Chapter 712: Reducing Error

Through the Lua Gharne-style tactical swordplay, Enkrid drew countless lines, erased them, and redrew again.

“Make my body a single sword.”

Tactics were to become a tool of swordsmanship. Thus, he slashed across the battlefield.

Through restraint, he revealed neither presence nor Will—driving himself forward using only the strength of his disciplined body. In that state, he struck his next target with Three Iron.

He could’ve added more force by stepping wide with his left foot, but there was no room for such luxury now.

Instead, he kept his stride short, twisting his hips to add rotational power to the thrust.

The tension in his whole body condensed and burst forward, layered with Will.

The blade pierced smoothly through the Scaler’s scales, cutting through the jaw and stirring up the crown of its skull.

Thunk! Splk.

As the sword was withdrawn, blood and brain matter followed—but in the midst of the storm, foreign matter on the blade vanished quickly.

BOOOOM!

A lightning bolt struck nearby, ripping at his hearing. The world, previously perceived through rain sounds, turned white. For a moment, the dazzling light wiped out his vision.

Enkrid paused, deliberately dulling his senses.

He couldn’t move for the moment. Everything he saw shook, as though an earthquake had struck.

But stopping didn’t mean wasting time.

He never let a day go by unfulfilled. And now, more than ever, he had to use time with maximum density.

So he did.

“Minimize movement.”

In that brief interval, he recalled the sequence in which he had killed the last monster.

Had he spent just a bit too much time getting to the target?

As a result, a small child—one who mixed Ail Caraz-style martial arts and swordsmanship—had briefly been caught in telekinesis.

That alone had brought the child to the brink of death.

Enkrid had seen it—the Scaler with membranous wings diving down, targeting the child.

Riley’s dagger had knocked the monster away, but the young swordsman ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) had still taken a scratch to the arm.

A scratch that was deeper than it looked, leaking blood. It seemed poison had coated the creature’s claws, because the boy’s movements grew sluggish.

He wouldn’t die—but one more combat-ready ally was now down.

If such incidents kept repeating, their side would inevitably collapse.

To put it simply:

“He almost died.”

The image formed involuntarily in his mind—a child’s corpse, lying facedown in the muddy, storm-lashed ground. It hadn’t happened, but the picture lingered.

It wasn’t good.

Enkrid had no intention of letting a single person behind him die.

So what had to be done?

“Ask the question. Then find the answer.”

That’s what Lua Gharne-style tactical swordplay demanded.

Ssssshhhhhhhh...

Rain lashed down again, opening the black-and-white world once more. He shut his eyes and saw through sound.

To the question “how?”, there was only one answer:

“Reduce error.”

No one is perfect. Reducing error is still not enough.

What comes next? Shorten movement paths to buy time. To give them space to breathe.

How to draw the minimum path?

“Place the points.”

And then, connect those points by the shortest distance.

Like clinging to the edge of a sheer cliff, running along the line of one’s limits.

Crack.

His ankle flexed lightly, pushing off the ground. His boots dug into the soggy earth, compressing wet soil beneath them into firm support.

Enkrid leapt toward the first marked point.

If one were to view the battlefield from above, the elegant arcs he once traced would now look like straight lines.

“Graze past what doesn’t matter.”

Only push aside, strike, or slice through what gets in the way.

With Three Iron in his right hand and Penna in his left, he pressed forward with light, tapping motions. He felt the battlefield’s rhythm through his body. Instinct chose his next target. He pivoted again—casually thrusting Three Iron sideways.

Shunk!

The tip of his sword caught the elbow of a Scaler wielding a black spear. Enkrid ran without letting go.

Crack!

Even a masterwork blade doesn’t cut flesh just by touching it. Especially not when the target is a Scaler—its scales dense and hard.

But Enkrid still thrust and sliced.

How? With brute strength.

It wasn’t so much slicing as tearing.

He stabbed near the elbow and didn’t pull the blade out. He ripped it off. The wound was naturally jagged—and twice as agonizing as a clean cut.

Screeeeeee!

The Scaler shrieked. That shriek doubled as an alarm, revealing Enkrid’s position to the surrounding monsters—but of course, he was already gone.

