Chapter 384

“Half a day. From the start, my plan was just to buy half a day.”

Krang said it right before the fight. Even Matthew was hearing it for the first time.

As soon as Matthew heard those words, he glanced outside. The sun hadn’t set yet. It wasn’t even close to sunset.

‘Do I have to hold out until evening?’

He knew it wouldn’t be easy.

But—

Whoosh.

With a slight bend of his wrist, the whip’s tip shot forward as if it were alive, dancing.

The opponent didn’t even look at it. He tapped the leather section—not the tip—with his elbow.

It was only a tap, but the force running through the whip vanished. It went limp and drooped. He had cut the exact point where the power transferred.

Matthew felt as if his own strength had been cut off. He clenched his teeth and forced power back into his arm.

He swung wide and flung the weighted end forward again, as if throwing it.

Whoosh.

The whip cut through the air.

At the same time, Encrid swung his sword.

A vertical strike from top to bottom, like lightning falling straight down.

Matthew could feel the power packed into it.

‘If he blocks it, there will be an opening.’

Even a Junior Knight wouldn’t avoid that.

The opponent struck the part just above the ricasso of Encrid’s sword and pushed it aside.

He didn’t meet strength with strength. He used skill to spill Encrid’s force off to the side.

Encrid’s body tilted for an instant. He had poured everything into that swing, and his balance slipped.

But he spun on the spot through that imbalance, drew Blazeblade, and stabbed.

An unconventional follow-up, a technique honed while crushing Aisia and coming here.

It was [Will] of the Moment.

Whoosh.

The opponent dodged by twisting his waist, as casually as if avoiding a pebble tossed by a child.

The motion was so natural it felt effortless.

Encrid sheathed Blazeblade, gripped Silver with both hands, and swung, stabbed, slashed. He kept shifting his footwork, changing distance again and again.

Matthew’s force was cut off repeatedly, but he still cracked the whip over and over.

The trident-wielding ally also thrust in whenever she could.

Even injured, she clearly had skill.

The opponent didn’t even properly dodge the trident.

He brushed it away like an annoying fly—deflecting it when it was about to touch him, or striking it with his sword before contact to change its line.

Matthew’s whip wasn’t much of a threat either.

Only Encrid was truly holding the line.

That was why Matthew despaired.

‘Against someone like this, until evening?’

Impossible.

It wouldn’t be strange if Encrid collapsed right now.

A blade grazed above Encrid’s cheek.

Blood beaded from the scratch and scattered in the air. Encrid threw his body sideways and slashed horizontally.

Whoosh.

A slash that looked like it could split the air itself.

The opponent simply took one step back, as if it meant nothing. Encrid’s sword cut through the spot he’d been standing in. He moved without a sound, and the sight filled Matthew’s chest with futility.

It’s a wall. A different kind of being. Different talent. Even different origins.

To hold out against something like that—

‘No way.’

Despair and agony flooded him. His whip hand began to lose strength.

He couldn’t stop his heart from collapsing.

Swinging the whip felt like striking a cliff. You could hit a cliff for a hundred years and never break it. That was too obvious.

When would a whip ever erase a cliff blocking your eyes?

In the meantime, the trident ally took a fatal wound.

Even with Encrid charging in, hammering away so fiercely it was hard to believe he was breathing, it still happened.

The opponent flicked a dagger backward. It slipped through the gap in her breath, sliced her neck, and passed through. The skill was terrifying—enough to raise goosebumps.

Blood sprayed and gurgled. She clutched her neck with both hands, and Krang hurried over and wrapped it tight with cloth.

Matthew caught fragments of what Krang said.

“Hold on.”

There was no time to look back. A thought that had been stirring in Matthew’s mind finally surfaced.

‘Is this meaningful?’

If saving Krang was possible, it would be meaningful. If holding out achieved that, he would do it.

But he couldn’t even do that.

Soon he wouldn’t be able to stop this man at all, and Krang would die. Should he have forced Krang to flee to the end?

No. Krang had said that if he did, he’d become someone whose heart died first.

Matthew’s heart was being painted over with black.

“Hah!”

Bang!

A shout and a roar exploded. It was so loud his ears rang. The shout itself, and the impact that followed, abused his eardrums.

That much momentum. That much collision.

Matthew saw the man facing the enemy with blood dripping from his side, sword raised.

He saw the back of black hair. A broad back. And unlike Matthew, momentum that hadn’t diminished at all.

“Got you,” Encrid said.

