Chapter 199

The difference was clear.

One spoke of technique, structure, and meaning.

The other demonstrated how to overwhelm with superior strength.

If one focused on swordsmanship, the other was a bundle of instinct and raw sensation.

Both were important. Both were necessary.

It wasn’t as if Ragna didn’t use instinctive moves.

Nor did Rem entirely discard the structure of swordsmanship.

‘They just have clear characteristics.’

Therefore, there was something to learn from both.

And there was also a shared trait between them.

Whether it was swordsmanship, instincts, footwork, offense, or defense—

‘Precision.’

Like embroidery stitched with a needle.

Like poking a single grain with a fork.

If there was a commonality between the two, it was their microscopic adjustments to posture, touch, and steps even while in combat.

“You bastards…”

The outcome had long been decided. The thief with the spiked spear looked drained and defeated.

There was no strength left in his muttered voice. He seemed to sense his death approaching.

He clearly felt the overwhelming difference in skill. The same went for the five fighting Rem.

Two of them had their swords broken and had to draw shortswords. One who tried to exploit an opening with a thrown dagger instead died with his own blade lodged between his brows.

The body collapsed after a brief twitch, growing cold as it lay still.

Among the remaining four who charged over their fallen comrade, one had his arm severed.

All this, despite Rem intentionally holding back his strength to let Encrid observe.

Meanwhile, the monkey-like female thief, who had a knife stuck in her thigh but still tried to shoot arrows from the tree, had to stop every time she felt Encrid’s gaze.

Annoyed by the distraction while trying to observe the other two, Encrid threw another dagger and struck her forearm.

She kept pulling his attention when he had more important things to watch.

“Grrr…”

The female thief groaned in pain from the tree.

The spiked-spear thief, with bloodshot eyes, charged in. In his final moment, he threw his spear and tried to grab Ragna in a desperate embrace.

But then, Ragna discarded the precise standard form he had been using and showed his specialty.

The blade of the arming sword turned into a flash of light, slicing diagonally across the thief’s body. It was a heavy-sword downward slash.

A harmony of power and technique cleaved the man’s body like a bundle of straw.

Immediately after, Ragna moved sideways and punched the face of the rapier-wielding woman.

Thud!

“Urgh!”

A few teeth flew through the air.

As she stumbled back, clutching her face, he followed with a horizontal slash.

Slice!

Her neck soared into the air. Ragna didn’t stop there.

No longer using the formal swordsmanship he’d been showing earlier, he now wielded the heavy style—rough yet precise, precise yet powerful—as if swapping places with Rem.

“Hyah!”

She could easily be mistaken for a man at first glance—a dark-skinned female thief. Her spear shot forward.

Ragna used footwork to evade. A feat only possible because he perfectly read the trajectory and speed of the flying spear.

Dodging it, he stepped forward boldly, then followed up with a vertical strike to the crown of her head.

Using a heavy-sword chopping technique, Ragna’s sword crashed down on her skull.

Crack!

Her head shattered like a soft apple.

That was the end.

They were all dead. After killing them all, Ragna calmly shook the blood off his sword and turned his head.

Of course, his gaze fell on Encrid.

‘Did you see it well?’

Even without speaking, the message was clear.

Encrid nodded.

The precision, the meaning of swordsmanship, the power that structure gives—

A renewed guidepost for the path forward.

Encrid welcomed it wholeheartedly. More than anything, because Ragna was not the end.

“Why’d you finish first?!”

There was no reason to be angry about it, yet Rem suddenly exploded in frustration and swung his axe.

After a few powerful strikes that overwhelmed and pushed his opponents back, they fully retreated into defense.

Another guy rolled his eyes wildly.

Clearly, he had something planned.

Rem abandoned his brute-force assault and began swinging his axe slowly, following proper form.

‘Steps, gestures, posture.’

Then, the descending axe blade.

It wasn’t meant to kill.

Encrid noticed it—but the thieves didn’t.

The one with the trident raised his weapon to block the axe.

Meanwhile, another one spun to the side and opened his mouth.

“Phubfft!”

It was poison sand—held in his mouth and now expelled. Likely his trump card, but Rem was already stepping back in a pre-planned motion.

“Son of a…”

The thief, his lips now tinged blue, muttered in frustration.

Rem chuckled.

“Too obvious, you punk.”

The axe danced through the air and sliced the thief’s neck.

Then one of the remaining enemies suddenly stabbed the neck of a fallen comrade who’d lost a leg and—

“Please spare me! I’ll tell you everything!”

A shameless, clumsy end.

“Oh yeah? Sounds good. You mean you’ll endure anything, right?”

Didn’t he just say he’d tell everything?

Rem’s ears had a special trait unlike others’.

They only heard what they wanted to hear.

“Eh? What?”

“Where do you wanna start? Hands? Feet?”

