Chapter 170: Chapter 324 - Attacking is the Best Defense
Attack is the best form of defense, so Enkrid focused all his attention on the opponent's entire body.
Rather than simply observing with his eyes, he read the intention behind every movement.
For a moment, his head and eyes felt as though they were on fire.
He gathered an immense amount of focus, feeling his blood vessels throb as his pulse rang out across his body.
A single point of focus surged within him, more intensely than ever before.
The opponent moved.
Small motions appeared in quick succession.
Enkrid interpreted these actions like reading between the lines of a sentence, understanding what seemed meaningless at first glance.
How would the knight's sword move?
It was still unclear.
The process was difficult to understand.
But hadn't he witnessed such things countless times, even in death?
Hadn't he seen it, immobilized, watching as Ragna and the others fell?
And so, it became clear.
A brief opening, the gap that formed between the unsheathing of the sword and its swing, was the key—the separation.
If this day had not repeated itself, if there had been no repeated experience, then he wouldn't have seen it.
No matter how finely honed his sensory skills were, no matter how intensely he focused, without that repetition, the gap wouldn't have been visible.
Enkrid aimed for that gap.
He had heightened his senses with experience and intense concentration, feeling the throb in his brain as he prepared to act.
The knight was about to draw his sword.
Enkrid felt the flow of time slow.
Yet, he remained calm, continuing to execute his plan.
He followed through as he had envisioned it, step by step.
His hearth of the beast surged forward, the core of his strength.
Boom!
The blood in his body surged wildly.
Though his body was not in perfect condition, it was the best he could manage.
Enkrid gripped his gladius with a calm hand, angling his body slightly.
At that moment, the knight's sword was fully drawn.
With a sound like a faint tiddick, the blade was ready.
Enkrid paused, gathering his breath.
In the slowed passage of time, his thoughts moved faster than ever before.
They were fleeting ideas that flashed through his mind.
The first sword he ever forged, the Snake Blade.
The second, Thunder Fang.
It was a technique infused with the will of a single moment.
And now, the third.
"No preparation necessary."
Enkrid focused on the knight's sword.
He had seen it countless times.
He had experienced it in death.
And so, he recognized the knight's movements, deciphering their principles.
The transfer of force, the shifting of the center of gravity, the continuation of the action.
He also kept Ragna's sword in mind.
It was a lightning-fast strike.
He didn't know its name, but he had memorized its form.
Mimicking the fairy's art, he read the knight's intent as well.
Enkrid read it again and again.
His repeated experiences built upon one another, and the gap, the separation, became clear in his mind.
'Just before drawing and striking.'
It couldn't be faster or slower.
It had to be just right.
All eyes were on him.
Ragna's pupils widened silently.
It seemed as though the movements of the captain and the man who had suddenly arrived were overlapping.
Shinar's gaze mirrored that thought.
"What's happening?"
Before anyone could fully process the situation, it unfolded.
Dunbakel and Krais were completely unaware of what was happening, while Esther was still rising and bristling her fur.
In the strange silence, the man entered and drew his sword, while Enkrid exuded an uncanny aura.
Whether others noticed or not, Enkrid did what needed to be done.
'I can't stop it.'
That was Enkrid's conclusion.
So, what should he do?
If he couldn't block it, should he strike first?
He hadn't attempted it, but the possibility was there.
He clearly remembered the image of Ragna's hand bleeding while trying to block the knight's sword.
At that moment, even while dying, his mind was struck by a lightning bolt.
Sword, knight, power, defense, failure.
All of these merged into one answer.
'If I can't block it,'
I'll strike first.
Enkrid presented his third sword.
A heavy sword, based on the principles of the greatsword style.
He infused his will into it.
It was a will that he had become familiar with from countless defeats. A sense of pressure.
Though he could not achieve perfect intimidation, he had honed it enough to incorporate it into his swordsmanship.
Ragna was astonished by the technique.
Of course, because today was not over yet, he would soon be surprised once again.
He also blended in the Valen-style mercenary techniques.
Normally, an advance begins with a forward step, but Enkrid stretched his foot to the side.
The knight's eyes subtly flickered down to his foot.
'What?'
It wasn't important, but it was enough to raise a question.
The knight's sword didn't slow, but the knight's thoughts were now in a state of confusion.
Enkrid seized that opportunity.
