Chapter 106 - Dodge and Dodge Again

It was when he had parted ways with Leona Roquefried.

In front of the Border Guard's wall, the escort warrior named Mattis drew everyone's attention all at once.

That was definitely intentional.

It was what they called momentum.

"Killing intent becomes momentum. You can do it once your Sixth Sense opens. It's easy. Ah, though it might be a bit difficult for the Platoon Commander."

Crazy Jaxon bastard.

His words were always harsh. Was his tongue forged in a smithy or something?

There were knives in his words.

Not that Encrid cared about that, though.

He would just call him a crazy bastard and move on.

Because in the end, Jaxon had been right.

His Sixth Sense had opened.

Even though he had already tried using something akin to momentum during the request to catch the cat, making it instinctual was difficult.

He had managed to learn it again this time. Once he relaxed the tension in his shoulders, it came easier than he expected.

So in the end, didn't he put it to use?

When telling Torres and Pin that they should be careful, Encrid had raised his momentum as he spoke.

And now.

"Slip away to the side, I'll lure the rest."

"What?"

Pin reacted.

"What kind of bullshit is that?"

Torres reacted as well.

It hadn't been long since he met Pin, and Torres wasn't much different, so it didn't seem like they were close enough to risk their lives protecting each other.

"Fuck this, a Ranger doesn't abandon their comrades."

"Same goes for me."

Yet why were these two being so proactive?

Pin and Torres's eyes gleamed. They were eyes filled with firm resolve.

'Right, you're both pretty decent people.'

'I get that, but.'

"Just piss off. You're in the way."

Encrid was cold. He didn't have time to explain every little thing.

He had tried explaining in other todays, but.

Both of them had stuck to him like ticks and refused to leave.

"... Why is this so cool?"

Pin muttered.

"This bastard?"

Torres's veins popped in anger, but they both still listened to what he said.

Encrid was being sincere.

"Wait at the maximum visible distance and group up with me once it's over. I have a plan. We can all survive."

It was practically an order. Having done this a few times, showing his resolve was better than explaining. He didn't have time to explain one by one anyway.

Soon.

"See you later."

Torres said with a double meaning, then slipped away to the side first.

Pin followed after him, looking back twice.

Encrid watched the two leave and thought.

Even with those two separated, all the enemy soldiers holding long spears had to chase him.

What did he have to do to make that happen?

He already knew the answer.

Encrid cast a quick glance behind him and shouted.

"Ro-ger, take off your helmet!"

Words that would mean nothing to anyone who didn't know better.

"Ro-ger! The one who killed his own hair first and sent it to the heavens!"

Like a minstrel composing a poem, Encrid shouted at the top of his lungs.

Out of his seventy-eight todays, there was a time he had heard what kind of person Roger was.

Though his bad blood with Pin was for a different reason.

He was said to have earned the nickname of a commander who never takes off his helmet.

That was quite impressive.

From his crown to his forehead, there was a desert on top of his head.

That was his shameful secret.

"Do you walk around with a barren wasteland on your head where not a single blade of grass grows?!"

At first, he wondered if this would work.

Confirming it, however, had been easy.

When he had been caught by Roger in another today, he had accidentally taken off the guy's helmet.

"So you're bald."

He had seen Roger's eyes roll back in rage at those few words.

To sum it up, he needed to draw the grudge meant for Pin toward himself.

'I do feel a bit sorry about it, though.'

Encrid intentionally swept a hand through his own hair.

As his thick, black hair slipped through his fingers and made its presence known.

"That fucking bastard?"

Roger's eyes rolled back in rage.

He didn't know for sure, but if he got caught now, he definitely wouldn't die a peaceful death.

Torture would be a given.

So he couldn't afford to get caught.

Encrid ran, and even after seeing Pin and Torres slip away, Roger gave the order.

"Go catch that guy!"

Filled with rage, twenty-nine spearmen dashed forward.

He might be shouting in excitement right now, but in that state, he would soon want to split his forces and thrust a spear into Pin and Torres's necks as well.

'Any moment now.'

No sooner had the thought ended.

From the opposite side of the long spear unit, with Encrid in the center, the howling of monsters rang out.

AWOOOOOO!

It was a day with a dual moon, so the surroundings were bright.

Because the moonlight provided visibility, the appearance of the monsters rushing in from the opposite side could be seen all too clearly.

Monsters with wolf heads sprinting forward while kicking off the ground with two legs—lycanthropes.

"Huu."

