Chapter 315
She had wandered many battlefields and heard every kind of insult—from curses about parents to filth too crude to repeat.
But this one… this was the first of its kind.
To have her people’s skin likened to something so filthy—she had never experienced such contempt.
Above all, Ayada was a knight.
And she loved her skin.
She was proud to be an Easterner.
“…What?”
Ayada’s head tilted sharply.
“You smell. Go wash.”
Ragna was merely doing what he had learned.
Encrid was a master at finding his opponent’s weak spots.
Especially when it came to provoking them—Encrid was arguably the best in the continent.
Ragna might not have been a direct disciple, but he’d watched and learned plenty over the years.
“…Did he just say I smell?”
Ayada was a knight—and a woman.
Brown feces, smell—all words that grated on her nerves.
And the worst part was that he said them so casually, as though they were facts.
That calm expression enraged her more than the insult itself.
“No, no, she doesn’t smell. She’s fragrant—like flowers!”
The squire hurriedly spoke up, but the words were useless.
The water had already spilled.
Ayada’s face hardened.
Her teeth clenched.
The muscles in her jaw bulged visibly across her face.
“You little bastard.”
Ayada was furious, but she didn’t lose all composure.
She was too seasoned for that.
She converted her fury into power.
‘I’m going to kill him.’
“I’ll cut out your tongue first.”
Ayada drew her swords.
Ting.
Two blades—one long, one short.
In her left hand, a standard longsword.
In her right, a slightly shorter blade.
“You won’t die prettily. No, forget it.”
The squire, too, started to speak but stopped halfway, unsheathing his weapon.
Shrring!
From the sound behind him alone, Ragna knew it was a longsword.
His eyes stayed fixed on the blades in Ayada’s hands.
The squire advanced from behind, closing the gap, sword aimed at him.
Enemies in front and behind.
“Did you think this would be an honorable duel? Watch your back, idiot.”
Ayada’s voice carried weight—born from anger.
Ragna took her advice.
He would be careful.
The squire moved first.
Shff.
He slid across the ground, adjusting his position.
Ragna mirrored him with a few steps of his own.
Front: Ayada.
Back: the fleeing squire.
How to deal with both?
He was surrounded.
Ayada moved first.
She closed the distance in an instant—her thrusts fast and sharp.
Ragna raised his sword to block.
Clang!
A feint.
The real strike came from behind.
The squire’s sword descended toward the back of Ragna’s head.
His trained senses flared.
Ragna bent his knees and stabbed upward.
[Heavy Sword Style] was built on power—and Ragna knew how to use it.
Even from such a short motion, the impact was immense.
The squire didn’t complete his swing.
He feinted and withdrew.
Ragna, after his upward thrust, rolled to the side.
A split-second later, Ayada’s blade slashed through the space he’d been in.
Ping!
The sound of air being sliced was vicious.
Fast and merciless.
“My name is Ayada, the fragrant Ayada of the Royal Knights.”
She lunged forward as if declaring her title to the world.
Ragna sensed another slash from behind.
Even without seeing, he could feel the pressure in the air—the killing intent.
Front and back, no escape in sight.
‘Exhale.’
Ragna swung his sword.
If he couldn’t block them, he’d simply cut through them.
His long, heavy blade carved a spiral through the air—faster than ever before.
Both Ayada’s sword and the squire’s were caught in that arc.
Clang!
The clash came only from Ayada’s side.
If nothing else, Ragna’s sense for battle was unmatched.
‘Behind me, a phantom blade.’
The squire wasn’t a mere assistant—he was using [Phantom Sword Technique], perhaps even with traces of [Will].
A “squire” in name, but practically at [Junior Knight] level—one who could oppress others through sheer force.
He executed attacks of intent and illusion, merging them seamlessly.
To detect and evade that was near impossible.
To mistake illusion for reality meant death.
Ayada’s swordplay was dazzling.
Fast yet weighted.
A balance between [Heavy Sword Style] and [Swift Sword Style].
She had been properly trained—perhaps even inherited a lineage.
And together, their coordination was flawless.
A crisis.
A deadly one—one wrong step and he’d die.
But that crisis only satisfied Ragna.
Hadn’t he been waiting for a moment like this?
A challenge worthy of his blade?
“You’re smiling?”
Ayada’s lips curled in disbelief.
His expression offended her more than any blow could.
She laughed once, out of sheer absurdity.
Ragna, however, smiled for real.
He was enjoying this.