“I let you catch me,” the opponent replied.

It was the enemy—curly brown strands clumped and hanging over his forehead—who spoke.

Only then did Matthew see his face clearly.

“Let’s do more,” Encrid said.

What was in that voice?

Before Matthew realized it, their positions had shifted. It happened because Encrid never stopped hammering forward.

That let Matthew see Encrid’s face—and the moment he did, Matthew’s heart hurt. The hair on his body stood on end, starting from his toes.

Matthew knew.

He could never hold out until evening.

Winning against the enemy who had just appeared was too far away for Encrid.

As proof, blood flowed from Encrid’s side. His cheek was scratched. The guard on his left forearm was shredded from being cut.

And yet—

‘He’s smiling.’

Encrid was smiling. Even as blades met and his flow was cut off again and again, he kept smiling.

The moment Matthew saw it, the black paint of despair inside him faded.

As if sunlight pierced in from somewhere, a white beam cutting through the darkness.

Strength returned to Matthew’s arm.

He lifted the whip and swung it again.

Several more exchanges passed.

In the middle of it, Matthew dodged three daggers thrown at him.

He wouldn’t have dodged all three without luck. Matthew admitted that.

And those daggers were only this “weak” because Encrid interfered. If Matthew had been alone, he never could’ve blocked them.

The fourth dagger—one he couldn’t dodge—buried itself in his thigh.

‘I thought he’d aim for my neck right away.’

Against an enemy far below his level, he first crippled mobility.

‘No. That must be because of Encrid, too.’

Because Encrid was there, the dagger ended up in Matthew’s leg instead of his neck.

Matthew retreated. He would only get in the way now.

Krang, behind him, hooked an arm under Matthew’s armpit and supported him.

“You mustn’t go near.”

“I know that much. I’ll lose, right?”

“We’re holding out.”

“But why is he smiling?”

“…I don’t know.”

Krang’s eyes sparkled even as he spoke. Matthew barely held himself together because of what Encrid was showing him.

Even so, it was still far too early for the sun to set.

“When are the reinforcements coming?” Matthew asked.

Protecting Krang was his duty.

But above that, beyond that, another wish rose up on its own.

‘I can’t let that guy die here.’

He had to save Encrid. If necessary, Matthew was ready to throw his body in.

Why?

He didn’t know.

His whole body was filled with elation.

He was filled with the certainty that Encrid wasn’t someone who would die here.

“If that guy has any sense, he’ll come a little earlier,” Krang said.

He dragged over a chair, sat Matthew down, and checked the wound in his thigh.

Krang wasn’t an ordinary man either—to tend wounds in this situation.

Krang’s gaze shifted, naturally, to the ally who’d taken the fatal neck wound.

“She won’t die,” Krang said. “If we hold out well.”

Both of them turned to look in one direction.

A fight so intense it was hard to interfere.

One man cut off flow, wielding his sword like a doll without emotion.

The other was a wild horse. He exploded forward, ran, and spared nothing.

—

His flow was cut off. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t continue.

He wasn’t just slightly above Aisia—he was definitely Rem’s level.

No. Worse than that?

Encrid didn’t know. Now wasn’t the time to think.

He slashed vertically, slashed horizontally, stabbed, curved strikes into hits, and mixed in Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship.

A feint. He pretended to be out of breath to lure him in, and the opponent closed distance without hesitation.

Encrid aimed for that and stabbed with Blazeblade.

[Will] of the Moment—the limit of what he’d refined through Aisia.

That stab was lightning, reaching its point in an instant.

He poured in everything he had learned about speed, from the thrusting pervert on the first today to everything that followed.

Even so, it was blocked.

Blocked by a movement so simple it felt absurd.

Ting. Tiding.

The opponent lifted a short sword like it was a toy, twisted it to the side, and Blazeblade slid along its surface.

A Flowing Sword so delicate it looked unreal.

Encrid released Blazeblade in the air and surged forward with Silver. He turned his whole body into an arrow.

He charged as fast as the opponent narrowed the space.

The gap shrank. Encrid had let go of his sword and stepped into grappling distance.

Before he knew it, the opponent had already retreated—jumping back with a whoosh, as if he’d vanished.

The flow was cut off again.

Encrid ignored it.

He stretched his foot back and kicked up the falling Blazeblade with his heel.

Thud.

He caught the sword as it flew over his head, and before his body fully settled, he reached out and snatched Silver from the air.

The opponent, watching, had already stepped in and stabbed.

