Chapter 378

‘How did she manage such delicate movements?’

In his memory, Sinar wielded her sword. Her toes were light, like a butterfly, and the Leaf Blade she used was just as light.

Even though the blade was leaf-shaped, swollen in the middle, it still felt as if it fluttered.

Watching it move like a dance, it looked like she wasn’t using any strength at all.

But facing her in reality was different. Every strike carried proper force. He knew because he’d taken it head-on.

How did she do that?

To move with meticulous precision, you needed to apply force. Yet those movements were only possible when you released force.

He understood the method in theory, but he wasn’t sure his body could actually move that way.

‘Is this a path I don’t know?’

No. He already knew it. He had countless things he’d learned, mastered, and been thrown around by—things carved into his body.

“Is there only one way to apply force? If it’s not precise, the Isolation Technique is meaningless.”

Audin had said there were different kinds of muscles.

There were large muscles, and there were small muscles that controlled delicate movements.

Sinar had that precision because she had trained those muscles over and over.

Encrid needed that too.

“If you sharpen your senses, you can feel it.”

Jaxson had said that countless times as well. Taking that to heart, Encrid half-closed his eyes and began to move the weapons in his hands.

He drew an imaginary line in the air and swung his sword accurately along it. It didn’t work on the first try. That didn’t matter. He repeated it.

It was similar to drawing a circle on a tree and training to strike only that spot, but the training he named Sword Tip Meeting—making the tips meet within a large circle—demanded a different level of precision and detail.

In terms of Naurilia’s soldier ranking system, it was like the difference between the lowest-ranking soldier and the highest-ranking soldier, or even beyond.

And the opponent’s sword was constantly moving.

‘Aisia isn’t standing still.’

She took small steps, twisted her body, shifted, and changed the line of her blade.

The answer was clear. He needed precision sharp enough to pluck feathers from a moving bird.

To get there, he needed to train until sword tip met sword tip.

Encrid sank into a sea of concentration.

As he did, voices reached him.

“It’s not a barbarian’s place to interfere! Go suck goat’s milk!”

The third training of the day wasn’t much different from usual, but the meeting with the public officer—the incident’s starting point—was completely different.

Encrid turned his gaze.

Rem was grinning, one hand wrapped around the axe handle.

“Goat?”

Ah. It was already too late to stop him.

Encrid stopped the foot he’d been about to step forward with.

The South Gate guard captain was desperately trying to block the public officer, but whether it was unwavering loyalty, lack of thought, or sheer confidence, one soldier drew his sword and swung.

“You!”

He shouted and stepped in, aiming for Rem’s head.

Just before the blade touched Rem’s hair, Rem moved.

He kicked off and sprang sideways.

The sword cut only air, and Rem spun his axe, redirected it, and swung.

Thwack!

A clean, cheerful impact. Not a lightning-fast cut, but a blow to the head with the axe head.

The soldier’s abdomen caved for an instant where the axe head struck, then returned. Rem hadn’t swung to kill, but it wasn’t a gentle tap either.

“Guek!”

The soldier flew.

‘That’s going to hurt.’

Encrid knew because he’d been hit by it many times. That wasn’t a cotton mallet kind of pain. If Audin’s hammer was bearable, that could break bones or rupture organs if it landed wrong.

The soldier rolled across the ground, then vomited. Tears and snot ran with it, and blood was mixed into the mess.

After rolling once more, his eyes turned up and he fainted.

Rem snorted and muttered as if to himself.

“Weak.”

It was quiet, but after a single blow had silenced the crowd, even a mutter carried.

The public officer stared, mouth agape. Then he clenched his teeth and spat out the word.

“…Treason!”

If left alone, Rem’s massacre would begin. Ragna and Jaxson behind him would join in, and they weren’t the type to stop him.

Encrid moved the moment the public officer finished speaking.

He kicked off, bent low, and surged forward. Closing the distance, he struck the neck of the man blocking his path with a knife-hand.

The man had been staring at Rem in shock, and the word treason had made him tighten his grip on the spear without realizing it.

The veins on the back of his hand stood out, but his body stiffened.

Even if it hadn’t, he didn’t have the skill to respond.

Crack!

The man collapsed before his body even fully fell.

Encrid spun, using the rotation to add force, and slammed his palm into the helmet of the soldier next to him.

The downward strike met the helmet with a heavy bang.

“Ugh!”

The soldier’s knees buckled like limp octopus legs and he collapsed.

His brain had been rattled. He wouldn’t come to his senses for a while.

