Chapter 399

Lierbart, one of the squad leaders under the Royal Capital Defense Force, knew Encrid. He had spent a few months with him back when he was in the capital.

Of course, he recognized his face.

It was a face you didn’t forget once you’d seen it.

Encrid came into Lierbart’s view as he stood at the front, and naturally, the conversation he’d once had with him resurfaced.

“You’re going to be a knight?”

He’d scoffed.

“You should find another path.”

He’d even offered sincere advice.

There was no reply. That bastard Encrid had just kept swinging his sword. He was always in that spot.

Rain or shine.

“Teach me the sword.”

A man who never stopped begging to be taught.

And the confidence he carried while doing it was almost absurd.

More and more people laughed at him.

More and more people shut him out.

Once, a mercenary who’d only recently picked up a sword joined them.

Mercenaries usually gathered in a tavern, and Encrid was there too.

At first, the novice swordsman was awkward, but he improved quickly.

He had talent.

He surpassed Encrid in no time and mocked him through sparring.

“No, how are you still at this level after swinging your sword like that? I don’t get it. Shouldn’t you just quit?”

The face of the man who giggled as he said it was still vivid in Lierbart’s memory.

What was that bastard’s name again?

He couldn’t remember. But he remembered the expression Encrid had shown him.

Encrid hadn’t been angry. He hadn’t despaired.

He’d been indifferent. Calm and composed.

Was he really?

Wasn’t he rotting from the inside?

Lierbart watched. Not intentionally. He was simply curious.

Encrid swung his sword the next day too.

More and more people looked down on him.

“Why do you keep hanging around that guy?”

Some said that to Lierbart. It wasn’t that he was defending Encrid.

“It’s none of your business, is it?”

He just didn’t like those annoying bastards clustering together and running their mouths.

And Encrid never changed.

Even after being beaten to the brink of death.

Even after being overtaken by someone else.

He swung his sword, and swung it again.

For what?

‘A knight?’

Was that even possible?

What kind of knight was a third-rate—at best second-rate—swordsman?

Among those whose talent reached the sky and were called geniuses, only a handful became knights.

That was what a knight was.

“Get a grip.”

Lierbart had said it back then, half out of pity.

Of course, Encrid hadn’t listened.

Back then, Encrid had been known for a few things.

A childish sense of justice and recklessness.

Meager talent that never changed.

That was all the name Encrid meant.

Lierbart looked at the enemy soldiers lined up in the distance.

The first thought that hit him was simple.

‘Run.’

‘We can’t even compete.’

An overwhelming force. A refined army.

The Count’s army—rebels now—standing there to kill them.

That was what his years as a mercenary and his career in the Capital Defense Force told him.

If they fought here, they would die.

A dog’s death.

‘Why am I standing here?’

Out of a childish sense of justice?

Because he’d gotten attached to a few gold coins?

Or was it something else?

When he quit being a mercenary, there hadn’t been a grand reason.

He had a wife.

He had a child.

A woman who spoke of love while gazing at flower petals and the moon.

A child who called him Dad.

“Why are you going so far? Your palm is torn.”

He’d asked Encrid that.

Why did he push himself that far?

Why did he train as if he were risking his life?

Why didn’t he back down, no matter how many times he was beaten?

Deep down, he already knew the answer.

Protection.

Protect the one behind you. Don’t turn away from honor. Build a belief.

Words Encrid used to say—after saving people with reckless courage.

Things he shouted with his body even when his mouth stayed shut.

Lierbart had seen corpses while cleaning up what had happened in the Royal Palace.

There was a bastard who used to beat Encrid and do all sorts of things to him.

The instructor who oppressed and crushed others had been torn apart and scattered across the floor.

‘Should I say he deserved it?’

The one who killed him was Encrid.

A name defined by meager talent.

Lierbart felt dazzled.

Not because sunlight pierced his eyes.

There were people in this world so bright you couldn’t look straight at them.

He wouldn’t care whether someone called him a hero or a shining star.

Because he stayed planted where he stood and proved himself.

