Chapter 198

The guy clenched his fist and charged forward, stomping the ground. His ankles flexed elastically, propelling his body. The power flowed perfectly from his knees and thighs up to his torso.

So, he was frighteningly fast. But not so fast that it was impossible to react.

Naturally, he was no match for Rem.

Rem lifted the axe in his left hand at a slant, feinting a downward strike. Just before the fist could connect—right at the moment the man’s head was about to split in two—his speed increased even further.

A blurry afterimage trailed behind him.

It was a tactic to blur the opponent’s vision through sudden acceleration.

Whoosh!

Rem’s left-hand axe slashed through the air.

The brawler closed the gap, pivoted on his right foot, stomped down with his left, and thrust his knuckled fist forward.

It was obvious at a glance. This guy had proper training.

Then—thud!

“Hey, why are you offering your neck to my axe like that?”

Following the impact came Rem’s calm voice.

Encrid replayed the moment he had just witnessed.

A charge that suddenly changed tempo mid-dash.

There probably wasn’t anyone who could take that hit easily.

At best, they would dodge it—and once they did, the attacker would resume striking from a safe distance. That must’ve been his fighting style.

Hadn’t Audin said it himself?

“Brawlers are more obsessed with controlling distance than anyone else, brother.”

In response to that charge meant to dominate the distance, Rem’s reaction was almost indifferent.

He simply pretended to engage with his left-hand axe, then swung the one in his right hand several times faster.

It was a similar tactic to the enemy’s—but the result was different.

The axe blade flew like a bolt of light and sliced through the man’s neck.

The severed headless fist merely tapped against Rem’s abdomen.

Naturally, it had no power behind it.

The severed head floated momentarily in the air before dropping to the ground with a dull thud.

The brawler’s body collapsed as Rem gave it a nudge with the back of his axe-wielding hand.

“He’s no pushover. Don’t let your guard down!”

A man wielding a spiked spear shouted.

Then five men closed in on Rem.

All men—three wielding tridents and swords, and one toying with a dagger. That made five.

“This is getting fun.”

Rem remained calm even against the five. No, he was more than calm—he looked downright joyful, shaking his shoulders as if dancing.

Ragna placed his hand on his sword grip and calmly walked forward. Toward the man with the spiked spear.

“Kill him!”

The spear-wielder shouted. At that moment, a female thief in a tree fired something.

Ping!

A short arrow aimed for Ragna’s shoulder. He twisted his body to dodge it, and in that same motion, drew his sword.

Smooth and natural—as if rehearsed.

Clang. As he drew, he slashed wide, and the man with the spiked spear raised his weapon in defense.

Clang!

“Mm!”

Did he think it was a weak swing?

For a moment, the spear-wielder’s body tilted to the side from the blow.

Then came another ping—a second arrow flew in.

Naturally, Ragna dodged. The short arrow struck a stone embedded in the ground, rebounding with a loud snap.

‘Up there.’

Encrid’s eyes spotted the source of the arrow. Up in a tree. A small figure fired from a device mounted on their wrist.

Encrid moved.

He didn’t have the Whistle Dagger, but he had properly learned the projectile technique.

He extended time for a moment. Activated a singular point of focus, gauged the distance, and flicked his wrist.

With his left hand, which now rivaled his right in skill.

A throwing knife, backed by his focus and sharpened senses, tore through the air.

The monkey-like figure in the tree hooked a leg around a branch and spun upside down to dodge.

Thunk!

The knife embedded itself into the thick tree trunk where the figure had just been.

“Kill him! Roomt!”

Seeing that, the spear-wielder shouted. Someone soon approached Encrid.

A man wielding two daggers.

The one called Roomt’s eyes scanned Encrid’s waist.

There, a dagger recovered from a fallen bodyguard was hanging.

“You, that dagger…”

“Gifted to me.”

Before the opponent even finished his sentence, Encrid responded without pause. Roomt frowned.

Sparse eyebrows, unusually small pupils—his expression was savage.

Well, appearance and skill were separate matters.

‘That kind of face is common among mercenaries.’

Many mercenaries wore their scars like decorations, looking vicious at a glance.

“I trained that one myself.”

The man looked to be in his forties. To still be fighting on the frontlines at that age meant he had serious skills.

Encrid’s heart thumped.

