Chapter 375
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Why was Aisia here?
The moment Encrid faced her, several facts surfaced without effort.
The Royal Guard.
Why would she come for him?
Jealousy could be one reason. Opportunity could be another. She’d judged him guilty.
The charge would be the same: killing Baron Vantra.
But Junior Knight Aisia could be a witness to that—something she could have stopped.
Yet it happened.
Aisia didn’t stop it.
The Marquess was involved in her coming to him.
So whose side was the Marquis of Okto on?
Or had the Royal Guard turned their backs?
Was that even possible?
A Royal Guard without knights—how many Junior Knights did Aisia say were still in the capital?
Thoughts piled up, tangled like yarn after children played with it.
Encrid cut through it.
He couldn’t act like Krys. He didn’t need to.
The person who could answer stood right in front of him.
So he asked.
“Why?”
Short. Heavy.
Aisia raised her sword. The straight, thin blade stood on the boundary between darkness and light.
“They said this is the end of the line,” she replied. “Turn back.”
No emotion in her eyes. Like a sword itself was staring at him.
Outside, the clang of metal and shouting faded, as if the corridor had become a stage built for two.
Encrid drew Silver.
Swish.
The sword slid from its scabbard—metal fittings at the end making the sound unnaturally clear. The silver longsword bared itself like it wanted to be seen.
Encrid wrapped both hands around the hilt and breathed.
Sunlight poured through the window to his left—Aisia’s right. The beam stretched into a line between them, splitting the hallway cleanly.
“Turn back,” Aisia said again.
It sounded like a request.
Encrid answered with the same question.
“Why.”
Of course, there was no answer.
He didn’t know enough to assemble the whole picture, and Aisia didn’t look like someone who would explain it out of kindness.
No smile. No softening. Only a stare.
She showed no killing intent. No rage. No hunger.
She was simply there—still, silent, like a piece of polished porcelain.
On one side of the hallway sat rare southern porcelains and expensive vases.
Aisia looked no different from them.
Still life.
Encrid tightened his grip.
Aisia spoke.
“You’re drinking penalty shots.”
“It’s a hobby,” Encrid replied, out of habit.
Her expression didn’t crack.
But her presence changed.
Oppression spread.
It was as if a wall rose up around her and blocked the corridor, rooted in her stance.
Not just the intent to cut him down if he stepped closer—
A will that refused to move under any circumstance.
An endlessly solid wall.
A wall you couldn’t see over. A wall you couldn’t break. Steel to the bone.
And Encrid was the kind of person who enjoyed climbing walls.
Or digging through them.
Ting.
He stretched Silver to the side, measuring distance. The tip tapped the right wall.
He drew it back, set both hands again, and raised the blade overhead.
The corridor was narrow side-to-side, but tall enough.
If they fought here, paintings, porcelain, vases—everything expensive—would be smashed to shards.
Not the time to care.
Encrid breathed again.
Aisia read the breath.
Neither swung first.
They read each other’s timing.
They’d done it countless times—more than twenty spars, at least.
The line of light between them kept stretching.
On the right wall, three decorative swords hung crossed.
Above them, a shield ornament modeled after the Sun Beast.
The center sword hung vertical, its tip closest to the floor.
As the light lengthened, it reached that tip—
And flashed.
Encrid kicked off.
Bang!
No saving strength. No luxury.
He exploded forward and brought Silver down with everything he had.
Aisia reacted the instant he entered range.
Her blade shot straight.
A stab faster than an arrow.
Encrid didn’t pull the strike. He brought it down anyway.
Aisia’s rapier met Silver.
Clang! Crack!
Encrid tried to crush the wall head-on.
Aisia twisted her wrist and deflected the downward line.
Perfect deflection—his power sheared away.
Encrid stepped back, leaving some strength behind, letting the blade flow instead of forcing it.
Ready to add force and parry again at any moment.
A long gouge carved beneath the left window.
Even that lightning strike—she’d turned it aside.
Aisia raised her sword and lowered it forward, aiming at him.
Sword Tip Aiming.
Her specialty.
Her forte.
But something about it was different from what Encrid knew.
Rem had said it already.
“That won’t be all of it.”
Encrid felt it.
Real battles, instinct, talent—those things let you see pieces of an opponent you didn’t know existed.
This was one of those pieces.
Would it be a problem?
Not at all.
The sword tip aimed at him. Only the tip and himself mattered in the world.
That was Aisia’s Sword Tip Aiming.
Illusion Sword—a deceiving sword.
Encrid already knew there were answers to it.
He’d watched them.
Rem had blocked the tip with an ax and forced the fight anyway.
Ragna ignored the tip, cutting down whatever stood in his path.
Jaxson struck before Sword Tip Aiming could fully settle.
All three were correct.
All three weren’t Encrid.
He’d felt it the moment [Will] lodged itself in his body.
It only matters if I solve it.