“When you get stabbed, do you scream in pleasure or something?”
Ayada asked in disgust.
Ragna said nothing—only grinned wider.
A crisis was a stepping stone.
He knew this was the moment he’d been waiting for.
“I told you—shut your mouth. You stink.”
And, just as Encrid had taught him, he used his tongue as another blade.
“Fine. I’ll kill you. I’ll chop you into pieces.”
Ayada’s swords moved again.
Her blades traced afterimages in the air.
It was a different kind of [Swift Sword Style] than Lykanos’s.
Ragna realized his mistake.
It wasn’t halfway between heavy and swift.
‘She’s mixing in [Phantom Sword Technique] too.’
A complete, well-honed style.
And that only pleased him more.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Ragna blocked her attacks again and again.
Clang!
He parried the strike from behind.
Gap—counterattack—
Clang!
Sparks flew each time metal met metal.
Scuff!
His soles scraped against the ground as he moved ceaselessly.
He had to.
Even a breath of hesitation meant death.
So he kept moving, barely breathing.
“Ha!”
A shout came from behind.
A powerful strike.
Ragna spun, sword vertical, and blocked.
Boom!
The loudest impact of the fight so far—
the squire’s blow, reinforced with strength, not illusion.
The shock forced Ragna off the ground; his knees ached from the strain.
Then Ayada’s sword came crashing down from above—a strike like a hawk diving for prey.
No time to block. He twisted his body.
Swish—Slash!
Ayada’s blade scraped across his shoulder.
Blood spattered through the air.
It wasn’t deep, but it sliced through armor like it was nothing.
Her sword was no ordinary weapon. Its edge was vicious.
Even so, Ragna swung back.
His longer blade curved like a whip, cutting forward in a flash.
Boom!
Thunder cracked from the force of the swing.
Ayada didn’t block—she dodged.
She knew.
That wasn’t a blow one could block.
Her special eyes saw it clearly.
“Phew.”
Ragna exhaled, taking a moment to steady himself.
He’d unleashed everything he’d learned.
A stab to his thigh, a cut across his left shoulder—his body was battered.
He was clearly at a disadvantage.
And yet, he didn’t retreat.
In his mind, there was no concept of losing—only of moving forward, of reaching something just out of grasp.
It wasn’t an illusion.
He truly stood before a wall that only he could perceive.
And now, he’d found his breakthrough.
“Ah, this is fun.”
Ragna muttered mid-fight.
“You insane bastard!”
Ayada was furious.
She was winning, yet she was the one growing anxious.
Of course—Ayada possessed the [Vision of Will].
And through that vision, she saw that Ragna was catching up.
‘What kind of monster is this?!’
She could see it—his sword changing.
His movements adapting in real time.
“Damn it.”
Squire Bill cursed under his breath.
Normally calm, he grew vicious when pressured.
If Bill was swearing, things were going wrong.
Their prey—who should’ve died long ago—was still standing.
And from Ayada’s glance, Bill understood.
‘Things are turning into a mess.’
He felt it too. So did she.
‘What the hell is this guy?’
Ayada’s twin swords blurred faster.
For an instant, it looked like she had four arms.
An illusion born of speed.
Ragna’s eyes followed them—
Thwack!
He couldn’t block them all. A stab grazed his abdomen.
But it wasn’t a full hit.
He twisted mid-strike, reducing the damage.
‘He took the hit while pulling back?’
Twisting, Ragna extended his sword in a long, sweeping arc.
Ayada couldn’t follow up.
She could see his intention—and she wasn’t foolish enough to charge into it.
She stepped back.
The thrust that could’ve pierced him only sliced his skin.
Bill repositioned himself.
As Ayada drew back, Ragna staggered several steps.
Not a feint—he was genuinely strained from blocking that last blow.
Ayada reacted instinctively.
She saw an opening.
Her eyes locked onto it.
Bill adjusted his grip.
‘End it now.’
They had to.
That uneasy dread ran through her body.
If they didn’t kill him now, they might never get the chance.
How could this be?
‘He’s improving mid-battle?’
Impossible.
No talent could do that.
Just before Ayada and Bill struck again—
Ragna realized.
‘This is it.’
A long fight, or a short one—either way, it led here.
He recalled every battle he’d fought.
Every swing he’d made.
Since childhood, he’d always ‘seen’ the path of his sword.
He simply followed where it led—and his opponent would die or fall.
That was his natural talent.
