Chapter 455

A knight’s strike.

That was the one thing Enkrid wanted.

What did he have to do to get there?

He didn’t have a clue—so he asked.

“Moving Will? What, you just do it, don’t you?”

That was Rem’s answer.

And Enkrid was freshly reminded: this crazy bastard with a hobby of beheading nobles was, unfortunately, a genius.

“So… Will can be used like that, huh.”

Lua Gharne became a scholar and began research. From that point, her input became incredibly helpful.

“What if you broke it down—piece by piece?”

Break down the movements. Inject Will into every motion of drawing and thrusting a blade. Approach the whole preparation process differently.

Enkrid changed the way he asked questions. He kept pressing Roman for more answers.

One day, he even stuck close to Oara and asked her the same.

“How do you explain something that just happens?”

Her answer was similar to Rem’s. Ragna’s would likely be the same. So would Audin’s. Would Jaxon say anything different?

“Just do it like this.”

Ragna would swing his sword and say that.

“Pray and it’ll come.”

Audin might say that.

“Feel it with your senses.”

That would be Jaxon’s version, probably.

Enkrid felt as if he were hearing advice from all of them, even though they were far off in the Border Guard.

Prayer wasn’t the answer, but meditation might be.

Swinging aimlessly wouldn’t work, but he mustn’t forget naturalness.

Would heightened sensitivity let him feel Will?

Not quite—but it would let him feel how a movement differed from usual.

When the student surpasses the teacher, these things become possible.

For the first time in his life, Enkrid reached the state of hearing one and learning two.

If others knew where he’d started, they would be shocked—but right now, no one knew.

Even Rem, who watched him up close, couldn’t quite catch on.

Horizontal slash, glance cut, crown split, counter cut, half-sword fighting, parry, deflect, chained strikes, lunging, draw-and-slice.

He reviewed all the techniques he knew, then picked one.

A thrust.

He went with what his heart chose.

Enkrid focused solely on the motion of thrusting his sword. He thrust Ember forward. There was a revelation from the first repeat of today inside that strike, and an understanding of Will in a single moment was also embedded in it.

Should I break it apart?

No—he shouldn’t.

Combine it.

Toes.

A step forward. A thrust of the sword. That was everything.

What would make it impossible to block?

Speed and force.

Not something you could imitate.

A strike focused entirely on "quickness."

He repeated it. Time passed. He lived through today, over and over again. The hourglass that flowed only for him dropped its grains one by one.

Anyone else would have gone mad by now—turned into a husk.

These were ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) days meant for howling in despair.

Days to curse the gods, curse the unknown faces of your parents for giving you life.

But he spent every second training. Listening to Oara’s screams while he did.

“You enjoy their deaths, don’t you?”

The Ferryman scoffed.

Enkrid ignored him.

Soldiers died. Millio died. Rowena died.

“Is this fun for you?”

The Ferryman asked. Enkrid offered no reply—he focused solely on the sword.

“You’ll never cross this wall.”

The Ferryman declared.

Enkrid didn’t even hear him.

“You’ll pound the ground in regret. Some things never change.”

Even the Ferryman’s usual light voice now held concern.

Enkrid let that pass, too.

You’ve got too many techniques—ditch some of them.

He remembered Oara saying.

So he fused them. His body naturally unified everything.

Was this the road to becoming a knight?

Or the wrong path?

Just a frantic struggle?

A waste of time?

He could’ve doubted—but Enkrid simply kept walking his path.

And so came this particular today.

Screeeee!

Woken by the scream, Enkrid didn’t even rub his eyes before telling Rem to follow and grabbing his sword.

“Block this.”

He said it abruptly—and thrust his blade. Rem instinctively moved his axe.

He saw the point where the strike would land and barely managed to catch it.

Clang!

The sword’s thrust touched and bounced off the flat of the axe.

“Damn—were you trying to punch a hole in my axe?!”

If Enkrid had gone all out, maybe it would’ve.

He opened and closed his hand a few times.

Is it something I can only do once?

Even with a body trained in isolation techniques, just one thrust made his ankle, waist, and shoulder ache.

His muscles screamed. And yet—it didn’t matter.

“Let’s go.”

Enkrid headed to the battlefield.

In his mind, he played that one moment over and over again.

This was the beginning.

“Dunbakel.”

