Chapter 222
‘I don’t know how the rumors got out, but…’
Encrid saw something quite unpleasant in the other man’s eyes.
He didn’t seem like someone who’d just come to test his skills in a fight.
What he saw there was greed—raw desire.
“A veteran who ended the war, isn’t that a bit arrogant?”
Mercenary Ibarun asked, hefting his morning star as he spoke.
It was an intimidating posture—a stance of battle.
‘Are you saying you could crack my skull with that?’
That’s what his body language said.
Still, Encrid just stood there and replied blandly.
“Maybe.”
“Confident, are you?”
He looked like he was about to charge without even asking questions, yet he was sizing him up. Encrid disliked that too.
“More or less.”
He answered carelessly, and Ibarun’s brow furrowed.
“Cocky bastard. Fucker.”
It was a deliberate insult—a trick to break his opponent’s composure.
It was a tactic Encrid was well-acquainted with.
In the past, he’d survived more by using the sword in his mouth than the one at his hip.
“Uraah!”
Repeated disrespect made Ibarun move. He lunged forward, swinging his blunt weapon.
So this is Choking Ibarun? A city-level powerhouse?
He moved so slowly. Compared to Rem, he was sluggish, to the point it almost made Encrid yawn.
Still, that didn’t mean he would take the fight lightly.
If he was going to fight, he’d give it his all.
That wasn’t just lip service—Encrid lived that way. In everything, he staked everything and did his best.
That’s how someone with no talent makes progress.
If he’d faltered even a little in chasing his dream, he wouldn’t be here now.
‘Maybe he’s not what he seems.’
He kept his guard up, wary.
All of this could just be personal tactics.
Luring an opponent into carelessness was practically a mercenary’s bread and butter.
Whoosh.
Encrid watched the flying morning star until the end, then shifted his left foot to the side. As he spun halfway, he drew his sword.
Ching!
He swung as soon as it was drawn.
Ibarun tried to pull his weapon back, but it got tangled up as he tried to recover it mid-swing.
“Grrk!”
The scarred mercenary clenched his teeth and grunted, then let go of his weapon and leapt aside.
The blade sliced through empty air—on purpose.
Encrid suspected his opponent might feign retreat and then rush in, so he kept his swordwork simple and focused on defense.
‘Why isn’t he coming?’
He hadn’t tried to bait him, but wasn’t this enough of an opening?
“Let’s do this barehanded.”
Weapon lost, Ibarun spoke.
What is this? Encrid sensed it immediately.
‘A weakling?’
He would later learn that the nickname “Choking Ibarun” came from his grip strength.
But Encrid’s arms, trained to the extreme with the Isolation Technique, were left with only handprints.
When Encrid used the same move and snapped Ibarun’s wrist—
“Gyaaaa!”
A shrill scream was all that rang out.
He was a fraud. His reputation was built on lies.
“Hm.”
Krys, who’d watched the fight, held back a groan.
Some company members had come to watch, curious about the first guest.
Rem shook his head.
“Only idiots will show up at this rate.”
Jaxson said nothing. Neither did Ragna or Audin.
They’d planned to gather strong opponents from across the land—but a pretender had come.
“Want to keep going?”
Encrid asked the now-wrist-broken Ibarun.
“No! I’m done!”
Ibarun was scared stiff.
At this level, Vell could have handled him. That’s what Encrid thought as he turned away.
“Don’t be too disappointed. You know how they say the real adventure starts once you leave town.”
Krys said, meaning things never start and end at the same time.
There was even a saying in the East—something about not being satisfied with your first bite.
Encrid nodded absently, thinking.
Rem was intense and wild.
Jaxson was lethally indifferent.
Ragna pressed the attack with swordsmanship and sharp tactical sense.
Audin was born strong and managed his body with impressive skill.
Even with such people around, Encrid craved new experiences.
‘There’s something missing.’
He wanted to find something different. He wanted to fill that lack—a longing that was nearly instinctive.
But his first opponent was, well—
‘A weakling.’
An idiot came. Was he disappointed? No, not at all. Encrid wasn’t someone who would be disappointed by something like this.
When it came to waiting and enduring, he might be unmatched on the continent.
“It’s fine.”
Of the next five who came, four were about the same—fools who coveted Encrid’s fame.
“If I beat you, do I get to be company commander right away?”
“Did you fight with that body? You look trained, but you’re still lacking.”
“Aren’t you going to draw your sword? Will you not blame me if you die?”
Encrid seasoned the table Krys set for him as he pleased.
Anyone who challenged with half-baked skill got a limb broken.