‘Encrid.’

That name was all Lierbart could repeat in his mind.

He watched Encrid step forward to fight.

It was clear.

Even though he felt dazzled, his eyes didn’t turn away.

Lierbart couldn’t read the flow of the battle.

But he knew one thing.

It was fierce. Endlessly fierce.

As if Encrid had thrown his entire life into it.

Blood splattered. Sparks lit the air.

The man fighting Encrid dropped his sword, drew a secondary weapon from his waist, and swung.

A machete.

Encrid met it with the sword in his hand.

Clang!

A thunderous sound erupted, the impact spreading like ripples.

Goosebumps rose. Every hair on Lierbart’s body stood on end.

He forgot his frustration toward the enemy and stared only at Encrid’s back.

Encrid was alone.

Alone in front of an enemy army that didn’t dare step out.

He had already cut down several, and now he was clashing blades with the one who had finally come forward.

Something like light burst between them as they collided.

Encrid’s body flew back and rolled.

The opponent only staggered a few steps.

Lierbart watched Encrid roll.

He wasn’t the kind of man who stopped just because he fell. Lierbart knew that.

Thud.

Lierbart slammed the spear shaft into the ground.

Thud.

Then he did it again.

“For Naurilia.”

He murmured it.

A word that wouldn’t be heard. A word that wouldn’t reach anyone.

A word only for himself.

Because he was here for the country, for the people, for his wife, for his child—for everything.

He had to protect the person behind him.

At Lierbart’s motion, the surrounding soldiers began striking the ground with their spear shafts, one by one.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

The mismatched beats naturally aligned.

No commander had ordered it. They were simply moved by the man who had stepped forward ahead of them and fought.

‘Also, for my shining hero.’

Lierbart muttered inwardly and drove the spear shaft into the ground again.

And Encrid, who had fallen, rose.

It looked like the two exchanged words, but he couldn’t hear them.

Thud, thud, thud.

Only the sound of spear shafts striking the earth echoed.

—

Pressing forward without even breathing, Lierbart was the first to change things up.

He lowered his sword and swung a machete.

Encrid didn’t slow down or catch his breath.

He simply thrust Silver out—a strike driven by the Heart of Monstrous Strength, even with imperfect posture.

A swing that forced power beyond the limits of a human body.

That was how the two blades met.

The moment they collided, an intangible pressure surged from the machete’s edge and slammed into Encrid’s abdomen and chest.

Too sudden. Too close to deflect.

Encrid clenched his teeth, endured it with his body, and forced his sword down anyway.

That was why it ended like this.

His body flew backward, and his opponent staggered a few steps back as well.

As Encrid spun through the air, the world spun with him.

He recovered his balance quickly, fully aware of being thrown back.

But even after he regained his footing, the sky still seemed to whirl. The ground too. The opponent’s shape stretched and warped.

Something hot surged up from inside him, and he spat it out.

“Ugh.”

A mouthful of blood spilled out.

He felt better, and the dizziness cleared.

“What’s that?”

Then he asked.

“It’s a magic sword.”

Lierbart replied.

Encrid didn’t think it was unfair.

While he was getting up, a thumping sound had been ringing through the air for some time.

Somehow, it echoed like his own heartbeat.

Strangely, it sounded like a cheer.

‘My stomach’s a bit sore.’

His head still swam.

Did that matter?

No.

Not at all.

Encrid asked himself, answered himself, then picked his sword back up.

He was going to end it.

Lierbart glanced at his dented shoulder armor and breastplate.

‘Is it a difference in talent?’

He pushed the thought aside and looked at Encrid.

The opponent’s body seemed larger than before.

It could have been willpower.

It felt more like the weight of discipline.

Of course, he could keep pushing, but there was no need.

It wouldn’t matter if he gave them a day’s grace.

In fact, giving them one more day was closer to what the Count truly wanted.

For that reason, Lierbart admitted defeat plainly.

He also admitted that if he fought any longer, he would be pushed back.

“You won.”

An unexpected statement.

