Chapter 734: Semi-Basement

"Block them! Block them!"

It happened just after Enkrid discovered the village. His sharp hearing picked up the sound of human voices.

He couldn’t ignore it.

Partly from curiosity, partly because something within him stirred.

After all, wasn’t this just the kind of moment that reminded him of where he used to live?

Rather than hacking through the brush, it seemed faster to climb a tree and leap across the branches.

Though he carried a backpack and wore two swords, which wasn’t exactly light, climbing a tree was hardly a challenge.

Enkrid jammed his fingers into the trunk of a large tree and launched his body upward.

He used his fingertips and toes to climb nimbly—more agile than a squirrel.

For a knight, this was nothing.

Using the branches as footholds, he jumped toward the direction of the voices.

He closed the distance in an instant.

Each time Enkrid kicked off a branch, the leaves scattered and startled birds fluttered off in a panic.

"If they break through, we die! We hold them here!"

A cry mixed with fear.

Enkrid pinpointed the source and stopped.

His right foot rested on a thin branch; his index and middle fingers were embedded in the tree. He lightly pressed in with the toes of his left foot for balance.

He had climbed for speed, but by chance, this gave him a perfect vantage point.

Over a dozen people stood below, each wielding a makeshift spear—sharp metal scraps affixed to wooden poles.

Behind them were slingers, and behind those, archers with drawn bows.

"Crude formation."

Spears in front, slings in the middle, archers in the rear—it was a formation in name only.

They were just huddled together.

Especially the spearmen—too much space between them.

At this rate, the enemy would charge right through them, forcing the rear lines to deal with the beasts.

In short, they were not trained combatants.

All in all, they numbered barely more than fifty.

Before them, wild dog beastmen had formed up in similar numbers, spread out widely.

"Weak."

Not just in numbers—their readiness for combat felt just as frail.

Even if the battle broke out, not all of them would die. Humans still held the advantage.

"But people will die."

If things went badly, over half could fall.

Many of them had clenched their jaws in silent dread.

Especially those in the front line with their shaky spears.

Enkrid finished scanning the scene.

There was nothing to hesitate over.

He released his foot from the branch and dropped down.

A normal person would’ve broken something from that height, but of course, he didn’t.

Before hitting the ground, Enkrid unsheathed his Three-Iron Sword and drove it into the log beside him.

Drdrdrk—

He carved a long gash down the tree, landing softly.

His loud entrance naturally drew everyone’s eyes.

The group of humans and the beasts alike turned their focus to him.

Enkrid calmly accepted their gazes and began to sprint forward.

A knight’s charge wasn’t something normal eyes could follow—even when not going all out.

Enkrid, however, was far beyond normal knights.

Strong Horn—his blend of physical prowess and Will—pushed his movement to the limits.

To the watchers, he seemed to vanish.

BOOM!

With a thunderous crash, he launched forward, leaving not even an afterimage.

And still, Enkrid moved with ease.

He had enough focus to observe the freakishly developed shoulder muscles and fangs of the dog beasts as he ran.

He could even allow himself a few idle thoughts.

This was a real fight.

No need to hold back like a spar.

The wild dog beastmen and Enkrid moved through time at different speeds.

He didn’t have a perfect sheath for the Three-Iron Sword, so he had fixed it into a slightly looser one with leather straps.

He drew it in a single upward swing.

Shtck—

Only Enkrid could hear the strap snapping.

Slice—Splatter—

The sound of slicing flesh and spilling guts followed.

From chest to skull, he cut through in one clean pull, then struck again and again in fluid succession.

Thud—Thwack—Crack—

Each strike echoed after the blade.

Enkrid’s sword split the beasts’ skulls faster than the sound could catch up.

Like a seasoned woodsman chopping firewood—only cleaner, more precise.

Black blood, split bone, [N O V E L I G H T] brains, and bits of skull—doubtful they ever had a thought to begin with—rose like a gruesome fountain.

To the people watching, it was absurd.

A man fell from a tree, vanished, and then beasts started exploding.

Some lost strength in their arms, their spears dipping low.

Others tensed up even harder.

Twing!

A woman, startled, loosed an arrow five paces early.

"Ah."

A short gasp. Words couldn’t express the moment.

Enkrid swung his blade wide, flinging off chunks of flesh and fat.

Splat-splat-splat.

Bits of meat scattered to the side.

Normally, beasts outpaced humans in reflex and vision.

With monster blood, they gained even more agility.

Still, they were no match for a knight.

But not all beasts were the same.

Just as not all humans were equal, some monsters were more dangerous than beasts, and vice versa.

Look at Odd-Eye—a wild horse that overcame monster blood with sheer will.

Among the dogs, one stood out—faster, more courageous.

It watched its kin fall one after another, then sprang forward, kicking off with its hind legs.

That human was busy killing the rest.

And it was behind him.

Its movement differed from the rest.

Had it survived longer, it might have earned a name.

