again.
As he waded through the endless flow of battle, another figure surfaced in his mind.
The Junior Knight he had seen before.
The one who had launched himself forward, showcasing sheer force—how had he managed that?
He was told that Will was necessary.
That for Encrid, it was something unattainable.
But was that reason enough to give up?
Not a chance.
Right now, he had no time to despair.
He had to focus on doing everything he could.
Using the Heart of Monstrous Strength and his body honed by the Isolation Technique, he mimicked the Junior Knight’s charge.
He rampaged and rampaged until his limbs trembled, his organs aching with a dull pain. Only then did he leap backward.
“Aaah!”
Behind him, Ruagarne let out a strange cry.
Encrid’s entire body was drained of energy.
When he wordlessly signaled for help, Ruagarne wrapped her whip around his wrist and pulled him in. Thus, he collapsed into her embrace and lost consciousness.
He had demonstrated power akin to a Junior Knight’s charge, even without Will. It was only natural for his body to give out.
However, those who had been watching him—
The ones who stood atop the fortress wall—
Ruagarne, Finn, Krys, Esther.
Something ignited in their chests, a shiver ran across their skin, and a tremor settled deep within them.
‘What kind of human could do such a thing?’
Even though they were not bards, they felt the urge to compose a song.
“Damn, we’ve got a name for the wall now.”
A stonemason, who had cracked his head while carrying stones, spoke up.
Instead of calling it something outrageous, they would simply name it Encrid’s Wall.
“This is insane… Why the hell am I crying?”
Some members of the Militia shed tears.
It was not the relief of survival that moved them, but the sheer sight of that man standing and rampaging ahead of them.
The word “impressive” is often used to describe something that leaves a lasting mark in one’s heart. A feeling, an emotion, something unforgettable.
Right now, in this moment, Encrid was being engraved into their souls.
“Aaaaahhh!”
As cheers and shouts erupted—
Even though the Gnolls had not yet fully retreated—
They called out a single name.
“Encrid!”
They fired arrows and threw stones, chanting his name.
Finally, the monster horde took a step back.
“What about him?”
Having seen him collapse and be carried back, they all voiced their concern.
They wished for him to be unharmed.
They hoped his body had not been damaged.
They prayed he would walk out unscathed.
They wanted to see his smile again.
They all shared the same feeling.
They wanted to support him.
For his sake, they were willing to give anything.
That was their feeling.
And their wishes were fulfilled.
“Are they gone?”
Encrid stood up, walked out, and asked.
Deutsch Pullman descended from the barricade.
After glancing at the glaive in his hand a few times as if dissatisfied, he casually tossed it aside.
It was an act that would have shocked his subordinates, for as a mercenary, he cherished his weapons like his own life.
Then, Deutsch dropped to one knee.
Lowering his head, he spoke.
“My gratitude.” (T/N: Damn! This hit me hard!)
A single word, short yet filled with weight.
“……It’s not over yet.”
Encrid simply responded in his usual, calm manner. There was no particular smile.
But Deutsch did not seek his smile, nor thanks, nor even praise.
He merely wanted to show his respect to the man who had stirred something within him.
Everyone who witnessed it followed suit, kneeling.
Whether atop the barricade or on the ground below.
Encrid merely shrugged.
But those who had watched him for a long time knew—
He was quite satisfied with this.
After the battle, the kneeling, the victory—
After washing up and returning to his hut, Encrid checked his body.
He had overdone it.
His muscles ached, and his heart felt compressed.
‘This much…’
He had regulated it well.
A day’s rest would be enough for recovery.
That was sufficient.
Perhaps he owed Audin a word of thanks.
“The Isolation Technique is also a method for creating a Regenerative Body. A term originating from the far East and North, it refers to a body that recovers no matter how much it is broken. This technique does not simply end with skeletal modifications.”
Audin repeatedly emphasized that the Isolation Technique ultimately laid the foundation for the body’s ability to recover.
And Encrid was reaping its benefits in full.
