Chapter 48 - If the end was in sight, he could crawl over it if he had to.

This was the first time force of this level had been deployed in a small local battle.

Just as the enemy had prepared sorcery.

The card prepared on this side was a Squire.

The aftermath that Squire brought to the battlefield was horrifying.

The proto knight who had avoided the rain of arrows by advancing drew his sword and slashed.

WHOOSH.

The moment a silver line was drawn through the air, the heads of the three soldiers blocking the front were sliced clean off.

The Squire pulled back the sword he had swung, recovered it, and chopped downward from above.

The sword fell like black lightning, then immediately shot upward.

The head of a soldier holding an infantry spear was caught in its path.

CRACK!

He did not cut it, but smashed it. The sword that had split the soldier's head open with the force of its chopping blow now flew like a butterfly.

The flutter of the butterfly that flew in soon became a funeral dirge steeped in terror.

The fluttering sword, stabbing into openings everywhere, stole the enemy soldiers' breath.

Then two soldiers stepped in with large, thick wooden shields and blocked his path.

As they blocked him with their whole bodies covered, the butterfly's fluttering was stopped by the shields.

As the sword struck the shields with heavy thuds, deep dents were left on their surfaces.

"Close in!"

An enemy soldier shouted. Even with cold sweat pouring down his face, he did his best.

But even doing his best did not mean he was free from the touch of death.

The owner of the red cape gripped his sword with both hands and swung it sideways.

BANG! SCREEECH!

The sword battered the shield. The iron rim did not get cut and bent instead, fulfilling its role as a shield, but the soldier's hand holding it could not withstand the impact.

"Aaagh!"

The wrist holding the shield twisted and broke. The wrist bone pierced through the skin.

As the shield dropped limply to the ground, the sword split the soldier's torso sideways.

His upper body was severed, and his entrails spilled to the ground. Blood sprayed in every direction.

Fear seeped into the eyes of the soldiers around him.

"Fuck this."

One of the soldiers of the Principality of Aspen spat out a curse, nearly crying. Whether the owner of the cape heard it or not, his nose twitched, and he immediately kicked off the ground.

His sword swings were terrifying too, but the most terrifying thing about this man was his feet.

The moment you thought he had kicked off the ground, he flashed here, flashed there, cutting soldiers' throats and punching holes through their bodies.

Whether they thrust shields forward to stop him, or stood in his way wearing armor, all of it seemed meaningless.

"Shoot him!"

One of the commanders shouted.

It was a bold decision. Thirty crossbowmen waiting on one side fired their quarrels.

There was no way he could avoid every shot at close range. The commander was certain of it.

And the owner of the cape shattered that certainty.

BOOM!

Before the quarrels could reach him, he kicked off the ground and flew into the sky. The quarrels sliced uselessly through empty air.

Anything that rises must fall. The owner of the cape flew in an arc and landed ten steps in front of the commander of the Principality of Aspen.

It was the heart of the enemy formation.

"... Stop him!"

The shout of the supreme commander of the Principality of Aspen was pitiful.

It might have been different if the Gray Hound had remained.

But they had already withdrawn because of the responsibility for their defeat, Mitch Hurrier's injury, and various other complicated circumstances.

"Hooo."

The owner of the cape let out a long breath and swung his sword again. From above to below, from below to above.

SWISH!

The blade bent and whipped the commander's guards like a lash.

THUD! CRAAACK!

The thick leather armor wrapped around their bodies was cut through whole. A guard wearing an iron helmet was struck in the head by the flat of the blade and sent flying.

WHAM!

The guard who had been hit once and rolled sideways had blood streaming from his nose. From the outside he looked fine, but the inside of his skull had been shattered by the impact, killing him.

After taking care of the guards, the Squire put a hole through the commander's throat.

SHNK.

Just like that, the Squire killed the enemy commander alone in the middle of the enemy formation, then turned around and returned.

The scene of his return was impressive too.

He kicked an enemy soldier away with a boom, then kicked off the ground several times and ran.

From a distance, it looked as though a red streak was drawing a line through the middle of the battlefield.

Encrid and his companions watched the fight from beginning to end.

Rem looked at the owner of the cape, the Squire, and thought he was pretty good.

'He knows how to play.'

He was a bastard who knew how to stir up the middle of an enemy formation. By holding nothing back and clearly showing his superior strength, he planted fear in them.

Through that, he trampled the enemy formation however he pleased.

In particular, the way he avoided the ambush by the crossbowmen the enemy had prepared was impressive.

'If it were me, I'd jump into the group of crossbowmen first.'

The opponent clearly looked trained. People did not call him a specialist in combat and war for nothing.