They were the two soldiers blocking the line between Encrid and the public officer.

Encrid cleared them, then grabbed the public officer’s ankle as he sat on horseback. The public officer’s eyes widened.

Encrid smiled and yanked.

Snap!

“Aaaargh!”

The public officer’s other foot caught in the stirrup and broke, just like Dunbakel had done before.

Encrid drove his elbow into the public officer’s head as he dangled.

Thwack. Crack.

Bone shifted with the sound, but it wasn’t fatal.

All of it happened within one or two breaths.

Heeheeheeing!

Only then did the horse startle and rear, but Encrid had already done what he needed. He stepped back twice to avoid the hooves.

The Squire, standing one step behind the public officer, only widened his eyes, sword half-drawn.

The chief of the public order beside him held his hand on his sword, but didn’t move.

“Why don’t you just kill him?”

Rem muttered from the side.

Encrid glanced at the unconscious public officer, hanging off the horse, then frowned slightly.

“What was the public officer’s name again?”

He hadn’t paid attention, so he’d forgotten.

“Polman Bertes.”

The chief of the public order answered.

“If you’re not going to do anything more, it’s best to leave.”

Encrid said it, and the Squire opened his mouth, then shut it again.

What could he say?

No one spoke. The soldiers had nothing to say. The chief of the public order decided there was no reason to step forward and get his own leg broken.

A silence heavier than the one Rem had created settled over the scene.

“You seem worse than me. I’ll pass on the title of noble hunter.”

“You take it.”

Rem tossed out the remark, and Encrid answered without missing a beat.

Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!

Hooves thundered at full speed, and a shout followed.

“Save me!”

It was screamed from deep in the gut—sincere, desperate.

A familiar voice. An expected event. Something that had already repeated twice.

Markus.

Encrid pushed through the soldiers clustered to the side and climbed onto the wall.

No one even thought to stop him. They backed away instead.

Rem followed and climbed up. Dunbakel leapt up beside him.

“Rem.”

Encrid spoke while watching Markus being chased. He spotted a pursuer in unusual attire.

“Immortal Madman. I missed him before, but he’s been lurking around here. I’m going to go take care of him.”

“Go.”

Encrid answered immediately.

Rem jumped without looking back.

He dropped from the wall with a thud, moving with an aerial agility that didn’t seem human.

He sprang sideways like he was flying, landed on another roof, and ran. He drew a Throwing Axe and shouted.

“You bastard, try running this time!”

There was no waiting in ambush. The pursuer turned at once.

Rem welcomed it.

Catching someone who attacked was easy. He wanted to chase someone running and beat them down. A hunting instinct.

“You crazy bastard.”

The Immortal Madman spat it at him.

Rem shut his mouth and ran.

His body crossed rooftops and walls, then touched down again. He shot forward at terrifying speed, and the Immortal Madman fled just as fast.

The two of them vanished from sight in an instant.

Encrid turned back on the wall, raised one hand, and said, “I’m going to the Royal Palace. Anyone want to stop Baron Mernes’s army from entering in the meantime?”

He summarized what Squire Roford had said before.

What was bound to happen, in the big picture, would happen.

Roford’s change of heart, too, followed the same shape.

So what did the man sitting on the wall mean by those words?

What was he here for?

Encrid watched Squire Roford’s eyes change and called out, “Ragna. Dunbakel.”

“Understood.”

“Hmph. Understood.”

They answered.

Then the assassins appeared—just as Markus was babbling about how something impossible had happened at the Royal Palace.

“Stab……”

It was like honey had been smeared on the wall, and they were stuck here again.

The white-haired assassin with a monocle in the center was about to speak—

Encrid rushed him the moment he saw him.

Talking was pointless.

He had the timing. He had the gap in skill. He sprinted, kicked off the wall, and brought his sword down from above.

As he swung, a short thought flashed through him.

‘Has my sword become more precise than before?’

He couldn’t tell.

He still couldn’t feel any change in his body.

The assassin saw something fly toward him, then something fall.

He didn’t even think to dodge. He offered his head.

Thwack, crack!

The falling blade split his skull straight down. The severed head burst aside, and brain fluid and blood streamed from the line the sword had carved.

Encrid killed one and sprang back.

Poopoopook.

Three daggers and five darts embedded themselves where he’d been.

He’d dodged as if he’d expected it.

He opened his mouth.

“I’ll say it in advance. I was stabbed. So the request has been fulfilled. It hurt and it was painful, huh? That’s what you wanted, right? I even have scars here.”

