Chapter 295

Encrid stopped and looked up. The dark sky was thick with murky clouds.

‘Looks like something’s about to fall.’

How many times has today passed?

It was different this time. Before, no matter how many repeats, he could always keep track of how many “todays” there had been.

He used different ways to mark each day.

But not this time.

Why was it different? Why did it feel unlike before?

‘Because my vision narrowed.’

He thought he could settle this quickly—handle what was in front of him and move on.

Encrid was human too. He got impatient.

That impatience eroded his field of view. Blocked his sight from seeing the full picture.

He felt like a racehorse.

Blinders on, only able to see forward.

By who? The situation made it so.

And the Ferryman sprinkled a little seasoning on top of it.

‘Did I get played?’

Or did I learn something?

He learned something. There’s always something to learn in everything.

Encrid stared up at the gloomy sky, felt the wind, and smelled the stench of two days’ worth of blood-drenched battlefield.

But he didn’t stop at seeing, hearing, and feeling.

He forgot the eyes of others. Forgot where he was. Even put aside the current situation for a moment.

Then he reviewed.

He relived every moment of the todays he had passed.

This was something even Encrid himself had never done before.

Even though the child’s steps were slow, it wasn’t a long stretch of time.

In that short time, his review began and ended.

‘The Ferryman’s words were a problem too.’

But the real issue was that he’d focused on just one thing.

‘A single point of focus can also blur your vision.’

Everyone questioned Encrid’s actions.

Charging out just because one child came running was odd.

Charging out alone to meet him was even weirder.

And then to stop—doing nothing—was the strangest of all.

So, to everyone watching, his behavior was just a string of bizarre actions.

“What the hell’s he doing?”

One of the enemy soldiers muttered.

“Just watch.”

A mercenary from the Black Blade Bandits tapped the soldier’s head.

Regardless of sides, the situation was confusing.

Why wouldn’t it be?

A child was running from one side, and from the other, the hero of the Border Guards, who had been fighting the enemy commander, rushed out.

It was absurd. But everyone expected Encrid to either embrace the child—or cut him down.

Humans observe a situation and predict what happens next. That’s called expectation.

But Encrid defied every one of those expectations, gathering every gaze.

“It’s gonna snow.”

Encrid mumbled as he stood alone on the battlefield, but no one was listening.

Seriously, what’s he doing?

Confusion and absurdity tangled together, halting the hands of both enemy and ally. They just watched.

The elderly mage, who had tethered his spell to the scroll, was still focused.

Even a moment’s distraction would break the magical tether.

Without it, he couldn’t trigger the scroll remotely.

The child had no time to assess the surroundings.

He ran because they told him to.

‘I want to live.’

The child desperately wished for life. Even though his instincts told him death was coming, a sliver of hope pushed him forward.

Somehow, without knowing how, maybe he’d survive. Maybe the Goddess of Fortune would shed a tear for him.

Luck was always a variable.

‘I will live—somehow.’

His survival instinct didn’t make him cry—it made him run.

And in that moment of reflection, Encrid identified what he’d missed.

The scroll—

‘Someone’s watching and triggers it. They can’t be far. I’m definitely within their line of sight. This wasn’t a move made with high expectations. And yet, it turned into an effective bastard move. Why? Because they know me.’

His intuition flashed again.

This wasn’t the time for focus.

If someone was watching, then he just needed to hide his intentions and buy time.

‘Hide my intent from the enemy.’

Distract them with unexpected behavior.

That was Mercenary Swordsmanship—Valen-style basics.

Encrid displayed his swordsmanship.

And he added a bit of what he’d learned from Krang.

Krang knew how to attract eyes and control the mood.

Encrid imitated that.

A subtle wave of the hand, a shift of his body. He pulled back his injured leg, shifted his weight onto his right leg to mimic a stance for the “limping step.”

Anyone watching would think he was about to lunge forward.

If Krang used a speech to attract attention—

Encrid used motion.

He brought his hand to his sword’s grip.

‘He’s drawing.’

‘He’s going to strike.’

A sequence of actions designed to make everyone think the same.

The child finally noticed Encrid.

‘Ah, I’m going to die.’