Instead of dealing with the crossbowmen first, he left them alone.

And when they targeted him, he showed the leg strength he had been saving. He kicked off the ground, crossed through the air, and pounced on the enemy commander.

He was like a single flying tiger. It was like watching a tiger with wings.

Ragna gauged the opponent's level and compared it to himself.

The opponent had walked the path he needed to walk first.

'At that level.'

He could reach it before too long. Even without taking a shortcut, even without training so hard it shaved down his bones.

If Rem had looked at the opponent's strategy, Ragna gauged the level of ability the opponent possessed.

'His swordsmanship is sharp.'

It was Heavy Sword based on Swift Sword. At a glance, it might look as though he used Righteous Sword, but all of it was a trick of the eye.

Swift Sword and Heavy Sword.

He mixed the two and used them. He clearly had an excellent swordsmanship teacher.

Usually, when someone learned by mixing two sword forms, their fundamentals tended to be clumsy.

But no such clumsiness could be seen in the red-caped Squire.

'Well, they did say he was a Squire.'

After gauging his level, Ragna felt his motivation fade. The path was already visible, and the destination was plain to see. Seeing someone who had gone ahead first was not enough to make his competitive spirit boil.

All that remained was to walk the path.

Training and conditioning were painful only because they were boring. Because all that remained was to hone his sword with his emotions dried up. It was a problem born from talent that was far too outstanding.

Jaxon gauged the opponent's skill and looked for openings.

'At least five times.'

The enemy could have harmed the owner of the cape. It was not a question of ability, but of strategy.

There was also the fact that the commander was stupid.

And the fact that they had been flustered by an unexpected blow.

If it had been Jaxon himself, he would have ended it before such a situation ever came about.

The religious squadmate took the opponent's movements into his eyes and nodded.

"He is a brother skilled at guiding the dead to God's side."

It meant he fought truly well.

"Looks like we don't need to fall back."

Big-eyes clicked his tongue in amazement. A single man was controlling the flow of the battlefield however he wished. It felt as though victory had been promised before they even fought.

And Encrid.

'So this is a knight.'

He was shaken. His heart pounded madly, to the point his whole body trembled. The fine hairs on his skin stood on end, and chills ran through him.

At the same time, he felt a hot warmth rising from his lower belly.

His eyes did not leave the Squire.

On the present continent, Squires, proto knights, were the main fighting force of knight orders.

They were the step just before knights, who could change the course of a war alone.

A killing machine had just stirred the course of this battlefield. He killed the enemy commander. And returned leisurely.

'How can he do that?'

The owner of the cape was neither a beastman nor a Frog.

Then how could he show such power?

A symbol of force capable of cutting down a thousand alone. That was a knight.

What made that possible?

What had brought that man to the limits of humanity?

Encrid did not know. Perhaps because he did not know, he was even more amazed by the opponent's movements.

At the same time, he felt something burst with a pop inside his head.

"Sometimes, you can learn just by watching."

The words spoken by a swordsmanship instructor in a great city flashed through his mind. His excitement sank, and though he had not intended it, Concentrate on a Single Point activated on its own.

As superhuman concentration took effect, he could understand the meaning of each step the opponent took. He could see the intent behind the sword he swung.

'Heavy Sword Technique.'

Heavy Sword of force.

If one could build muscle to swing a sword, that also meant one could swing a sword quickly.

The opponent had mixed the principles of Heavy Sword into Swift Sword. Even Encrid's eyes could see that.

'He pulled his foot back.'

It was a movement that looked as though he had lightly withdrawn his foot to decide the range of his own line of attack.

'No. He isn't deciding it. He already decided it.'

The Northern Heavy Sword he had learned from Ragna built its foundation around the line of attack.

The Squire's method was a little different.

He drew a circle around himself.

It was swordsmanship based on the fundamentals of the central continent style. He drew a circle with his own body as the point of origin, and slaughtered anyone inside that circle.

If they were caught, he cut them. If they came close, he stabbed them.

At a glance, it looked as though he was using his feet to trample the opponent, but the truth was different.

'He maintains his range.'

He used his feet only when necessary, in sharp bursts. It only seemed that way because several of his sword strikes had been impressive; most of his attacks were thrusts.

He watched and watched again. He gathered the information entering his eyes and organized it inside his head.

'Just because it's Heavy Sword Technique, does it always have to be brought down with force?'

The trump card Mitch Hurrier had shown was like a move from the Heavy Sword Technique, not Righteous Sword or Flowing Sword.

The Wheel Cut, which cut through whatever blocked it.

Why had he made that his secret move?

To deceive the opponent?

No. Just because the ways of the sword had been divided into five did not mean they were all different swordsmanship.