But now, facing these two, that path had vanished.
It was broken.
He was forcing the pieces together just to keep up.
Then he understood.
He had only ever followed the path given to him.
It was passive. Defensive.
So what was the opposite?
‘Cut the path myself.’
Forge his own way.
Ayada’s swords drew twin arcs.
Bill’s strike came like a thunderclap from behind.
Between two masters—Ragna didn’t cling to broken paths.
He carved a new one.
Twitch.
Muscles flexed.
Every fiber in his body responded.
His heart pounded.
Thump!
With that beat, his body moved.
To create a new path, one must take the first step.
Ragna did.
Ayada’s first sword struck his right forearm—
Stab!
He let it pierce and tensed the muscle to hold it.
Then her shorter sword came up toward his abdomen.
He drove his knee up, slamming her wrist aside, ruining her aim.
Swipe!
The blade grazed his side instead.
In the same motion, Ragna grabbed his left sword and spun.
He possessed superhuman strength.
[Heavy Sword Style] required it.
Ayada’s sword still stuck in his arm.
Pivoting on his right foot, he swung his left arm back—
A backward slash.
‘Cut.’
He poured [Will of Severance] into it.
Whoosh—
The blade tore through air and sound alike.
Before Squire Bill’s sword could land, the silent strike cleaved through his torso.
Clang—Splat!
His body split in midair.
Blood and organs spilled out.
Bill’s sword barely grazed Ragna’s shoulder before he fell in halves.
A dull thud, a sharp sting. It didn’t matter.
The new path was still unfolding.
Smash!
Ragna blocked Ayada’s next strike with his injured arm, crushed her sword hand with his knee, and spun again—his other blade slicing her torso.
Head-butt—
Crunch!
His forehead slammed into her helm, cracking it. Blood poured down his brow.
He didn’t care.
Crack!
Ayada yanked her sword from his arm by force.
Ragna let her.
Instead, he raised his left sword high.
The same blade that had cut Bill down descended.
Ayada’s eyes widened.
‘Insane.’
For a heartbeat, he fought like her equal—matching her [Vision of Will].
Every move was the best possible choice.
She crossed her swords—
Boom!
The clash exploded.
Crack!
“Ghhhk!”
Both of Ayada’s arms snapped. (T/N: What a fking monster.)
The outcome was decided.
“Ah.”
Blood ran freely from Ragna’s arm, shoulder, and thigh.
He nearly toppled.
Shaking his head slowly, he steadied his breathing, forcing himself upright.
He swayed—half collapsed from exhaustion.
Still, he spoke.
“Thank you.”
He meant it.
Ayada could tell—he was truly insane.
“You… you think this is over? Do you know who—”
The rest never came.
Ragna’s sword smashed into her helm.
Crack!
Her helmet caved in—her skull shattered.
And thus, one of the Royal Knights’ Junior Knights died.
—
Encrid knew it wasn’t over.
Even as he ran through the dust, he prepared for whatever came next.
Just moments ago, ropes had shot out to bind him—to no avail.
He’d flexed, muscles swelling, heart surging with [Heart of Monstrous Strength], and snapped them apart.
Crack!
The ropes split, cutting into his skin as they tore.
The arrows that followed were fewer now, but he stayed alert.
Even if he could repeat “today,” he refused to do less than his best.
To do otherwise would mean ceasing to be Encrid.
So he gave it his all.
The sound of pursuit faded behind him—still, he didn’t relax.
‘To the end.’
He ran farther.
Whether he found allies or a signal, he would chase the change himself.
Six quarrels stuck in his back.
A stab wound in his thigh.
His right boot shredded.
He’d even taken a stone to the forehead.
He’d bled plenty.
Half-dried blood cracked open again with every step.
Every muscle trembled.
He’d long since passed his limit.
So what?
It didn’t matter.
Encrid kept running—because this wasn’t the end.
Never let your guard down.
Run, and run again.
Suddenly, a four-legged beast leapt from the front.
Encrid raised his guard.
He dropped the sword in his right hand, thrusting with the left.
Reflexive action.
Behind the beast stood a man with a long sword.
Encrid reached for his weapon again—then froze.
The man spoke.
“Let’s spar later. My arm’s a bit twisted.”
It was Ragna.
Grrr.
Beside him stood a lake panther—Esther.
They had escaped the encirclement.
Encrid didn’t know when it had happened.
He didn’t need to.
He would’ve kept running until death or freedom—and he had no intention of stopping.