Chapter 336

Rem threw his left-hand axe.

The moment his arm carved an arc through the air, the axe spun forward—faster than an arrow.

To Enkrid’s eyes, it was nothing more than a vertical streak of light flashing toward him.

His Sense of Evasion reacted instinctively, moving his body before his mind had fully processed the attack.

He raised his sword, tilting its flat surface to intercept the spinning axe.

From an observer’s perspective, he had moved at the exact same time Rem threw.

Clang!

A crisp sound rang out as the axe deflected to the side.

The impact was heavy.

The force behind the throw was anything but small.

Blocking a thrown axe mid-air—it wasn’t something just anyone could do.

As Rem’s left hand brushed past his waist, a small stone popped into the air.

At first glance, it seemed like a meaningless gesture.

What was so special about tossing a rock?

But that simple motion created an opening, and Enkrid didn’t miss it.

He activated his Will of the Moment and lunged forward with Flicker.

A Lightning Thrust—a technique refined over countless repetitions.

From the contraction of his thigh muscles to the coiling tension across his entire body, it was as if he soared forward.

Through endless battles, through ceaseless practice after witnessing a knight’s blade, his thrust had become sharper than ever.

The flash of steel racing toward Rem was undeniable.

Clang!

Rem angled his remaining axe sideways.

Flicker struck the broad side of the axe head.

The impact caved the metal inward, and Flicker pierced through—embedding itself half a palm’s length into the axe blade.

And yet—

Before Flicker could drive further, its blade suddenly twisted unnaturally.

It wasn’t Enkrid’s doing.

Rem had turned his wrist, redirecting the force.

Had he failed to do so, his head would have been skewered.

Rem knew how to wield flexible swordplay.

Not just adequately—he was exceptionally skilled.

Among their platoon, no one handled weapons better than Rem.

Enkrid acknowledged that.

With a sharp tug, he yanked Flicker free.

Crunch!

The steel blade tore itself out of the axe head.

It had punched through solid metal, propelled by a momentary acceleration and enhanced by the weight of a longsword.

Enkrid was about to follow up when—

Rem pulled out his sling and began whirling it above his head.

The stone he had tossed earlier landed perfectly into the leather pouch.

A piercing whizzing sound rang through the air.

It was as if he had choreographed the entire sequence.

Rem had anticipated everything up to this point.

A battle dictated by prediction, calculation, and adaptability—this was an application of Adaptive Swordplay.

"He got me."

Enkrid had trained in Nameless Swordplay.

And at this moment, he knew he had lost a step in the exchange.

Bang!

The sound of the sling releasing its shot.

The rock hurtled forward.

Faster than the throwing knives Jaxon had once hurled.

Faster than the axe Rem had just thrown.

His Sense of Evasion screamed.

Enkrid felt a fiery heat rush through his eyes and brain.

His focus had never burned so fiercely before.

He activated his full instinctual evasion, relying purely on his reflexes to dodge the projectile.

Pivoting on his left foot, he twisted his body midair.

The stone zipped past, barely grazing his hair.

A loud bang erupted behind him.

It sounded as if a boulder had just crashed down from the sky.

He had no time to catch his breath.

Dodging the stone meant exposing himself to the next attack—

Rem’s follow-up axe swing.

His stance had been broken.

"Hup."

Enkrid inhaled sharply, cutting off his breath.

He swung his silver longsword in a vertical upward arc—in reverse form.

A reversed vertical slash, a counter against heavy weaponry.

Rem’s axe stopped mid-flight—forced to recoil backward.

"Shit."

It was a feint.

Even Enkrid’s instincts had fallen for it.

That meant Rem had fully committed to the attack until the very last second.

A second stone shot forward.

Dodging it nearly cost Enkrid his throat—

The axe edge grazed past, almost slicing through his neck.

If Rem had followed through with full strength—

His head would have been half-severed.

Why was he still alive?

Because his body had instinctively jerked backward, and at the last moment, Rem had pulled his power back.

"You might actually get yourself killed one day."

Rem exhaled, catching his breath.

"Then I’ll just enjoy myself until that day comes."

Enkrid, still sprawled on the ground, grinned as he stood up.

"Dying in a spar? That’s fun to you?"

Rem squinted at him in disbelief.

Without a hint of hesitation, Enkrid replied—

"Yeah. It’s exciting."

"You crazy bastard."

Rem couldn’t hold back anymore.

And yet, they continued sparring.

More than anything, Enkrid was learning new things.

Especially from Rem’s mastery of multiple weapons.