He should be better than the one he trained.

But would he be better than that Knoll leader?

A strange sense of anticipation stirred. If there was anything he wished for, it was this:

“Are you taking him alone?”

Rem had five. Ragna had three.

Why was he the only one with just one opponent?

The last one was the monkey darting around the trees.

Rem was grinning, swinging his axe as he faced five.

The five opponents showed caution.

After all, they had seen one of their own beheaded in a single blow.

The spear-wielder, too, was cautious.

When you had the numbers, a slow encirclement was better than a reckless charge.

The spear-wielder and two others surrounded Ragna.

The same went for those facing Rem.

“I’ll kill you and rip that beast girl’s legs apart.”

Maybe he had some connection to the bodyguard in black—but he was clearly furious.

Even so, he didn’t rush in. Was it caution? No—it was experience.

Encrid had no intention of waiting around.

Tap—he pushed off the ground and advanced. From just a few of Ragna’s words, he had gained a new insight into swordsmanship.

Maintaining singular focus, he sharpened the edge of his senses.

The tingling murderous aura from the opponent pricked his skin.

As Encrid rushed in, Roomt’s hands moved. Fast. Terrifyingly fast.

Swish, swish—his two hands moved so quickly it looked like more than two blades.

Encrid based his stance on the standard form, extending his sword. The idea was to deflect the blow, then redirect and stab inward.

Roomt swung both daggers and knocked Encrid’s sword aside.

Clang!

It was a deflection infused not with strength, but with technique.

A technique that disrupted balance by striking the center of the blade.

Encrid could no longer aim for his original target. His sword tip slipped. While the sword veered off course, the opponent closed the distance and thrust his dagger.

The trajectory briefly vanished from view.

From below, upward.

Sensing the blade with pure instinct, Encrid planted strength into his left big toe and halted his movement.

In that instant, he locked his body in place.

He pulled his elbow back, trying to block the incoming dagger tip with his forearm guard—only for the blade to twist like a snake and aim for his jaw.

Unorthodox, fast, and bold.

Encrid tilted his head back. The blade grazed his chin with a light pik.

As he retrieved his extended sword and pulled it inward, the opponent rolled sideways to evade.

Then, crossing his twin daggers, he glared at him.

Those eyes seemed to ask:

‘You dodged that?’

Encrid nonchalantly extended his sword again.

Why wouldn’t he? There was no reason not to dodge.

To be honest, if it had been before he’d developed this sense of evasion, he might’ve died on the spot.

But once he understood it, his body responded instinctively.

A rather satisfying opponent. But still—there were gaps.

Sure, his skills were clearly superior to those who came with the beastkin named Dunbakel.

‘Above elite, but below Junior Knight.’

That’s how Encrid assessed his level.

With that thought, Encrid thrust his sword once more.

The daggers came flying again.

He had seen this move before.

Thump!

He hadn’t just learned evasion by digging up heads in those Knoll’s fields.

His swordsmanship had improved as well, and he now had the Heart of Monstrous Strength.

Once awakened, the heart flooded his entire body with power.

He poured more weight onto his left foot. Pressing down as he stepped forward. He infused the attack with strength—unpredictable, inhuman power that couldn’t be measured or anticipated.

His sharpened focus and honed senses no longer saw the incoming daggers as afterimages—but as distinct, frozen frames.

Clang!

Sparks flew as the dagger struck his blade. That was the end of it. For technique to succeed, it required at least a matching level of power.

The dagger couldn’t push aside or deflect Encrid’s sword.

He crushed it with overwhelming force.

In that slowed-down moment, he saw the look in his opponent’s eyes. Panic.

Encrid thrust his sword.

Squish.

The leather armor covering the opponent’s chest tore apart as the blade pierced through. Even as the enemy twisted his body at the last moment to deflect the sword, the blade Encrid wielded was too fine—too deadly.

Its edge carved through leather with ease.

What followed—flesh and muscle—was no challenge at all.

Starting from beneath the collarbone, he skewered diagonally and pulled out. Splat! Blood erupted.

Ping!

A short arrow flew toward Encrid.

Ragna dodged it as part of his continuous movement.

Encrid mimicked the same.

While dodging, he spun on his left foot, showing his back for a moment to conceal the beginning and end of his motion—then threw a dagger.