The child gave up on life.

His steps slowed.

The mage saw Encrid come into his field of view. Time to trigger the scroll. He widened his awareness and locked onto his target.

Five more steps. That’s how far the child needed to go.

Then Encrid made his move.

A technique called swordsmanship, though it barely qualified.

Could this really be called swordsmanship?

Valen himself had called it both technique and trickery.

Valen-style Mercenary Sword—”Sleight of Hand”.

‘Flinch.’

From a lunge-ready stance, Encrid’s shoulder twitched, and he turned his head sharply to the side. From a distance, no one could see his face—but his posture screamed surprise.

You don’t need words to convey intent. Body language suffices.

‘It’s not about hiding intent—it’s about covering it up.’

All he needed was a momentary gap.

Even the mage lost focus for an instant.

What’s over there?

Everyone’s attention shifted—however briefly.

Lykanos, the enemy, even their own allies—everyone’s focus veered off.

And there was nothing there.

Only a gust of dry, cold wind kicking up some dirt.

“You bastard!”

Lykanos shouted.

By then, Encrid was already moving.

[Perception of Evasion] triggered from pure instinct.

And he layered intent on top.

With every repeat of today combined, this was his fastest strike yet.

The joints in his left fingers gripped with precision, and his muscles extended fluidly.

Yet his body felt heavy.

The air clung to him like mud, weighing him down.

Even so, his head and eyes burned as he surged forward.

He saw the child’s startled eyes, the running snot, the gaping mouth.

Time slowed.

Encrid alone moved forward in this slowed world.

‘Whoosh’—the wind rushed past behind him.

The blade slashed the strap holding the scroll. A thrust, then a twist to cleanly cut every attachment.

The child’s body was left with small scratches.

There was no technique—just raw speed.

He couldn’t perform some supernatural clean-cut that left only the scroll behind.

‘Tick.’

The scroll floated into the air.

Encrid grabbed the child and dove to the side.

His left shin wound tore open from the strain, but now wasn’t the time to worry about it.

The old mage hadn’t completely lost focus, but his attention had wavered just enough.

That slight delay caused the spell to trigger a moment late.

‘Flash!’ The scroll glowed once more.

Encrid rolled, clutching the child.

A burning heat licked his back—like a flaming tongue.

His back sizzled—but he was alive. The child in his arms was alive.

“Haaah…”

He exhaled, his hot breath brushing the child’s hair.

They lay partially on the ground, half-sprawled.

“…Ah.”

Everyone fell silent. No one could speak after witnessing what Encrid just did.

That included his allies.

Meanwhile, Encrid caught his breath and asked,

“What’s your dream?”

“…Huh?”

The child was still in shock, barely conscious.

He might’ve wet himself.

His thigh was damp.

Encrid ignored the urine soaking into his armor and asked again.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

A simple question. Meant to calm the child—and maybe sparked by a memory.

It wasn’t meant to mean much.

“An—an herbalist. I want to be an herbalist like my mother.”

The child answered. Those once-terrified eyes now spoke of life.

Of days yet to come.

He was a bold child. Despite his fear, he had run straight toward death, desperate to live.

Encrid had wanted to become a knight.

That foolish dream he’d had as a child had led him to this moment.

He often asked himself: What do I wield this sword for?

He never had a set answer.

But today, his sword was for a child with a dream.

“Good. Do that.”

He stood up and pushed the child behind him.

“Y-your back…”

The child mumbled, trembling.

“Run. Don’t look back.”

He answered the child and shouted without catching his breath.

“Ragna!”

Come back him up.

He didn’t need to say more—Ragna would understand.

Encrid turned his gaze forward. The spell had just failed.

Lykanos was charging with a terrifying expression.

Around him, men with bloodshot eyes sprinted in with long, spike-like blades. They looked high—muscles bulging unnaturally, eyes red.

With heavy legs, they slammed forward.

“Kill him!”

Lykanos shouted and threw away his mace-sheath.

He had seen Encrid’s previous strike. If he met that half-heartedly, he’d be the one hit.

His opponent’s injury didn’t matter.

Encrid raised his sword.

