Chapter 324
Encrid took in his opponent’s entire body.
Not with his eyes, but by reading the intent behind each movement.
For a moment, it felt as though his head and eyes were burning.
That was the price of gathering such focus.
His blood vessels pulsed visibly beneath his skin, throbbing with each heartbeat that shook his entire body.
A single point of focus ignited sharper than ever.
The opponent moved.
Small motions, one after another.
Through that chain of movements, Encrid sought the hidden meaning.
Like reading the subtext between words that seemed meaningless, he interpreted the unspoken intent within each motion.
How did a knight’s sword move?
He didn’t yet know.
The process was difficult to grasp.
But hadn’t he seen it countless times through death?
Hadn’t he watched it even when his body was frozen, unable to move?
Hadn’t he seen it as Ragna and the others died before him?
And so, he finally saw it—
That fleeting gap, the separation that formed in the instant between drawing the sword and swinging it: the [interval].
If not for this endless repetition, if not for the experience of dying again and again, he would never have seen it.
Even with the keenest sensory arts, even with the sharpest concentration, such a gap was invisible.
But Encrid aimed for it.
He sharpened his senses through experience and drove his concentration until his brain felt aflame.
The knight was about to draw his sword.
Time seemed to slow.
And yet, Encrid calmly followed through with his plan—exactly as he had envisioned it.
He unleashed the [Heart of Monstrous Strength].
Boom—!
The moment his heart thumped, blood surged wildly through his veins.
His body was far from perfect, but this was the best it could be.
His hand gripped the gladius with unshaking composure, his body twisting at an angle.
In that instant, the knight’s sword cleared its sheath.
A grating click echoed in the air.
Encrid steadied his breathing.
In slowed time, his thoughts raced faster.
His mind brushed past a sequence of memories—
His first sword: the [Snake Sword]. The flowing blade.
His second sword: the [Lightning Flash], infused with [Will of the Moment]—a blade that embodied speed itself.
And now, the third.
‘There was no preparation.’
Encrid had seen the knight’s sword countless times—
Lived through its strike again and again, died to it endlessly.
Through that, he studied the motions, the principles, the shifting of weight, the movement of power.
He also recalled Ragna’s sword—Lightning Strike.
He didn’t know its name, but the motion was burned into his mind.
He added the Elf’s art to it, reading intent as she did.
He read. Again and again, he read.
With the accumulation of countless repeated days, the [interval] between draw and swing revealed itself clearly.
‘Right before the draw.’
Neither too soon nor too late.
All eyes gathered on him.
Ragna’s pupils widened in silence.
His commander’s motion and the intruding man’s movement overlapped.
Sinar’s gaze was the same.
‘What is he—?’
Before anyone could process it, it was already happening.
Dunbakel and Krys couldn’t grasp the situation at all.
Esther had only just risen, her fur bristling.
In the strange stillness, the intruder drew his sword—
And Encrid exuded a strange, fierce aura.
Whether others stared or not, Encrid did what he had to do.
‘I can’t block it.’
That was his conclusion.
So what now?
If blocking wasn’t possible, what about striking first?
He hadn’t tried it yet, but the possibility was there.
He remembered the image of Ragna’s hand bleeding as he parried.
Even as he died then, lightning had struck his mind.
Sword. Knight. Power. Defense. Failure.
All wove together into one answer.
‘If I can’t block it—’
Then strike first.
Encrid unveiled his third sword.
A heavy blade technique—rooted in the middle sword style.
He overlaid it with [Will].
He had felt that oppressive [Will] many times before.
He couldn’t reproduce it perfectly, but he could weave its pressure into his own swordsmanship.
It was the swordsmanship that had once startled Ragna—
And in this new day, it would astonish him again.
He added [Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship] to it.
Normally, one advanced with a step forward.
But Encrid stepped sideways.
The knight’s eyes flicked briefly to his footing.
‘What—?’
It didn’t matter, but it was enough to spark doubt.
