Chapter 64: One Move

After the door was opened, it was Rem who first stepped inside.

“Who—”

He began to speak but didn’t get the chance to finish. Something dropped from above, right over Rem’s head.

As if he had anticipated it, Rem swung his axe vertically. The flash of the blade cleaved through the darkness of the room. Even before his axe had finished its arc, Rem hurled himself to the side, his body moving with the agility of a practiced fighter.

Everything happened in smooth, fluid motions, as if rehearsed.

*Thud.*

The body that crashed to the floor was all that remained to tell of what had just transpired.

“What the hell?”

Krys, peeking in from behind, let out a shocked gasp.

The man had been hiding in the ceiling, clutching two short daggers. But now, his body lay torn open from chest to groin, his insides spilling onto the ground, blood pooling around him. The stench of death and blood filled the air.

“I thought we were just dealing with a petty thieves’ guild.”

Krys muttered under his breath.

“These bastards…”

Rem’s lips curled into a twisted grin.

“Playing tough, huh?”

With that, he strode further into the room. It was quite spacious, the walls built from neatly arranged bricks, earth, and straw. To the right was a corridor that veered off deeper into the hideout.

As Rem advanced, he spoke again.

“Is it you?”

Without waiting for a response, his axe slashed downward, taking another life.

It was another ambusher hiding by the corridor, holding a spear as if preparing to strike. But Rem’s axe had moved faster.

Their enemies were thieves, smugglers—people accustomed to lurking in the shadows and extorting the weak.

But this side? These were soldiers, combat their daily bread.

Moreover, Encrid himself was now a veteran soldier, and the rest of his squad? Far superior to even him in many respects.

‘I knew we had the advantage, but seeing it firsthand is something else.’

Encrid thought as he watched Rem cut down their attackers with ease. The thieves tried to hide and ambush in the dark, their daggers and crude weapons aimed for vital spots. Yet Rem smashed through their every attempt without faltering. It wasn’t reckless madness but a cold, quiet ferocity.

Rem moved with a wild energy, slashing his axe through any who dared to come near.

“Or maybe it’s you?”

He spoke every time he killed.

“Is it you?”

*Slash!*

“Is it?”

The fifth ambusher had his head split in two, yet Rem still asked the same question.

“Dead men can’t answer you,” Encrid remarked from behind.

Rem, with blood still dripping from his axe, scratched his head with the handle.

“I know, but the ones still alive aren’t saying anything either.”

Perhaps the living had the answers, but none had spoken yet.

The corridor led to a few more rooms—two on the left, one on the right—and straight ahead was a large reception room. It wasn’t a particularly complicated layout. Two bedrooms, a pantry, and what seemed like a kitchen made up the entire place.

And the five ambushers were all dead.

No one had said a word.

“For a crime ring, they sure were well-prepared. Maybe these really are the ones who targeted you, Squad Leader.”

Krys examined the bodies closely before looking up.

“None of these faces are familiar.”

Encrid nodded. It confirmed two things: he didn’t recognize any of them, but they were likely the ones who had been sent after him.

‘Am I lucky, or is this bad luck?’

Truthfully, half of Encrid’s actions were based on a hunch, using the attempted assassination as an excuse to pursue them. He had known the thieves’ guild was likely involved in criminal activities like forging identification tokens and smuggling assassins, but…

‘Targeting a professional soldier in the Border Guard?’

In this city, no gang could afford to make such bold moves without severe consequences. Yet they had done it. They must have had their reasons.

Not that Encrid cared about those reasons.

They had taken a gamble, and his wild guess had hit the mark, like an arrow piercing a boar’s skull.

“Wait, is that all?”

Rem asked, rummaging through the rooms. There was no one left to fight—just the five who had already fallen.

In the end, it had all been dealt with by Rem alone.

“There’s no way this is it. Given how prepared they were, and the fact that Jaxson’s intel was spot on…”

Krys stepped forward, pulling out a flint and striking it against a piece of straw he found on the floor. The small fire sparked to life, its light driving away the cold darkness of the room.

He gathered up more straw, making a makeshift torch, then scoured the surroundings. After a few moments, Krys stomped his heel into the reception room floor.

*Thunk.*

A hollow sound echoed. The floor was empty underneath.

“I’ll handle it.”

Audin stepped forward. A cheap fur rug covered the floor, along with a chair resting on top of it. Audin grabbed the rug by the edge and yanked it aside, sending the chair tumbling with a heavy crash.

Then, once again, Audin performed his “knock.”

*Thud.*

With a single downward punch, a hole was created in the wooden trapdoor.

Audin reached in and unlatched the lock from inside.

“Where does this lead?”