Encrid only stared at him.

“The goddess of fortune is still the same today.”

Regret was embedded in Lierbart’s voice.

And beneath that regret was something deeper—resentment toward the world itself.

“But it doesn’t matter. Nothing will change anyway.”

“Aren’t you going to do more?”

Encrid cut him off.

“That’s it for today. I’ve lost interest.”

The thudding of spear shafts against the earth still rang out.

That echo sounded like an order to protect the man named Encrid.

More than that, he could see the ones who had come closer while they fought.

Rem and Ragna. Aisia. Dunbakel.

On the other side were Malten, Benukt, and Banat.

It was as if the core forces of both armies had gathered.

‘No, there’s one more.’

An assassin with first-rate—or higher—skill.

Lierbart pinpointed the position with senses beyond a normal human’s limits.

Under the shadow cast by the horse. A man subtly hid his body behind the horse’s torso.

When Lierbart looked directly at him, he shifted one step to the side—like he didn’t care if he was seen.

It was Jaxson.

“It’s a waste to burn everything here. You need to know that battles aren’t just sword fights.”

Lierbart turned away.

At his gesture, his beloved black horse—his companion for many years—approached.

He retrieved his fallen sword, gathered his equipment onto the horse’s armored body, and climbed up.

“You’re boring.”

Encrid tossed out a provocation, but Lierbart didn’t answer.

“Next time, it won’t be boring.”

For someone who claimed to have lost, his momentum didn’t falter at all.

Their eyes met.

Lierbart thought of the goddess of fortune and cursed her.

Encrid looked at him and wondered if this was really all there was.

His instincts told him it couldn’t be.

This couldn’t be the end of it.

“The battle is tomorrow. It will start at dawn. This is the respect I show you for defeating me.”

Lierbart turned his horse away.

Encrid watched him.

‘Should I stab him in the back now?’

He didn’t want to.

He didn’t do things he didn’t want to do.

It wouldn’t be the right way, either.

And it wouldn’t mean anything.

He knew that by instinct and by reason.

If the enemy forced an all-out battle right now, his side would be at a disadvantage.

If they retreated, they’d owe them silver coins in thanks.

Thud, thud, thud.

An army kept striking the ground with spear shafts.

Their discipline was high, but that was all.

Even if morale rose, their numbers wouldn’t.

If a melee broke out without preparation, the side with fewer soldiers would suffer.

So what could he do to raise their odds—even a little?

Encrid knew.

Buy time. Prepare. Fight in formation.

Gain even the smallest advantage.

That was why he had stepped forward in the first place.

So there was no point in chasing down Lierbart now.

Encrid turned around as well.

Lierbart was already riding away, so the distance between them widened quickly.

“Why are you coming out to greet me?”

Encrid asked when he saw the others approaching from about halfway between the main force and where he’d been fighting.

“I was going to bury an axe in you if you died.”

“The no-breathing tactic was good.”

“Why is there nobody easy to deal with?”

Rem spoke while holding an axe, Ragna spoke while holding an apple seed, and Dunbakel spoke while glancing at Encrid’s back.

Last, Aisia stared at Encrid and said—

“Cool bastard.”

He didn’t know exactly what she meant, but he understood enough.

It was a word that came out because he had shown what he could do.

What had he shown?

Proof that three Todays were enough to face the Junior Knight of Severance.

And proof carved into everyone watching—engraving the name Encrid into them.

If this unit lost momentum, it had nothing left.

Encrid had created that momentum and piled more on top of it.

Thud, thud, thud, thud!

The spear shafts struck the ground in time with his heartbeat.

Encrid returned to the main force, listening to that sound.

No one spoke to him.

But everyone watched him.

—

“How was it?”

“He’s strong. He’s better than me.”

“So?”

“I have to kill him.”

“Do so.”

Lierbart returned to the Count.

The Count asked, and answered, in a bored tone.

He had postponed the start of the full-scale battle until tomorrow morning.

That was fine.

No—more than fine.

It was what the Count wanted.