Chapter 339
Gray ghouls settled here less because of geography and more because of politics.
The Border Guard’s standing army had simply never bothered to hunt monsters like these—so the ghouls endured.
“Why should I?”
So said the former Border Guard Lord before Marcus. According to him, hunting monsters like gray ghouls was a pointless measure and a waste of manpower.
Because of that, only the areas around the Pen-Hanil River and a few trade routes were occasionally “tidied up” just enough to keep them usable.
Even now, the main road around Greenpearl had been cleaned, and the road connecting to Martai had been opened—but both were far from perfect.
“Is someone throwing monsters at us or what?”
That was the complaint Marcus made when he took office.
Monster-throwing meant leading monsters toward a neighboring territory—but of course, that wasn’t happening.
Still, the sentiment made sense.
Monsters kept appearing as if crawling out of an infinite pouch.
When the pioneering city above the Border Guard was established, even a gnoll colony appeared.
Even if cultists had played a part, they could only appear because the land could sustain them.
That meant the number of monsters in this region was extremely high.
Which also meant the Border Guard region was not a hospitable place to begin with.
Because of this, they had always fought defensively rather than aggressively exterminating monsters.
There was a clear reason for this defensive stance.
If manpower was lost, they would struggle to deal with the Azpen threat.
And the monster swarms were too difficult for low-loss battles anyway.
Even just around the Border Guard alone, there were more than three locations merchants universally avoided.
They were nicknamed “low-grade demonlands.”
When a centaur colony settled in the Grateful Forest, the army moved quickly to prevent the place from becoming a monster-infested zone.
This was the sort of thing Krys had wanted to explain to Encrid.
There were many more reasons—but Encrid did not listen properly.
Who cared about history? Cut them up, kill them, end of story.
And to be honest—that wasn’t wrong.
—
The ugly ghoul died.
Long explanation aside, the short version:
“I got it first.”
“My mace struck first.”
The moment the two sub-human-level powerhouses competed, it was over.
Rem brought two axes and a flanged mace—and used all three.
The most striking moment was when he switched to the mace.
He tossed his axes to the ground, reached behind his back, drew the mace, and slammed it down.
Whoosh—boom!
A thunderous impact.
The mace perfectly demonstrated what the word “violence” meant.
It didn’t just crush the charging ghoul’s skull—its upper body ceased to exist.
Sheer strength and technique blended into raw destruction.
Like a massive boulder falling from the sky.
Power and weapon force combined into an unnatural act of annihilation.
From the ghoul’s perspective, it was pure extinction.
Rem smashed through everything in front of him—special ghouls or not—like a living battering ram.
And Audin didn’t stay idle either.
“I deliver you to the Lord’s side.”
Though his body itself was a weapon, he held two cudgels in both hands.
The iron-capped cudgels were originally brown, but quickly turned black.
Ghoul blood soaked in too deeply to wash out.
“My Lord.”
With one invocation, he took two steps.
Between those two steps, his cudgels moved left and right, smashing ghoul skulls cleanly.
It was precise chopping, using only the needed force.
Delicate technique despite his bulk—yet still overwhelmingly forceful.
Together, their brutality carved a direct path to the ghoul leader.
Their roles felt reversed somehow, but Encrid thought this look suited both Rem and Audin perfectly.
The leader ghoul had crafted a trap, something clever—but it was shattered.
Broken.
Crushed.
The ghouls it gathered for an ambush were swept aside.
What could it do? All it built was destroyed by force.
And it wasn’t just those two who had come here.
“I’m fighting too!”
Dunbakel roared as she charged.
“This is impure. Impure.”
Sinar drew her twin blades.
“Stand back and watch. Wandering Teresa shall advance.”
Teresa swung her shield and sword, drenching the earth in ghoul blood.
There was no need for Encrid to step in this time.
Unaware of it himself, the moment he had run ahead, swinging his sword in excitement and discovering a new Proper Sword Style, everyone else had been stirred up.
Encrid’s fighting—his battles—made others want to join in. His excitement was contagious, heating their blood.
Who wouldn’t be drawn in?
Even someone who’d never held a sword might think, ‘Is that fun?’ and try swinging one.
His movements looked like he was dancing from joy.
How excited must he have been?
It was natural the others were inspired.
After meeting a knight, Encrid’s growth had become a stimulus to all of them.
Their combat abilities surpassed that of most junior-knight-level fighters.
From that level, they pushed further still.
The moment they heard about the knight’s existence, Rem and Audin knew they could not afford “casual” fighting anymore.
Sinar felt the same.
‘Deeper.’