Some were mercenaries of minor renown.
Some claimed to be wandering swordsmen, training themselves.
Some boasted about being Junior Knights.
But most were just mercenaries, after all. Many of them were after the nickname “Veteran Who Ended the War.”
Later, seven more guests arrived, but there was little to learn from them.
Some were even worse than the soldiers.
But one of them was at least a decent match.
“A beastkin, Barakal.”
He was a beastkin whose human speech was poor, but his natural athleticism was outstanding.
It was rare for Encrid to find someone worth facing.
The beastkin used claw-like weapons, blades sticking from the backs of his hands, and was extremely adept at unorthodox attacks.
He’d raise his knee to draw the eye, then bring his claws down from overhead, or rush in low, nearly scraping the ground.
It was all possible thanks to his natural athleticism.
Encrid watched, experienced, and learned.
It wasn’t a bad use of his time.
Even without repeating the same day, he spent his days absorbing, striking, and tempering what he had accumulated.
The lack of danger and obstacles didn’t change anything—Encrid still lived as if he were repeating today.
—
Rem was pushing Dunbakel hard. No, it was beyond just pushing.
“If you don’t do it right, you’re dead, beastkin.”
What started as playful banter now carried real menace.
And why wouldn’t it? Just watching the captain nearby was enough to learn something.
The crazy beastkin couldn’t even control her strength.
So, what was to be done?
If you drive someone to the edge of a cliff, they’ll find the strength not to die.
That’s what Rem did.
And he realized something as he did it.
‘She has talent.’
Her natural physical ability was different. She showed flashes of brilliance in anything physical.
So, she was a little different from Encrid. No, very different.
Her head was stupid but her body was exceptional, which made teaching her oddly fun.
But she would never be like the captain.
“I’m dead.”
After a few rounds, she’d collapse and faint. Endurance? Willpower? If she had that, the gap between her and Encrid would be immeasurable.
After half-killing Dunbakel, Rem thought of Encrid.
By now, he figured Encrid’s skills had improved considerably.
He was no longer someone you could go easy on or hold back against.
A single lapse in focus meant having to go all out.
When he measured Encrid’s growth, a word came to mind.
“Knight.”
The path he was walking was one open to Rem as well.
Of course, not in the way the continent used the word knight.
Rem’s tribe had their own way.
He’d been uncharacteristically thoughtful lately. That was why he pushed Dunbakel even harder.
Driving her forward, and in turn, driving himself. That act itself was helpful for Rem.
“Are you crazy? Lying down? Are you sleeping? Are you really sleeping right now? Dozing off during training?”
At his relentless taunts, Dunbakel reluctantly forced herself up. If anyone claimed this demon had come from the Demon Realm, she would’ve agreed completely.
(T/N: Why do I get this feeling that somehow she and Rem will end up ‘together’ lol.)
—
The Veteran Who Ended the War.
“So this is the guy, huh?”
The Sacred Cult of the Demon Realm, which had been pulling strings across northern Pen-Hanil, was involved.
One of their core executives muttered in a small pub.
He had a whole table to himself—it was early, so there were few people inside.
A sketch of Encrid’s face was on the table.
‘The bastard who keeps interfering with our business.’
The one who smashed the gnoll colony in the frontier village and even killed a cultist.
They’d sent a manticore and handler to assassinate him—he killed them, too.
‘A nuisance.’
The cult executive made a decision. Apparently, this obstacle was putting out strange rumors and inviting people to come after him.
“Go kill him.”
The cultist gave the order. They had more than enough force to crush a gnoll colony.
Of course, there were even stronger ones among them.
At the executive’s command, the woman sitting across the table stood up.
Her shoulders were twice as broad as most men’s, and her thighs were like logs.
Her eyes were narrow, the pupils barely visible, and her lips even thinner.
She was a warrior raised by the cult, lacking talent for magic and relying solely on brute strength to reach her current rank.
“Yes.”
The female warrior rose. She was so tall she looked like a giant. In fact, giant’s blood ran in her veins.
The Sacred Cult of the Demon Realm had given her that blood in an experiment.
Aside from Will, her physical ability and combat power were more than enough.
‘Junior Knight level.’
There would be no problem in killing someone like Encrid. There was no need for an assassin. He was attracting people to kill him—she’d do just that.
She’d let him die fighting, just as he wanted.
—
The Black Blade Bandits valued reputation above all else.
“If we just take a beating and pull back, that’s not the end, is it? Even if we withdraw, we can’t just quietly fade away.”
What Markus had pulled was already reported to the Black Blade’s main chapter.
