Chapter 337
“When do we depart?”
Encrid asked for the date.
“There’s no rush.”
Krys estimated it would take at least two weeks.
The gray ghoul had been dwelling there for a long time. Leaving it alone for another month or two wouldn’t cause any major trouble.
“Understood.”
“How many troops should we bring?”
Krys expected at least two companies.
It was that kind of operation.
Encrid thought for a moment, then answered.
“A single Independent Platoon.”
“…The Independent Platoon?”
There was only one Independent Platoon in the Border Guards.
The Madman Platoon.
Was this bastard actually insane?
It wasn’t a joke—he was serious.
The threat level was low precisely because they could prepare properly.
And with Azpen no longer a problem, it was doable.
Until now, they couldn’t pull troops freely because of those Azpen bastards.
Encrid and the increase in irregular combat personnel also helped, but the real reason was simple—they had room to spare now.
All of that shock and emotion escaped Krys in one syllable.
“Huh?”
What was there to be surprised about?
Encrid had already fought the gnolls and the centaur colony.
If you didn’t need soldiers to defend a fortress or protect a village, then—
Dealing with a monster colony was surprisingly easy.
It was an answer gained through accumulated experience.
‘Cut off the head.’
A simple principle.
And it was the correct one.
Even the scholars who were supposedly clever had chosen “eliminate the leader” as the best solution to the land of the gray ghoul.
Then what was needed?
At minimum, the strength of a knight order.
A knight would be even better.
That was the best method.
But the region wasn’t suffering severe damage—it was just inconvenient.
The royal palace’s stance had always been to handle it when they had spare capacity.
So there was no chance of a knight order coming.
The royal palace ignored the issue, but Krys couldn’t.
Circumstances had changed slightly.
The detour of the trade route was a loss.
A huge loss.
A massive financial blow.
The Border Guards had no choice but to solve it.
For the future, they needed to restore the trade route—and Krys already had several ideas in mind.
‘Krong keeps leaking.’
The longer the transport took, the more silver coins would slip away. Anyone knew that.
So they had to fix it.
This mission would raise Encrid’s status even further.
It also overlapped with a commission from the royal palace.
Meaning—this absolutely had to succeed, and cleanly.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s enough.”
“Did you get hit in the head sparring?”
“Why are you still talking informally to me?”
“I’m just too shocked. Too shocked.”
When would this bastard ever be normal?
Encrid smacked Krys on the head for his insolent eyes.
“Ow.”
“I could’ve crushed your skull.”
It probably wasn’t a lie.
Krys endured the pain.
Only the Madman Platoon would go.
‘Ah… well… it should be fine, right?’
Encrid was going personally.
It was the captain’s decision.
Krys could roughly understand why.
If he increased the scale and led a whole company, casualties would occur.
People would get injured or die.
Of course they would.
Was that the only reason?
Not quite.
There was a faint fire burning in Encrid’s eyes.
It was because he was dying to fight.
Krys felt a strange certainty.
Encrid asked:
“The central request also came in?”
“It was close, but yes. It arrived.”
The royal palace had been a convenient excuse—but a real commission had come.
A letter too.
[Wishing you victory.]
Just three words.
It was from Markus, the former commander.
“He must be busy.”
Encrid didn’t bother sending a reply.
That was the end of it.
They checked their gear, prepared supplies, and Krys handled what little he could.
It took only two days to finish preparations.
If they had planned to send a full company, it would’ve taken at least ten.
Krys wondered if this was right, but strangely, he didn’t have any bad premonitions.
Not everyone in the unit was going either.
“Do we really have to go?”
While they prepared to depart, Ragna asked, his eyes drooping.
He was becoming more and more like an old dog.
“If you’re tired no matter how much you sleep, then just die.”
Rem bestowed his blessing.
“If you want to die, attack me anytime. Even in my sleep. You still won’t succeed.”
Ragna politely declined the blessing.
“Do we need that bastard?”
Encrid thought for a second.
As long as their hit-and-run elite tactic worked, it would be fine.
The most important role Ragna had in the fight was not getting lost.
“Rest.”