"You know the best way to train against axes, spears, maces, and flails?"

Enkrid didn’t answer.

Rem wasn’t expecting one.

After half a month of grueling, near-death training, he finally spoke:

"You use them yourself."

And so, Enkrid did exactly that.

For the next two weeks, he trained with maces, axes, spears, polearms—

Rem wielded each one as skillfully as he did his axes.

By now, Enkrid’s experience had surpassed mere proficiency.

He quickly grasped key techniques and executed them with ease.

As long as one understood the principles, mastering the fundamentals wasn’t difficult.

"Seriously? You’re this slow?"

Rem grumbled in absolute dissatisfaction.

But the cycle of sparring, training, and refining techniques never stopped.

Still, there was something worth all the effort.

And soon, the time came to put it to use.

The mission had already been decided.

"Our target is something called a Gray Ghoul."

Kraiss, as busy as ever, came bearing the report.

It was an officially sanctioned mission, coordinated with the central authorities to secure more recognition for Border Guard.

Of course, Enkrid didn’t care about any of that.

What mattered was that a real fight was coming.

A proper battle—not just sparring.

And he was excited.

Even so, they weren’t departing immediately.

First, he had unfinished business.

His training for the day wasn’t over yet.

"Wait a moment. I need to finish this first."

It was a chilly spring morning.

Kraiss didn’t bother stopping him.

There was no need.

The ghoul hunt wasn’t urgent.

So he waited, sitting beside a fire pit.

Spring had arrived, but the wind was still cold.

The fire’s warmth wrapped around him.

It made him drowsy.

As he dozed, he thought—

"This mission… it’s the first step toward Border Guard’s rise."

There were plenty of reasons to believe that.

His thoughts began to fade as sleep took him.

***

Elsewhere, the Ferryman watched.

From beyond the realm of mortal perception, he observed the one intertwined with his fate.

And what he saw—

Was death.

Over and over again.

It wasn’t an unbreakable wall stopping Enkrid—it was simply his own insanity.

Was he relying on the repetition of the day?

No.

It was just who he was.

Had he died?

No.

Even at death’s edge, he barely survived.

"Is it skill or luck?"

The Ferryman chose skill.

The combined techniques of two warriors had distorted fate itself.

"What kind of lunatic is this?"

The Ferryman watched.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

He no longer left praise—

Because this madman used praise as fuel to push himself further.

So instead, he simply muttered—

"You crazy bastard."

And left his words in Enkrid’s unconscious mind.

A final, ironic compliment.

***

Enkrid opened his eyes and immediately recalled the final moment before losing consciousness.

Audin’s fist had curved through the air and struck his head.

The flow, the motion, the trajectory—all of it remained vivid in his memory.

"I moved my feet to dodge."

He had initiated an evasive step, but Audin had matched his footwork perfectly.

Despite his massive frame, the man moved far too swiftly.

Normally, taking such a blow would result in memory loss—but whether it was due to the Beast’s Heart technique or his relentless effort to absorb every last trace of his opponent’s movements, his memory remained unbroken.

"He twisted his strike at the last second."

Enkrid had redirected the force of the blow throughout his body.

It was a technique he had internalized after training with Audin.

"I based it on the Commander’s Serpent Sword technique."

And Audin, in turn, had modified it into a completely new strike.

Enkrid couldn’t help but recognize Audin’s brilliance.

To witness a technique and then craft something new from it—that was the work of a genius.

Rem, Jaxon, and even Ragna were the same.

They all had a natural talent for taking techniques and making them their own.

But that wasn’t something to feel discouraged about.

When Enkrid entered the barracks, he saw Kraiss sitting by a brazier, nodding off at a table.

He looked exhausted.

In the corner of the room, Esther watched him indifferently.

"You’re back?"

That was her greeting.

"Yeah."

She shifted between her leopard and human form, and today, she had chosen human.

She still wore her black robe, but this time, underneath, she had donned a deep crimson silk shirt—a rare change in her appearance.

She had taken his advice and covered herself properly.

It suited her well.

"Oh, you’re back?"

At the sound of movement, Kraiss groggily opened his eyes.

He had only managed to get a short nap after Enkrid ran off for his sparring session, leaving him with only the words: Gray Ghoul.

But even that short nap had been refreshing.

"Damn, we’ve been overworking lately. If only we had some good medicine. Jaxon still hasn’t returned?"

The one who supplied Kraiss with all sorts of medicinal herbs was Jaxon.

Of course, Kraiss occasionally procured some himself, but when it came to tonics and stamina boosters, Jaxon was the expert.