And one of the Black Blade bandits also plotted something similar to the cultists.
‘If I kill the man Markus put forward?’
There were nobles with connections reaching all the way to the center. The bandit was under contract with them. This would damage Markus’s standing.
It was the fulfillment of a contract.
If needed, he’d even kill Markus.
But first, he’d slit the throat of anyone who got in his way.
While thinking that, he noticed someone within the Border Guards starting something odd.
The rumor about the Veteran Who Ended the War reached even here.
“If you want a fight, come get it?”
The Black Blade Bandits had plenty of skilled fighters.
The main chapter chose one to send.
He was an ordinary-looking man with brown hair.
His nickname was Swallow Blade.
He earned it for his uncanny skill with a single sword.
“Go take care of something for me, will you?”
He was the kind of guy who’d smile as he shoved his blade into your throat. A madman who found joy in killing.
“Sure.”
The Black Blade officer sent Swallow Blade.
Swallow Blade was a former Junior Knight. He was infamous as a tragic genius driven out for excessive murder.
Had he not joined the Black Blade Bandits, he’d have died long ago.
‘Spent quite a few Krong keeping him hidden, too.’
He’d bribed the noble who wanted the target dead, and spent plenty of Krong giving Swallow Blade what he wanted while hiding him away.
What’s the point of sharpening a blade if not to use it?
Now was the time.
It wasn’t just the cult and the Black Blade Bandits sending people.
Count Molsen’s men were moving, too.
“You’re up to something interesting. Isn’t there a single warrior who’ll go prove the Count’s sword is mightier?”
At the count’s words, two of his children and a warrior stepped forward. One of them was the one Encrid had beaten before.
“I’ll go.”
He didn’t bother stopping his son.
Whether the impression was good or bad, it was necessary to make his presence known.
This wasn’t the end. News of Encrid spread even to places completely unrelated to Count Molsen, the Black Blade Bandits, or the cultists.
“That guy’s improved that much?”
It was the rapier swordsman from the time guarding the Lokfreed trading company, the one who never gave his name.
He habitually stroked where his mustache used to be.
Now that it was cleanly shaven, his hand found nothing, leaving it oddly empty.
“So I’ve heard.”
They’d just wrapped up various matters, meaning he had some free time.
‘Should I stop by?’
He’d thought Encrid wouldn’t improve any further, but if he suddenly had—
Maybe he’d even sold his soul to a demon.
Still, he couldn’t just ignore it.
There was also pure curiosity.
How much had he changed?
And it happened to be on their way, didn’t it?
“That’s quite a detour, isn’t it?”
His subordinate spoke.
The rapier swordsman studied the map for a while before replying.
“Looks like it’s right on the way.”
Not at all, actually. The subordinate thought for a moment, then replied,
“Yes, that’s right.”
Everyone nodded along.
Considering his energy and rank, they couldn’t really argue.
It was just a way to clear his head—nothing more, nothing less.
The man began walking, full of curiosity about how much Encrid had changed.
—
After beating Ibarun, plenty of other mercenaries came looking for him. At first, Encrid accepted all comers.
“This is a waste of time. We should at least require them to beat Vell before facing you.”
Krys, watching beside him, summed it up neatly.
So that’s what they did.
“Next!”
During training, not only Vell but other soldiers stepped forward.
If a regular soldier lost, a squad leader would step up.
If the squad leader seemed to be losing, even the company commander would jump in.
“That’s nowhere near enough!”
The second company commander, with a scar on his cheek, shouted.
“Wooah!”
“As expected!”
“Palto! Palto!”
Outbursts of cheers became an everyday thing.
Even Allen, the innkeeper, had gotten used to what had once surprised him.
“More beer!”
He was busy selling drinks to the spectators.
It had become routine, just another day.
In the midst of all that, a warrior appeared who even defeated Palto, the second company commander.
“I’ve never heard the name, but that’s some skill. And it’s a woman.”
So the female warrior stood before Encrid.
In the inn’s backyard training ground, there were now merchants from all over the market gathered to watch.
“A giant?”
Encrid asked when he saw his opponent. He’d never seen anyone larger than Audin, and it was even more surprising that this one was a woman.
“Mixed blood.”
She replied. Her voice was husky, but it was clear she was female.
Encrid drew his sword, pointing the tip upward, his weight centered on the balls of his feet.
Instinct told him—this opponent would be no pushover.
The woman also raised her weapon.
A sword and shield. The shield was solid steel.
Just from her choice of weapons, it was clear.
She possessed overwhelming brute strength.