He raised his left arm. With the arm guard properly worn, of course, no scars showed.

“That crazy bastard.”

An assassin muttered.

“There’s no originality in your insults.”

Encrid answered nonchalantly. He had a natural talent for twisting a person’s stomach without needing to learn it.

“You!”

The man was too busy getting angry.

Assassins specialized in stabbing from the dark.

If things went wrong, they cut and stabbed and killed—but how often did they trade provocations?

And how often had they been provoked like this?

So it worked.

Regardless of skill, he’d stolen every assassin’s attention.

One sword strike and a few words.

Before he knew it, Jaxson had vanished. He did what he had to do without being told.

The white-haired one in the center grit his teeth and shouted.

“The information has been leaked! Everyone respond!”

Encrid’s reaction was too fast. So fast that, in his mind, it was impossible unless he knew everything in advance.

And what was with that nonsense afterward?

Stabbed? Where?

After a moment, he realized it was about the request.

He’d been told to kill, and he insisted he’d been stabbed. And then he talked about originality in insults?

It was all nonsense.

From the beginning, he intended to fight.

He was also one of the assassin alliance’s leaders. He knew how to fight when he had to.

All of this was only possible because Encrid had repeated today, but he had no way to know that.

The movements were familiar. Encrid realized again that the assassins had trained for years.

They always opened a fight in the same pattern, no matter the situation.

Those who threw, threw. Those who retreated, retreated. Those who used poison, used poison.

Meanwhile, Jaxson’s movements changed slightly each time across the three days.

At first he’d run around with a longsword, but this time he sprinted along the wall with Stilettos in both hands.

Blood smeared and scattered from the sharp blades.

Four assassins had already been stabbed and killed by them.

Encrid couldn’t help but be impressed.

The opponents reacted the same way, so why was Jaxson different each time?

‘Because of my movements?’

It was only a hunch, but he felt it was right.

“Hit that side first!”

This time the shout didn’t come from the white-haired one, but from the other side. The order was directed at Jaxson.

That was how threatening Jaxson was.

Watching, Encrid slipped away and called One-Eye.

“Give me a ride.”

He ran out of the mansion, and One-Eye stuck to his side.

Markus was at the entrance, already mounted.

Encrid had gestured for him not to dismount, and Markus rode in close.

It was the third today.

Encrid judged that this was better than hiding him somewhere.

Most of his choices were similar to the first today, but not everything could be perfect.

He always lived today like it was the best today—repeating it, putting everything on the line—so he made the best decision he could.

‘Not everything can be perfect.’

He knew. Accepting it was enough.

“Where should I hide?”

“I’ll take care of myself. The lord is tied up at the Royal Palace. It looks like the Royal Guard has stepped in.”

“Oh. I know.”

“…What?”

Doo-doo-doo-doo.

Markus didn’t get another word out. The hooves, already accelerating, swallowed his voice.

Markus veered off to the side.

He seemed to plan on hiding on his own.

Meanwhile, Encrid tore his shirt and bound his injured arm tight.

It wasn’t serious enough to treat immediately.

He ran along the outer road to the Royal Palace, clearing obstacles as he went.

“Wow.”

He even caught a soldier’s stunned face in passing.

At One-Eye’s sudden stop, Encrid launched himself sideways, almost like he was flying.

One-Eye’s eyes widened too, as if asking how that was even possible.

“Thanks.”

Encrid answered roughly and strode into the Royal Palace.

An ill-fated relationship greeted him, as if welcoming him.

“You……”

Thwack!

The moment the man started, Encrid charged with [Will of the Moment] and tore his head off with Silver.

The head flew and struck the clean white wall beside the palace garden.

Thwack.

Blood patterned across the wall.

Before the dog-barking instructors could react, Encrid jumped into them.

Like a wolf, he stabbed, cut, and killed the flock of sheep who had acted like dogs.

After speaking with the maid, he went inside at the same speed and faced the orange-haired wall.

“Okay, that’s it. Let’s start right away.”

Encrid ran as he spoke. Before Aisia could say anything, he aimed his sword.

Sword Tip Aiming.

Encrid brought his blade down toward the point.

The beginning and end of the fight weren’t much different from before.

He still wasn’t at the level to surpass Aisia.

The only difference was that the man he’d seen on the first day never appeared again.

Instead, the moment Aisia won, she turned away.

“There’s something I need to check.”

She left like that and didn’t return.

Then came blackout.

After that, repetition.

And more repetition.

Encrid kept doing the same thing.