Thud.
He planted his left foot to the side, and with all his strength, he pressed his right foot into the ground.
Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship—side-stepping.
The more perceptive the opponent, the more his steps became a distraction.
It was a small opening, a way to increase the chance of finding an opportunity.
"Speed isn't enough."
Enkrid was well aware of this. Instead of speed, he turned to momentum.
His ploy had worked. The knight didn't falter, but the expected strike didn't come either. Enkrid had successfully stolen the timing and stepped forward.
Shing!
He unsheathed his sword, raising it vertically. Holding it upright, he unleashed Will, exerting pressure through sheer force of presence.
The knight instinctively moved his weapon. Years of honed reflexes compelled him—it was something that had to be blocked.
The third swordsmanship, the Pressing Sword.
Like a mountain bearing down on the earth or a finger crushing an ant, it applied oppressive force, eliminating the opponent's options. The knight had no choice but to defend.
Though it lacked the speed of the lightning thrust driven by sparks, the momentum rooted in Will created overwhelming pressure.
While the knight, Jamal, hadn't lowered his guard, this scenario had caught him unprepared.
Who could have anticipated it?
After seeing a man man ripping through the tent, imagine stealing his timing, and launching a crushing blow with a greatsword?
The draw was slow at first but gained momentum afterward. The blade carved a trajectory that forced the opponent to block.
Yet, the knight didn't fall easily.
"Not a chance."
Reflexively, Jamal's sword trembled, parrying the descending blade.
A low hum filled the air—so brief it was nearly imperceptible.
Enkrid couldn't hear it. He had poured everything into his strike, every ounce of focus and strength. There was no room for retreat.
Bang!
A deafening impact resounded.
Crunch!
The sound of bones twisting followed.
Enkrid felt a fleeting sensation of weightlessness. His old, battered shortsword—something he could easily snap with his bare hands—had somehow generated absurd recoil.
As the sense of floating faded, pain flared across his back.
The blow had sent him flying, crashing into a brazier.
Enkrid rolled to the side, and:
"Ah!"
A startled cry escaped Krais as the toppled brazier ignited flames.
Though the explanation is lengthy, the entire exchange occurred in the blink of an eye.
A man tore through the tent, exchanged a few words, and immediately launched an attack.
Enkrid's head lolled to the side as consciousness momentarily slipped away.
Then, right after Enkrid collapsed:
Whoosh!
Ragna reacted.
The cry of alarm from Krais coincided with the second explosion.
Boom!
The knight had clashed with Ragna, parrying his lightning-fast strike. The impact sent Ragna flying backward.
Unlike Enkrid, Ragna didn't tumble. He landed deftly, stabbing his blade into the ground to steady himself.
Shhhk!
The blade gouged a long line into the earth, emitting a sharp scraping sound.
"...Hah."
Ragna inhaled sharply.
That single exchange told him everything—this opponent was by no means beneath him.
Meanwhile, Shinar avoided the fight, focusing instead on extinguishing the flames on Enkrid's back using a blanket. After a few vigorous smacks, the fire was out.
A sharp cracking sound came from Ragna's sword—it was on the verge of breaking.
Ragna discarded the damaged blade and drew another.
This one had belonged to Squire Bill. Though not as finely crafted as the knight Jamal's weapon, its length and weight were more familiar to Ragna.
Shing!
He raised the blade and steadied himself, dropping into a combat stance.
Ragna was ready.
"Stop."
Enkrid, still lying on the ground, spoke up.
The knight turned his gaze toward him.
Ragna paused mid-step, ready to charge.
Shinar quietly retreated, her hand resting on her dagger.
It was obvious to anyone observing.
"He's a monster."
A single battered shortsword had accomplished all this. Such feats were only possible with a power beyond mere physical strength—proof he was a knight.
"You don't belong here," Shinar said, breaking the silence.
The knight remained silent, his eyes fixed on the one who had struck him—a man who now lay sprawled on the ground.
Enkrid's back bore the marks of fresh burns, his armor offering no protection against the heat. Thankfully, the injuries weren't severe. Shinar's swift action had prevented worse.
Still, Enkrid's shoulders were both dislocated.
And that wasn't the end of it—his palms were shredded, blood streaming from his hands.
The Pressing Sword had landed, but the knight's counterattack had been brutal.