Encrid left Ragna behind.
If the gray ghouls were strong enough to summon a knight, what then?
‘That would be fun.’
Encrid always thirsted for new challenges.
For him, this mission was like rain falling on a long-parched land.
He didn’t worry about danger or what came after.
Krys worried instead.
He gathered information, analyzed it, evaluated the once-lush forest taken over by the gray ghouls…
And concluded that the colony leader inside wasn’t as dangerous as expected.
‘A ghoul with intellect, capable of leading a colony.’
One that rejected the saying “a ghoul’s brain is nonsense.”
A ghoul that used its head.
Why would such a creature hide in a forest?
Because there was plenty to eat?
Because its monstrous violence had been tamed?
‘Nonsense.’
It was because it knew fighting recklessly would lead to defeat.
So it held the advantageous position and endured.
That was the true nature of the gray ghoul, according to Krys.
‘Well, if things go bad he’ll slip out on his own.’
He had once seen Encrid navigate traps purely by instinct.
It was natural to trust him.
Two days passed.
On the day of departure, Sinar joined them.
“Aren’t you busy?”
“I am an elf.”
Meaning: she couldn’t let a monster that tainted the forest go unpunished.
Elves loved forests.
Plants didn’t show emotions, but their vitality was abundant.
That forest vitality filled an elf’s body with strength.
A forest bath could heal even a mortal wound.
Assuming the forest was healthy and lush, of course.
“In the name of the elf, I won’t forgive them.”
Her dry resolve made Encrid nod.
She didn’t seem to be walking to protect the forest’s peace, but she was strong enough as a blade in their small unit.
“Well then.”
After riding a wagon for a day, they claimed a campsite, set stones, put a pot on the fire, and prepared their sleeping spots.
Up to that point, an escorting squad handled the fire, the watch, and maintaining the camp.
On the way, they encountered three ghouls.
“I’ll do it.”
With a soldier from Greenperl in the lead, the squad dealt with them.
With spring, the ghoul numbers had increased.
Rumor had it the roads were getting more dangerous.
“Hah!”
The soldiers shouted as they fought.
All three ghouls fell without a scratch on their side.
The first two had their heads cut off; the third had its legs sliced, then its head crushed with a thrown stone.
The third was much quicker than the other two.
Not all monsters were the same.
There were individual differences.
Their squad tactic took that into account—impressive enough.
Two relatively skilled soldiers pressured the quick ghoul with spears to buy time.
Short spears and shields were effective.
Encrid judged the squad wasn’t bad.
‘If they master the basics…’
His idea of basics began with running beside the river of death.
The actual running was on the Greenperl plains, but running far enough gave the illusion of seeing that river.
Not good news for them.
After sleeping one night and circling for several days, they reached near the land of the gray ghoul.
Including the squad, everyone had marched well.
“Then we’ll return.”
Encrid nodded to the commander saluting him.
After sending the troops back, Encrid surveyed the surroundings.
A gloomy forest, and a clearing before it.
“We’ll go in tomorrow morning.”
Fighting monsters at night was foolish.
“Agreed.”
Rem answered.
No matter how confident in their skills, why take unnecessary risks?
Over a single night’s camp?
Encrid wouldn’t.
And the next morning, at first light—Encrid, Rem, Audin, Dunbakel, Teresa, and Sinar entered the ghoul’s land.
—
A thin fog dimmed their sight, and the gray-tinged trees narrowed visibility even further.
A sour, stale smell drifted with the mist, and the air felt damp and oppressive.
“Just breathing here will make you sick.”
Rem stepped on the rustling gray leaves as he spoke.
He was right.
The breath drawn through the nose slid down the airway and into the lungs.
With their honed Sensory Art, they detected a foul impurity mixed into the air.
Staying long would accumulate poison in the body.
‘A ghoul that thinks, huh.’
There must have been a reason this place was chosen as its stronghold.
Unless it changed the environment after settling.
Naturally, they had known all this before coming.
Information wasn’t lacking.
But the poison was thicker than expected.
A frail person wouldn’t last two days without developing lung disease.
