Chapter 119 - All-out Brawl

'Now it's fifty-fifty.'

He had no confidence in beating Mitch Hurrier, whose hands were perfectly fine.

Having awakened to his talent, he was moving forward by making his left hand retrace the path his right hand had taken.

Did doing all this mean he could use his left hand as well as his right?

No.

Then could he handle the full power Mitch Hurrier produced with both hands while holding a sword in only one?

'Not a chance.'

He had already experienced it several times.

Furthermore, whatever the hell he had been doing, that bastard didn't even have any bad physical habits. Even if he wanted to read his patterns, it was difficult to do so.

Since applied forms popped out smoothly every single time.

His foundation still seemed to lean toward the Righteous Sword and Flowing Sword.

Encrid's foundation was the Heavy Sword Technique. He was still at a disadvantage. It was a Heavy Sword used with one hand, after all.

Even though that guy had blown off his thumb.

He was still at a level where he could grip his sword with both hands.

If things went wrong, he could probably endure the pain and swing his sword a few times.

'It can't be helped, I suppose.'

He wanted to cleanly slice his neck with the sword.

But if that didn't work.

He had no choice but to show him the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique, the All-out Brawl.

"I'm slightly sorry about this."

"What kind of bullshit is that?"

Encrid was being sincere. He felt sorry, even if only a little.

Mitch considered him a stumbling block in his path forward.

He viewed him as a rival and an adversary.

It was only a few words, but he felt it clearly enough. Mitch had even memorized his name.

He had also been glad to see him, as if he had been waiting.

What he felt from him.

It was a fighting spirit that wanted to confirm what he had built up with his sword so far.

So.

'I really am sorry.'

Encrid had already confirmed it all. Mitch's skills, what he had built up, and his fighting spirit.

That was why he realized his chance of winning lay in an All-out Brawl.

Would it be right to repeat the day again and defeat his opponent with swordsmanship using his left hand?

Spending a today that he didn't even know how long would take?

No, that wasn't it.

Encrid felt there was no meaning in staying in the current today.

His left hand also needed a new trigger to advance further.

Mitch Hurrier was a good opponent, but.

'I think I've wrung everything I can out of him.'

He couldn't read his patterns, but he had memorized a few of his habits.

For example.

"You're still a weird bastard."

That an attack would immediately follow when his left eyebrow twitched like just now.

As soon as his words ended. The bastard kicked off the ground and rushed in.

He had expected it—no, he was certain. That his opponent would charge like that.

Encrid kicked up the dirt with his toes the moment Mitch finished speaking.

Gravel caught on the tip of his boot flew at Mitch's face.

CLACK!

Mitch deflected the gravel with the flat of his blade. He faltered slightly thanks to that.

Even so, he continued to charge in.

His reactions were good, as expected.

Encrid stabbed his sword into the ground, then flicked his left hand at his waist and thrust it forward.

SCREEEECH!

It was a Whistle Dagger.

"Pathetic!"

Mitch angrily twisted his sword a few times. His eyes were frighteningly good. With a *clang-clang*, the Whistle Dagger was also useless.

Before he knew it, they were within sword's reach.

Encrid pulled his sword back out and thrust it.

Mitch twisted his body to the side and swung his sword. It was a Diagonal Slash so fast that the blade seemed to bend.

Catching the trajectory in his eyes, Encrid pulled his sword to the side.

CLAAAANG! GRRRND!

The moment they clashed, he felt his lack of strength, so he deflected the blade downward and aimed for his opponent's hands.

Mitch Hurrier was gripping and swinging his sword with both hands, while he only had one.

As soon as he was pushed back, he attempted to parry using the Flowing Sword Technique, and sensing that, Mitch pushed through with brute force.

Encrid let go of his sword again.

Just as he tried to aim for his opponent's opening and close the distance once more, Mitch's body flickered and vanished backward with a thud of him kicking the ground.

He wasn't the type to fall for the same trick twice.

Encrid had also expected he wouldn't fall for it.

Mitch, having retreated, slashed his sword downward again.

Encrid kicked the sword he had dropped on the ground.

It was a calculated movement.

THWACK.

The grip caught on the top of his foot, and the blade shot straight forward, aiming for the back of Mitch's neck.

Normally, one learns that they must never lose their grip on their sword. That was the fundamental rule of the sword.

Though guys who wielded the Confounding Sword would occasionally let go of their swords and initiate this kind of fight.

Kicking it?

Irregularity against irregularity.

"Hah!"

With a shout, Mitch grabbed the sword he was striking down with one hand and slashed right through as if executing a crown strike.

He blocked the tip of the blade Encrid had kicked with the gauntlet on his other hand.

CLASH!

While blocking it, he twisted the tip of the sword and deflected it to the side.

As expected of Mitch Hurrier. The back of the gauntlet was gouged a little, but forget about a hole in his hand—there didn't even seem to be a major impact.

