Chapter 299

Lykanos watched as the advance of the cultists was halted.

There was a man fighting a Dire Wolf barehanded. How could he not stand out?

‘Kuhung!’

The man took a direct hit to the chest from the Dire Wolf’s front paw, and yet—

“Hahahaha! That feels refreshing!”

What the hell was that body made of? Even after taking a strike from a monster, he only had bruises and welts.

They were yellowing, sure—but that somehow made it feel even more unnatural.

Normally, he should’ve been a bloody pulp.

Still, after enduring the monster’s paw, the man used his own.

‘Wham!’

“Refreshing, isn’t it!”

What the hell was refreshing about that?

It was bizarre to see the monster stagger.

‘Is he insane?’

It wasn’t just him. The cultists’ assault was in disarray.

They couldn’t even mount a proper offense.

Why? Lykanos knew the reason by instinct.

The command structure was the issue.

The cultists were chaotic, yes—but the opposition had plenty of monsters too.

There was Encrid, who he had failed to kill.

And that swordsman who was slashing down the very unit Lykanos had trained himself.

‘That guy’s no joke either.’

They had fought once. No matter how he looked at it, the man was not beneath him. Would his [Fastest Sword] even work?

He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t feel like testing it.

Whether it worked or not, he didn’t want to share his final blade with that guy.

Maybe it was selfishness at the end.

Or maybe it was the warrior’s fighting spirit he thought he’d buried long ago.

‘What’s the point of thinking about it now.’

He hadn’t expected the end to look like this.

“Let’s end it between the two of us.”

Lykanos said, toward Encrid, who had stepped aside.

It wasn’t that the blond swordsman wasn’t worthy. He just wanted to choose the end himself.

‘The man who first blocked my blade.’

The one who caught his [Fastest Sword] lingered in his mind.

It was the first time he failed to kill someone he’d resolved to take out.

Well—second. But the first one he failed to kill was a knight.

So this felt like the first.

Knights were a separate case.

Encrid stared blankly at him.

He stood, staggering, gripping his sword with effort.

That posture, that demeanor—it was the image of a man who moved forward without retreat.

‘Should’ve fought him myself from the start.’

That was the mistake.

‘Let’s fight.’

It wasn’t a burning desire to kill Encrid as his final act.

He simply wanted to fight him again. That was all.

His instinct for combat, the fire of youth he thought long dead, had reignited.

Did they say he mimicked speed? Called him a genius?

Then let him receive what Lykanos had built. Let them test their speed.

That was it.

Lykanos’s eyes gleamed—like stars. Not the eyes of a man who’d given up.

Encrid, catching his breath, gripped his sword once more. Now it felt natural. Just a minor adjustment.

“Alright.”

Encrid didn’t refuse. There was no reason to.

He, too, wanted to fight once more.

Ragna, seeing Encrid step forward, cut down enemies to keep others from interrupting.

That was enough.

Encrid limped into position. His leg was already beyond repair.

Lykanos wasn’t unscathed either.

He had been slashed in the right shoulder when he rushed in to block Ragna’s sword.

Blood still poured from the wound.

The two faced each other.

Sleet fell between them. The snowfield thickened.

“You’ve got that thing wrapped around your stomach, don’t you?”

Lykanos asked. Encrid nodded.

That item had saved him from being gutted several times already.

Lykanos nodded thoughtfully.

‘Then I know where to strike.’

He let his arms hang. He would explode forward with all his strength and strike a single point—just one point. He would end it with that.

End? Is that really the end? Win and then die? Looking at it now, his opponent didn’t seem all that amazing.

Should he really end it here?

Why end it?

Lykanos changed his mind.

‘I’ll pick up the pieces after I’m done.’

He didn’t think of this as the end. That’s how he’d come this far. His will to live, what he’d achieved, what he had yet to accomplish, what he’d left behind—what would become his.

Lykanos’s eyes dulled.

As snow and blood mixed with the dirt, so too did his once-clear vision.

Yet his aura remained sharp as a honed blade. Razor sharp.

Lykanos also wielded [Will]. His [Will] resided in his arms.

In the moment his extended arm was infused with intent, it became the [Fastest Sword].

Realizing he was ready, Lykanos began to swing his sword back and forth.

He began to swing his sword back and forth.

The pendulum-like motion drew the eye.

Encrid was a little different from usual.

‘How fast was it?’

There was a time when Rem’s axe had looked like a flash of light.

But this sword surpassed that. It didn’t just flash—it pierced through.

That’s how he lost use of his right arm.

Encrid randomly recalled the moment he saved the child.

That kid who wanted to be an herbalist.

He’d saved the child by using a technique he’d hidden away.

Should he do the same now?

No, not this time.

He didn’t want to.

Encrid wanted to cross swords.

He wanted to match his blade against the [Fastest Sword].

‘Even speed—’

He wanted to embrace it, master it, internalize it.

That’s why today kept repeating.

It had allowed him to chase two rabbits running in opposite directions.

Now was the moment to catch the second one.

His heart pounded like a beast’s. The moment he acknowledged his opponent’s speed, his tensed muscles loosened.

Only through composure could this be done.

With precise force, his arms and hands gripped the sword gently and aimed forward.

The tip of his longsword swept up diagonally from below, pointing to the sky.

Next was a sensory technique. He layered intent onto the instinct of evasion. The only intent he needed now was to pierce.

That single-pointed focus would explode the moment he swung.

His body, honed by the [Isolation Technique], was the foundation that supported it all.

Encrid recognized and understood all of this—and let it go.

He cleared everything from his mind, save for the opponent before him.

Who he was, who his opponent was, what this was for—none of it mattered.

Only the fast sword remained.