“To the real hideout,” Jaxson replied calmly, as if he had expected it all along.

Rem glanced at Encrid.

In the flickering light of the makeshift torch, Rem’s eyes glinted a fierce red, his natural gray color all but overtaken by the flames’ reflection.

“We’re moving forward,” Encrid said before Rem could even ask. If they had come this far, they might as well finish the job.

This wasn’t just about wiping out a small group of criminals. This was a guild—a large, organized force. If they were the ones who had come for him, then they had to be dealt with.

No sane person would leave their enemies alive after they had made an attempt on their life.

And Encrid was far from foolish.

“Of course,” Rem grinned, taking the lead once again. The tunnel wasn’t long.

In less than half an hour, they reached another passage that led upward.

It was unbearably cold, but by now Rem had discarded his makeshift blanket long ago. His body shivered visibly, but even that seemed to stoke a hidden rage within him.

“There are people up there.”

Jaxson, who was walking right behind Rem, noted quietly. Someone was waiting.

“They expected us to come,” Krys muttered from the back.

“These thieves shouldn’t be allowed to run free in the city,” Audin added, stepping up. He seemed to have a knack for breaking down doors, and this time was no different.

He climbed the uneven dirt steps two at a time, twisted his body, and slammed into the door at the top with his shoulder and back.

It was an unusual technique.

Encrid’s eyes glimmered with interest.

*Boom!*

The door flew off its hinges like it had been hit by a cannonball or a fire spell. The next thing they heard were the startled shouts of the men inside.

And then, once again, it was Rem’s show.

“Is it you!?”

He yelled, leaping through the doorway. His first step landed on the floor, his second on Audin’s thigh, launching him into the air, axes raised high.

From where Encrid stood below, all he could see was Rem’s back and the swing of his axe.

The result was immediate. Thuds of bodies dropping and the wet splatter of blood trickled down from the entrance.

“That brother of ours has no manners, stepping on someone’s thigh like that,” Audin said, brushing the dust from his leg. He was next through the door, followed by Jaxson, Ragnar, Encrid, and Krys.

*Fwoosh.*

As they entered, they found the room lit by torches on every wall.

“I was wondering what kind of lunatics would come here.”

A voice spoke up.

Encrid surveyed the room.

There were at least thirty men, all armed.

Spiked clubs, shortswords, spears, and even blackjacks filled with sand hung in their hands.

Their weapons were varied, but their intent was clear.

Thanks to the torches, the room was brightly lit.

Krys tossed his now useless makeshift torch into the trapdoor they had just emerged from, then let out a whistle.

“Wow, that’s quite a crowd.”

Indeed, it was.

Encrid had to agree.

“Soldiers, huh?”

A voice rang out, coming from a man standing among the group of armed thugs. He stood apart from the rest, dressed in fine silk clothes with a magical beast-hide coat draped over his shoulders. A polished cane with a gemstone at the top rested in his hand, not because he needed it to walk, but as a symbol of wealth and status.

Encrid glanced at him.

“Are you the Gilpin gang?”

Instead of answering the man’s question, Encrid responded with one of his own. The finely dressed man scowled, clearly not pleased.

“Why does everyone seem so eager to die these days?”

Encrid ignored the man’s arrogance and cut straight to the point.

“We’re here to ask about the ambush that happened inside the Border Guard.”

But before he could say more, Rem interrupted.

“Was it you?”

It was a blunt question, short and direct.

At first, Encrid was confused about why Rem kept asking the same thing, but now it made sense—he was trying to figure out if these men were behind the assassination attempt.

It was a straightforward approach that matched Rem’s style, though whether it would work remained to be seen.

‘If it were me, I wouldn’t answer either.’

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man replied confidently, without any hesitation. His calmness, however, only made him more suspicious.

Encrid’s squad, however, didn’t need more than suspicions to act.

“Looks like that’s our guy,” Jaxson muttered.

“Yeah, that’s definitely him,” Ragnar added. And for once, Ragnar’s typically half-closed eyes were wide open, locking on to the man.

Ragnar, who usually moved through life as if half-asleep, was fully alert now, focusing on their adversary with an intensity rarely seen.

“Brother, did you really target our Squad Leader?” Audin asked, stepping forward. The group of men standing near the finely dressed leader visibly flinched at the sight of him.

In the flickering torchlight, Audin’s massive frame appeared even more imposing. At nearly two meters tall, he towered over most men, his body rippling with muscle. His arms were thicker than most people’s thighs.

Encrid’s entire squad was built like warriors—trained, hardened, and tough—but even among them, Audin stood out. His sheer size and the thickness of his muscles made him seem like one of the strongest men in the entire continent.