Seeing them, Encrid steadied his breathing by exhaling once, then stopped.

This was the deciding move. He had to tie down all the long spears and lycan bastards.

'Look at me.'

The way to exude momentum.

It was to fill one's entire body with the intent to kill the opponent.

To make up one's mind that they could cut down and kill everyone in this place.

SHING.

He gripped the hilt lodged in the scabbard and slowly pulled it out. As the blade revealed itself, reflecting the moonlight.

Encrid stepped his right foot forward about half a pace and spoke with his entire body.

If you approach now, I will cut you down.

Momentum, killing intent, fighting spirit.

An intangible pressure, clearly one of those three when put into words, spread outward.

A momentum so intense that it made all the rushing long spear unit and the charging lycanthrope bastards forget about Torres and Pin, who had slipped away to the side.

Drawn by that momentum, the werewolf pack and the long spear unit rushed in.

And at the center of it was Encrid.

It certainly looked like a suicidal act.

* * *

Roger was slowly getting annoyed.

A matter that should have ended with catching one wildcat-like bitch had become strangely tangled.

Even so, should he just let her go?

No. He wanted to catch and kill her.

Wasn't she the bitch who killed his younger brother?

"Fuck, chase her."

He would definitely catch and kill her. The moment he made up his mind, Encrid's shout erupted.

From 'take off your helmet' to 'barren wasteland'.

*Thump*, his heart pounded. Rage surged up, making his blood feel like it was boiling.

"That fucking bastard?"

He made a decision and braced himself.

That when he caught that son of a bitch, he wouldn't let him die peacefully.

He would make him beg for death.

In that moment, his reason flew away, and he shouted for them to chase him.

Just as Roger himself was dashing forward.

AWOOOO!

The monster's howling erupted.

The moment Roger saw the pack of werewolves pop out from the opposite side, a surge of annoyance flared up.

'Fuck this.'

How did things end up like this?

'That son of a bitch.'

It was because of that guy who mocked his head of hair as if he were reciting a poem.

Because of that bastard's mockery, he hadn't been able to compose himself for a moment.

"Fucking dog."

Roger tried to calm his mind by spitting out a curse at the sight of the werewolves, but it didn't come easily.

So what should he do?

His hesitation was short.

'I'll kill them all.'

Whether that bitch named Retsha or whatever cherished them or not, they were just monsters.

If they formed a formation and fought, they could handle them, even if it was a lycanthrope pack that had formed a colony.

It was right when he was about to do so. The moment he made up his mind and was about to open his mouth.

In that instant.

The guy they were chasing exhaled a *'Huu-'* and stopped, gripping his sword.

He gripped his sword and spoke with his body. Spoke with his momentum. Spoke with his killing intent.

'If you approach, I will cut you down.'

The surrounding background was erased from Roger's eyes, and before he knew it, only the guy who had drawn his sword remained.

If it was like this in his eyes, what must it have been like for the other soldiers?

Formation or not, they were swept up by the momentum, and that was how the battle began.

Since there were no orders to stop, the spearmen standing at the front did what they always did. Fighting when an enemy was in sight—that was what they did.

Like that.

SWOOSH!

They thrust their spears with all their might.

AWOO!

CLACK!

The claws of a werewolf that had just approached struck away the spearheads.

The dissonance created by the wolf's cries, claws, and spear shafts.

At that sound, a cold streak of reason returned to Roger's head.

'Oh, crap.'

They had charged in without even forming a proper formation.

It was because he had been in a rush.

No, it was also because the enemy had made fun of his weak point.

On top of that, the momentum—that momentum was a problem too.

Because everything had gotten tangled up over and over.

It was the start of an all-out brawl.

* * *

WHOOSH.

The first to reach Encrid was a werewolf.

Its claws aimed for his neck. Watching the wide swing of its arm, Encrid stepped back.

"Huu."

He steadied his breathing. He couldn't hold out if he was panting.

From now on, it was the same as walking a single path between cliffs.

Carelessness, of course.

It had become a path where not even a single mistake could be tolerated.

Then what did he need?

'Boldness, and.'

The heart of a beast pounded.

Thump.

Whether it was the rushing pack of werewolves or the long spear unit digging in from the side.

Although there were only enemies in every direction and he was surrounded.

It wasn't a reason to be anxious. After all, wasn't this a battlefield of his own making?

'Then, what's next?'

He sharpened the blade of his senses. He advanced beyond the five senses and into the realm of the Sixth Sense.