Encrid wasn't surprised, as he had already drawn out this entire picture.

Because his real aim was what came next.

The opening where the crown strike lost its power and speed. His two-handed slash had become a one-handed slash, hadn't it?

Encrid dashed forward again the moment he kicked the sword.

In terms of timing, he had dropped the sword, kicked it immediately, and then dashed forward again all at once.

In response, Mitch had effectively stepped back, swung his sword in the form of a crown strike, and then blocked the flying sword with the back of his hand.

THWACK!

Mitch's sword struck the top of Encrid's right shoulder.

He would give up his flesh.

At the same time, he thrust his left hand forward. Encrid had the advantage in grip strength.

Just as he tried to grab his neck in one breath, Mitch tilted his head back.

No, he leaned all the way back from his waist to open up space.

Encrid inwardly thanked Torres.

There was no better training for developing his left hand's senses, and it allowed him to aim for his opponent in this single move.

By twisting his wrist and flexing the muscles beneath it, *thwip*—a dagger popped out. The dagger that shot out from his wrist was caught in Encrid's hand.

In that moment, Encrid looked into Mitch's eyes.

His clearly widened pupils, his wavering eyes.

Encrid slashed the dagger toward those eyes.

SLAAASH!

Along with the sound of friction between the blade and flesh.

"Kuuugh!"

A groan burst out as he swallowed down the pain.

"Ngh."

A small groan also escaped from Encrid's lips.

It was completely warranted.

The dagger in Encrid's hand had sliced Mitch Hurrier's eyeball.

To be exact, it had carved a line from his cheek up to his forehead above his eyebrow.

Even as he lost his eye, Mitch Hurrier kicked Encrid's stomach and pulled his sword inward.

After striking the top of Encrid's shoulder, Mitch's lodged sword sliced inward with a rip, cutting through the leather armor he wore underneath and leaving a sword gash on his shoulder.

Burning, yet cold.

It was the sensation of metal slicing through his shoulder.

His right wrist was already a mess, but now even his shoulder was slashed.

'This isn't good.'

Thinking that, Encrid threw the dagger.

With a *fwip*.

This was a guy who had counterattacked even while losing an eyeball. Mitch swung his sword to strike down the dagger.

But the dagger lodged straight into his forearm.

Since one of his eyes was gone, his depth perception would be complete shit for the time being.

Which meant it was an opportunity.

The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique's All-out Brawl.

It was about fighting in close quarters no matter what, fighting to win even if it meant biting the enemy in the end.

Using everything you had, whether it was dirty tactics or whatever else.

Encrid did exactly that.

He threw his sword again and lunged forward.

There was the shock of being kicked in the stomach just a moment ago, and his shoulder had been slashed too, but.

His heart pounded heavily, pumping blood through his body.

Because right now was a time that called for boldness, not composure.

Encrid rushed forward just that boldly.

"Keuuah!"

Spitting out a sound somewhere between a scream and a shout, Mitch swung his sword.

'I can see it.'

Then he could dodge it.

It was just like back then, when he saved Leona. Just like when he dodged the flying dagger.

He activated Concentrate on a Single Point.

He intuitively predicted the blade's trajectory.

And dug into his guard.

SMACK!

His calculations were spot on. He was struck in the face by the fist holding the sword instead of the blade. However, he had tightly tucked his chin and lowered his forehead.

Thus, the impact wasn't much.

"If you're going to get hit, you have to get hit well. If you get hit well, the next opportunity will belong to you."

That was what Audin had said. The method of getting hit well that he learned from him was always useful.

That was the moment the distance closed completely.

"Yeah, bring it on. This is exactly what I wanted!"

Mitch also dropped his sword and grabbed Encrid's shoulders with his hands.

His wounds tore open and pain rushed in, but it was far better than dying.

Above all, the wound was shallower than Encrid had thought.

The leather armor he wore under his clothes had done its job even as it was cut.

Their hands tangled together.

The two panting men started rolling across the gravel.

As they did, Mitch opened his mouth, as if anger was boiling up inside him.

"You dirty bastard, did you think you could win in a wrestling match?"

'Yeah.'

He knew he would win.

He could tell after exchanging blows a few times.

He had realized it while sparring against Pin's Ale Karaz style after learning the Balaf Style Combat Technique.

This kind of discipline required talent, but it also required an obscene investment of time.

It meant these were techniques that had to be ingrained in the body so deeply they appeared in your dreams.

Encrid was confident.

That as long as they engaged in close combat, the odds of winning belonged to him.

This was exactly why he hadn't hesitated to start an All-out Brawl.

CRUNCH!

As Encrid tried to snap his arm, he bit down on Mitch's ear instead.

"Kaaaack!"

Mitch screamed.

Encrid immediately grabbed his opponent's ankle.

