Chapter 338
What Is the Agility of Thought?
It was the same as accelerating one’s thoughts.
You gathered the information around you, then chose the most efficient and rational action.
Filtering out the unnecessary, identifying only what mattered—this required thought.
As that process grew faster, Encrid’s ability to envision the shape of a battle sharpened beyond the norm.
In this aspect, he found far greater enjoyment than when learning other sword techniques.
The Snake Sword, which curved like a serpent to receive and counter, was soft in motion but still a blade—a killing tool at its core.
A flowing sword, a sword that let force slip.
Its essence lay in receiving and redirecting, and that was the joy of the technique.
Learning it had been enjoyable.
And Lightning Flash?
How could gaining the Will of the Moment—the very acceleration of a split second—not be enjoyable?
The process of learning was always a joy.
The Pressing Blade was no different.
It had begun as a method to withstand a knight’s strike, born from a question Ragna had asked.
How do you split lightning?
The answer gained through that question was: face the bolt, and dodge before it strikes.
Meaning—extend your blade before the opponent swings theirs.
Then your sword becomes a lightning rod.
You cannot cut lightning, but you can drive it aside.
And he had proven it.
A knight’s sword was no different from a natural calamity.
Snake and lightning, pressing downward.
The processes behind learning all three were different, yet the exhilaration was the same.
All were techniques mastered with a singular purpose.
In that sense, the Proper Sword Style’s Capturing Blade was slightly different.
‘I can graft techniques into it.’
Calculation and thought sharpened, and his concentration rose hotter than ever.
If the first three techniques were points—then this one, born from the Proper Sword Style, was a continuous line.
Between the charging ghouls, he glimpsed hidden intent.
Extreme focus fused with the Proper Sword Style made the immediate future visible.
If he wanted to counter what he saw, he could use the Snake Sword.
If he wanted to force the movement he desired, he could press.
If he wanted to break the opponent’s intent from the start, he could thrust first.
‘Ah.’
Encrid marveled internally.
The Capturing Blade was precision and calculation.
Onto that, he could lay a technique.
After creating it, he still felt something lacking.
Now he understood what that lacking piece was.
“To grow stronger, you must recognize what you lack.”
He recalled the mercenary’s advice.
And so Encrid did.
He recognized it.
He faced it.
What was missing?
He had shaped the form—now it needed substance.
The Snake Sword had the substance of curved reception.
Lightning Flash had the substance of preparing the entire body from the foot upward to strike a single point.
The Pressing Blade had the substance of pressure, of dominance.
Then the Capturing Blade of the Proper Sword Style needed something as well.
The substance didn’t have to be another technique.
It didn’t need to be newly created.
What mattered was that it had substance.
‘That’s right.’
Realization brought joy.
Joy brought exhilaration.
If this wasn’t enjoyable, then what was?
Under a pitch-black sky without starlight, he swung his sword to capture those unseen stars.
Even after countless todays, he had not yet seen that light.
But he didn’t tire.
He simply swung.
Even when he couldn’t see ahead, even when he walked a path that wasn’t a path—he kept moving.
Walking and walking, forgetting exhaustion.
And swinging.
When he had been given the curse of “today,” what had he done?
He didn’t need to verbally resist the Boatman who sang despair.
He simply didn’t fear reliving today again.
So he swung again.
How could this not thrill him?
Now, with starlight visible, with the path opening, with no repetition of today—he gained another moment of insight.
It filled him with profound joy.
“Ha, you’re excited.”
“Well, at least you’re not drooling this time, brother.”
“Wandering Teresa will assist!”
“Assist what? Doesn’t look like there’s room to squeeze in.”
From Rem onward, the group tossed out casual remarks behind him.
Only Sinar stayed silent, wholly absorbed in watching.
That man’s sword was shifting in real time.
An elf’s sharp senses picked up every change with painful clarity.
No one else would notice.
It looked simply like she was watching.