He had to dodge the claws and spearheads flying in from behind as well.

Encrid did just that.

He pulled his left foot forward and swung his sword to the side.

It wasn't a forceful sword strike, but.

CLANG!

It was enough to block the claws of the wolf rushing in from right beside him.

Using his left foot as an axis, he took a side-stepping Northern-style passing step.

Normally, the next sequence would be to smash the arm or weapon of the guy who stabbed at his back using a Heavy Sword Technique downward strike, but.

'Forward again.'

Instead, he ducked, bending his body.

SWOOSH!

A wolf's claws grazed just above his head.

Before he knew it, Encrid had his eyes half-open.

His gaze was also blurry.

If anyone looked closely, they would say his eyes looked like those of a fish out of water.

'Focus.'

Instead of focusing on a single person, this was the method Encrid chose to survive in this place.

'Wider.'

He sharpened the blade of his concentration and spread it out. From his body out to the range where he swung his sword.

Victory or defeat in battle is determined by judgment, distance, time, and position.

Judging in an instant.

Measuring the distance to the opponent.

The time it takes for feet to move and the time it takes for the enemy's weapon to reach.

Gauging the time it takes for his own sword to reach its desired spot.

Perceiving the position of where he currently stood and where he would stand next.

With that, Encrid danced alone in this place.

CLACK.

Occasionally, the werewolf's claws and his blade would meet.

Spearheads would also skim past the flank of his gambeson.

There were claws that grazed right in front of his neck.

And there were enemies trying to step on the tops of his feet.

Encrid didn't cut down anyone.

Even when they got too close and almost stepped on his feet, he merely bumped the opponent away with his shoulder.

The result of that.

"Gah!"

Simply led to a soldier's death cry.

A werewolf had viciously bitten into the nape of the pushed soldier's neck.

*SPLATTER! * Blood splashed out, leaving bloodstains on the monster's face.

It hadn't been entirely intentional.

He dodged and dodged again.

GRRR!

Even when a werewolf tried to bite his shoulder, he dodged by dropping to a crouch.

SNAP!

He simply pushed the guy backward as he stood up, hearing the sound of the monster's teeth snapping shut.

That.

TH-TH-THUD!

KEEEEGH!

Merely resulted in spears stabbing into the belly of the werewolf that had targeted Encrid.

He did his absolute best to evade, not attack.

As he stealthily slipped away, circling the outskirts of the battlefield rather than the center.

The werewolves immediately had to kill the human group holding long spears.

And the long spear unit immediately had to deal with the werewolf pack.

And all of this was visible to Torres and Pin, who hadn't gone very far.

"... That's."

"Crazy, that's completely crazy."

Torres and Pin chattered interchangeably.

The two of them forgot the situation and stopped in their tracks, their eyes busy tracking the movements of a single person.

Encrid dodged and dodged again.

Although he was occasionally struck by a spear shaft and claws scratched his body.

He managed to dodge them. There were no fatal injuries.

Above all else, look at what he had created in the center by raising his momentum and saying a few words.

The fight between the monster pack and the elite soldiers had turned into an all-out brawl.

"It looks like the humans will win."

Still, elites were elites.

Although their formation had collapsed, the unit members grouped up in threes and fours to watch each other's backs.

Through that, they recovered a portion of the stamina they had lost while running over.

They fought back by forming groups that blocked with shields and thrust.

That proved effective.

Then, Roger made his move.

Fighting off three or four werewolves alone, he pierced one through the head with his spear, killing it.

Rampaging around with a short spear instead of a long spear, he looked like a tiger.

"If we just leave him be..."

They could see him heading straight toward Encrid.

Even without getting a close look, Pin knew that guy's eyes would be full of venom.

Because he would always fly into a frenzy whenever someone made fun of his hair.

"Crazy bastard."

"We have to go help."

At Pin's muttering, Torres shouted in determination.

Meanwhile, the enemy commander named Roger charged fearsomely and thrust his short spear toward Encrid.

"Ah."

Pin let out a short scream as she saw that.

Because to her eyes, it looked as if Encrid's flank had been deeply pierced.

"Fuck. No, he dodged it."

Torres said. He was right. It had been an optical illusion.

He had caught the spear shaft under his arm. Instead of fully dodging, he had trapped the opponent's weapon between his forearm and his flank.

It looked like he had barely managed to evade it.

It also looked like a desperate crisis.

At least, that was how it looked to Torres's eyes.