“…W-what?”

“I’ll smash it all. Little by little.”

Rem, still holding his axe, gestured a small gap with his index finger and thumb.

“…What?”

The thief couldn’t understand.

Still smiling, Rem swung his axe. Whoosh. Thud. A head flew, a body collapsed.

“Kidding. I’m not into that kind of nasty hobby.”

Though it seemed like he might be. He definitely could be.

That’s what Encrid thought as he looked at Rem, who turned and asked—

“Did you see well?”

With that one question, all intentions became clear.

Both Ragna and Rem fought slowly for one reason—to show their captain.

‘Those two…’

How much would be left if they truly revealed everything?

Just when Encrid thought he had caught up, they would pull ahead again.

When he knew nothing, he thought they were just elite soldiers.

When he became an elite soldier himself, he realized their skill couldn’t be judged by standard ranks.

When he reached the level of an above-elite and stepped toward his dreams—

‘They can kill a Junior Knight.’

Meaning, at minimum, their combat power was on par with a Junior Knight.

Rem once said himself that he couldn’t kill all of them every single time.

But who knows? When he said that, he looked as if he could absolutely kill them—so long as he had another method.

There wasn’t a single trace of hesitation in him.

Not arrogance, not overconfidence—but a stance born from clearly grasping reality.

And the same was true for Ragna.

Audin and Jaxson were no different.

Those four were monsters.

Encrid, once again, marveled at his own fortune.

‘Four monsters.’

Four teachers.

Four times the things to learn.

Wasn’t that just the best?

“Hm.”

As Encrid quietly nodded, impressed, Dunbakel—who had watched the entire battle—stood there with her mouth open.

Drip.

Saliva hit the ground.

She was so stunned she didn’t even realize her jaw had dropped.

‘The Ten Blades of Black Sword.’

A ten-person squad capable of handling nearly anything. Second only to the branch manager in strength.

That’s who their opponents were.

That guy with the spiked spear had once been a mercenary—one of notable fame back in his mercenary days.

He used to boast that he could face anyone below the level of a Junior Knight. His reputation had soared after surviving a real fight against a knight order’s squire.

‘They toyed with him.’

Even Dunbakel could see it. Ragna’s technique was no ordinary display.

No, it was outright mockery.

She realized once more—these people’s abilities could not be measured by her own standards.

Rem noticed her shock.

“Close your mouth. You stink.”

Only then did Dunbakel shut her mouth.

Encrid approached the female thief with holes in her thigh and forearm.

The woman squirmed beneath the tree like a bug and croaked out—

“I-I’m useful. Spare me and I’ll, I swear I’ll…”

What was this mountain-sized woman even saying?

Does the word “female thief” conjure up images of a pretty woman?

If so, something’s wrong in your head.

This one looked exactly like a thief should.

Blackened front teeth—one of them missing. Skin so rough it was borderline terrifying. Eyes reeking of bloodlust.

She reeked—sour from days without washing, and now the stink of urine mixing in.

The woman who wet herself looked up at Encrid.

What should he see in those eyes—life? A hint of survival?

Not long ago, he’d seen Dunbakel’s eyes and spared her.

Encrid didn’t regret that decision. Didn’t dwell on it.

It wasn’t about right or wrong—his heart had moved. In Dunbakel’s eyes back then, he hadn’t seen a single trace of soot.

So what about now?

Thud.

He drove his sword into the thief’s neck.

Begging for mercy was no different from asking for treatment.

Her injuries were already severe—only with treatment and evacuation would she have had a chance to live.

But the dagger wounds were critical. Both the thigh and forearm.

He had aimed for muscles essential to movement—those knives were thrown to immobilize.

So saying “spare me” now was the same as saying “please summon a high priest” or “take me away and nurse me back to health.”

She was a thief. The name “Black Sword” might sound impressive, but did that mean they were part of some great organization?

Of course not. Not even close.

The original name of this band had been things like “Red Sword,” “Blade of Blood,” and so on.

Over time, they stirred enough trouble for their legacy to stick—and the “blood” turned black, thus “Black Sword.”

If she was one of their core fighters—

Then gender aside, she was a dog of a person.

Sure, part of it was instinct.

But in this world, killing and being killed was the norm.

In a world plagued by war, monsters, and thieves.

The people here were nothing less than professional killers.

Even real knights were sometimes mockingly called “killing machines”—and Encrid, who was inching toward becoming one, didn’t feel the need to shy away from that insult.

Encrid pulled out the blade.

No lingering emotions.

He turned away, brushing it off.

“So, is that the end of it?”

Rem asked. Now that he’d loosened up, some of the viciousness had faded from him.

Encrid did wonder why he’d been so aggressive lately—but instead of asking, he got straight to the point.

“Their base will be a bigger mess.”