She dove deeper into swordsmanship.
What she had thought “complete” was not complete.
There was no end.
She corrected herself—she had to walk with a sword now.
Dunbakel and Teresa were no different.
Some grew.
Some unleashed hidden strength.
And so, what was once nicknamed a low-grade demonland—something even a knight order struggled to handle—did not last a single day.
Even though the gray forest was vast.
Krys had estimated at least two companies would need ten days and many casualties to clear this place.
But the Madman Company finished it in a day.
Many monsters fled, but they could not chase every one.
“Is it over?”
Rem asked as he shook black blood off his axe.
Encrid shook his head.
“Since we’re out here, let’s finish everything.”
Krys’s original plan was different.
“One at a time would be best. There’s no hurry.”
He had said that.
There were two more low-grade demonlands nearby.
His plan was to clear one, return for supplies and rest, then clear the others separately.
But Encrid changed the plan.
Since they were already out, they might as well patrol all of them.
There was no reason to hesitate.
All around them, only ghoul corpses remained.
The survivors fled and did not dare approach.
“Let’s go.”
Encrid led, the others followed.
As they moved, Encrid bounced between companions, asking questions.
“That technique—what was that?”
He started with Rem.
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
“When you swung the mace. It was different than usual.”
“You want to learn it?”
Rem hit the core immediately.
Correct.
He did.
Encrid didn’t answer—there was no need.
Rem stared into Encrid’s blue eyes.
Straight, unwavering eyes.
Eyes filled with intent.
Was he overly greedy, or just a madman?
Rem decided on the latter.
“Depending on where you place your center when you swing, the destructive power changes. Especially with blunt weapons. Told you before—each weapon has its own way of being used.”
Encrid flinched.
Why was Rem suddenly explaining well?
Such smooth explanation.
“Are you possessed by some evil spirit?”
“What?”
“Why are you explaining so well?”
“You—!”
Rem threw a punch, Encrid deflected it, and the small scuffle passed without slowing their march.
After reviewing Rem’s lesson, Encrid went to Audin.
“That chopping strike…”
“Force control. I prefer bare-handed work, but technique doesn’t vanish just because you hold something.”
“You mix heavy technique with speed, and only apply power at the moment of impact.”
“You must control your grip strength and be able to freely tense and relax your entire body.”
Audin answered before he was even fully asked.
“Is that Valaf fighting technique?”
“Just weapon technique.”
The word “just” felt suspicious.
Encrid didn’t pry.
Names didn’t matter.
“How do I learn the knack?”
“Repetition. Learn it once we return.”
Good enough.
Then he asked Dunbakel how to use a beastkin’s body—but Dunbakel explained worse than Rem.
Today, Rem was practically an academy instructor.
It wasn’t truly that refined—but compared to Dunbakel, it felt that way.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Rem asked as Dunbakel’s nonsense explanation dragged on.
“Begone, evil spirit.”
That wasn’t Encrid—it was Dunbakel.
Seeing them bicker, she couldn’t resist adding a jab.
Beastkin were slaves to impulse.
If they wanted to say something, they had to say it.
Frok followed purposeful urges.
Beastkin followed momentary urges.
The results were rarely good.
Now too.
Dunbakel couldn’t resist speaking.
“Here you go—my axe. Just take it with your forehead.”
Rem politely suggested cracking her skull with his axe, and Encrid again examined him for strange energy.
“There’s no evil spirit, brother.”
Audin replied.
And Rem did not actually swing his axe.
“We should spar nonstop when we return. Yes. Let’s do that.”
Encrid calmed them and turned back to Dunbakel.
“Just run well and stab well.”
That was her “instruction” on using scimitars.
Encrid was unfazed.
This much was fine.
He was a great listener.
Questions continued. Answers followed.
His conclusion:
‘Footwork combined with full-body strikes.’
Swordsmanship that used flexible muscle movement.
Fast in its beginning, heavy in its finish.
That was its form.
“No idea what it’s called. Learned it when I was young, then made it my own.”
Rem had helped Dunbakel refine her swordsmanship until it became unrecognizable.
Encrid heard and saw fragments of it.
It was worth learning.
Not something learned by words.
Encrid moved on.
“Is there something from me you want as well?”
Teresa.
He had always wanted to learn her shield and sword technique.
When they returned, he planned to obtain a shield.
“If one wishes to learn, the path will appear. I learned that by watching you, captain.”
Teresa quoted a scripture—her speech clearly influenced by Audin.
“A shield is for blocking, but used right, it is an excellent blunt weapon.”
She explained well.