A long blue greatsword gleamed in his left hand.

He raised the tip and faced the charging foes.

From left, right, top, and bottom—blades came from four directions, with Lykanos at the front.

At first glance, it looked like they were all striking at once—but no.

There were slight gaps.

He saw them.

Points and lines appeared once more in Encrid’s mind, and he moved his muscles with everything he had.

‘Clang! Clang! Clang!’

Five blades clashed.

Despite the speed of the attacks, not one reached him.

Encrid used his feet before he used his sword.

He extended his left foot to the side and pushed off with his right, sliding diagonally.

His body naturally twisted halfway.

That movement let him parry the two blades from the left.

He danced back a step and a half, then parried the two on the right.

Finally, he deflected Lykanos’s thrust with the flat of his blade.

‘That was a mistake!’

If he had focused on the underlings, there’d be a gap.

But Lykanos didn’t go for his fastest thrust—instead, he used a regular one.

Because of that, Encrid blocked all five.

More than anything, Lykanos was stunned by the speed of his opponent’s blade.

“You bastard!”

How the hell did his skill improve this much?

At least when it came to speed—this was far beyond before.

Suddenly rivaling his own speed?

He didn’t know Encrid had repeated today countless times, sharpening his technique until it bloomed.

All Lykanos saw was someone mimicking his ultimate skill after seeing it once.

Of course, Lykanos himself had honed his blade by watching and imitating others too.

But that didn’t matter now.

What mattered was how much Encrid’s movements pissed him off.

Lykanos was sure—just a few more swings and Encrid would die.

But things never go as planned.

‘Whack!’

A crisp impact sound rang out.

‘Squelch!’

A wet slice as blade met armor and flesh.

‘Thwack!’

“Gaaaah!”

A scream followed.

Something plowed into their flank, smashing through troops.

It wasn’t a unit—it was one person.

A single figure.

Blonde hair whipped in the wind. No helmet. Just a massive sword swung wildly.

Red eyes drew lines in the air. Gold hair scattered. The sword followed.

The swing was so wild, the thick greatsword looked like it bent in motion.

‘Whoosh, thwack!’

Downward, sideways, spinning stabs—

Every strike was a killing blow.

His elite troops were falling in droves.

“Guaaaah!”

Even though he’d drugged them before battle, they were still losing.

That one was a monster too.

“I’ll handle this.”

Ragna passed by, speaking briefly. Blood splattered over his blonde hair. One upward slash had just bisected a soldier, sending intestines and blood into the air.

“Fuck.”

Lykanos’ eyes widened. This was bad. Dangerous. A real threat.

But it wasn’t over yet.

The Black Blade Bandits weren’t the only ones here.

—

“Now!”

The Wolf Bishop judged that any more delay would be costly.

“Eradicate the unbelievers!”

At his cry, the fanatics rose.

There weren’t many.

Their real force was the wolf beasts.

The bishop gave a command to the leader of the pack.

‘Kill them all.’

The beasts surged like a flood.

Their numbers were twice what the Border Guards had anticipated.

Hundreds of beasts burst from hiding and charged.

“You’ll need to move too.”

The bishop looked to his side—where a barbarian stood. A man brought in as a mercenary.

He twirled his short spear a few times and replied,

“Not my turn yet.”

“You little—”

The bishop hated him, but acknowledged his strength.

He claimed to seek immortality and eternal youth. What a joke.

If he truly desired something, he should’ve pledged to the cult.

To come here for a mere bargain—ridiculous.

The bishop sneered and followed behind the wave of beasts.

Then he saw the enemy rushing forward.

“Heavy infantry to the front—!”

Those who stepped up to block the beasts looked laughable.

‘Brother.’

He called to the beast spiritually linked to him.

From among the wolf beasts, one monstrous creature rose.

‘Awoooo!’

The howl shattered the air—a monster, not just a beast.

A dire wolf.

Its pitch-black fur drank in the surrounding light, dimming everything.

Snowflakes fell from the sky, but before they could touch its fur, they melted from its heat.

Like a vision of their future—they would simply melt away.

The lead heavy infantryman swallowed hard.

Could they even stop that thing?

Doubt crept in.