The beastwoman, looking especially shaken, approached at his call.

Her face was a mess, her breath reeked from not washing. Enkrid leaned in and spoke as if sharing a secret.

“Did I ever tell you?”

“…Tell me what?”

His sudden friendly tone put Dunbakel on edge.

Her instincts screamed—he’s up to something.

“I actually trust you.”

“…?”

Distant barking made Dunbakel blink in confusion.

“You’re the prettiest beastwoman I’ve ever seen.”

Enkrid hadn’t met many female beastfolk in his life—could count them on one hand.

And to be honest, Dunbakel was the first he’d really looked at.

In any case—it was completely out of nowhere.

“Seriously?”

“You’re strong.”

“Rem, I think he’s sick.”

“I’ve always believed your potential surpasses mine.”

That, at least, was the truth. Enkrid knew full well how meager his own talent was.

“He’s not feverish.”

Dunbakel brushed her hand across his forehead.

“So it’s okay to run.”

There’s an old continental saying: even a dragon will dance for praise.

Even those who only live for themselves feel good when someone says something nice.

Enkrid didn’t want Dunbakel to become some piss-soaked kitten cowering in fear.

“Run if you need to—but fight until then. Just do what you can, while you can.”

Dunbakel stopped walking.

Did he know something?

She only ever wanted to survive. That’s all. And yet it hurt to hear it said aloud.

Is surviving really enough?

Beastfolk are hardwired to survive. But Dunbakel was more extreme than most.

She could do anything to live.

And yet—somewhere deep down, she knew instinctively that mere survival wasn’t everything.

Is there anything else I want besides survival?

Enkrid’s words made Dunbakel freeze. Everyone else moved on while she stood still, lost in thought.

It didn’t take long.

Before they’d taken three steps, Dunbakel took a few deep breaths and came to her answer.

Why am I even here?

She threw a stone called a question into the lake that was herself. Ripples spread outward.

And before they could even settle, the answer rose.

It was a kind of epiphany.

Proof.

Dunbakel wanted to prove she wasn’t broken. That she wasn’t a failed product of beastfolk blood. That she could live just fine without her parents’ love.

She wanted to prove that.

She’d lived denying herself—and envied Enkrid, who walked forward without ever hesitating.

Not that his path had been easy.

“Ah.”

With a quiet exhale, Dunbakel started walking again.

She had chosen what she would do.

The fear that had smothered her moments ago had faded—if only slightly.

One moment of clarity can’t erase everything.

But like a traveler following a signpost, she could now see the path ahead.

***

“Rowena…”

“If you’re going to save her, follow me.”

Enkrid cut through the commotion in front of the gates.

“…Sorry, what?”

The man who’d been shouting for Rowena blinked at Enkrid.

It was such an abrupt statement that it froze his thoughts for a moment—but then, as the meaning sank in, the soldier began to move.

“You’re coming with me?”

“What’s your name?”

Enkrid hadn’t even known the man’s name until now.

“Admor.”

“All right, let’s go.”

Enkrid needed to make his intent land with this one.

It was similar to when he’d convinced Andrew in the tallgrass during his days as a squad leader.

Back then, he had to prove himself with skill. Now, there was no need.

“Аisia!”

At his call, Аisia emerged from the side, clad in armor and a cloak.

The cloaks of the Red Mantle Order were said to resist fire and preserve body temperature with enchantments. They also blocked basic spells.

Far from being ceremonial, they were practical—worn because they worked.

“What?”

“Did I ever mention—”

He raised his voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear. He could feel the soldiers’ eyes turning toward him.

Not just them—Oara, the junior knights, and even the squires near the front line were now listening.

“…Mention what?”

Аisia looked at him like he’d gone mad again, pulling one of his weird stunts.

Enkrid noticed her reaction—he was quick to read the room—but he ignored it.

No time to explain every little thing.

“That I was once a famed monster hunter.”

He never was.

He’d been a monster hunter, sure—but never a famed one.

“Really?”

“I’ve got a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“There’s something coiled up inside that forest. Like a serpent.”

At that, Аisia turned her gaze toward the Demon Realm.

It was an ominous place, crawling with a threatening air—but she didn’t sense anything unusual.

“What are you going on about?” Oara called down from atop the wall.