All five forms of swordsmanship had intersections.

Just because it was Heavy Sword Technique, it did not mean the correct answer was always to swing down and hack through with strength.

His eyes moved. His brain turned. Encrid's fingers twitched and moved.

"Does watching feel that good? Hm?"

Rem started to speak without thinking, then stopped.

Since Ragna no longer had any interest in the Squire's movements, he turned back at the sound.

"Don't touch him."

Ragna whispered. He recognized the Squad Leader's state at a glance.

Whether on a battlefield, in a tavern, in a back alley, or in a lover's arms.

Realization came like a prank played by the goddess of fortune.

Suddenly, abruptly, without warning, all at once, it came silently like that and shook the brain out of nowhere.

"I'll guard his side."

Jaxon stepped forward first and said so. Ragna stood on the right, and Rem on the left.

The religious squadmate moved silently and went behind Encrid.

Big-eyes whispered and asked what was going on.

Rem answered that question.

"Looks like the Squad Leader is about to break out of his shell. It was about time. He's been swinging his sword alone day and night all this time."

Rem acknowledged the Squad Leader's effort. He deserved this kind of luck.

Of course, this was not luck at all.

It was a natural process that came because he had gone through countless real battles, rolled through them, and rebuilt the fundamentals of his swordsmanship.

Seeing Encrid now gave Ragna more motivation than the Squire did.

'How can this happen?'

What was it that made the Squad Leader like this?

Even knowing the end was clear, that his limits were obvious, how could he not put down the sword?

That was strange to Ragna. As always, the Squad Leader stimulated his interest more than the opponent who had just stepped onto the battlefield and stirred the enemy formation alone.

Immediately after the member of the knight order returned, the allied commander's shout shook the air.

"Chaaaarge!"

Soon the allies surged out in a rush. Battle cries and shouts mixed together, and as the infantry ran, the ground rumbled.

Yet Encrid merely stared blankly into the air.

He was still in a state of immersion.

Since the troublemaker squad could stand as bystanders thanks to their performance in the previous battle.

No one said anything to them as they stood still.

In truth, even if anyone wanted to say something, the aura given off by the four of them, excluding Big-eyes, was so murderous that no one could even approach.

Even after seeing the Squire rampage up ahead, the allies who saw the troublemaker squad up close felt that they were more chilling.

Leaving them alone like that, the war raced toward its end.

This winter and next spring would probably be very busy. They would have to spend the winter with their stockpiled resources and rebuild their positions as well.

The border between Naurilia and Aspen would be redrawn.

While the allies charged, Encrid was reflecting on the fundamentals he had learned.

Intersections, swordsmanship, Valen Mercenary Sword Technique, Northern Heavy Sword.

Everything was a weapon he had learned.

There was no need to confine those weapons within the frame called fundamentals.

It was fine to parry and redirect with Heavy Sword.

Binding, the technique of sticking swords together, was the foundation of parrying.

When he learned it, he had not even noticed.

The state of immersion, the untimely realization that had come to him, did not raise Encrid's skill in a single stroke.

No, it did raise his discernment to a certain degree, but the talent he possessed was insignificant, so he could not learn it with his body in a single stroke.

However, Encrid clearly understood the limits he possessed.

That meant that if he only had time, he could train to his limits and surpass those limits.

The end of the cliff that had been dizzyingly high and impossible to see.

The very top of the cliff, hidden by clouds and impossible to see, began to come into view.

If the wall blocking the way ahead was so high and wide that its end could not be seen, then one could not cross it.

But if the end was in sight, no matter how far, high, and wide it was.

If he could not walk, he could crawl over it.

Encrid realized that.

"Ah."

He was so happy he was drooling. In fact, he woke from his state of immersion drooling.

"What, you're even drooling now?"

Rem chided him from the side.

Encrid opened his eyes and looked around. At some point, there was not a single ally nearby.

"They all charged. If you're tired, you should've gone and rested in the barracks. Why are you dozing off standing up?"

"Ah."

"Ah, my ass. Let's head back. As for the battle, well, looks like there's nothing for us to do."

It was exactly as he said.

The caped knight had returned to the main camp.

The battle was over. The enemy looked ready to flee beyond retreat, all the way back to their homeland.

Now it was time to withdraw. Time to return to the city.

Encrid turned around while looking at the setting sun.

A fire was lit once more in his chest after seeing the Squire's might.

Because Encrid's destination, his ideal, was right before his eyes.

Once again, an old dream lifted its head.

'What must I do to become a knight?'

Simply increasing his combat power would not be enough by any means. First, he would have to prove his own skill.

His time remaining as a lowest-grade soldier was over.

Encrid muttered that inwardly.