‘I’m fine.’
He clenched and unclenched his hand to check his condition. The stiffness gradually faded from his trembling muscles.
“That, uh, honestly shocked me,” said Krys, standing beside him.
Everyone was looking at him.
After all, he had pulled off such a feat, yet he hadn’t even remained unconscious for half a day. He had merely closed his eyes briefly and then woken up, walking around as if nothing had happened.
“I think I’ve fallen for you all over again.”
Finn said with a smirk.
Esther simply gazed at him in silence.
What was she thinking? Her expression was unreadable.
Ruagarne spoke bluntly, without emotion.
“When this is over, I’m leaving.”
It was simply time for her to return.
Frok was bound by an Oath—she was not entirely free.
Encrid let her go without a second thought.
“Stop using honorifics. Don’t speak so formally.”
He then added words laced with forceful insistence.
Encrid merely nodded.
It wasn’t important.
Right now, he was too busy preparing for tomorrow.
His Whistle Dagger was completely used up.
And if the Cultists weren’t complete fools, they wouldn’t simply withdraw like this.
From their retreat today, it was clear—they would return.
They had fallen back without pushing further, choosing instead to conserve their forces.
‘The ladders can just be rebuilt.’
Since they had witnessed him pushing himself to his limit, another attack seemed likely.
‘Maybe I should bait them.’
He had shown them a glimpse of his strength.
That meant he had a plan.
“Shouldn’t we capture the Cultists before they escape?”
He asked Ruagarne—a clear message that she couldn’t leave just yet.
“That goes without saying.”
Good. That meant it would work.
Krys leaned in and whispered,
“They’ll be back tomorrow.”
This bastard was sharp as ever—quick-witted and perceptive.
“I was thinking of baiting them.”
“Oh, I like that.”
With just that brief exchange, Krys immediately devised a strategy.
It seemed like it would work.
No—it was bound to work.
Krys had an uncanny ability to dig into the enemy’s psyche and predict their moves.
Thus, Encrid rested for a full day.
No one disturbed him.
Though some of the retreating monsters remained within visible range, there was no room for complacency.
Yet something had clearly changed from the previous day.
“The hell with losing our village to monsters!”
Their spirits burned fiercely.
Encrid’s actions had ignited something in their hearts.
Before that flame could die down, the morning sun rose again.
And just as expected—
The monsters returned.
This time, they brought ladders again—this time reinforced with hooks attached to ropes.
The materials looked like they had been woven from tree vines.
There weren’t many of them, but they could be deadly weapons.
“Bastards.”
Deutsch Pullman ground his teeth.
Once again, Encrid opened the gates.
And once again, he repeated the madness of yesterday.
A body that recovers.
Wasn’t that what they called Regenerative Body?
The Isolation Technique sustained him, and so he endured.
And with that, another wild battle erupted.
The Monster Slayer wielding dual swords.
That was the name that began to spread.
A short yet fierce battle, a fight so intense it could be likened to Joruna’s Rapid Strike—
And then—
Encrid vomited blood.
“Ugh!”
Two days.
A clear sign that he had pushed himself too far.
Beside him, Ruagarne deliberately left herself exposed—
And her left arm was severed.
Her arm, sliced clean below the elbow, was snatched up by a gnoll, who bit down and lifted it high.
Guooooooh!
It was a victory cry.
The monsters and beasts retreated once again—
But Encrid had coughed up blood, and Ruagarne had lost an arm.
—
[The Third Day]
As daylight broke, the monsters charged once more.
“Aren’t you sick of this yet?!”
A mercenary shouted from atop the barricade.
Once again, Encrid stepped beyond the walls.
This time, he lasted even less time than the day before.
The circles beneath his eyes darkened, deep shadows setting in.
And yet, over the course of three days, the enemy’s numbers had halved.
From a force of nearly a thousand, they were now down to less than five hundred.
That meant Encrid alone had slain close to five hundred of them.
A staggering feat in just three days.