Without turning, Enkrid yanked his blade and twisted his waist.

Using one foot as a pivot, he drew a horizontal slash.

Whump—Thunk.

The arc of the Three-Iron Sword severed the beast’s neck cleanly.

The head spun, mouth chomping air long after death.

Enkrid’s blade could cut even the most dangerous monsters.

Compared to them, this beast was barely a hatchling.

Before death, monsters have two choices.

Scatter and flee, or charge in madness.

These did neither.

Aside from his initial rush, Enkrid hadn’t moved much—yet beast after beast kept falling.

A few turned away—not toward Enkrid, but toward the humans.

They intended to flank and kill the villagers.

Enkrid, mid-swing, pulled out one of Lynox’s throwing spears and slashed downward.

TANG!

The sound of the spearhead sliding free was sharp and crisp.

He hurled it immediately.

Fsssssh—BOOM!

The spear crushed the sneaky beast’s skull and drove into the earth.

Brains and bone sprayed out like confetti.

What the beast pack did next was unexpected.

Some fled. Others remained.

A rear guard? A delay unit?

Even relying on intuition, Enkrid had learned military tactics in the past.

He had studied to survive.

Now some monsters fled, while others charged headlong into death.

Despite their comrades’ corpses, the black in their eyes held no fear.

And Enkrid’s sword showed no hesitation either.

Slashing, stabbing, slicing upward—he reduced the approaching beasts to unrecognizable meat.

Beast meat was tough, often poisonous—not worth eating anyway.

As the remaining beasts scattered, Enkrid looked far into the distance.

His pupils narrowed, then widened.

A reflexive response triggered by Will—adjusting to see far.

A spotted dog? No, a leopard.

Something three times larger than the others stared in their direction.

"Beyond perceptive range."

A second group of monsters lingered in the far-off distance—too far to chase.

He had intentionally let the first ones go.

If he’d chased, the villagers would have had to face the rest alone.

And they probably wouldn’t have survived.

They had been stunned by his entrance—slow to react.

The monsters, by contrast, were fully battle-ready.

Too many oddities.

The last group had fought like they were buying time.

The retreating ones fell back in order, not panic.

"Even a sacrificial rearguard?"

A unit that stays behind to delay pursuit is often called a rearguard sacrifice.

Coincidence? No. His instincts said otherwise.

Still, now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

Enkrid flicked the remaining fat and blood off his blade, then scooped up a handful of dirt and scrubbed it clean.

He’d swung hard—he’d need to oil it later.

He’d brought high-quality flax oil from Zaun. That would do.

"Who are you?"

Only now did someone finally speak to him.

No one here would recognize "Enkrid from the Border Guard."

"Just a swordsman passing through," he replied.

"...Thank you for your help."

The man with the spear stepped forward, visibly tense.

Understandable.

If a knight showed up uninvited to a village of people in hiding, fear was natural.

In this world, the weak always lived on edge.

Even a moment’s malice from the strong could end them.

No one in the group dared even blink.

They couldn’t take their eyes off the warrior who had fought the beasts.

Enkrid sheathed his Three-Iron Sword and tied the broken strap.

Normally, he’d leave right away.

But something nagged at him.

To be more honest...

He thought of those he had once failed to protect.

One of them had been a village.

And this place was eerily similar to where he had grown up.

"Let’s say I’m taking a detour."

Given what had just happened, if he left now, these people would all die.

That’s usually how it went for those living in hiding.

He’d heard rumors of underground cities built by such people.

But more often, their villages were wiped out—devoured by monsters.

Some even blamed them for monster colonies, saying the monsters bred off their flesh.

Whatever the case, Enkrid couldn’t turn his back.

"Since I helped, mind if I rest here a bit?"

No one answered right away.

Even the spear-wielder who had stepped up kept his weapon lowered, but was clearly on edge.

It seemed this was a village that rejected outsiders.

The thick-browed man hesitated, lips twitching before finally speaking.

"...This way."

He had clearly agonized over it.

Enkrid sheathed his sword and stepped forward slowly.

He didn’t want to seem threatening.

There was no visible entrance to the village.

These weren’t pioneers clearing land.

They had gathered for survival.

So their shelters were unusual.

Holes dug into the earth, covered with foliage.

Makeshift lids like pit huts.

Crushed Nightmare Berries were sprinkled atop—something Enkrid himself had used on the way in.

"Smart use."

Nightmare Berries could rot fingers if mishandled.

Even the scent alone could induce hallucinations for a week.

They weren’t called that for nothing.

Monsters, beasts, and animals hated the scent.

But to use them properly, one had to mix the fruit and berries carefully—just as these villagers had.

"Harkventyo."

The man leading him introduced himself. A Southern-style name.

"Enkrid."

"Well met."

His tone said otherwise, but he invited Enkrid into a shelter—half underground, half above.

"A semi-basement...?"

That seemed about right.