The knight’s blade didn’t slow, yet his thoughts were momentarily distracted.
That was the opening Encrid needed.
Tap.
He pushed off the ground.
Left foot stepping aside, his right braced for power.
[Valen-Style Crossing Step]—
Footwork designed to irritate keen-eyed opponents, prying open the smallest possible gap.
‘I can’t match his speed.’
He already knew that.
So he would match him in force instead.
His gambit worked.
The knight didn’t falter, but his sword didn’t rise either.
Encrid seized the initiative and advanced.
Clang!
He drew and raised his sword vertically.
From that stance, he channeled [Will]—exuding crushing pressure.
The knight instinctively moved his blade.
Years of training urged him: this must be blocked.
The third sword—The Pressing Blade.
Like a mountain pressing down, like a finger crushing an ant—it imposed its will through sheer force.
It left the opponent no choice but to defend.
Compared to the lightning-fast thrust of sparks, it was slower.
But the pressure born of [Will] was immense.
Knight Jamal hadn’t anticipated such a situation.
Could he have? Who would?
He’d just torn through a tent—only to have his timing stolen and a heavy sword descending upon him.
The draw was slow.
But momentum followed.
The moderately fast strike carved an unavoidable arc.
Still, the knight didn’t yield easily.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
His sword vibrated reflexively, deflecting the descending blade.
Whum—!
A resonance filled the air, too brief to measure.
Encrid didn’t hear it.
He was already fully committed—every ounce of strength poured into that strike.
He had no energy left to think of what came next.
Boom!
A thunderous impact.
Crack!
The sound of bones twisting.
Encrid felt weightlessness.
From the battered short sword came an impossible rebound.
His body flew backward.
Pain followed as his back crashed—
He’d slammed into the brazier.
He rolled aside.
“Ah!”
Krys shouted in alarm.
Flames burst from the toppled brazier.
Though the explanation was long, the event itself happened in seconds.
The intruder had entered, spoken a word, and attacked immediately.
Encrid’s head drooped.
For an instant, his mind went blank.
And right after he fell—
Whoosh.
Ragna moved.
It coincided with Krys’s startled exclamation.
Boom!
A second explosion of sound.
The knight had raised his sword to meet Ragna’s [Lightning Strike].
Ragna was thrown back.
He soared, not tumbling like Encrid, but he stabbed his blade into the ground midair.
Sparks screeched as the sword carved a glowing line.
“Huff.”
Ragna exhaled sharply.
From one strike, he knew—this was no opponent beneath him.
Sinar, instead of charging, beat the flames off Encrid’s back with a blanket.
Thump, thump—the fire quickly died out.
A crack split Ragna’s sword.
One blow away from breaking.
He discarded it, drawing another—
The weapon once wielded by Squire Bill.
It wasn’t as fine as a knight’s blade, but its length and weight suited him better.
Shing.
He drew and aimed.
Steadying his breath, he rose to one knee, ready to fight.
“Enough.”
Encrid spoke, still lying down.
The knight’s gaze shifted to him.
Ragna halted mid-step.
Sinar quietly withdrew, her hand on her spears.
It was obvious, even by sight alone.
‘Monstrous.’
Could such power come from a dull short sword?
For that to be possible, the man must possess a strength beyond muscle—a power imbued within.
In other words, a knight.
“You don’t seem like someone who belongs here.”
Sinar spoke.
The knight said nothing.
He only stared at the man who had just struck him.
Encrid’s back still burned, his skin seared by the brazier’s heat.
Without magic armor, the flames had bitten deep.
Fortunately, thanks to Sinar, it wasn’t severe.
But the rest of his injuries were worse.
‘Like a giant took a swing.’
Both shoulders were dislocated.
And that wasn’t all.
Though his [Pressing Blade] had landed, the counterstrike was brutal.
‘If I hadn’t redirected some of the force at the end…’
He’d have lost more than his shoulders.
