Chapter 401

At the crack of dawn, both armies moved.

The two forces lined up in much the same formation as yesterday.

The wide-open plains were the stage, and the blowing wind was the spectator.

Instead of those who had stepped forward before, archers, infantry, and some cavalry filled the ranks.

Though they hadn’t promised it, the commanders on both sides took the sunrise as their signal.

Encrid watched as he walked.

His steps were light, as if he were out for a stroll.

It wasn’t a real stroll.

He’d meticulously armed himself with three swords and even the Whistle Dagger.

Something else had changed, too. The placement of his swords was slightly different.

Silver on his left hip, Blazeblade on his right.

Each sat where it suited the hand that would draw it, and the Gladius hung behind his back, secured by a loop on his belt so it lay straight.

The tip had chipped in yesterday’s fight, shortening the blade, and wearing it this way was more comfortable now.

The sword was shorter by about two finger joints.

‘Would the dwarf who made this be upset if he saw it?’

Didn’t they have pride in their weapons?

If elves took pride in the trees, flowers, and plants they raised and were called the children of trees and flowers, then weren’t dwarves the children of iron and flame?

Giants proved themselves through blood and slaughter, so they were the children of hot blood.

Beastkin began as hunters for survival, so they were the children of the mountains and fields.

Dragonkin stood alone, so they were children without parents.

Frok bet everything on their dreams, so they were the children of dreams.

Humans had no symbol, so they could become anything.

It was just idle thought.

Walking alongside the troops, Encrid checked his gear.

The position of each sword, the condition of the sword belt, then he recalculated his movements so the blade on his back wouldn’t get in his way.

‘Block, dodge, and strike.’

Deceive, strike, and slam.

A virtual battle—replaying yesterday’s fight.

Watching him swing his arms and legs as he walked, someone might’ve thought he’d lost his mind, but no one glared or complained.

“Are you fighting with us again today?”

Instead, a soldier worked up the nerve to ask.

A unit had paused while busily forming ranks.

About fifty men—a company-sized group. The commander at the front asked, and fifty pairs of eyes turned to him.

Encrid nodded.

He would fight the same man as yesterday.

It was a hunch, but he was sure of it.

He’d said he lost, yet the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. That man would come again.

He moved between the forming ranks, turning over his footwork in his head until the review was done.

Rem, Jaxson, Ragna, and Dunbakel followed behind him.

“Look at this. It’s getting cloudy.”

Rem spoke.

Encrid, done with his review, looked up as well.

It didn’t look like rain would fall right away, but the sky had thickened.

Dark clouds drifted in, one after another, from the far side. Their movement was visible—fast enough to stand out.

Still, there was no scent of rain. Dunbakel sniffed, her nose twitching.

“It won’t fall until tomorrow.”

Ragna looked indifferent, and Jaxson was as expressionless as ever.

Rem grinned, sounding pleased.

“They’re gonna shit their pants.”

Encrid nodded. It made sense.

It meant the battlefield would be brutal and difficult. He’d already talked with Rem at dawn.

“Do you know?”

“Know what?”

“If those guys had charged straight in yesterday, we would’ve been much worse off.”

He didn’t need it explained. He felt it, and he understood it.

The enemy had formed ranks, but their side—though it looked like a formation—wasn’t united in spirit.

And yet the enemy had retreated.

Why?

Was it because the thing on their heads was just a helmet stand? No.

Then it was simple. There was no need to overthink it.

They had something prepared.

‘A preparation they didn’t mind spending a day on.’

Encrid had said as much to Markus, following the same line of thought.

Of course, Markus had seen it too.

“I know. But it’s also an opportunity for us. We needed that time.”

They were outnumbered and less trained.

The other side had unified command. This side’s chain of command creaked.

Still, thanks to Encrid, the creaking joints had been oiled in a single day.

Just having someone like him on their side was comfort—and strength.

Heat and desire spread in the right direction.

Markus took that and used it. He put into motion every arrangement Krang had warned him about.

Because of that, crows flew without pause all night.

In other words, the enemy had prepared something while handing them a day.

But that day had been necessary for them, too.

“So that’s why you grilled meat.”

Rem said.

His thought vanished as soon as it appeared.

He’d been full of complaints even while capturing and killing the Immortal Madman.

Why wouldn’t he be?

It hadn’t been a proper fight, just chasing down a man who kept running.

Rem wanted to fight.

He wanted to fight until blood splattered everywhere.

Desire and craving boiled over. He wanted to burn it all and move.

A bonfire piled high with wood—its flames ready to leap to everything around it.

‘I’ll burn everything and fight.’