He still ran, both swords hanging low in his hands.

CRASHHHHH.

The storm continued to soak his blades and body. Thanks to that, he didn’t have to worry about blood staining his weapons.

Maybe it was because of synchronization—or just the intense wind—but it felt like the gusts were threading through his ribs, offering a strange sense of coolness.

“Or maybe I just feel refreshed because I’m doing this myself.”

Regardless of the thought, his hands and feet stayed busy.

Clack, ping, thud, splk.

To some, it would sound like noise. To Enkrid, it was an impression carved into memory. He moved by sound, striking down supernatural threats again and again.

And just that alone began to alter the river that was the battlefield.

Could a single human change the flow of a river?

If one laid down stone after stone and dug persistently, perhaps they could divert its course. After all, such people did exist.

It might take days, months, or even years.

But a knight was a calamity. He could redraw the battlefield’s currents in mere moments.

Like how an earthquake carves new terrain—so too could a knight.

Just like Enkrid had done now.

Sssaaaaaaaaak!

The serpent floating above wailed. Its cry engulfed the entire battlefield. Even Enkrid’s heart beat in rhythm with that sound.

“So this is the pressure of a superior monster.”

Just hearing it gave him goosebumps, made him want to turn around—his body shivered.

A fear without reason. A shapeless terror demanding a reaction from every cell.

It wanted him to tremble in fear.

Of course, it had no effect on Enkrid. And no one here would fall to something that weak—but the negative effects were still there.

Right on cue, Riley’s voice rang out from the back—full of rage. Enkrid saw him through his hearing. Even at a distance, perception had no trouble tracking him.

That was the benefit of auditory sight. Though it had its flaws—black-and-white worlds had no color. You couldn’t see the veins standing out on someone’s throat, for example.

But things like that lived well enough in the imagination.

“Anyone out of gas—breathe now!”

Riley’s voice likely came with a thick bulging vein down his neck.

“WOOOOHOO!”

Anahera shouted from afar too.

These were the ones holding the line against the waves of monsters. They couldn’t hold forever.

“Conserve your strength for the end.”

In that regard, Riley was an excellent deputy. Fighting on one leg, his stamina drained faster than others. So even in his first real battle like this, he must’ve known—if he kept this pace, he’d die.

Which is why he fought with stamina in mind.

“Hold on.”

Enkrid didn’t stop moving, nor did he raise his head—but he felt it.

A gaze. One filled with violence and murderous intent.

From beyond the black-and-white storm, the monster that served as the ritual’s anchor stared at him.

Medusa’s gaze.

Even without seeing her eyes, the pressure was clear.

“A monster no one but a knight would dare approach.”

That’s why her gaze alone could exert such force.

High-ranking monsters instinctively used abilities similar to a knight’s pressure. They implanted fear into any they deemed prey.

Like a frog frozen before a snake—so too were humans, and other intelligent races.

The serpent’s cry above was likely part of Medusa’s intimidation as well.

In the Demon Realm, monsters like that were everywhere.

Which was why intelligent species had never conquered the Demon Realm—but merely endured.

Was it scary? Not at all.

One day, he would meet every monster inside the Demon Realm.

If it were easy, it wouldn’t be called a dream. Enkrid’s dreams were always hard to achieve. Always looked impossible.

“I’ll cut them all down.”

Such a simple, straightforward goal left no room for idle thoughts.

Suddenly, Heskal’s brilliance hit him again.

Rather than deploying Medusa into battle, using her as a ritual conduit—that strategy was astounding.

A more efficient deployment.

A tactic meant to gradually wear down their strength.

Yes—Heskal was as clever as ever.

How many had Enkrid killed by now?

Too many to count. He slashed and stabbed, steadily reducing their numbers without explosive bursts or overwhelming force—just quiet, methodical execution through restrained Will.

His current field of perception was twice as wide as what sight could offer.

Which was why, even before his instincts flared, he could already read his opponents’ movements.

“Skilled.”

Someone had been watching him and set a trap.