Both palms were torn, blood streaming freely.
Of course—Knight Jamal had unleashed his [Blade Echo] at the last moment.
A high-speed vibration technique that amplified impact.
The knight said nothing. Encrid coughed blood.
He waited silently.
He had expected this much.
He had dreamed of knights, aspired to their level—so naturally, he had learned all he could about them.
He knew their talk of honor.
He understood what Jamal meant.
“You said just once, didn’t you?”
He spoke at last.
The knight silently glared at him.
“What was that?”
“The Pressing Blade.”
“Impressive.”
Ting.
The knight sheathed his sword.
Ragna still held his weapon, its tip aimed.
Encrid rose on trembling legs. His arms hung limp, dislocated, so he swung one loosely to tap Ragna’s shoulder.
Pain flared, but it wasn’t impossible.
“Don’t fight today.”
He said.
Ragna obediently stepped back.
He was a genius, and he knew it.
The opponent was a knight.
If he charged now, death was certain.
“Your name?”
Encrid asked.
“Jamal.”
The knight answered readily.
“You’re with the Royal Knights of the Kingdom?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t deny it.
If he meant to kill them all, that would be different—but he wouldn’t.
A knight must be honest, even before his foes.
He had spoken of honor, and the other had met him in kind. He would uphold his vow and his faith.
That was what it meant to be a knight.
“It was an honor.” (T/N: Chiiiiilllls! Enki you are freaking awesome!)
Encrid said.
Whatever happened next, he meant it.
Jamal’s eyes gleamed.
Who was this man?
And what kind of situation was this?
Despite the absurdity, he found himself chuckling.
“An honor?”
He echoed with a faint laugh.
“It’s not every day one faces a knight’s blade.”
“You struck first.”
“I thought waiting would get me killed.”
Was it instinct? Judgement? Luck?
Or had he simply stepped backward and caught lightning in his hand?
As though blessed by fortune itself.
Jamal couldn’t help but laugh again.
Tension had long vanished.
So had the killing intent.
Before him now stood a man far too ordinary-looking to be called a warrior—yet not ordinary at all.
“To speak of honor—fine. I’ll trust that.”
“You’ll go far.”
Jamal was a knight; he could recognize talent.
Not just skill, but potential.
The red-eyed blond youth—Ragna—caught the eye at first.
But sometimes, beyond talent, there were rare beings who carried something indescribable.
The man before him was one of those.
“We’ll meet again.”
Jamal said.
Oddly, the thought brought peace.
He had made a vow, and he would keep it.
Even Avnaier couldn’t object now.
They had agreed to a single strike, after all.
“It was an honor.”
Encrid stood upright, feeling the ache in his thighs and calves.
It seemed that every time he broke through the walls of agony, ignorance, and despair that the Ferryman spoke of, his body suffered more.
“Attack is the best defense. Not bad.”
Jamal said, turning away.
“…We’re just letting him go?”
Dunbakel asked, uneasy.
“What else? You wanna fight him? Unless you’ve got a death wish, we’re letting him go. We should probably escort him out, even.”
Krys replied, shuddering at the sheer power he’d felt.
He understood instinctively what kind of monster they’d faced.
“Ah, Krys—go with him. We can’t afford any commotion.”
Encrid said.
Krys’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“A knight’s sword is safer than a thug’s dagger.”
“You do know he’s the enemy, right?”
Krys whispered, worried he might be overheard.
Even if someone did hear, would it change anything?
Yes, the Royal Knights were enemies.
But today—they had spoken of honor.
“Of course. We still have our own honor to uphold.”
They should let him leave peacefully.
Krys wasn’t stupid.
If a sentry spotted that man and raised an alarm, things would only spiral out of control.
Sending someone calm to see him off was the wisest move.
Force meant nothing here.
He was a knight.
Krys knew that well.
With a grimace, the big-eyed soldier stepped outside.
“Damn it.”
He grumbled—but still did as he was told.