He pulled Mitch's foot and tucked it under his armpit, pressed down on the top of the foot with his hand, wrapped both of his own legs around one of Mitch's like a twisted donut, and snapped it by pressing down on the top of the foot.

The explanation was long, but the action took place in an instant.

SNAP! CRACK!

It was a horrifying sound, and the pain was likely terrifying as well.

This was something only those who had experienced it would know.

It was an area that hurt horrendously even if it wasn't broken.

And he had completely crushed the heel of the ankle by pressing down on it with his hands while pinning it against his ribs.

He immediately shifted to the other leg.

SWISH.

Wrapping his legs around his opponent's leg, he pulled the foot into his embrace again, locked both of his hands together, and twisted his body like a tornado.

CRAAAAACK!

This time, the knee joint twisted in the reverse direction and snapped.

"Kuaaaaaaaah!"

A horrific, gruesome scream erupted.

Drooling and with bloodshot eyes, Mitch slammed a jagged blade into the back of Encrid's neck—when had he even drawn a dagger?

Encrid dodged it by twisting his body. The dagger plunged deep into his forearm and was pulled out.

Encrid immediately let go of his opponent's leg and rolled backward.

That was the end of it.

Because the other party was already incapable of fighting.

"Huuu."

Encrid let out a deep breath. His body wasn't in a normal state either. Excessive joint locks always placed a strain on one's own body as well.

On top of that, his arm had been stabbed by the blade.

The shoulder wound caused by the pull-slash was no joke, either.

Before he knew it, half of his clothes were soaked.

It was all bound to be his own blood.

Of course, even so, Encrid's condition was several times better than Mitch's.

"Krais, my sword."

Perhaps unable to just run away despite being a non-combatant, Krais, who had been nearby, swiftly picked up Encrid's sword and approached.

When he grabbed it with his left hand, blood gushed from his forearm.

This wound was deeper than he had thought.

"Shit, I thought I was going to die. Captain."

He didn't even have the energy to reply to Krais's words.

Encrid approached with his sword in hand.

Even though his arm and shoulder were injured, his feet were fine.

"Platoon Commander!"

At that, a few of the enemy soldiers who had ambushed them reacted. They charged in after seeing Mitch Hurrier fall.

But they were way too late.

None of the enemy soldiers had thought that their Platoon Commander, Mitch Hurrier, would lose.

He was a genius. A man born with talent.

A genius who didn't work hard.

Whatever the man who once held that nickname had experienced on the battlefield, he had swung his sword day and night ever since he returned.

He wasn't someone who should die like that.

He was a star that had just begun to shine.

It wasn't even a clash of swords; the enemy threw a dagger.

And both of his legs were shattered.

What was this? This was not the fight their commander wanted.

Fight with a sword.

Settle the match fairly with a sword-to-sword duel!

Most of his subordinates felt this way, but.

"This, this isn't what I wanted."

Mitch felt the same.

Making eye contact with Encrid, who was holding his sword perpendicularly to the ground with the tip facing down, Mitch finished speaking.

"You, you."

"This is a battlefield."

Encrid spoke and drove his sword down.

SHK!

The blade pierced through the back of his neck and protruded out the front of his throat, letting out a craack as it split a few pebbles.

Mitch Hurrier's eyes bulged out as he gagged, vomiting blood and collapsing onto the ground.

Wearing the embedded blade like a neck ornament.

Soon, his head slumped to the side.

"... Kill him!"

A few agitated enemy soldiers rushed at Encrid.

"Dumbasses."

Encrid cursed at them. He had thought about this while repeating today so many times.

Their allied commanders weren't idiots either, so could they really have failed to predict an enemy ambush to this extent?

Of course not.

Rather, they had been waiting for this.

Of course, the enemy might have also come knowing all this.

Since the battlefield was inherently a dog-eat-dog struggle.

Weren't tactics just techniques of deception and trickery?

So the point was, all he had to do was stall for time.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

There were no other fighters on Mitch's level among the enemy soldiers.

The sword held in Encrid's left hand smoothly pulled out of Mitch's neck and soon fluttered like a butterfly, striking away and blocking the enemy spearheads.

It was a sword imbued with delicacy. A sword that seemed like a strange blend of the Heavy Sword Technique, Flowing Sword Technique, and even the Swift Sword.

"Group up! Wipe them all out!"

Vengeance must have survived as well, for his shout could be heard from behind.

The enemies were elites, but that didn't mean they could overcome a numerical disadvantage.

Above all, there was just no answer when archers were thrown into the mix.

"Fire."

A platoon-sized force at a glance—forty crossbowmen began turning the remaining enemy soldiers into pincushions.

Someone had reorganized the archers and brought them over.

With that, the fight could be considered over.

He knew very well since he had suffered it himself.

That it was impossible to deflect and dodge all the volleys of arrows fired by a massed group of archers.

Encrid watched up to that point before collapsing to the ground.

It truly felt like his body was falling apart.