They said you had to burn your soul to fight if you wanted to be a hero.

Encrid watched Rem.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

His fervor seemed excessive today.

And it wasn’t just him. Ragna felt it too. So did Jaxson.

Neither said anything. Dunbakel looked mildly concerned, and Esther sat atop One-Eye.

The two armies stood precariously within bow range.

Their commanders shouted at the same time, like mirrored twins.

“Fire!”

Arrows came first—the battle’s opening signal.

Thump thump thump thump!

Pwoooooooo!

Drums and trumpets filled the plains, and above them, arrows blanketed the sky.

Their longbowmen numbered five hundred.

The enemy had over a thousand.

The volleys met in the air.

Straight, sturdy trees like oak or pine were cut down, trimmed into shafts, fitted with metal heads, and fletched with feathers fixed in place with glue.

And so, short lengths of wood with sharp points took lives.

Thwack!

A soldier unlucky enough to catch an arrow through a gap in his helmet collapsed.

There weren’t many unlucky ones.

The front line infantry braced behind angled shields and endured.

“Charge!”

The enemy moved first.

From the start, Markus had set a defensive posture, so it was the natural outcome.

Cavalry broke out from the middle of the right flank of the Count’s army.

“Run!”

Lances leveled, they attempted a charge.

If cavalry punched a hole in the line, that alone could decide the battle.

For the Royal Army, the only path to victory was to blunt every attempt the enemy made.

“Move! There! Formation!”

The allied commander’s shout cracked out.

His call was sharp—he spotted the point of impact at once.

Infantry surged to where the charge was aimed.

It was the commander who had spoken to Encrid earlier.

His mouth opened again.

“Pikes! Advance!”

Whoosh whoosh!

Spears rose as one.

They tensed their arms and drove the butt ends into the ground, as if pinning them there.

Pikes were long spears. These were pikemen drilled to the same motion.

A wall of points formed—the best answer to cavalry.

It was already too late for the riders to veer away.

Thud thud thud thud!

Hooves thundered as the vanguard slammed into the spear wall.

Thwack thwack thwack!

Blades punched through horse and rider.

Blood sprayed. Bones cracked from every direction.

Horses died, and some riders were flung aside.

The speed of the charge turned into the tool that killed them.

“Kuaaaack!”

“Uaaack!”

The screams declared that this was hell.

Allied soldiers rushed the ones who’d survived the fall, drawing longswords to stab and hack them down.

Thwack! Crack!

“Die!”

“Damn it!”

Even so, a few horses forced their way through gaps in the wall.

Warhorses were weapons on their own. Being crushed under their weight was common.

No—if an arm or leg snapped, survival would be difficult even then.

A few horses went down, opening holes in the pikes.

The soldiers behind stepped in at once, stabbing into the gaps to seal them.

“Charge! Charge!”

The enemy pressed with numbers.

Even so, the spear wall held.

The men in the crush couldn’t see it, but from a commander’s view, it was a major win.

The opening was good.

Markus clenched his fist.

Then the enemy shifted again.

More cavalry emerged from their camp.

‘They’ve prepared all sorts of things.’

Horse archers.

There weren’t many—about fifty riders.

But their mobility made them hard to catch.

‘Even if they just keep shooting while retreating.’

They were skilled enough to do it.

Their leader had rushed in on the first day and died to Encrid’s sword, but the class itself was dangerous.

They angled for the Royal Army’s commander.

A unit anyone would acknowledge as well-trained.

The first blade the Count had sharpened, perhaps.

Encrid’s gaze followed them.

On a flat plain, mounted movement stood out.

‘If they’re left alone, it’ll be a huge blow.’

He understood it, but it wasn’t his moment to move.

‘Markus isn’t an idiot.’

Judging by yesterday’s council, his subordinate commanders weren’t incompetent either.

Before the thought even finished, allied riders surged out to meet them.

Only about a dozen.

At the head rode the owner of orange hair.

Flap flap flap!

A red cloak snapped in the wind.

Aisia and her Squires.

He’d said he wouldn’t borrow the knights’ strength, but they were forces of the Royal Palace regardless.

“For Naurilia!”

Aisia shouted.

She and her Squires spurred forward, chasing down the horse archers in a single rush.

The enemy loosed arrows as they ran.

Aisia lifted her sword and batted the dangerous shots aside.

No shield, just her wrist turning—clean, precise.

Then she closed and caught their tails.

Her blade swept—one neck fell.

Before the severed head hit the ground, her sword punched through the second rider’s back.

She darted sideways, stabbing and slashing without mercy.

Terrifying momentum.

“Fight to the end!”