Encrid and the others, all excessively healthy, could camp here for a month and only feel discomfort—not sickness.
Their stamina and strength were far beyond human norms.
“Krrr-aaah!”
After sniffing the foul air several times, ghouls emerged.
Using their ears and sense, Encrid immediately knew there were six.
They kicked off the ground between the trees and charged.
Since Encrid led the formation, he stepped forward naturally.
Ting.
With his left thumb, he pushed the latch securing the sheath and sword.
Then he gripped the sword with his right hand and opened his senses further.
Flat, double nostrils like holes; ash-gray skin; strong leg muscles; long arms.
The clawed fingertips curved inward—if those dug in, he’d lose a chunk of flesh.
Their black, pupil-less eyes drew dark lines between the gray trees.
Seeing all this, hearing their rush, Encrid calculated their speed within the realm of instinct.
He didn’t need a fast sword, a flowing sword, or even a heavy sword.
The silver blade in his hand would do its job.
He had come to kill the so-called king of the gray ghouls—no need to conserve strength.
What he needed was optimal movement and minimal wasted motion.
That required acceleration of thought.
Sharp reflexive thinking—Encrid’s Proper Sword Style evolved further as his thinking speed increased.
No—he didn’t stop at evolution.
Rem’s beastly instincts had identified the gaps in Encrid’s technique and helped him develop through sparring.
Encrid also understood what he lacked.
“To grow, you must recognize your shortcomings.”
A mercenary he met in the city had said that.
He wasn’t a sword instructor, yet he had offered many practical tips—and they helped greatly.
Encrid tested those fragments of wisdom through his body, turning them into experience.
He had always done so.
This time was no different.
Even after experiencing a knight’s sword and sparring with Rem and the others—it was the same.
Encrid focused on filling what he lacked.
It was time to show the results.
Three on the left, two on the right, and one leaping from above.
Crack!
Ghouls snapped thin branches in their way, claws and gray bodies filling his vision.
Encrid’s hands and feet moved.
As always, it began with his feet.
He pivoted on his left foot and drew his sword with his right hand.
The one dropping from above came first.
He connected point to point.
Then smoothly traced those points into a single line.
Thwack!
Rip, slice, crack, thwack!
He split the one dropping from above vertically, then added force with his left hand as his right hand swept left.
Drawing back his right hand, he swung left across his body.
Two ghoul skulls caught on the extending blade, splitting diagonally.
The first split from the right eye across the skull; the second lost its entire crown.
Black blood and brain matter scattered through the air.
At the same time, Encrid shifted his center to his right foot, twisted his body slightly, drew his gladius, thrust twice to the right, then twisted his wrist and struck the last one’s skull with the flat of the blade.
A complex chain of movements—all within a single breath.
As if rehearsed, a series of precise actions refined through countless drills.
‘Sparring helped a lot.’
Experience was the highest priority in mastering the Proper Sword Style.
And he lacked none.
Add sparring and effort on top—
The result was this.
Encrid displayed his fourth sword technique.
The first was the Snake Sword.
The second, Lightning Flash.
The third, the Pressing Blade.
This was the fourth.
From one angle, the ghouls looked almost stupid.
These idiots practically threw themselves onto his blade.
But it was because he forced their movement.
By controlling the timing of his steps, the angle of his body, the position of his hands—he made the ghouls attack from one direction.
Encrid named it the Capturing Blade.
A Proper Sword Style that restricted an opponent’s movements.
Originally, swordsmanship should be tailored slightly to the user.
But Encrid went even further—
He kept creating new sword techniques.
And what came naturally to him was the ideal path.
It was the path toward becoming a knight—and toward mastering true swordsmanship.
Rem watched Encrid and knew he had contributed quite a bit.
And knowing just how helpful all this would be, he gave a short congratulation.
“Playing around with ghouls?”
Encrid nodded at Rem’s blessing.
“Let’s do more.”
A technique that had just begun sprouting.
No matter what Rem said, he first wanted to swing it more, temper it more.
“Leave some for me.”
Dunbakel grumbled, but during the next six ghoul waves, no one else in the party got a chance to swing their weapon.