But Sinar was fully utilizing the elf’s talent for feeling and learning.
Encrid discarded unnecessary information.
The voices of his companions were irrelevant.
Not a target for selection.
What mattered was the sound of ghouls stepping on the earth.
He filtered the incoming stimuli, choosing only what he needed.
Pak!
Thump, thunk!
The sound of pounding feet.
Crack, snap, splinter.
Branches breaking.
Graaagh!
The guttural screech, as if vomiting its insides.
Scholars claimed ghouls screeched like that because the acid that burned their stomachs needed soothing.
Only human flesh soothed it.
Hence the cannibalism.
Some monsters enjoyed human flesh, others were simply born that way.
Not important right now.
He discarded it.
His accelerated thoughts received something new.
Among the loud, charging ghouls, there was a faint, sinister killing intent.
That one suppressed its sound.
Unlike the others.
It moved silently, perched above Encrid on a thick branch.
The branch dipped slightly under its weight, but with ghouls rushing him from the front, he shouldn’t have had the spare attention to notice.
Encrid gripped his silver greatsword in his right hand and Blazeblade in his left.
Then he filled the Capturing Blade with its missing substance.
Whip, tap, swish, stab, hum, split, slide, pierce.
A rhythm.
Precisely timed, the blades danced.
The silver sword cut and sliced and cleaved.
Blazeblade pierced and withdrew.
Two blades sang the same rhythm.
The Capturing Blade used rhythm as its substance to trap the enemy within its frame.
Within that frame, the ghoul pack was nothing more than moths flying into the flame.
“Oh.”
Rem let out a small exclamation.
Dunbakel lifted her head.
Her instincts had sounded an alarm.
Audin and Rem didn’t look up—but Dunbakel did, and Teresa half-lifted her head as well.
Something was there.
Teresa also sensed something unpleasant.
Encrid continued his dual-blade dance unfazed.
The rhythmic cracks and impacts created an almost hypnotic beat.
“Up—”
Teresa’s warning burst out, but stopped.
Something dropped from above.
It was half the size of a normal ghoul.
Gray-skinned like the rest, but its right arm was grotesquely long, the claws twice as long and sharp—four awl-like blades.
The moment they saw it, it vanished.
A streaking afterimage as it hurled its spike-like claws downward.
It had charged from the branch—but Encrid swung his silver blade one half-beat faster than his rhythm.
Perfectly vertical, centered on himself.
Thunk!
The blade split the rushing assassin-ghoul diagonally.
From skull to torso, down between the legs, a silver line passed.
As he swung, Encrid slipped aside.
Even the push-off from the ground and his landing fell perfectly within the rhythm.
‘He already knew.’
Teresa closed her mouth.
Encrid had noticed before she did.
Rem and Audin must have known too, and they knew Encrid knew.
So they stayed silent.
Encrid wasn’t swinging blindly in ecstasy.
He was calculating and recalculating, but also realizing anew:
‘If calculation fails?’
Trust intuition.
He had the tool for it.
His Perception of Evasion—overlaid with intent.
More than twenty ghouls charged, and that one ambush from above would have killed an ordinary soldier instantly.
A ghoul using diversion tactics—ordinary fighters would’ve been overwhelmed.
But neither Encrid nor his group had anything to do with “ordinary.”
As they watched Encrid’s battle—
“I can’t hold back!”
Dunbakel moved first.
Her beastkin senses picked up a ghoul hidden deeper in the forest.
She lunged left of Encrid.
“Shouldn’t you stop her?”
Teresa asked.
Her tone was calm, but something like impatience lurked beneath.
Encrid cleaved the last ghoul’s skull two beats slower and answered.
Thud—its skullcap flew upward.
“What?”
“Dunbakel just ran in.”
“Were you planning to just watch?”
It was a misunderstanding.
She thought Encrid meant to claim every kill.
He didn’t.