Whoosh!

The monkey-like female thief hadn’t anticipated this. The knife struck her thigh.

“Gah!”

She froze in place atop the tree branch.

Encrid’s fight had ended early.

Of course it had. It took only two exchanges of attack and defense.

Encrid’s gaze naturally drifted to Rem and Ragna.

Somehow, the two of them were—unsurprisingly—dominating.

These were people who claimed they could kill even a Junior Knight if the situation was right.

The difference in skill was obvious.

Their downfall had clearly come from ignorance.

They didn’t know about Encrid and the Madman Squad.

Because they didn’t know, they had to fall.

Encrid’s gaze turned to Ragna.

Whoosh.

The spiked spear feinted a thrust, then swung sideways. Ragna responded by swinging his sword.

A block? No.

Clang, scree—

‘Bind.’

Blocking blade-to-blade would damage the sword, so he blocked with the flat and used controlled force to wrap around the spear.

Then, from Ragna’s left and right came a spear and a rapier.

Both seemed to rely on speed.

The two female thieves lunged with vicious momentum.

In a brief moment, Ragna combined several moves into one.

First, he gripped his sword with both hands and lifted it upward to the left, parrying and wrapping around the spear. Since the flat of the blade remained in contact, the bind persisted.

He then redirected the spear’s path and stabbed forward. Neither fast nor slow.

With that motion, he stepped forward, and the spear and rapier crossed through where Ragna had just stood.

The male thief with the spiked spear clenched his teeth and pulled back his weapon, pushing away the incoming blade.

Ragna didn’t exert himself. He stepped forward again.

This time, he aimed the sword tip at the left side of his opponent’s head. The spear-wielder bent backward but couldn’t completely dodge.

Slish.

A chilling sound—his ear was half-sliced off.

Blood poured down the left side of his face.

The two female attackers nearby quickened their pace.

The rapiers danced, while the spear-wielding thief swept low toward Ragna’s legs.

Right after slicing the ear, Ragna withdrew his blade, deflected the flying rapier with his sword, and completely leapt over the low sweep.

An astounding combination of spacing and precision.

‘Why?’

And then Encrid wondered. It felt like Ragna was gauging the enemy’s skill. The moment that question formed in his mind, he realized the answer.

‘He’s demonstrating.’

What is swordsmanship?

Every motion carries meaning.

Ragna’s evasion had a deeper significance. The position he moved to was the right side of the spear-wielding thief—forcing the rapier-wielding woman to view Ragna with her ally in between.

Without pause, a single-handed thrust.

He had stepped back, only to lunge in again and aim for the man’s neck.

Once again, it was neither fast nor slow.

To put it more clearly—

‘Just fast enough for the enemy to barely block.’

Encrid’s eyes were busy. His mind even more so.

Every one of Ragna’s moves was a lesson.

It was a field of learning—a textbook not to be missed.

But that didn’t mean Encrid could only watch Ragna. Rem was doing something similar.

“Tsua!”

With a strange shout, he swung his axe vertically in a wide arc. One of the approaching thieves raised his longsword to block.

Clang!

The sword snapped in a single blow.

“You brat, that axe is a damn fine one!”

True, that axe was a fine one.

It was something he’d picked up from a mercenary and given to Rem.

Rem, too, was holding back his strength in this fight. Thus, he also focused on demonstrating.

If Ragna emphasized precision and the meaning behind the structure of swordsmanship—uncharacteristically formal for him—

Then Rem, using his superior strength, didn’t focus on technique but rather demonstrated how to fight.

If you didn’t use the advantage you had, what else would you use?

It was as if Encrid could hear Rem’s voice.

And in that, how to fight. He didn’t rely solely on his axe to win.

By constantly running his mouth, he thoroughly aggravated his opponents.

“Was your mother a ghoul or something?”

On top of that, Encrid could see him using what he’d learned from himself.

Meanwhile, his axe deftly deflected, struck, and slammed down weapons with precision.

His steps moved without hesitation, cleverly gaining the superior position each time.

And watching the two of them, Encrid came to a renewed realization.

‘Those two teach better with their bodies than with words.’

It was only for a brief moment—but already, he could feel he understood what they were trying to say.

That’s truly how it felt.

(T/N: Damn. They are monsters. )