As the horse archers were cut in half, enemy cavalry poured out and charged the knights.

It didn’t end there.

Enemy infantry began to advance, and among them, three or four who looked especially skilled broke away, aiming for Aisia and her Squires.

—

As infantry churned and individual skill began to flare across the field, Rem ran too.

“I’ll go first!”

The instant Rem kicked off, his body seemed to stretch forward.

It was a technique, not just speed.

Of course, Encrid knew it as well.

If you drove your foot into the ground with brute force, you could send that force forward instead of upward.

It wasn’t easy.

Encrid had learned it through countless days.

Rem sprinted toward the man who had peeled off from the infantry’s side.

That man spotted Rem and angled straight at him.

He carried two hammers.

Rem drew his axe and swung.

The opponent whipped a hammer up to meet it.

Clang!

The noise was deafening.

Infantry scattered, clearing a lane between them.

In that moment, Encrid saw a shadow bloom behind Rem.

A man who’d hidden among the shifting infantry sprang out and stabbed.

Unbelievably quick and agile—a fast, sharp thrust.

It was sudden and hard to read, but Rem twisted and slipped aside.

The blade grazed his lower back.

Rem flowed through the dodge and chopped down with his axe.

The attacker retreated.

There was no need to intervene.

If it was dangerous, Rem could get his own body out of the way.

If it wasn’t, he would win.

Rem was still standing.

“Let’s thin them out.”

Encrid said, taking his eyes off Rem.

“A barbarian who snatches only the best parts.”

Ragna spoke as he stepped forward.

He headed for one side of the enemy infantry.

Step by step, he walked.

The Madman Company had shifted to the edge of the allied line, and with so few of them, they drew little attention.

Everyone was being swallowed by the madness of mass combat.

Encrid watched Ragna’s back.

They said a knight was a disaster against a thousand.

Then what was Ragna, now infinitely close to a knight?

He wasn’t injured. He wasn’t tired.

He’d filled his stomach yesterday.

Ragna slipped into the enemy flank.

No—he seeped in.

In a battle like this, there was no need to search for a path.

You cut down anything that looked like an enemy.

Where Ragna touched, people fell like stacked straw.

His sword moved—whoosh.

A head flew.

No scream. No surprise.

They died without even knowing when it happened.

As Ragna swung with calm precision, the enemy numbers started dropping.

One after another, in moments, bodies piled up—and the enemy finally noticed him.

It changed nothing.

Knowing was a disadvantage.

It was like a grim reaper had stepped into the middle of ordinary soldiers.

Encrid marked a few figures moving with intent among the enemy and spoke.

“Jaxson?”

“Leave it to me.”

He meant he’d handle it himself.

The enemy wasn’t stupid either.

Their adjutants—not the five weapons—were mixing into the common soldiers and moving through them.

A smart tactic.

If elites hid among the rank and file and kept striking, allied numbers would drop fast.

Formation meant little when a small, sharp force could flip the battlefield’s flow.

Stopping them before that happened was the right call.

Jaxson began hunting those differently moving figures, one by one, and—

In the meantime, Encrid walked into the enemy side.

“What is this bastard!”

As he approached a section still lined up and not yet fully committed to the fighting, an enemy soldier shouted without breaking formation.

Encrid ignored him and kept walking.

A huge shadow swallowed him.

A man stood with the sun behind his back.

Big. Very big—bigger even than Audin.

“My name is Benukt. I’m a giant.”

A voice like it echoed out of a cave.

He didn’t need to say it.

From the moment Encrid approached, the man filled his vision.

Benukt raised both fists and settled into a stance.

It reminded Encrid of Audin, somehow.

Encrid drew a sword and lifted it high.

The silver blade bared itself—not in sunlight, but in shadow.

Both men held their stances, reading breath—trying to.

They watched each other, searching for the best instant to seize the advantage.

In that tight silence, Encrid asked,—

“What about your captain?”

Was he stepping up in their leader’s place?

Benukt answered with action, unleashing a giant’s strength.

Bang!

He kicked the ground and turned himself into a cannonball.

He flew as if folding space, shoulder-first, straight into Encrid.

The moment they met—

Boom!

A sound like a bursting drum exploded between them.

Every enemy infantryman poised to charge turned to look.

Dust surged up.

Then the two silhouettes emerged.

Neither had been pushed back.

They had collided and taken the impact, shedding what needed shedding, enduring what needed enduring.

With that single collision, Encrid understood what he needed to.

That the giant Benukt wasn’t as overwhelming as his size suggested.

It wasn’t arrogance or confidence.

It was a cold assessment.