A man who specialized in prying open gaps. He cut the flow and fought only at the timing he wanted.

Even so, Encrid endured.

Normally, he would’ve hated this kind of fight. He would’ve cursed the unfairness. He would’ve complained about pain.

Encrid didn’t.

‘I’ve never seen it before.’

It was new. Different. And that made it fun.

“I’m going to kill you and kill Aisia,” the man said, like he was listing what he’d eat for dinner.

Flat tone. Simple fact.

If Encrid died, today would repeat.

But if only Aisia died—

Would today still repeat?

“I’m not going to leave while losing more.”

Krang’s words held will.

To someone who had repeated today, was worry a reason to waste the present?

‘I don’t know.’

Encrid didn’t want to know anything.

Right now, he just had to swing his sword.

That was enough.

“Hoo-ha!”

A shout mixed with joy and elation.

In the moment he was enjoying it—when only himself and the sword, the enemy and the sword, attack and defense, swordsmanship and martial arts filled his mind—joy overflowed until it spilled out.

The experiences compressed through repeated todays fused into one.

His body moved before thought.

Like a god was gripping his limbs and moving them.

And he could see the opponent’s movement before it happened.

The opponent would lift his sword to the upper right of his head and take a stabbing stance.

Even now, he was gripping the hilt with both hands and raising it.

Encrid watched, stepped his left foot forward half a step, and occupied space.

He twisted at the waist and struck.

Not toward the head.

Toward the forearm.

A downward strike.

It looked no different than before, but he took the timing for the first time.

Half a beat faster.

Compared to a moment ago, it was an ordinary speed and an ordinary line.

Even so, it landed.

Thwack!

It split the guard on the opponent’s forearm. Blood sprayed.

The opponent raised his left arm to block and retreated.

“…Hmm.”

Surprise, but no fuss. His arm was cut. Fine.

Then he continued.

Encrid didn’t even have time to feel triumphant.

The opponent was blandness itself—dry, unseasoned chicken breast.

He used that dry emotionlessness as a weapon.

No joy. No competitive spirit.

So what?

Encrid just kept swinging.

If it worked once, it could work twice.

But it didn’t work right away.

The half-beat strike succeeded only once.

In a fight, rhythm was relative.

He had slipped into the opponent’s rhythm only because his body moved first in that instant.

It didn’t work?

That didn’t matter either.

Encrid feinted a forward rush, then stepped on the wall instead of the floor.

He imitated Aisia’s light movement.

The opponent’s sword came as if he’d been waiting—diagonal, flashing with a whoosh.

Half as fast as before.

Encrid expected it, but the blade slipped toward his head through a gap that was hard to cover.

He yanked back the sword he’d extended to block. If he couldn’t avoid this, he would die.

Thud!

He blocked it, but his right wrist twisted completely.

He tried to twist and deflect, but failed. The force launched his body backward.

Encrid hit the floor on his back with a thud, rolled backward, and stood.

“Ugh.”

Blood spilled from his mouth.

His insides had taken damage from blocking that blow.

It had carried [Will].

Encrid didn’t know it, but it was a technique that transmitted impact into the body of the one blocking through [Will].

His legs shook. His vision blurred.

A body pushed past its limits didn’t obey.

Encrid blinked a few times.

And someone stepped in front of him.

“If you want to kill him, start with me. In return, you’ll spare the back. I think my life is worth that much.”

Krang.

Encrid tried to rise, then realized his ribs were broken.

“Lord!” Matthew shouted.

Encrid forced himself up anyway and spoke.

“Who said you could?”

The opponent had come to kill Krang.

“You have to finish with me, right?”

Encrid was ready to die again. Ready for today to repeat.

Was this another wall?

Then he would overcome it.

But it wasn’t a wall.

Something had twisted. Something had changed.

This wasn’t the same today.

The opponent lifted his sword without emotion.

He was about to repeat his cutting, no matter whether it was Krang, Encrid, or Matthew in the way.

At that exact moment, an eerie premonition flared.

Behind him.

Something flew in with a whoosh.

Bang!

An explosion. A lump smashed through the already-broken window, breaking the frame as it came in.

In an instant, it closed distance and landed in front of Encrid.

Then it struck down at the Junior Knight who had been cutting off the flow.

Through Encrid’s blurred vision, he saw what the newcomer held.

A blade longer and thicker than a normal sword.

Sunset had begun, and orange light poured through the window, outlining the back of the man who had broken through it.

Encrid recognized him and said, voice hoarse.

“He lived.”