"If I hadn't braced myself for the final blow..."
The damage would have been far worse.
Jamal, the knight, had unleashed his specialty—Blade Echo. His weapon vibrated at high speed, amplifying its explosive power.
Despite the pain and injury, Enkrid coughed lightly, waiting in silence.
He had anticipated this to some extent.
Having aspired to become a knight, he understood their values. He knew about their sense of honor.
The knight had understood Enkrid's actions.
"Didn't you say one strike was enough?"
Enkrid's words carried weight.
The knight continued to stare at him silently before finally speaking.
"What was it called?"
"The Pressing Sword."
"It's impressive."
Ping.
The knight lowered his sword.
Ragna remained poised, his blade still aimed at the knight.
Enkrid, relying on the strength in his legs, rose to his feet. His dislocated shoulders left his arms limp, so he swung his arm loosely, using his waist for leverage, and placed a hand on Ragna's shoulder.
The movement was painful and almost acrobatic, but not impossible.
"Don't engage today," Enkrid said.
Ragna obediently stepped back.
His exceptional talent, the kind that earned him the title of genius, told him everything he needed to know—this opponent was a knight.
And realistically, any attempt to fight now would end in certain death.
"What's your name?" Enkrid asked.
"Jamal," the knight replied without hesitation.
"Are you from the Royal Guard's Order?"
"Yes."
There was no hiding it.
He could betray his word and cut everyone down, but that wasn't an option. Knights were bound by their honor, which required them to stand tall and reveal their affiliation when asked, as long as the opponent had honored the knightly code.
"An honor," Enkrid said sincerely.
Jamal's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity passing through them.
What kind of man was this? And what exactly was happening here?
Despite himself, Jamal couldn't help but laugh.
"An honor?"
Without meaning to, he repeated the words, his voice tinged with amusement.
"It's not every day you get to withstand a knight's blade," Enkrid replied.
"You're the one who swung first."
"I thought waiting would cost me."
Was it keen intuition? Good judgment? Or just sheer luck?
It felt like the kind of luck where you accidentally step back and crush a mouse underfoot. Perhaps Lady Luck herself had smiled upon him.
Jamal laughed again, any lingering tension now dissipated. Even his killing intent had vanished, leaving behind nothing more than the image of an ordinary man who didn't seem knightly at all.
"I trusted you to uphold honor," Enkrid said.
"You'll go far," Jamal replied.
As a knight, Jamal could recognize talent. Not just current skill but also potential. And while Ragna, with his striking red eyes and golden hair, immediately drew attention, sometimes there were people whose unique presence couldn't be quantified.
The man before him was one of them.
"We'll meet again," Jamal said, turning away.
Having sworn an oath in the name of his honor, he now had to uphold it. Even Abnaier, the strategist, would have to respect the agreement. After all, hadn't they all consented to one strike only?
"An honor indeed," Enkrid said as he stood upright, his legs and calves throbbing in pain.
It felt like every step forward came at a heavy cost, leaving his body worse for wear.
"Attack as the best defense—well played," Jamal said, concluding his words before walking away.
"...You're just letting him leave?" Dunbakel asked, her expression uneasy.
"What, you want to fight him?" Krais interjected, shuddering at the thought. "Unless you have a death wish, letting him go is the only option. Actually, we should probably escort him out."
The idea of the knight's overwhelming strength was enough to make Krais tremble. It wasn't just an impression—he knew it instinctively.
"Fine, Krais. Since a commotion wouldn't help us right now, show him the way out," Enkrid said.
Krais's eyes widened. "What?"
"Do you even realize he's the enemy?" Krais hissed, lowering his voice in case the knight overheard. Not that it would change anything.
Yes, the Royal Guard's Order was the enemy. That much was clear.
But today, honor had been invoked.
"We have to uphold our side's honor too," Enkrid said.
They had to ensure Jamal could leave without issue.
Krais wasn't a fool. If the knight ran into sentries, causing an uproar, things could escalate far beyond their control.
Would they send Dunbakel? Or Ragna? Or Shinar?
No, brute force wasn't an option anymore. The best solution was to have someone sharp and perceptive guide him out. Strength no longer mattered; he was a knight, after all.
Krais knew this, even if he hated it.
With a sullen look, Big Eyes began walking toward the exit.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, voicing his displeasure in a way that felt safe.
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