Encrid was grateful.
As they talked, he checked the map—they had arrived at the next location.
A swamp spread before them.
“Insects?”
Dunbakel asked.
Encrid nodded.
The light-green swamp was a treasure trove of herbs.
A land of interwoven aquatic and terrestrial plants, home to amphibians and reptiles.
“A fine land.”
Sinar’s eyes shone.
She had lamented the forest, but now she was delighted.
She dealt with poisons and medicines.
For someone like her, this swamp was priceless.
This was why Krys insisted this land must be reclaimed.
“The swamp must be restored. We cannot surrender it to monsters. It is the wish of everyone born in this land!”
His passionate declaration was theatrical.
“Herb fields?”
“Yes!”
Krys did not hide his enthusiasm.
“With that restored, we could create a specialty product, beyond just reviving trade routes.
“Though we may have to kidnap a few competent alchemists.”
Kidnapping in name only—he meant persuading them.
Recruiting people was Krys’s specialty.
And acquiring supplies too.
No wonder he was known as the walking merchant of the garrison.
And now the swamp lay before them.
Problem was—something else already owned it.
“So many bugs.”
Rem muttered.
The insects were its rulers.
Monsters came in all forms.
One such form: insect monsters.
Bzzzzzz!
The buzzing hammered their ears.
Sinar touched her blades.
Finger-length flies swarmed toward them.
Bloodsucking flies.
She drew her blades and sliced them from the air.
Neither fast nor slow—her strikes were smooth and continuous.
Her swordplay was more delicate than ever.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
Her elven blades sang through the air.
She had shown this while fighting ghouls, but this was another level.
Her sword, likely a technique of the elven kind, glimmered with extreme precision.
‘She could probably slice a leaf clean through.’
Encrid thought.
And she could.
Her basics began with shaving leaves paper-thin.
Her blade cut, curved, thrust, split, and pushed—each motion exactly dissecting the insects.
When she finished, Sinar turned back.
“If you’re unsure, stay behind. Fiancé, you may hide behind me.”
The expressionless elf of inhuman beauty spoke.
“Did you take medicine?”
Rem scratched his ear.
“The Lord watches even the smallest beings. Return them to His embrace.”
Audin prayed.
Dunbakel raised her claws and stabbed the flies instead of using her scimitar.
Bloodsucking flies were annoying.
One bite could drain blood ten times faster than a leech.
Not hard to kill, though.
Even merchants could handle them with thick leather clothing.
But these fighters needed no thick clothes—just blades and claws.
Even heavy Teresa smashed them with short shield swings.
Encrid fought similarly and drew near Sinar.
Delicacy.
Seeing insect flight as lines, cutting between them.
Using broad motions where efficient, he asked Sinar:
“That swordsmanship…”
“Want it as an engagement gift?”
“When are we getting engaged?”
He returned the joke lightly, making Sinar’s lips twitch.
Barely noticeable—but they rose for a moment.
Then returned to normal.
“You certainly have many desires.”
Whatever she said—his spirit didn’t change.
He didn’t want a secret art.
Basics were enough.
‘Knowing my shortcomings.’
He knew how to advance.
Encrid was a pilgrim who sought.
He saw the direction of his hunger—and walked toward it.
Why had he created new sword techniques?
Because he had learned, absorbed, observed.
He still did so now.
“That one.”
Sinar spoke, promising to teach later, and looked ahead.
Before them, the swamp’s ruler appeared.
A monster five times the size of a wasp, with six wings and sharp fangs.
A stinger-like organ and a swollen abdomen, with a jaw that split sideways.
Its name was Bell.
Bzzzzzzzz—
Its wings shook the air.
Behind it, similar insect monsters followed.
They moved as one.
Far more troublesome than ghouls.
But—
Pop-pop-pop-pop!
They burst apart the moment they charged.
The largest one—the king bug—died to a stone Rem threw.
“This time, I did kill it, right?”
Still competing with Audin, he turned around.
Audin smiled gently.
Encrid expected the religious bear to concede.
To say: ‘So be it.’
He seemed like that type.
“I didn’t see.”
Slip.
Encrid’s foot faltered mid-fight.
He didn’t fall.
He used the misstep to continue forward.
He swung his sword horizontally and smashed two bugs.
“Lie better.”
“It’s not a lie. I truly didn’t see, brother.”
Even Audin was a mBlazeblade of the Misfit Company.
Encrid didn’t bother correcting him.
These weren’t people who changed by argument.
“Let’s go.”
And Encrid visited the third and final low-grade demonland.
The last stop on their patrol.