But in the end, his body gave out.
His limbs dangled limp as he was carried away by the Militia.
Even the number of arrows fired by the enemy had dwindled.
And the timber barricades still held.
If they could just endure for two or three more days, they would survive.
—
[The Fourth Day]
The next morning, Encrid stepped out once again.
His face was pale, and the darkness under his eyes deepened.
He was at the peak of exhaustion.
And yet, like a candle burning away its last drops of wax, he ignited once more.
A performance so inhuman—
A battle so ghostly—
“Uooohhh! Monster Slayer!”
A deep-voiced Militiaman roared.
Spurred on by him, twenty Militia members surged out of the gates, engaging in close combat.
It was a calculated skirmish designed to minimize losses while still inflicting damage.
As a result, no lives were lost.
But it had been a close call.
The barricades took more damage.
Even without ladders, the situation was becoming more dangerous.
On that day—
Encrid truly became the Monster Slayer.
Just like on the first day, he cut down another hundred beasts.
The enemy numbers fell to below three hundred.
There were no ghouls left.
The hyena-like beasts numbered fewer than a hundred.
And so, the fourth morning dawned.
—
The Cultists had expected to slowly grind their enemies down.
But after witnessing Encrid’s rampage, they immediately wanted to flee.
‘That’s a knight. At the very least, a Junior Knight!’
Knights were unstoppable forces.
Running was the only logical option.
But something felt off.
From a distance, more than fifty paces away, a Junior Knight had once nearly killed one of them with a single thrown arrow.
The Cultists knew just how powerful knights were.
But this was the frontier.
What would a Junior Knight even be doing here?
What was there to gain in a place like this?
The Knight Orders across the entire kingdom numbered at most thirty.
And true knights?
There were, at most, one or two per order.
They were strategic weapons, the ones who could determine the outcome of a battle.
Knight Orders were usually composed of Junior Knights, and even they were enough to turn the tide of war.
On the battlefields of the continent, elite forces were always the most crucial factor.
‘But this is the frontier. What kind of Knight Order would come all the way out here?’
Knight Orders weren’t idle forces with time to waste.
Which meant—their opponent was neither a knight nor a Junior Knight.
The man had displayed overwhelming strength, but he retreated quickly.
The next day, he repeated the same reckless charge, but he was like a sorcerer who had sold his soul—fighting with complete disregard for his own life.
‘He’s enduring this?’
And yet, he endured.
For days, they wore him down, until he coughed up blood.
Until a Frok lost an arm.
Until the villagers, exhausted from hurling arrows and stones, remained the last line of defense.
“Hah.”
The Cultist chuckled in satisfaction.
Now, with the monsters at his command, he would devour them all.
Crush them.
Consume them.
And with that, he would unleash the era of monsters upon this land.
It was the will of his god.
Even if it meant knights or other forces would eventually come, even if this place was doomed to fall in the future—
By then, he would have taken everything he needed from this land.
“Let’s go.”
He led the monsters forward.
—
This was the day of reckoning.
Previously, they had never charged straight into the wooden barricade.
But now, it was the end.
The Cultist positioned his forces at the frontline, commanding them to assault the barricade directly.
Above the walls, he saw it.
A panther.
That meant he must be nearby.
For the past few days, the panther had never left that madman’s side.
It was only natural.
Repetition ingrains patterns into the mind.
‘Come out, you bastard.’
As the monsters battered the barricade—
A voice rang out from behind him.
“Krys was right.”
The Cultist flinched.
“Indeed.”
Goosebumps rose along his arms.
His head whipped around—
And there they stood.
A pale-faced man, shadows beneath his eyes, standing beside a Frok.
“You were hard to find.”
The man, his complexion hollow yet strangely clear, brushed a finger beneath his eye.
A dark, ashen substance smeared onto his fingertip.
Wasn’t this the same man who should have been collapsed, vomiting blood, and on the brink of death?
And yet—
Why did he look so refreshed?
Was it just a trick of the mind?