‘Whoosh.’

The wind was pushed aside. A sword, faster than the oncoming wind, reached his throat.

‘Puk!’

Flesh tore with a wet pop, and Encrid collapsed.

As he fell to the ground, the Ferryman appeared like a vision.

Floating above the sleet, he asked,

“Was it worth it?”

Encrid’s face was full of smiles.

In the final thrust, in that moment of the final blade—he felt something like refusal.

It was [Will].

It didn’t reside in his arm. This time, it was within the [Moment].

Just for an instant—it traveled from his toes to his knees, through his hips and shoulders, elbow and fingertips.

In that one fleeting instant—Encrid’s sword was faster than Lykanos’s.

—

Graham didn’t hold back even when assassins came for him. He stayed on the battlefield and used all his strength.

“Don’t retreat!”

In the middle of it, Dunbakel rushed in and threw the battlefield into chaos, and Sinar was slicing throats of enemy mercenaries.

It was during this frenzy that—

“There. That’s the enemy commander.”

His adjutant, also his guard, said.

Behind the helmeted adjutant, the enemy commander appeared.

Encrid stood before him.

The two facing each other—Ragna was still cutting down enemies around them—but the atmosphere between those two alone drew all attention.

Graham stopped mid-charge.

They weren’t swinging swords.

They weren’t even holding blades to each other’s throats.

And yet, just seeing them brought sweat to his palms.

His fine hairs stood on end from the tension.

Even the cold sweat felt icy.

He no longer saw the falling snow. Graham couldn’t help but focus on the two.

Half the nearby soldiers were the same.

It was like a storm that sucked in every gaze.

Their [Will] had activated, but few understood what that meant.

‘Ah…’

Graham felt dread.

The enemy commander’s sword was terrifying.

‘He’ll die.’

He saw it.

Encrid’s death.

They hadn’t moved yet, but if the enemy commander struck, Encrid’s head would fall. It was certain.

‘No!’

He had to stop it.

That man shouldn’t die there. He had to live. There was no need to risk his life right now.

Of course, Graham had no chance to intervene.

Without signal or warning, the enemy commander and Encrid moved.

Their swords crossed in a thrust.

No—they passed each other. Graham didn’t even blink, but he never saw the swords perform their purpose.

It began and ended in the same instant.

The process was invisible.

But the result was clear.

“Ah.”

Graham let out a short gasp.

That’s how shocked he was. That’s how unexpected it was. A touch of relief mixed in.

He saw Lykanos fall.

Encrid wasn’t unscathed either. Blood streamed from his neck. But calmly, he held a hand to the wound and turned his head—proving he was still standing.

“Good!”

Graham unconsciously slammed his fist into his thigh.

“Madman Platoon Leader!”

“Uuurgh, Commander of Pain!”

The soldiers watching burst into cheers, as did Graham’s guards.

Their chests were swelling.

Victory!

Graham believed the tide had turned.

It was over.

Perhaps it was natural to let his guard down. Or rather—it wasn’t Graham who lowered his guard. It was his escorts.

‘Boom!’

Suddenly, earth exploded behind Graham.

Three assassins hidden underground.

‘Shff-shff-shff.’

The three thrust their blades at Graham’s back.

Only one succeeded.

‘Puk!’

Of the three who burst from the ground, two lost their heads to a sword that curved like a leaf.

No one knew when she arrived—but the Elf commander had flown in and swung her blade.

“Never let your guard down.”

She said, cutting down the assassins.

She had remained near Graham at Krys’s request.

She had done her part.

But the third assassin was stubborn.

He thrust his arm past her blade, sacrificing it, and drove a short spear into Graham’s back with his other hand.

‘Thunk!’

The spear was coated in poison.

“Son of a—”

Graham grit his teeth and staggered back.

It wasn’t a full penetration, but it was a deep stab.

“For the new world…”

The assassin whispered.

Sinar didn’t hesitate. She swung her leaf-like sword again.

The Elf’s blade removed his head.

—

Lykanos, collapsed, witnessed it all.

He felt death coming.

Why he came, what happened, what brought him here—it didn’t come to mind.

Only regret.

‘Brother…’

He spoke in his heart.

With a hole in his neck, he could no longer speak.

Watching his man die after stabbing the enemy commander in the back, lying down, he naturally looked to the sky.

Snow was falling hard.

Even the snow turned red, stained by the blood in his eyes.

Everything around him turned crimson.

As he died, Lykanos recalled a moment from the past.

“If you’re going to be a thief, steal the throne. We’ll create a new world. We will steal freedom.”

Born a serf, did that mean he had to give his life too?

Just because he had nothing, did that mean he had to accept oppression?

Was it right to be robbed by the strong?

Then he would live just the same.

“We’ll be kings.”

The thieves who would steal the throne.

The beginning of the Black Blade Bandits.

Lykanos was the sworn brother of the boss—the symbol of their strength.

As he died, he thought:

‘Was this the world we wanted, brother?’

It all changed so quickly. With power, Krong, and influence—

They said they’d steal the throne, open a new world.

That vow to spare others the same pain—they forgot it. It melted like snow.

Amid the falling snow, Lykanos saw a shining door.

It opened, and the family he lost as a child appeared—his sister, siblings, and parents.

His sister, taken and violated by a noble for failing to pay taxes.

His parents, killed by bandits simply because they had nothing.

All of them greeted him, bleeding from their eyes and noses.

It was too late.

Son, go to hell.

Lykanos’s eyes closed.

Below the place where his family waited, where he was to go, he saw it.

A blood-red river flowed beneath the glowing gate.

He entrusted his body to the river that flowed toward hell.

Beyond the gate, the roiling river of blood welcomed him.