“The air’s changed,” Enkrid said. “One of the beastfolk under my command caught the scent too. It’s not just scream spiders—there’s something brewing deeper inside.”

“Me?” Dunbakel pointed at herself. Rem nudged her subtly with his foot and said:

“Just shut up and enjoy the show.”

It seemed like their captain was about to pull something again.

What it was, no one knew.

Probably something fun, Rem thought.

He knew this wasn’t a man who acted without reason. He had faith.

“Rem, Dunbakel. Head back soon.”

Then Enkrid looked straight at Rem.

“Where am I going again?”

“Over there.”

Enkrid pointed toward the forest’s interior.

Admor—who had come out to save Rowena—looked jittery, unsure of what to do.

“Into the Demon Realm?”

“Scared?”

“That’s supposed to be a taunt?”

“No. Just asking.”

“Goddammit. Whatever this is—I’m in. Let’s get it over with.”

“Hurry back.”

That was all Enkrid said. Rem could have asked a dozen questions:

Like,

“What are we doing exactly, and what’s even in there?”

It was a vague and frustrating order.

So what would Enkrid say?

“Just go. You’ll find out.”

Would he pretend to be some prophet?

Or just say it was a hunch?

Enkrid had no answer prepared.

“Fine, fine.”

Rem nodded.

Enkrid told Admor to follow Rem’s lead.

“Track the signs. You’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Admor had no other options, so he hurried after him.

As Rem’s back disappeared into the woods, Enkrid watched them go.

Back in the days when he wandered the continent, no one would’ve followed his word.

During his troublemaker squad days, he had to use force to make people obey.

He couldn’t help thinking of Andrew—there were days when he had to beat him half to death just to get him in line.

But now?

Now he could just sell trust to buy action.

Enkrid had lived enough todays to know Rem would respond like this.

“All right. Let’s go, Аisia.”

“Go where?”

Аisia looked baffled.

“Lead the squires. Fight with them.”

Enkrid’s tone was firm.

“Now? Me? There?”

“Аisia of the Red Mantle Knights. You’re going to stand around and watch while Thousand Brick is in danger? And you still think you deserve to wear that cloak?”

Аisia’s eyes flared.

“Are you picking a fight?”

“I’m cheering you on.”

Either way, he walked off. And Аisia couldn’t bring herself to ignore his words.

He was the one who made it possible for her to wear the Red Mantle in the first place.

She still felt like she owed him from the civil war. A big debt, at that.

So she had no reason to refuse him now.

Enkrid moved, cutting down six spiders swarming in front of the squires.

Then he stomped his foot into the ground.

The heavy thud turned every head—Roman’s, the soldiers’, even Oara’s.

“There’s no one better than me at monster hunting. From now on, I lead the front.”

“…Did that drink you had earlier go bad or something?” Roman muttered.

Enkrid ignored him. He’d bought action with trust—now it was time to earn trust with action.

“Burrowing spiders. Underfoot.”

Repeating today meant he had intel others didn’t. If he moved within his predictions, he could even guess the monsters’ sequence of attacks.

Thud.

The earth rumbled. A moment later—whump!—a spider poked its head out of the dirt.

“Oliver, smash it.”

It didn’t matter who gave the order. Oliver instinctively brought his mace down.

Crack!

The spider’s skull burst, spraying black fluid.

“Roman, underfoot.”

Before Enkrid even finished, dust was rising beneath Roman’s feet.

Whether it was above or below, no one here would be caught off guard.

And if they already knew the spiders would poke their heads up like that—it was an easy kill.

Crunch.

Roman’s oversized greatsword slammed down vertically, crushing the spider’s skull.

Just as Enkrid predicted, spiders kept emerging from the ground in designated spots.

When their ranks surged and broke formation, the back gate began to creak open.

“Close the gate! We’ll hold the rest of the monsters with the troops already at the front. Archers—target only beyond our heads!”

Enkrid’s voice was calm until the final command—then he barked it loud enough for everyone to hear.

Uncharacteristically bold.

From atop the wall, Oara nodded with interest.

Just from the way he moved and spoke, she could tell—

This was a man acting with certainty. If he screwed up, she could always step in. But for now? She wanted to watch.

Besides, his judgment wasn’t wrong.

Enkrid moved with purpose.

He sold trust to buy action.

Then bought trust through action.

And now?

Now it was time to fight like hell.