While weaving between monsters by marked points, he realized there were eight archers with bows aimed solely at him—even in this storm, their arrows floated ominously in the air, dark and slick.

Among them was one ‘human’ wearing a helmet—his armor glinting faintly even through the rain, made of some material thin yet luminous.

Judging by the scene alone, he was the prey that had chased bait into a net.

The fact that even auditory sight only now picked them up meant this net hadn’t been haphazardly made.

Maybe it had. Maybe not. But it felt deliberate.

***

“Didn’t they say that guy was just standard knight-level?”

Drmul’s apprentice had a monster’s eye embedded in his forehead—thanks to that, he could see Enkrid’s movements.

Heskal had no such eye, and couldn’t track Enkrid’s presence or movements directly. But he knew trickery when he saw it.

As soon as Enkrid vanished, monsters with supernatural abilities began dropping one by one. Tracing the cause and effect was not difficult.

And from afar, one could analyze the battlefield more easily.

“Up close, you see trees. From afar, you see the forest.”

A woodcutter only needed to chop the tree before him. But a forester observed the whole forest—only cutting what was necessary.

In that sense, Heskal was like the forester.

“I’m surprised myself.”

“Nothing’s going the way we predicted.”

“We’re fighting Zaun. It’s only right that they show this level of strength.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s Zaun showing it though, does it?”

Which made it all the more impressive. That the disease—strong enough to be called a curse—hadn’t spread further was impressive too.

“Border Guard Enkrid. You fight well.”

To Heskal, that was what stood out more.

He could have spoken his admiration aloud—but he only replied with his usual calm:

“There’s something I prepared. It was meant for Lynox, but it should suffice.”

Heskal said.

The eye embedded in the apprentice’s forehead blinked twice, shifting its perspective.

Its gaze turned toward the family head and Alexandra.

“You’re going to just leave them?”

It was a blunt question, but Heskal understood immediately.

After all, this battlefield had been drawn within his own mind.

“This isn’t enough to say they’re worn out. The ones who should be weakened by illness are still standing strong.”

“Sacrilege. Are you blaming the gods?”

“Not at all.”

He had expected this much from Zaun.

Even after killing Milescia to avoid this very outcome—they still endured.

Well, not everything can go your way. If it were easy, they wouldn’t have gone to such lengths.

“This is just the beginning.”

With that, Heskal looked up at the sky.

The dark clouds and pounding rain made it hard to keep his eyes open.

Unless one embedded a monster’s eye into their forehead, there was no way to see the sky clearly now.

Which, perhaps, was a blessing.

“Huuuh.”

Even though he said this is just the beginning, Heskal let out a long sigh.

There was bitterness in that sigh, but Drmul’s apprentice likely didn’t hear it.

His eye might be special—but his ears were still human.

The apprentice couldn’t move. Others would have to act.

Though part of the mental painting had been ruined, the overall picture remained intact.

Heskal saw the path ahead. Nothing had changed. Victory was still his.

“Do you wish to gain divinity? Then be faithful, Heskal of Zaun.”

“I know.”

Heskal stepped forward. It was time for him to move as well.

“Tell your master to deploy what he’s prepared.”

“With one Death Knight, that family head and those beside him can be killed.”

“That’s your opinion. I’m the one commanding this battle.”

Andante had returned from death as a knight. Maybe that would be enough to kill Alex.

Maybe not.

“If you lose, even though your master guarded you, you won’t survive.”

“If we lose and I live, I’ll hang myself. Don’t worry.”

He meant it.

Heskal was sincere about everything. And that, too, he had learned from the family head.

“Whatever you do, do it with sincerity.”

Even if you deceive someone—you must do it sincerely.

That belief and lifestyle of the family head was what had shaped his current swordsmanship.

Even his deceptive strikes were delivered with sincerity.

He didn’t expect his blade to work on the family head.

So where should his sword point?

The answer was clear.

“Forgive me.”

If he killed Ragna—the prodigal son returned—then perhaps the family head’s stone heart would tremble.

That would break his judgment and give them an edge.

As four monsters moved to tie down the family head, Heskal moved toward Ragna.

Coincidentally, Ragna was just starting to walk forward as well.