“So, is it true, Brother?” Audin pressed, his deep voice adding to the tension in the air.

“What are you talking about? Why the hell would I send assassins to kill some random soldier?!” The finely dressed man blurted out, clearly unnerved by Audin’s presence.

Encrid’s eyes narrowed. “I never mentioned assassins.”

He had only brought up the ambush, never specifying that assassins were involved.

The man’s face stiffened, his earlier calmness fading into something colder and more calculating.

“And what of it?” The man’s voice dropped to a sneer, the act of indifference slipping away.

He knew they were guilty, and now he didn’t even care to hide it. Thirty armed men surrounded him, ready to strike at his command. The information had clearly leaked somewhere, giving them time to prepare for Encrid and his squad’s arrival.

But that didn’t change anything.

Encrid wasn’t here to prove guilt.

He was here to deal with it.

“Well, what now?” The finely dressed man asked, clearly believing that the numbers on his side made him invincible.

Encrid, however, remained calm. It didn’t matter if there were thirty of them or a hundred.

They weren’t prepared for who they were up against.

Encrid spoke with cold resolve, “This is your last chance.”

He drew his longsword, letting the blade scrape the frozen ground as he dragged it forward, drawing a line in the dirt. The gesture was simple, but it had weight. Several of the men in the crowd flinched at the sound of steel on stone.

In the cold winter night, with nothing but torchlight illuminating the space, the line Encrid drew became a boundary.

It wasn’t a question.

It was a choice.

“Anyone who’s never killed the innocent, who’s willing to surrender and go to prison, or who doesn’t want to die, drop your weapons and cross the line.”

This wasn’t a battlefield.

This wasn’t war.

From this point on, it would be a slaughter. Even criminals deserved one chance, and Encrid was offering it.

“If you don’t, you’ll die tonight,” Encrid warned.

The air grew tense as the thugs exchanged uncertain glances. Some of them looked ready to take Encrid’s offer, their grips on their weapons loosening, but none moved.

Not yet.

“Is this guy serious?” One of the criminals sneered.

“Who’s gonna die here?”

“Has he lost his mind from fear?”

“Hey, did you piss yourself?”

They jeered at him, mocking his attempt at mercy. One thug even spun a finger near his head, making a gesture to indicate Encrid had gone mad.

No one crossed the line.

“Are you really going to give them another chance, Squad Leader?” Rem asked, his voice filled with impatience.

Encrid didn’t feel ashamed or regretful. His goal had been to offer them a way out, not to indulge in unnecessary bloodshed.

Brother Audin leaned closer and whispered, “Brother, they are blinded by greed. They will not see the truth until they are forced to confront it.”

Killing them all outright was still a bad option.

Encrid decided to try one last thing.

“Which one of you is the best with a sword?”

This was no longer a matter of words or intimidation. Encrid knew he had improved. No longer was he a mere soldier struggling to survive. He had confidence now.

It was time to prove that strength.

“Send someone out to face me.”

The finely dressed man snorted, waving his hand dismissively.

One of his thugs stepped forward, looking smug.

“You’re a cocky one, aren’t you?”

The man had the appearance of a seasoned fighter, perhaps a mercenary. His beard and weathered features suggested he was in his late thirties or early forties, though his exact age was hard to tell.

“You’re gonna regret this. Just walk away now before you get yourself killed—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the man thrust his spear forward, abandoning all pretense of conversation.

This was the “Valen-style mercenary technique”—attack without warning, mid-sentence, to catch your opponent off guard.

It was a technique Encrid recognized all too well.

His opponent’s spear jabbed forward, but it was a level below the precision of the assassin Encrid had faced on his first day of regression. It wasn’t as sharp or deadly as Mitch Hurrier’s halberd thrusts, either.

Encrid dodged the strike easily and moved in close, his blade rising in a single smooth motion.

From below to above, the strike was flawless.

*Thrust!*

It took just one move.

The fight ended in an instant.

Encrid had seen enough to gauge his opponent’s skill. The man’s level was almost identical to how Encrid had fought before he began his endless regressions.

That’s why Encrid knew, without a doubt, that he had already surpassed his former self.

‘At this level…’

He didn’t need to die again. He could tell from a glance how this fight would end.

One move was all it took.

The mercenary gurgled as blood poured from the wound in his chest. Encrid pushed him aside with ease, pulling his sword free from the man’s body.

As the corpse hit the cold ground, steam rose from the pooling blood, vanishing into the icy night air.

Silence fell over the room.

Encrid’s one strike had been enough to drive home the point. Everyone’s eyes were now fixed on him, their expressions slowly changing.

Encrid’s voice echoed through the room.

“Who’s ready to cross the line?”