"He’ll return when he’s ready."

Enkrid meant it.

Kraiss didn’t press the issue.

"Alright, let’s get to the explanation."

Kraiss rubbed his eyes and sat up straight.

Every task had a proper order.

Every action had a cause and effect.

Doing something with full understanding was different from doing it blindly.

That was Kraiss’s philosophy.

Of course, not everyone shared his mindset.

Ragna had been sleeping more frequently these days.

Rem, uninterested in lectures, had gone off to work on his sling or sharpen the weapons Enkrid had collected.

A warrior’s basic discipline was to maintain their weapons.

Though, if he was being honest, he had been far less meticulous about it in the past.

But times had changed.

They had encountered knights.

Rem knew what that meant.

"If they appear, I can’t just stand by and watch."

Where he had grown up, knights didn’t exist.

Instead, there were warriors known as "Champions."

The term simply meant a person of great valor.

Even the Beastmen had their own Champions—those who stood out above the rest.

But knights?

If he ever faced one, what would he do?

If he didn’t want to be helpless, what did he need?

The same thing Enkrid had been doing all along.

Training. Discipline. Relentless effort.

So that’s what Rem did.

He trained harder than ever before.

For months, he had pushed himself beyond his limits.

"Damn… I’ve never worked this hard in my life."

Aside from the first time he picked up a weapon, this was the hardest he had ever trained.

Maybe even harder.

Enkrid had grown stronger, and keeping up with him was no easy task.

Every spar felt like walking on thin ice.

If things went wrong, he would either lose—or kill his opponent.

The only thing that had lowered the risk was teaching Enkrid how to wield various weapons.

But if he was satisfied with just that, then he wasn’t a true warrior.

"He’s insane."

As always, Rem arrived at the same conclusion about Enkrid.

Sinking into his cot, he closed his eyes.

He had already finished his bathhouse visit, letting the hot water soak into his weary muscles.

That warmth now turned into drowsiness.

Audin had left for his prayers.

Dunbakel and Teresa weren’t particularly interested in the briefing.

Esther, as expected, cared the least.

In the end, the only one left to listen was Enkrid.

And that was fine.

Kraiss had expected it.

It wasn’t as if these people had ever listened to his explanations before.

At least Enkrid, being their commander, was willing to pay attention.

If even he ignored it, now that would be a problem.

"Are you aware of the dangers surrounding Border Guard?"

Kraiss’s speech was long, but Enkrid was a good listener.

Besides, Kraiss knew how to summarize the important parts.

In short:

Three dangerous zones threatened the region around Border Guard.

And one of them needed to be dealt with.

The Land of the Gray Ghouls, located southwest of Border Guard.

Its presence forced trade routes to detour, impacting commerce with the western territory.

"That’s the situation."

Of course, there were political reasons behind why this hadn’t been dealt with sooner.

But Kraiss didn’t bother explaining those.

"Would he even care?"

Enkrid’s sole interest was the monsters he had to kill.

"Ghouls?"

Look at that.

As expected, his only question was about the enemy itself.

For the past few months, Kraiss had been repeating the same words to anyone who sought Enkrid:

"Prepare for an important battle next spring. The entire region will change—get ready."

A noble under Count Molsen’s faction had once asked—

"What kind of change?"

Of course, it wasn’t Viscount Bentra.

After their previous clash, Bentra had no interest in forming any ties with Enkrid.

Kraiss admired Count Molsen’s audacity.

"After everything that happened, he still dares to recruit Enkrid?"

Molsen had ignored the mess he had created.

He had even tried to covertly send forces to threaten Border Guard.

There was no direct proof, but the circumstantial evidence was overwhelming.

If they really wanted, they could uncover the truth.

Not that it would matter—Molsen could always deny everything.

"Border Guard is going to expand."

From a fortress to a territory.

That was the plan.

And Enkrid was the sword making it possible.

This wasn’t something Border Guard was doing on a whim.

Previously, the nobility had accused Marcus, the former lord, of treason.

To expand their domain, they needed royal approval.

Which meant the palace was directly involved.

"Hah."

If one of these local nobles tried to recruit Enkrid, it would be an insult to the royal court.

And now that Kraiss had laid it all out, the first step was clear:

Eliminate the Gray Ghouls.

He had tried to weave in the political intrigue, but Enkrid didn’t care.

Kraiss sighed.

There was no point in saying more.

Enkrid had one goal in mind.

"Go fight."

That was fine.

Kraiss had his own work to do.

And he was already doing it.