He was just too thrilled to hold back.
Now he felt satisfied.
Dunbakel rushing in?
Unexpected, but irrelevant.
“More coming.”
Sinar spoke.
Even in the poisoned forest, an elf’s senses were razor sharp.
She sensed the enemy before Encrid did.
When it came to detection alone, even Rem couldn’t compare.
“Well then.”
Teresa moved too.
Watching made her blood boil.
Was it the blood of a half-giant, or simply Teresa’s nature?
She couldn’t answer now.
So she ignored it.
A massive tree blocked her view, and she swung her sword.
Whump.
Crack!
The blade embedded itself in the middle of the tree.
The tree was tougher than she expected.
Not metal, but compressed hardness.
So she used more strength.
“Hup.”
With a shout, her arm muscles swelled, and the tree split.
As it teetered forward, Teresa smacked it with her shield.
Boom!
With a thunderous crash, the tree—three times her size—tilted forward.
Toward the charging ghouls.
“The Lord watches over you.”
Teresa prayed as she watched it fall.
“And grants you time to repent beneath Him.”
Audin finished.
He liked her prayers.
Teresa looked at Encrid, unable to hide the boiling blood.
A smile revealed her sharpened fangs.
A change born from training her half-giant blood.
Then she swung her arms like windmills.
Her sword and shield smashed, broke, cut, and shattered the ghouls.
“Hahaha!”
Her laughter echoed through the forest.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a stealth operation?”
“Well, if that gray ghoul bastard hears that laugh and charges us, great. If it runs, even better.”
Encrid’s answer made Rem nod.
He was right.
If it came out, they’d save time searching.
If it ran, they wouldn’t have to fight in the environment it built.
Either outcome was welcome.
“Yeah, that’s true.”
Rem nodded again.
Disliking thought was different from being stupid.
He understood Encrid well.
“The captain’s intentions won’t be fulfilled.”
Audin chuckled behind them.
That was also true.
Where Dunbakel charged were more assassin-types like the long-clawed ghoul.
Where Teresa fought was a ghoul half again larger than normal.
Its gray skin was tougher than usual.
‘Normally one ghoul needs two or three spearmen.’
These ones required more.
Considering the earlier diversion tactic, even a trained unit would suffer severe casualties.
Encrid and the others weren’t a knight order—but they had comparable combat strength, allowing this kind of battle.
“At least it isn’t boring.”
At Encrid’s words, Rem nodded again.
“That’s also true.”
Rem, itching for action, finally moved.
Whirrr!
He took out his sling and spun it overhead.
One by one, hidden ghouls, commander-type ghouls, and even a special ghoul with yellow eyes tried to jump in—
Useless.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Each stone he dropped became a weapon, a miracle.
Three slings broke, and the stone bullets shattered ghoul skulls mercilessly.
Encrid didn’t stop walking.
And he felt something unpleasant.
‘Trap?’
Just intuition—but it felt like one.
Sinar approached.
“Bad feeling. Fiancé.”
Why did she never forget that title?
Encrid thought, then answered.
“This way.”
The elf’s senses and his own intuition pointed to the same place.
The ugly ghoul ruling this forest must be there.
Encrid headed straight for it.
He could faintly read its intent.
‘It’s opening a path.’
The intention was subtle, but the desire was clear.
Looking closely, he could see it.
Instead of stronger ghouls, weaker ones had gathered in one place—still strong enough that it would normally take five or six spearmen to bring one down, but relatively weaker.
The entire ghoul swarm was funneling them in that direction.
Deliberately opening a path.
As if urging them to come.
“How annoying. Really.”
Rem muttered; he had seen through it too.
“I believe the ghoul brother wishes to meet his heavenly father.”
Audin pronounced the sentence quietly.
Encrid answered nothing.
He simply walked.
Soon, they arrived.
A clearly intentional clearing.
Surrounded by over a hundred pairs of yellow eyes.