To move forward, you have to walk. You can’t move by lifting your feet in the air and stepping in place.
You have to make the process your own.
Feet on the road. Dirt under the soles. Sand resisting every step.
If Rem, Ragna, and Jaxson had their methods—
Encrid needed his.
He didn’t expect to find it all at once.
He wasn’t a genius.
He knew that now.
“You’re a genius.”
The mercenary’s words from his childhood were gone.
What remained was the sword.
The dream.
What stitched that torn dream back together?
The sword.
Encrid had regretted Aisia leaving early, and he’d wanted two hundred more spars.
Why was she blocking him now?
He didn’t know.
He was going to save Krang, so he couldn’t waste time.
He knew that.
But he didn’t feel impatient.
If he’d shaken every time the road twitched, he wouldn’t have held his sword this long.
So he did what he had to do.
He immersed himself in the present.
If they block him, he breaks through.
If they block his path, he destroys the wall.
In a heartbeat, he organized his thoughts and drew out the method he wanted to test.
His method.
Encrid closed his eyes.
If seeing is the problem—what if he doesn’t see?
“…You’re really crazy.”
For the first time, something resembling emotion touched Aisia’s voice.
She couldn’t help it.
Penalty shots as a hobby, she could endure.
This?
Close your eyes?
He was going to charge blind.
Was that something a normal person did?
Aisia had beaten him even when he could see.
No matter how hard he pushed himself, the result of their spars didn’t change.
And now he closed his eyes because the sword tip blocked his view?
“Are you looking down on me? Or have you been training separately?”
Words poured out of her.
From them, Encrid could tell—she wasn’t here because she wanted to be.
If she truly wanted this, she would have struck first, not spoken.
That’s how she’d always been in their spars.
Encrid didn’t care.
He was enjoying this.
He was fully present, fully alive in it.
And because of that, he smiled.
Eyes closed, he listened.
Ears as eyes.
“If you hone your Sensory Art, you can see without seeing.”
Jaxson had said it countless times.
Their people showed that talent too—reading movement behind them without turning.
Audin said he felt the vibrations in the air.
“I know it by feeling,” Rem called it. Sixth sense.
Ragna asked why it mattered what kind of movement someone made behind you. He’d just cut them down.
That was Ragna.
Jaxson didn’t need explanation.
Vibrations were touch. Sound was hearing.
Distinguishing subtle sound was the foundation of Sensory Art.
Everyone reached the same place differently.
Encrid had his own blade now—his sense of evasion, honed until it was sharp enough to cut.
So he moved with eyes closed.
Simple as that.
Like a man smiling with his eyes shut—and striking first.
“You crazy bastard,” Aisia said, like she chewed the words and spat them out.
The tone carried criticism.
And something else.
A hint of respect.
Encrid relied on memory for the first strike.
He remembered exactly where she stood.
He heard her voice.
He activated a burst of [Will].
Bang!
Stone underfoot cracked and popped. Dust burst from beneath the carpet.
Encrid swung with full strength.
He didn’t soften because he knew her.
—
Aisia couldn’t let Encrid pass.
There was one main reason.
If you get past me, you’ll die.
Sending him away wouldn’t save him.
So she stopped him here.
Whether she came willingly, was threatened, or was forced—
That didn’t matter now.
Later.
Right now, the opponent in front of her was clashing with sincerity and full force.
Eyes closed.
Distance erased.
Encrid’s sword plunged down without hesitation.
Aisia parried at the same speed, oppression unbroken.
Somehow, the strike looked faster than when he fought with his eyes open.
She turned the rapier horizontal and lifted into the blow.
Ankle twist—force scattered.
She couldn’t receive it straight. So she caught the impact and redirected it, twisting the line to bleed the power away.
The rapier moved like cloth in the wind.
Tiririring.
The sound was strangely soft compared to the violence of the downward strike.
Silver slid aside.
Aisia released tension and re-gripped, muscles tightening under the leather bracer.
She gathered what remained and stabbed forward.
Whoosh.
The air touched first.
The pressure raised fine hairs along her skin.
Encrid didn’t have time to recover Silver.
Instead—
Silver stayed in his left hand.
His right hand dropped to his waist.
He drew the sword there upside down and blocked.
The gladius met the rapier tip.
Clang!
Perfect point. Perfect force.
The stab traveled through the gladius and slammed into Encrid’s body.
His feet skidded back.
Aisia understood immediately.
The opponent is superior in strength.
Encrid’s brute force was terrifying.
One mistake—one failed deflection—would be catastrophic.
So she wouldn’t fail.
She wouldn’t be struck by a blunt, heavy blade.
And Encrid, charging blind, lacked delicacy.
Encrid stepped back and opened his eyes.
Aisia aimed again.
She could do this all day.
Fighting without rest was a Royal Guard advanced drill.
She’d already completed it.
And Encrid—
“One more time.”
He smiled.
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