“There’s more to this?”

Rem tilted his head. Ragna asked the question.

Encrid wasn’t a fool.

Even before Krys had spelled it out, he’d already sensed something.

Why wouldn’t he?

Even before leaving the camp, there’d been a strange unrest in the air.

Sure, those who were dull might’ve missed it—but even someone like Benzense had noticed something was off.

“Is something happening in the fort lately? Doesn’t the atmosphere feel weird?”

He had asked just that.

Encrid felt it too—and he knew what caused it.

‘They’re not coming.’

Among the squads who regularly sparred, one had gone completely silent.

The Border Guards.

Despite their name, they were a special operations combat unit.

The commander of the Border Guards might officially be on par with a company commander—

But in truth, he ranked just below Battalion Commander Marcus, as one of the highest field officers.

‘And who would have the authority to move them?’

That much was obvious.

Add in Krys’s sharp predictions—

– “Marcus, you bold bastard.”

When exactly had Marcus become “this friend” of his? That was a separate issue.

– “My guess is he wants to thin out the Black Sword first. Meanwhile, draw attention elsewhere.”

As he spoke, Krys glanced at Encrid.

No need to ask who was meant to serve as the distraction.

– “An ambush from behind. Incredible. That guy’s a schemer, huh?”

The fact that Krys figured it out—that was even more impressive.

So Encrid concluded that things would be far worse at the Black Sword’s main base.

And both his gut and Krys’s prediction were right.

—

“Do you really think you can oppose the Black Sword and walk away alive in this land?”

The branch manager responsible for the area spat blood as he spoke. Crimson fluid streamed from the corners of his mouth.

The branch manager felt like his insides were burning. And it wasn’t just a sensation—he was in real, physical pain. His organs had been damaged.

“Like I give a damn.”

The Border Guard commander spoke calmly, twirling a knife in his hand.

Swish, swish—the spinning blade reflected the torchlight. Its edge was so sharp it evoked a chill.

The commander believed the branch manager was the kind of man who always had something hidden up his sleeve.

Which meant there was no reason to close the distance.

“Damn kingdom bastards…”

The branch manager’s voice was laced with resentment. He probably had his reasons—but who cared?

The commander flicked his knife.

Thunk!

The thrown knife struck squarely between the eyes. The branch manager’s body flopped backward with a dull thud.

“Collect everything worth taking and burn the rest.”

It all happened while Encrid was still heading to the ambush site, flushed from the thrill of battle.

Under the cover of night, the Border Guard commander had led his unit into action.

The Border Guard was an elite force for missions like this.

While Black Sword was focused up front—distracted by that halfwit noble Bansento or whatever and by Encrid—

They closed in as much as possible and charged straight toward Black Sword’s base.

The base was a mountain stronghold nestled halfway up a slope. Since they also had to contend with monsters, it was heavily fortified.

‘But poor manpower means even the best defenses have limits.’

And most of their core fighters were gone. Not a trace of the Black Sword Ten anywhere.

“What about those who escaped?”

“They knew the terrain too well—we lost them.”

‘That’s not good.’

While the commander scoured the base and a hidden cave in the rear path where treasures were stashed, over twenty managed to escape.

One of the fleeing figures looked highly skilled, yet didn’t hesitate to run.

‘If it was the leader’s command…’

It showed that Black Sword wasn’t just any ordinary band of thieves.

In any case, the ones who got away were gone. Rather than obsess over what couldn’t be helped, the commander focused on the result.

“We won.”

Marcus’s plan had worked like a charm.

—

Among the Black Sword members who fled was one dispatched from their main base.

‘An ambush. This branch is finished.’

As he ran, the man quickly turned over thoughts in his head. What was the best way out of here?

‘The Ten Blades of Black Sword.’

Whatever system the headquarters maintained, the branch mirrored it exactly.

Ten of them had gone out to prepare an ambush, he’d heard.

The branch manager had deployed more force than necessary to ensure nothing went wrong.

Because of that, the main base was raided with barely a struggle.

Leaving behind the blazing stronghold, the fleeing man ran straight toward the ambush point.

Roughly twenty more thieves followed behind him.

The plan: join up with the Ten Blades, escape, and return to base. That was it.

Huff, huff. Gasp, gasp!

Breath ragged with fear, they pushed through a shortcut along a rugged mountain path.

Their escape route was a cleverly hidden forest trail.

After trudging through the rough terrain and finally arriving at the ambush point, what they saw was—

“This one might be useful.”

People looting the corpses.

Among a black-haired man, a gray-haired man, and a blond—

‘Dunbakel?’

He even recognized one of them by name—a beastkin woman formerly hired as a mercenary.

The gray-haired one was the first to notice him rustling into view.

“Boss, we’ve got a gift.”

Grinning wide, the man called out as he spotted him.